In the twilight of dawn, the sky of Planet Thareon shimmered not only with the golden hues of a single star, but with the fractured brilliance of rainbow light cascading down from above. This celestial display was no ordinary sunrise. It was the light of Thareon's planetary ring—an endless band of ice and crystal that circled the sky like a crown. When the light passed through its prisms, it painted the land in shifting hues of violet, gold, and emerald, giving the flora below a surreal and sacred glow.
Thareon's surface pulsed with life, cold-blooded creatures ruled the wilds. Massive serpent-beasts slithered through thick carpets of fern-like flora that shimmered silver under the ring light. Amphibious predators with scale-armored hides lurked beneath mirror-like lakes, their tongues as fast as whips. There were no mammals to speak of—only insects, fishes, amphibians, reptiles and creatures adapted to bask in the radiant, refracted warmth of the sky's rainbow fire.
The flora had evolved alongside them. Towering stalk-trees with translucent leaves spread their surfaces wide to absorb every beam of light. Bioluminescent mosses lined the ground, glowing with soft blues and greens even in the daylight, feeding on the energy of refracted light and returning it in pulses of color. Insects the size of a man's hand flitted from bloom to bloom, pollinating these strange flowers while dodging the quick snap of a hungry lizard's jaw.
In this vibrant and dangerous world, the food chain was a delicate but unforgiving hierarchy. Swift-scaled pack hunters stalked the brush, preying on the slow, lumbering grazers with tails like clubs and frilled heads. Massive, winged reptiles with sharp eyes ruled the cliffs, diving down like arrows to snatch prey in clawed feet. But above all others—above the blood and the hunt and the daily struggle for survival—reigned the dragons.
The dragons were ancient, immense, and wise beyond measure. They were not merely predators; they were sovereigns. Each dragon held dominion over a vast territory, and their presence shaped the land around them. Where a dragon soared, no other predator dared hunt. Their roars could be heard from mountains away, a thunderous warning to any who might overstep the invisible boundaries of their rule. Smaller predators knew better than to trespass; to do so was to forfeit their life, for dragons were not tolerant of challenge. Even the boldest hunters bowed to their rule, circling the edges of dragon domains and retreating the moment they caught the scent of draconic musk in the wind.
One such territory, lush and legendary, was the Valley of Ryn. It was a place of green and crimson—a wide expanse of soft mossy meadows broken by towering red rock formations that stretched toward the sky like the fingers of a sleeping god. At its heart lay a deep lake, its waters cold and glittering, home to freshwater fish the size of canoes that splashed and danced when the rainbow light struck the water just right.
And it was here that a child ran, barefoot and laughing, through the glowing valley floor.
Nerissa was five seasons old, a wide-eyed girl with tangled hair and the spirit of wind. She darted from her family's modest hut, hands stretched toward the sky as though to touch the falling colors. The ringlight bathed her skin in shifting hues as she ran, skipping over stones and weaving between tall stalk-leaves that reached over her head. The red rock spires around her caught the rainbow beams and glowed like rubies. To her, this was not just home—it was magic made real.
Then, the ground trembled.
A roar echoed through the valley—low, deep, and resonant like thunder rolling through stone. Nerissa froze mid-step, eyes wide, heart hammering. She turned toward the source, and her breath caught in her throat.
Over the crimson rocks soared a shadow.
A dragon white as snow, its scales glinting like pearl under the fractured light. Its wings stretched wide—wider than the village below—and with each slow beat of those leathery sails, the valley seemed to bow in reverence. Trees shivered. Waters stilled. The very air held its breath.
Alfazar, the Ancient One. The Guardian of Ryn.
He passed slowly, like a mountain adrift in the sky, his head comparable to the village's largest hut, his tail trailing like a silver river behind him. Nerissa's village, nestled at the lake's edge, fell into quiet awe beneath his flight. When Alfazar stretched his wings wide, the towering red rocks that lined the valley looked no larger than fenceposts by comparison.
A warm hand touched Nerissa's shoulder.
Her mother knelt beside her, dark hair braided with beads of bone and glass that sparkled in the ringlight. She smiled as she lifted Nerissa to her hip, her eyes never leaving the ancient dragon.
"Do you see him, my star?" she whispered. "That is Alfazar. He has watched over this valley since before our kind found it. Before your father's grandfather was born. Before the stone huts and the carved totems."
Nerissa's eyes sparkled with wonder. "He's so big..."
"He is. And the valley is his." Her mother's voice turned solemn. "The world may be wild, and the strong may hunt the weak—but even the strongest know where they do not belong. No predator dares enter the realm of a dragon, not unless it wishes to become prey itself."
Together, they watched the dragon vanish behind a red stone ridge, his roar still echoing faintly in the hills.
In the Valley of Ryn, balance was not just a matter of survival—it was a matter of respect. Boundaries were life. And the dragons were the lines none dared to cross.