Arrom

As the depths of the Viridian Labyrinth twist and spiral, so too did the tug of the Search lead me far from the paths many other Guardians before me had trod. What began as a simple mission for life’s purpose grew to be so much more. My road to the present was fraught with challenges, but as I look back, they appear mere thorns to my pelt, the scratches from which serve only to strengthen my resilience.

My tale began as I came of age, leaving my home in a humble Nature clan to seek out a charge. Raised on tales of Guardians who fought tooth-and-claw to defend their charges, I held in my mind a romantic fantasy of establishing my special bond. I conjured up images of mighty Imperials, roaring rivers, even the Gladekeeper herself, all waiting in the expanses of Sornieth. Never in a million years would I have imagined who my real charge would turn out to be.

A hunting trip brought me close to a Centaur village, and a quick look at their banner declared their alliance with my clan. A cry of pain drew me to a cluster of bushes just outside the village; I parted them with a talon to find a young Centaur lying on her side, one leg broken as though from a fall. Her eyes widened as she saw the towering dragon blocking out the sun, but seemed too shocked to do anything more as I picked her up and carried her back to the village.

The elder Centaurs were understandably wary, and took their proferred offspring with a curt nod and murmured gratitude. When questioned, they would only say the young Centaur would see a healer right away, and since she’d been found so quickly, recovery rate was reassuringly high. I sensed their discomfort and took the opportunity to take my leave.

I was determined to think nothing more of it that night, assuming that the incident would be forgotten in the passage of time. But something about the Centaur had drawn me in. Under normal circumstances, I would have left the scene, allowing the village to discover her for themselves. After all, what was a Beastkin life to the centuries a dragon would live? Yet to my ears, that single cry was a note that resonated through my very being, insistent in its immediate need. It was then that I knew I had found my charge.

The very next day, armed with an offering of freshly-gathered plants and meat, I returned to the village in search of her. The leader, the only Centaur who dared venture out of his hut to speak with me, was at first skeptical about the concept of Guardian and charge, but was finally convinced of the mutual benefits: In protecting the young Centaur, I would also indirectly protect his village. But the old Beastkin was not without his own conditions. He stipulated four terms that I was to follow: To only show myself under the cover of night; to never have contact with the youngster; to be on call when they needed help, whatever form that help might take; and to leave my old clan behind.

Only the last one was easy: I had essentially left the clan already to embark upon the Search. The other three were harder. They were the true commitments; to resist the Guardian instinct to be by their charge’s side at all times took great willpower. Few managed it. Yet somehow my young mind believed that I, out of thousands of dragons in history, could handle it, and accepted the terms.

For years I watched her grow from the outskirts of the village. Unbeknownst to her, the Centaurs had not always lived as carefree as they did now. If she had ever fancied to look out of her window in the dead of night, she would have seen a dark shape waging war across the Stygian skies, fending off the rogue dragons and predators that would otherwise have terrorized her kind. Great care was taken by the elders to hide the truth from her. Most other dragons might have given up on this silent crusade by now, but the Guardian’s bond is nigh-immutable; the safety of the charge mattered above all. It was a thankless job, but one I deluded myself into believing would one day be recorded, available for all to read.

This age of prosperity was not to last, however. A mysterious disease began to ravage the village, its origins shrouded in mystery, and its cure even more so. Though not deadly (Centaurs had remarkably resilient immune systems), it did spread like gossip in a Pearlcatcher community. One by one the Centaurs succumbed to it, until even my old clan began to notice the absence of familiar equine hunters galloping through their territory.

Their Glade-loving minds saw only one explanation. Sabotage! The Plaguebringer and her minions were always trying to take over the Viridian Labyrinth. Could this outbreak not be another attempt of theirs? And their suspicions escalated to paranoia.

With a swiftness surprisingly-absent from their usual morning routine, the dragons rallied and marched on the village. The Fire dragons swept in first, setting the roofs on fire, sending panicked Centaurs galloping in all directions. The rest of the clan stalked through the carnage, killing anything that looked sickly, and some that didn’t. The Centaurs were taken by surprise, but soon began to retaliate; arrows whizzing everywhere between Breath spells. Amidst the chaos, one image stood clear in my mind as I swooped to the rescue: My charge, cowering under the impending claw of a familiar-looking Guardian. Both their eyes widened as I rammed the dragon aside and leapt around to shield the young Centaur.

The Guardian gasped. “Arrom?”

And then I recognized her. She was my sister, who had found her charge in our clan…no, her clan leader, and so decided to stay while I sallied forth into the unknown. She would never have known what had transpired all these years.

“Leave the child alone!” I roared.

And here she looked conflicted. “But the clan said…”

“The clan can do as they wish. But this Centaur is my charge; I will defend her with my life, even from you.”

My poor, reckless sister. She could have backed off then and there. Instead she flared her wings and leapt at me.

Years of watching the Centaurs spar served me well. I sidestepped her lunge, watched her hurtle past and stumble from the momentum. One tail whip and a flash of talons; I had her pinned by the neck, where she dared not struggle for fear of having her throat slit open.

I turned back to my charge. “Come with me. I’ll keep you safe.”

“B-but—” I understood her dilemma; the bodies of her fellow Beastkin surrounded us, her only home devastated, and a strange dragon, who had no obvious reason to be different from the ones who had caused this tragedy, asking for her trust. But even she knew she had to decide. The other dragons were closing in. This was one fight the Centaurs could not win.

She grabbed her bow and climbed into my free talon. Barely seconds after my sister staggered to her feet, freed, we were gone into the sky.