Arou

Before she had even been born, Arou’s future was set. Her mother, a Tablet Master, and her father proudly exalted to the Icewarden’s ranks, she opened her eyes and was thrust into a life of ice-formed walls and the ranks of the exalted.

She grew up in the Memory Bank, a small stone-carved facility stationed near the Rimebone Stockade. The Memory Bank, existing since the ancient times of Sornieth, was where Tundras and other species looking to hoard recent memories to come back to later, would have their words and feelings preserved in stone and stored away within the icy walls for a hefty sum. It was where Tablet Masters, such as her mother, learned the skills to perfect this fiercely protected trade. Her mother was never supposed to have a child. Tablet Masters were sworn to secrecy and isolation, where only words were allowed to reach them so that they may continue the purpose of their profession. Any outside exposure of the handicraft, even from the eyes of a newborn, would soil the sacred teachings of the trade’s well-guarded secrets, and yet Arou came to be in her mother’s workshop. Arou bore witness to the Tablet Masters, and was branded with the mark of a Memory Bank guard, magically sealed within the repository and forced to serve it for as long as she lived.

Arou’s time was spent stationed in freezing, silent, halls, and so she busied her time in the deeper sections of the bank’s unnecessarily complicated corridors, picking out stone tablets from the dustier shelves. There, she peered into moments across time. A general’s battle plans mapped out in excruciating detail. A subspecies of Coatl who’s language originated from the gusts of the Windswept Plateau blowing over the uncovered hollows of bamboo. A poet who wished to mark down his dreams before full consciousness spirited them away. All personal, with their own voices and biases, with overlapping themes throughout. She learned much from her snooping, but was mostly drawn to the generals, commanders, and soldiers who wished to write down their experiences and information for the future to absorb.

Surprisingly, she remembered everything that she read. Others in her squadron theorized it was for compensation, since her nose was almost useless in comparison to the rest of her breed. An above average memory hailing from one in a less bright bunch of creatures. Arou surmised it came from her mother, who had not forgotten her skills as a Tablet Master since she learned as a hatchling apprentice.

Her memory netted her higher ranks amid the exalted. She climbed to first lieutenant just as The Woven Ones became the talk on every dragon’s tongue. She heard horrific stories of the army of amalgamations suturing the skin of their fallen foes to their own body, how quickly clans fell against The Terrible One and his horde, and the words their leader spoke that justified their rampage. Arou listened, but she would not speak her thoughts out loud, not until The Woven Ones marched over the border and into the frostbitten landscape of her home. Despite their small size The Woven Ones were powerful, but they were nothing like the rumors that she’d heard from so many. The army of artificial elemental composites, while looking more like monsters than dragonkind, were not bloodthirsty. The Terrible One and his two terrifying heads was not tyrannical. He spoke with an elegant, harmonized voice and preached his proposal, and asked others to join him in his righteous cause.

It brought forth a realization. Arou looked back at her life, and recognized how cold she felt. How numb she’d become, growing accustomed to a claustrophobic and aimless existence. How this existence had been made for her even before she was born.

In a burst of fury, Arou sliced the brand from her skin with her iceforged spear. She flew beyond the bank’s dark iced gateway, and the wound her ministration had dealt exploded into a flurry of freezing snow; a failsafe that had burned deeper than the symbol. It froze her blood and bit into her skin, but the rage in her heart kept her soaring, until she landed before The Terrible One.

“When you and your army bring down the Pillar of The World, will you take its place?” She asked him, breathless as the snow continued to fall around her.

“No.” He replied warmly, sharp teeth curled up in skin-splitting grins. “Once these demons are purged, I will step down, and Dragon-kind will choose their own paths, free of an all-powerful influence.”

“Then I will stand by you.” Arou said. “I have learned much in those halls. If you are going to Dragonhone, you will be met with resistence. I have the knowledge necessary to assist you in strategy and the art of war.”

In that moment, the Terrible One’s two heads lit up in joy.

“Thank you.” He whispered, and Arou smiled back.