The wind howled like a thousand forgotten ghazals as Vyrathax cut through the clouds above the Ashen Peaks. Asad Khan clung to the ridge of scarlet scales just behind the dragon's massive neck, the Original Verse Shard burning warm against his chest like a second heartbeat. The world below stretched in a tapestry of jagged black rock, steaming lava rivers, and scattered floating isles that bobbed like verses half-written and abandoned by the gods. His companions were arrayed behind him in a precarious line: Lirael pressed close, her half-elven arms wrapped around his waist for balance; Elara Voss sat with regal poise further back, her silver braids whipping in the gale; Grom Ironvein muttered dwarven curses while gripping a scale with one hand and his hammer with the other; Thrag the Bold laughed into the roar of the wind, one massive green arm steadying Silas, who clutched the dragon's hide with white-knuckled terror.
Asad closed his eyes, letting the rush of flight fill him with a joy he had not known since the mushairas of old Delhi, when wine and wit flowed freer than blood. In that distant life he had been Mirza Asadullah Khan Ghalib—penniless, heartbroken, watching the Mughal world crumble under British boots—yet even then verses had lifted him above the mud of Ballimaran. Here, the cosmos had granted him wings of literal fire. He spoke softly, voice lost to the gale yet heard by all through the shard's resonance:
"Baazm-e-duniya mein hum bhi the, lekin ab
Udaasiyon ke paron par udte hain hum"
(In the world's gathering I too was present, but now
I fly on the wings of melancholy)
The words shimmered outward. Vyrathax rumbled deep in its chest, a sound like distant thunder that vibrated through every rider. The dragon's ancient mind brushed Asad's own: Poet, your sorrow tastes of centuries. Share it, and I shall carry it lighter.
Lirael leaned nearer, her breath warm against his ear despite the cold. "Asad… Mirza… whatever name you wear today. When you speak like that, the air itself listens. Tell us more of the world you left. Not the battles—the quiet moments."
Asad smiled into the wind. The request opened floodgates he had kept dammed since awakening in Thornvale's mud. For nearly an hour as Vyrathax flew south, he spoke—voice rising and falling in the measured cadence of a master reciter. He told of Delhi's narrow galiyas where poets gathered under lantern light, of Umrao Begum's quiet strength beside seven tiny graves, of nights spent drinking and writing while creditors hammered at the door. He recited full ghazals from memory, adapting them gently to the present:
"Hazaaron khwahishen aisi ke har khwahish pe dam nikle
Bohat nikle mere armaan lekin phir bhi kam nikle
Ab yeh dragon ke paron par udte hain armaan
Jo kabhi Delhi ki galiyon mein the qaid"
(A thousand desires, each one enough to take my life
Many of my wishes were fulfilled, yet still too few
Now these desires fly on dragon wings
That once were imprisoned in Delhi's alleys)
Each couplet caused subtle magic: clouds parted in heart-shaped formations, mana-crystals on passing isles glowed in sympathetic rhythm, and the riders felt their weariness lift as if shared sorrow had been lightened. The System responded in gentle blue windows visible only to Asad:
[Poetic Essence Overflow Detected – Shard Synergy]
Temporary Party Buff: Wings of Longing – +22% stamina, +18% resistance to fear for 4 hours
Experience Gained: +340 (narrative resonance)
Companion Bond Strength: Lirael 68% → 74% | Elara 41% → 49%
Elara listened with violet eyes half-closed, as though hearing echoes of her own people's lost bards. "Your wahdat al-wujud—the unity of existence—mirrors the oldest scrolls in Sylvandar's floating libraries. The First Bard was said to be a soul from beyond the stars, drowning in a foreign world before singing Elyndor into being. You… feel like his echo returned."
Thrag snorted, though his laughter held respect. "Echo or not, ye made a dragon our taxi. In orc lands they'd carve your name on every axe. But tell me, poet—when the Silence dogs come sniffing, do we rhyme them to tears or feed them to our new red friend?"
Grom grunted agreement, beard whipping. "Hammer first, rhyme second. But yer way works too, lad. Never thought I'd ride a dragon without ale involved."
Silas, still pale, spoke for the first time in long minutes. "The Order taught us dragons were chaos incarnate. Yet this one… listens. Your verses didn't command it. They reminded it of what it lost. I was wrong about so much."
Asad reached back and clasped the young man's shoulder briefly. "Questioning is the first true verse, brother. Silence is only the absence of courage."
The flight stretched into afternoon. Vyrathax angled lower to skirt a sudden silencing storm—gray clouds laced with anti-magic lightning that the dragon sensed instinctively. A small aerial skirmish tested them: three Silence Order sky-skiffs, slender vessels propelled by muted rune-sails, rose from a hidden canyon outpost. Their crews fired bolt-arrows tipped with null-crystal.
Combat unfolded in the sky, swift and exhilarating.
Vyrathax banked hard, roaring flame that melted one skiff's sail mid-air. Thrag stood tall on the dragon's back, axe whirling, bellowing a crude war-chant that clashed against the suppression fields. Grom hurled a hammer that returned on a tether of dwarven chain. Lirael's arrows left trails of light. Elara sang a high elven note that tangled two skiffs in phantom vines grown from cloud-stuff itself.
Asad, heart pounding with the old thrill of mushaira duels turned deadly, unleashed a rapid couplet:
"Teer-e-nazar se bach na sake koi
Dil ke maidan mein har taraf dushman hi dushman"
(No one can escape the arrow of the gaze
In the battlefield of the heart, enemies everywhere)
The words manifested as literal arrows of focused longing—phantom shafts that struck the remaining skiffs' rune-cores, causing them to falter and spiral downward. The crews abandoned ship, parachuting with gray cloaks billowing like defeated banners.
[Aerial Skirmish Victory – Multi-verse Combo]
Experience: +720
Level Up! Now Level 14
New Skill: Sky Ghazal (Rank E) – Verse effects gain flight mobility and 30% range increase while airborne
Vyrathax Bond: +15% (Mutual respect deepened)
By late afternoon the spires of Aetherhold rose on the horizon, crystal towers catching the sun like spears of light. Vyrathax descended in a wide, majestic spiral, wings casting a crimson shadow over the city. Panic and wonder erupted below. Horns blared from the walls. Citizens poured into streets, pointing upward. Dragon-riders of the king's own guard scrambled to intercept, only to pull back in awe when they saw the massive red form bearing the royal party.
The dragon landed with surprising grace in the vast outer bailey of the Rose Throne Palace, claws scraping flagstones and sending sparks flying. Servants scattered. Guards formed a wary ring. King Eldric III emerged onto the high balcony, flanked by Queen Lira and a knot of nobles, his face a mask of astonishment and calculation.
Asad slid down first, helping the others dismount. Vyrathax lowered its head respectfully, then folded its wings and waited like a living monument.
Minister Thalor hurried forward, robes askew. "By the First Bard—what have you brought upon us? A dragon in the heart of the capital!"
Asad bowed with the elegant flourish of a Delhi courtier. "A freed ally, my lord. The Silence Order sought to bind Vyrathax and turn its fire against all improvisation. We returned the opposite."
The king descended the stairs slowly, eyes never leaving the dragon. "You speak truth? Prove it."
Asad turned to Vyrathax and spoke a single gentle couplet:
"Qaid se azaad, ab tu apna raasta chun
Dil ki awaaz sun, aur duniya ko dikha"
(Freed from captivity, now choose your own path
Hear the voice of the heart, and show the world)
The dragon lifted its head and breathed a controlled plume of harmless warm air that smelled of cinnamon and distant forges—symbolic fire, not destructive. Then it spoke into every mind present, a deep resonant voice that carried no threat:
I am unbound by the poet's word. The gray ones sought my silence. He gave me voice again.
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Some knelt. Others cheered. A few Silence Order agents in the retinue slipped away into shadows, faces pale with fury.
King Eldric stepped closer, voice trembling with rare hope. "Then you have done what generations could not. The Silence Order grows bolder daily—whispers in every court, bribes in every guild. This act will force their hand. Tonight we hold feast and council. All of you—rest, then attend. The city is yours to walk until sunset."
The hours that followed blurred into a whirlwind of wonder and subtle danger.
First came the baths and fresh garments provided by the palace: silken robes for Asad embroidered with subtle verse-runes, leather finery for the warriors, flowing elven silks for Elara. Servants whispered legends already forming— the peasant poet who rode dragons and spoke to gods.
Asad walked the palace gardens with Lirael at his side, the late sun turning rose bushes to flame. She touched his sleeve. "You could have claimed the dragon for yourself alone. Power like that… kings would kill for it. Yet you shared."
He stopped beneath a flowering arch, voice soft. "In my first life, power shared was the only kind that lasted. Hoarded gold turned to dust; shared verses echoed forever. Besides—" he smiled that wry Ghalib smile "—a dragon is poor company for poetry if it eats the audience."
She laughed, and for a moment their hands brushed. The System noted:
[Companion Bond: Lirael – Romantic Potential Unlocked 12%]
Later, in a quiet alcove, Elara found him alone. The elven lady carried a small crystal orb from her satchel— a memory-stone from Sylvandar. "Watch," she whispered, touching it. Images shimmered: ancient bards singing floating cities into existence, a lone figure in traveler's robes stepping through a starlit rift. The figure's face blurred, yet the posture, the tilt of head, the way words visibly wove reality—echoed Asad's own.
"You are more than reincarnation," she said. "You are continuation. Stay with us beyond this war. Sylvandar's libraries would open for one who sings as you do."
Asad felt the pull—beauty, knowledge, belonging. Yet Delhi's ghosts whispered of transient loves. "The road is long, my lady. But I promise verses shared under your floating spires."
Thrag and Grom dragged him next to the Singing Tankard tavern just outside the palace walls for the promised duel—now a celebration. The half-orc bard roared crude ballads of axe and ale; Asad countered with refined ghazals that made tankards overflow with enchanted foam and caused the rafters to bloom with phantom roses. Laughter shook the beams. Grom won an arm-wrestling match against three soldiers. Silas watched from a corner, smiling tentatively as he sipped his first mug of non-Silence ale.
Yet danger threaded the merriment. Twice Asad sensed watchful eyes—gray-cloaked figures in alleys, a poisoned dart that missed his cup by inches, shattered by an instinctive micro-couplet:
"Zahar bhi amrit ban jaaye
Jab dil mein ho khuda ka naam"
(Even poison becomes nectar
When the heart holds God's name)
The System flashed warnings:
[Assassination Attempt Foiled]
Silence Order Hostility: +41%
Intrigue Ghazal Cooldown: Used – Motive Revealed: High Cantor Mara survived; seeks personal vengeance
Sunset brought the grand feast in the Rose Throne Hall, now transformed. Long tables groaned under roasted mana-beasts, crystal fruits, and flagons of sung wine. Musicians played safe runes while underground bards, emboldened by rumors, slipped in forbidden couplets. Vyrathax rested coiled outside the open balcony doors, head lowered so its eyes could watch the proceedings like twin suns.
King Eldric rose during the third course, raising a goblet. "Tonight we honor Asad Khan, Verse Sovereign, and his companions. Through their courage, a dragon flies free and the Silence Order bleeds. Yet greater trials loom. Their excavations continue in hidden places. We must strike first."
He turned to Asad. "Name your reward. Gold? Title? Lands?"
Asad stood, the hall falling silent. He had prepared this moment across two lifetimes. Voice steady, he recited a new ghazal born from the day's flight and the dragon's gaze—original yet steeped in Ghalib's soul:
"Udaasiyon ke paron par jab udta hoon main
Har teer-e-nazar ko apna dil bana leta hoon
Dragon ke aag mein jal kar bhi na jalta hoon
Kyunki ishq-e-haqiqi mein har aag ko thanda kar deta hoon"
(When I fly on the wings of melancholy
I turn every arrow of the gaze into my own heart
Even burning in the dragon's fire, I do not burn
For in true divine love, every flame grows cool)
The words hung, then bloomed. Roses on the throne burst into fuller flower. Candles flared brighter. Every heart in the hall felt a momentary lifting of private grief. Even the king's tired eyes cleared.
The System erupted:
[Masterpiece Performance – Court & City Wide]
Political Influence: +62% across all factions except Silence Order
Experience: +1850
Level Up! Now Level 15
Class Evolution: Verse Sovereign → Ghazal Emperor (Partial) – Unlock Domain of Rhyme: Create small verse-zones where raw poetry overrides runes for 10 minutes
Title Gained: Flame-Tongued Bard (+35% charisma with dragons & crowds)
Quest Chain Update: Shadows of the First Verse – Phase 3: Prepare for Open War
Applause thundered. Thrag slammed his tankard. Elara's eyes shone with something deeper than respect. Lirael's hand found his beneath the table.
Yet in the shadows behind the throne, a single gray-robed spy slipped out, carrying news of the dragon, the shard, and the poet who could not be silenced.
As the feast continued into the night—dances, more recitations, quiet conversations under starlight—Asad stepped onto the balcony alone for a moment. Vyrathax's massive head turned toward him.
Poet, the dragon rumbled privately, the Silence prepares a greater ritual in the Veiled Abyss. They seek to mute the Great Verse itself. I will carry you there when you call.
Asad placed a hand on the warm scale. "Then we fly soon, old friend. But first, let the city remember what verse can do."
Below, Aetherhold's streets glowed with lanterns and spontaneous song. For one night, raw poetry flowed openly—ghazals, ballads, elven lays—defying every silencing edict.
The poet from two worlds stood between dragon fire and rose throne, heart full of longing and conquest.
The war of words had truly begun.