Phealafarian Frontiers: 10: Sunny Died Up
As Steal Team 6 stepped into the clearing, their eyes locked onto the towering eggshell monolith. A sense of unease settled over them as Tosk and Tobias cautiously approached. The sheer scale of the shell was overwhelming, its surface impossibly smooth, yet covered in faint glowing runes. Guardian, keeping his distance, hesitated for a moment, his breath unsteady. Doubt clawed at the edges of his mind—would this be enough? Would it even work? Pushing aside his fear, he raised a trembling hand and loosed an eldritch blast. The energy struck the shell with a resounding crack, and fissures spiderwebbed across its pristine surface. From the earth, skeletal creatures clawed their way upward—shambling remnants of animals long since deceased.
The party had little time to react before the undead swarmed them. Tosk found himself set upon by a skeletal goat, its bony hooves striking with unnatural speed. He barely had time to register the pain as its attack landed squarely against his side. Tobias, axe in hand, cut through the beasts with brute force, while Erisa loosed precise shots into the fray, her arrows splintering bone. Guardian lent their magic, fire and eldritch energy searing through the creatures. One by one, the skeletal horrors fell until the clearing fell silent once more, the party breathing heavily, scanning the ground for any remaining threats.
A breath of relief barely escaped their lips before Tobias raised his axe, preparing to bring it down on the cracked eggshell. “Wait!” Thomas shouted, but his voice was lost beneath the strike. The moment Tobias’ axe connected, an eerie stillness settled over the clearing. The ground trembled. A wailing cry echoed through the trees as an immense, spectral form burst forth from the shell’s remains.
A dragon.
Its hollow eyes burned with cold fire as its translucent wings unfurled, stretching impossibly wide. Thomas stumbled back, horror freezing him in place. His breath hitched as memories flooded his mind—memories of ash, of destruction, of the monstrous creature hatching amid plumes of violet smoke. The past and present blurred together, time collapsing into a single unbearable moment. He felt as if he were back in Isenvale, watching helplessly as the world he knew crumbled around him. Now, here it was again, no longer a fledgling but a nightmare reborn. He had seen this dragon before—both mere days ago and fifty years in the past, for him, as if time itself had folded around this moment. The same beast that had hatched from the egg, bathed in plumes of violet smoke, had returned. Only now, it was nothing more than an echo of death.
The party sprang into action, unleashing everything they had against the undead horror. Swords and arrows passed through its incorporeal form with little effect. Spells burned against its hide, but the spectral beast weathered the attacks, barely flinching. Then it struck back.
A torrent of necrotic energy spewed from its maw, washing over Tobias and Bruiser. Tobias recoiled, agony wracking his body as the breath tore through him. Bruiser, his skeletal form more resilient, stood firm beside his master. But the battle was turning. Their weapons barely left a mark, and even their magic only managed to slow it down. The dragon was relentless, wearing them down, inch by inch. Every second, it grew more furious, its form shifting unpredictably, flickering between states of being as if struggling to remain tethered to this world.
Fear gripped Guardian. Their heart pounded against their ribs, and doubt clawed at the edges of their mind. Would this even work? Was it too late? The dragon loomed before them, its hollow eyes piercing through the darkness, and Guardian felt utterly insignificant. Hands trembling, they raised their fingers toward the beast, unwilling to meet its gaze. With a shaky breath, they closed their eyes and fired, praying the blast would land true. Closing their eyes, they fired one last eldritch blast, hoping—praying—it would land true.
The shot tore through the dragon’s chest. A piercing wail erupted from the beast as its form twisted, contorting in pain before it finally unraveled into the night air. The clearing fell silent once more, save for the heavy breathing of the exhausted party.
As the dust settled, the remnants of the eggshell crumbled under Thomas’ boot as he stepped forward. He crushed the last fragments beneath his heel, ensuring nothing remained.
Their battle won, they returned to Scholar Eldra to share what they had learned. The mention of a dracolich’s eggshell left her momentarily speechless, the weight of the revelation settling in. It was far beyond anything she had ever hypothesized, raising more questions than answers. Had this been an isolated phenomenon, or was it merely the first sign of something far more dangerous?
As she gathered herself, her gaze fell upon Bruiser, the skeletal hound standing steadfast beside the party. Her eyes softened with recognition, a bittersweet smile crossing her face. “You were always a stubborn one,” she murmured, kneeling to meet his hollow gaze. Though he was but a remnant of what he once was, she seemed at peace with his return. With a slow nod, she gave her blessing for him to remain with the group. “Take care of him,” she said simply. “And may he take care of you.”
The party, weary yet victorious, retired to the tavern for a night of much-needed rest. But even as the warmth of victory settled over them, one question remained unspoken.
If this was merely a fragment of what was once whole—what else had been left behind?
No one had an answer, only a shared sense of unease. Whatever had been set in motion was far from over. The echoes of their battle still lingered in the night air, and somewhere, in the unseen corners of the world, something—or someone—was watching.
