The once-serene Lake of Babel had become a crucible of devastation. What had been a pristine expanse of water now boiled under the wrath of an ancient horror reborn. The people of the city watched in abject terror as a monstrous wyvern, its body blackened and grotesquely preserved by some necrotic force, loomed over their world like a harbinger of annihilation. This was no mere rampaging beast, no rogue mana creature lost in madness—this was calculated destruction, an act of vengeance written in fire and death.
As the wyvern reared its head, another torrent of searing flames erupted from its maw, engulfing entire streets in an inferno. The screams should have been deafening, but they never came. There was no roar from the beast, no cries of agony from the burning masses—only silence. An unnatural, suffocating silence.
The wyvern faltered mid-air, its charred wings twitching as if struggling against an unseen force. It let out a guttural snarl, yet even that was devoured by the void. The beast shook its head, flapping its massive wings over its ear to shake off the deafness, but the soundless abyss clung to it, swallowing every attempt to break free. Its talons scraped against the scorched earth with desperate force, but no crunch, no echo followed. A creature built upon instincts, the wyvern found itself lost in a world where one of its most primal senses had been stolen from it.
At the heart of the chaos, Orion stood amidst the fleeing crowd, his eyes shut in fierce concentration. His breathing was steady, yet within his core, he could feel the strain building. The sound barrier he had woven over the surrounding was unlike anything he had ever attempted. The magic of sound was a rare and elusive craft—one he had barely begun to master—but here, in this moment, he wielded it as both weapon and shield.
Finally, Orion's eyes snapped open, their steely focus locking onto the wyvern's frantic movements. It thrashed in confusion, its wings sending powerful gusts through the city, toppling market stalls and tearing rooftops apart. Orion allowed himself a thin, grim smile. *You would be surprised how much we rely on our hearing.* The absence of sound was more than disorienting—it was terrifying. Even the most battle-hardened warriors faltered when stripped of their senses. And what of a mere beast, no matter how monstrous?
The wyvern's panic escalated. It roared again and again, its throat vibrating with fury, but it could not hear its own voice. Its instincts warred with the unknown; it should flee—any beast would—but something more powerful held it in place. A command from its master. This was no wild creature; it had a purpose, and that made it all the more dangerous.
Orion exhaled sharply, sweat beading down his temples. The sheer effort to maintain this vast barrier was taking its toll. His magic was not limitless, and the longer he held this unnatural silence, the more he could feel his grip slipping. It was a delicate balance, a battle of endurance between man and beast, between calculated will and primal fury. The question was: who would break first?
The answer came swiftly. Orion felt it before it happened—a tremor in the fabric of his spell, a fraying thread at the edges of his control. He had reached his limit. Rather than let the barrier collapse into chaos, he made a gamble. He let go.
Sound returned—not gradually, but in an earth-shattering explosion enhanced by little nudge of orions magic. A wave of high-pitched sonic energy burst outward, sweeping across the battlefield like a hurricane of knives. The force was deafening, a piercing cacophony so intense that the very air seemed to tremble in agony.
The impact was immediate. The people closest to Orion dropped to their knees, clutching their ears in raw torment. Some would never hear again—a brutal cost of his choice—but against the undying horror before them, it was a sacrifice he was willing to make.
The wyvern suffered worst of all. With its heightened senses, the sudden onslaught of sound was akin to shoving jagged shards of metal into its skull. The creature convulsed mid-air, its wings folding inward as it collapsed onto the ruined edges of lake. Its tail lashed out wildly, smashing through the remains of buildings, sending debris flying in all directions. It shrieked—this time audibly—and the sound was one of unfiltered agony. The pain was unbearable, the confusion overwhelming. The beast curled in on itself, wings wrapping tightly around its body in a desperate bid to shield itself from the unrelenting torment.
Orion did not waste a second. He had never intended to defeat the wyvern with sound magic alone. That was never the plan. Instead he was just waiting for right opportunity, which had finally presented itself. The moment the creature recoiled, he sprang into action, drawing a dagger from his belt. With a swift, practiced motion, he slashed his palm, crimson streaks painting his fingers. Blood dripped onto the ruined ground, and with it, he began to carve.
Runes.
With every fluid movement, the intricate symbols took shape, forming a circle around the coiled, cacooned beast. This was not the elegant, refined script of the great scholars—Orion's knowledge was incomplete, gleaned from stolen texts and whispered secrets buried deep within the archives of a library of secret order. But what he lacked in refinement, he made up for in long and basic runes.
He moved like the wind, his feet barely touching the ground as he completed the pattern. The circle was not necessary—the runes could have been laid in lines or vertical sequences—but this one specifically needed containment, a boundary for its effect.
A snare woven from the very essence of his own life.
But just when he was about to draw the last rune, a sudden spark of magic caught his attention, it seemed to cone from far away, but it was enogh to stop orions moving fingers
It was the magic he hadn't sensed in a long, long time. A flicker. A sensation at the edge of his awareness. A pulse of magic so familiar, so utterly unforgettable, that it froze him in place.
No.
Orion's breath hitched. His fingers, poised to carve the last rune, came to an abrupt halt. His mind screamed at him to seek out the one responsible. His eyes darted in that direction. But before he could act, the spark vanished—like a ghost dissolving into the abyss.
Gone. As if it had never been there at all. But he had still managed to glimps at him, it was the man he had seen at crossroad wines. One of the black masked duo.
But at the same time recognition down at him. The wyvern, as if acting upon the same dark spark orion had sensed, With a frenzied burst of energy, the wyvern unfurled its wings and let out a monstrous roar, the force of it sending shockwaves through the ruins.
it had used the dragonic tongue again.