She slept; slept in the endless night, roaming the ever-horizon that stretched in front of her.
She dreamt dreamless dreams, basking in the eternal quiet. An ocean stretching endlessly, one she can mold and frame in whatever form she may desire. But the creator of the ocean was no fool; they made sure it would demand effort to be poured into the design. They made it would not be eternally peaceful. Nightmares could still occur. Her fears had not vanished in that granted eternity.
Decades, if not centuries, passed by, in the recreation of her mountain forevermore, waiting for the promised visit of a friend that had yet to come. But she kept hope.
The realm turned weary, troubled. Was the realm dissipating? Had it all been it? Was her friend alright? Has something befallen her?
For what felt like an eternity, she lived in a limbo-like state. Trapped in an increasing crescendo of terrors perturbing the peaceful realm her friend had crafted for her. And it rained, rained an endless storm. Everything darkened, and the light diminished to a dim flicker. She looked at it – it was as if it was battling, raging against its death. And for an eternity, the light raged and raged until it would be alight once more. Was the spell waving? Was her friend alright? Why hadn’t she visited yet?
Then it calmed down. The ocean stretched more serenely than it used to before the deluge.
Was her friend finally alright? Why is there still torment to come?
A brief escalation. The blue clouds rumbled once more.
A powerful, intense, and blazing light. Was it the intensity Syln and poor Aramunth had felt? Had they pardoned her? Could her kind ever pardon her?
The rekindled experience threw her off. The tormented ocean transformed into an avalanche of razor-sharp waves, slicing the azure mist that is her form.
A lull. And then the atypical serenity that had preceded.
A blue mist formed, coalescing into a recognizable form. The wings were the first to appear, extending in an immense spread. Then the head showed itself; blue emerald eyes pierced the fog and focused on the realm’s resident. Finally, a smile carved itself; the long-awaited visit was there.
‘Took you awhile.’ Her voice echoed in the nothing-night, resonating in earnest joy. ‘Were you okay?’
‘Now I am better than I have ever felt. You cannot imagine how much I am at peace with myself.’
‘I can imagine. I saw it,’ the voice emulated a laugh. ‘How are my children? Have they recuperated? Are they still in horror of me?’
‘You are a legend for them. Respected as such. Remembered in stories. Some bad, some good. Some denounce your madness, others denounce the other’s madness, and others still praise you for wanting to deliver them from corruption. In the great scheme of things, you are neither loathed nor lauded. You are the Last Dragon Lord, the Mother of their kind, and that is enough for most.’
‘This much time has passed, then…’ There was relief in the voice. A liberation from doubt the visitor felt was too familiar.