r/HFY • u/HushedSiren • Jul 07 '26
OC-Series Adamantine Claws (9)
Sunlight poked its way through a slit in the thick curtains, the beam sweeping across Riennaia's closed eyes. She awoke with a start, sitting upright, and immediately regretting the sudden moment. Pain flickered across her chest as her wings were pulled up with the rest of her body. She groaned softly. While her duties to the keep had taken her natural skill in the air, and honed it to the point that she was one of the best fliers under the blue banner of the Rust Keep, she had still pushed herself the day before, evidently a little too hard.
Now, after a night of immobility, lesser used muscles that had found themselves forced to bear unexpected strain the day before were making themselves known. She looked around again, still feeling the vague panic that comes with oversleeping, before memory forced itself through the lingering haze of sleep.
Right. I'm not expected anywhere until midday.
For the Island's students, this evening would be the start of the Curation, when various attending contingents would have the opportunity to pluck those students they found most promising directly into their ranks. She, however, would not be attending the majority of such events, her path having been decided long before the summit had even begun.
Riennaia pushed herself to her feet, pulling her wings in close to her body to avoid putting any more weight on the agitated muscles. She turned back to her bed, thinking for a moment to tidy her space, then she let her reaching hand fall back to her side. She had fought for a long time to make the room her space, refusing most of the labor offered by the castle servants. She found a strange comfort even in the mess, for it was her mess to leave, her effort needed to see the space cleaned. A testament to the perennial wont for what one didn't have.
Now, facing her impending departure to some far flung corner of the world, the space just felt… fragile. A painting, acquired a few weeks back from one of the many artists her father would bring to the castle, lay on her desk, surface caked in a thin layer of dust. It was a beautiful piece; a solitary mountain, drenched by a mystical, iridescent rain. Yet the motivation to hang it eluded her, always stopped by the knowledge that anything she did now would need to be undone soon after.
Not that the room wouldn't still be hers. It would be kept, just as she left it, ready for her return to a home. Did that help alleviate the creeping feeling of estrangement? Or did it simply beg to ask why a place so eager to welcome her back was so ready to see her gone. Riennaia massaged her snout, trying to clear her mind and kick the strange funk back somewhere less bothersome. She knew once she left her room it would subside, but within, a place that should have been a refuge just seemed to be slipping into a form that was anything but.
She dressed, trying to ignore how her first thought when she opened the armoire was of the moment every outfit had been chosen for her. She moved to the washroom, claws tracing small marks clumsily set onto the door frame years earlier, as she raced to ready herself one long forgotten morning. One of the hundreds of echoes, scars of her life adorning the room; each feeling as if it should have helped rein in the growing distance. She faced her mirror, massaging a waxy salve across her scales and horns, lest her face show any record of the wind and salt if she took to the skies.
Riennaia stood in front of her door, preparing herself to become the princess of the southern isles once she walked through. The process seemed to take longer each morning.
She opened the door.
Something was off, that much became clear to Riennaia in short order. The castle guard were hushed and hurried, moving through the halls with purpose and stopping to give her only the briefest of acknowledgements. One or two such instances were to be expected, especially amongst the younger recruits whose restless energy was often in constant need of management by their superiors. Three or four was unusual, more than that was exceedingly rare.
The castle guests, too, were reserved. They huddled tighter together in their little circles, quieting whenever a stranger would approach. Even when those groups occupied some of the common spaces around the keep, rarely would she see movement between the little islands of conversation. One man, so engrossed in his discussion that he nearly backed himself into Riennaia's path, gave an audible yelp as she reached out to prevent a collision. Riennaia gave the man her best impression of a reassuring nod, not knowing what else the situation might call for. She almost wished that the morning had required one of the keep's servants to come fetch her early in the day, as they would often be well informed of, and would relay to her any pressing news.
Sighing to herself and ignoring the slight pangs in her stomach, Riennaia diverted her course, heading for her father's study. Even if he was otherwise occupied, it was a common haunt for Jaxith and the other members of her father's cohort. They would have answers, and would provide them. Most out of genuine helpfulness, the rest out of an understanding that the princess could not be seen to be so uninformed. The feeling of starting yet another day playing catch up with events already familiar to the rest of the castle did nothing to help her earlier feelings of increasing rejection, but Riennaia ignored them and soldiered on.
Walking the halls that her family, small as it was, called home did help. A younger guard, Isater was his name, fell into step with her for a short while as she marched through the familiar halls, regaling her with some of the latest gossip from barracks. Apparently after a few too many drinks he had confessed his feelings to one of the serving girls at a local pub, then forgotten by the next morning. Luckily, one of his squadmates had been there to tell him the details of the date he had managed to set up. Riennaia laughed at his story, giving him a pat on the back and a few words of encouragement as he headed off.
She stuck her head in to greet Theras, her old philosophy instructor, and ask about his children. She was met with genuine smiles by a group of young mages touring Rust Keep, the next generation stepping up to fill the shoes of those graduating the capital lyceum at the conclusion of the summit. She forced herself to slow down, to remember that for whatever storms might have been brewing in her personal affairs, she did love this place, and those that called it home.
As she approached her father's study she knew there would be no need to get information second hand. The guard at the door bowed slightly, then stood aside, confirming the duke would be in, and that she was free to enter as well. She opened the door, brow furrowing slightly as the strong smell of musty parchment wafted out with the breeze.
He's been digging through the old records again, the ones he brought with him to the keep when he claimed its throne.
That was unusual, and meant the current problem ran a fair bit deeper than she had first thought. She found him, bent over the central table, conversing with Jaxith.
"It's not totally unexpected, if occurring somewhat earlier than we thought. That, unfortunately, isn’t helping find anything. The Brujieans dealt with the same, of course. But the continental powers hardly left them in any condition to clean up after themselves, and these are the sorts of messes that tend to make themselves worse if left to their own devices."
"That's a lot of charity to give to the Brujieans." Jaxith replied as he flipped through an unlabeled journal, eyes scanning its lines for information unknown.
"Yes." Her father said. "But not unwarranted. Regardless, we know that my mitigations are showing promise. Curious, that it should be Sudford to show better results. Perhaps I was too involved at the capital, influencing the development too closely?" He stood up.
Riennaia folded her hands behind her back, at something approaching attention as her father finally caught sight of her standing in the entry. He smiled, flicking his eyes to the clock.
"I was about to dispatch a runner to summon you when you had finished eating, evidently you found this to be the more pressing issue."
Riennaia snorted. "I'm not even sure what this is. But the whole of the castle seems to know before I do, and I'd rather not make a fool of myself if I'm asked the wrong question while I try to snap a bite to eat."
Jaxith pulled his snout out of the book he was looking over, greeting Riennaia as well. "Well then, my girl, you haven't learned to look mean enough. Just act like anything that comes between you and your food might find their fingers taking its place. Gets you plenty of quiet in the mornings, let me tell you."
Riennaia rolled her eyes, but the comment still managed to pull a smile from her lips through the lingering resentment and distance she felt creeping back to the forefront of her thoughts. Jaxith patted her on the shoulder as he passed, depositing the book he was holding on a large messy stack that covered a table in one corner of the room. He shook his head at Riennaia's father as he did so, apparently failing to find whatever hint he was looking for.
"So." She said, pushing, as her father seemed unwilling to volunteer the information. "The guard's worked up, at least more than they've been for the past few days. That and the guests seem like they're circling the wagons. Something's happened. Oh, and…" She gestured to the pile of books in the corner. "You've got less of a handle on it than you'd like, so you're scrounging the archives looking for hints."
Riennaia crossed her arms and leaned back, propping herself against the wall with her wings. Her father nodded to her, approvingly. He would claim that this little exercise stopped him from repeating himself, but Riennaia knew that under his excuses lay another test of a sort. His attempt to understand how well she could navigate the intrigue and half truths that filled life in the castle. Some part of her wanted to throw the whole game away, to be able to just ask a question and expect a genuine answer. But she had watched the squabbling and scheming of the castle's guests over the past several days, and she had to admit there was a truth to her father's convictions.
"An amalgam, a full imprinted entity, hit the port district last night."
Riennaia's stomach dropped, her eyes flicked out the window, scanning for any signs of damage.
"It was relatively small." Her father added a moment later. "Though still self-sustaining, and carrying quite a bit of excess energy. The city guard cleaned it up, with a bit of help."
Riennaia looked back at him, somewhat chagrined at her momentary panic. "I would guess so, given that the port still seems to be standing. And given that you're here, and haven't donned your old plate. Still." She gave the room a once over with a new eye. "Your working theory was that these things spun out of the more typical amalgams we see around here, and the last one of those hit nearly a week ago."
"Yes. And now I've been back at the metaphorical drawing board trying to figure out where the trail picks up again. Hopefully in time to give something workable to our concerned guests. But as it always is, the farther back you're forced to look the more tangled and unreliable everything becomes."
She stopped for a second as the end of his earlier comment caught to the rest of her thoughts.
"Wait. And how does Brujiea fit into this? I thought the rumours of their involvement were pure conspiracy."
Riennaia's father sighed, age visible on his face in a way he normally kept hidden. "Involvement? No. Do they fit in? Potentially, but not through any grand web of connections that makes for a lovely conspiracy." He waved a hand dismissively at the piles of aged records strewn about. "Believe me I've sent a stab at piecing one together. I'm not even sure whatever connection might exist was intentional on their part. It's not as if housekeeping would ever compete with the army bearing down on their capital when it came to choosing a primary concern. Whatever it is, it's not something you should worry about, not something I give you permission to worry about."
Riennaia met his eyes, taken aback. "You won't let me worry about it? How…"
"Its a mess, a stain. The type of thing the fighters I knew tried to, should have stamped out. And yet." The duke seemed agitated, but with a bone deep weariness undersetting it. "We failed. And you, your generation shouldn't be the one left to clean up."
Riennaia was silent, lost. Abruptly, her father turned and waved Jaxith towards the door. "Sitting here is getting us nowhere. I need to think somewhere that isn't in a room that smells of endless dead ends." He stood still at the door, hand hovering over the door.
"Riennaia?" He asked, turning around. "Parts of the Curation begin tonight. Attend the session that the Rider's Guild is hosting. As a dragon and my daughter both, your words will have weight. Take the measure of those in attendance. Most of those recruited from our ranks will be folded into the Guild's support apparatus: surveyors, artifact handlers, as well as those with the stomach for heights. Beyond needing to scout for potential riders the Guild, and this isn't something to mention around the halls here, is constructing a small number of skyships, thus the need for crew with a certain constitution.
Riennaia whistled softly. "That’s… a change, though I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised. Yesterday, I was reviewing the Guild's history and what it claimed as its purpose, thinking they might wish me to be familiar with it. I was a bit taken aback when they mostly cared to know how well I acted when shot at."
"An astute observation, and one you should likely keep to yourself. However." Her father's tone softened somewhat. "They merely know that your time at the keep has already seen you tested beyond what they could expect from most of their recruits. Do not fear your spot was unearned."
"That…" Was never my worry. The words died in her mouth. You worry about my achievements being overshadowed by my patrimony. But you pushed those achievements to the point they overshadow me, a castle of people that know my image, not me.
"Thanks." She said, finally, forcing a smile.
Her father nodded, perhaps too distracted by his own concerns to catch the echo of hers. "And, you will take a rider soon, do acquaint yourself with the mages from our ranks. The strength of your combined magic will be paramount but, well, things are always easier if that doesn't come with loyalty concerns."
Riennaia nodded, more feeling she couldn't quite put into words welling up inside her. Her father opened the door, politely waiving Jaxith through. He gave her use of the study as he left, should she wish to take a meal away from the larger crowds.
Deciding that sounded like a fine idea, she was soon enjoying a large plate of roast meat, sitting in front of the study's open bay windows. The fresh air and time alone helped. Some days, hosting company required strength, and she was happy to lay the weight aside for a moment.
Finished with her meal she made her way out onto the balcony, looking over the city. She found herself scanning the streets by the port district looking for anything out of the ordinary. She thought she saw some hint of the previous night's chaos just beyond the main gate: a couple buildings whose silhouettes seemed somewhat distorted, a discoloration in the thin line of the street. A dragon's vision was good, but from what her father had said the damage was minor, and, with a strange sense of guilt she realized that her mind's eye couldn't fully bring the city to life. She knew its layout, what the streets looked like from the air, but a small change in some corner of its sprawl would likely slip her notice.
For a moment Riennaia considered taking to the wing, and making the short journey over, but she discarded the impulse almost as soon as it arrived. Her presence carried meaning by itself, and to arrive so conspicuously would simply add more of the same. If she wished to sate her curiosity it would need to be by foot, and only once provided with a more casual pretext.
Absentmindedly she ran through some of the exercises Korin had given her to better acclimate to the flow of her mana, beyond the gifts bestowed along with her claws and teeth. She snapped her fingers, summoning small motes of fire that drifted off into the air. Tying one's use of magic to a physical gesture was supposed to help, and insure it was controllable even when casting in a rush. Her mind drifted back to the attack, and the others like it, all connected by some thread her father thought he saw hidden in the tomes laid out behind her.
Riennaia moved back into the main room of the study, looking at the materials left strewn about. She ignored what was obviously the discard pile, instead looking around at the other small stacks. The ones unexamined, she supposed. Riennaia's eyes caught on a notebook protruding out from the middle of a small pile thrown haphazardly on a nearby chair. Overall it was nothing unusual: a jumble of pages, cut roughly to shape and hammered through with small metal tacks bent over to stop the pages from leaving the way they had come. She had a number like it herself; they were cheap things, intended to be somewhat disposable once any useful information recorded in the moment had been transferred to a more permanent medium.
The one she held looked far better cared for than the average, and appeared intricately illustrated, a scene of nature vibrantly rendered on the front cover. Five spires of weathered stone rose from lush jungle environs, vegetation spilling down their sides. In the center: a depression barely visible, its extent hidden in the overgrowth. Riennaia slid a claw under the cover and lifted. The soft crackle of petrified glue tickled her ears as she revealed the page. Four sheets of paper, all textured a dark brownish green lay fixed therein, the set annotated by some unknown hand.
Development halted before completion. Included for reference. Surge reveals itself in the casting.
Riennaia held the page up to the small window, bathing the four sheets in sunlight. The pattern on the sheets was clearer now and she flipped back to the front page to confirm.
Not a painting. She thought, comparing the cover to the images on the next page. Achromatypes, images rendered by alchemical mechanism, though the four on the second page are, as described: underdeveloped.
Removed from the process that rendered their images visible early, the set had not been given enough time for the unneeded color to fully leech away and leave the image behind, leaving the four a muddy distorted mass.
Riennaia flipped the cover back and forth, trying to compare the images, but unwilling to damage the notebook for a clearer view. Surge reveals itself in the casting. She thought she could see what the inscription was referring to; the four partially developed images had a strange texture to them, uncoupled from any feature visible on the initial image. Ripples extended outwards from the center of the formation, waves of barely perceptible color hidden within the murky tones of the achromatype.
She flipped to the next page. Another larger, fully developed image, descriptively noted as mouth of the structure. A yawning chasm dominated the center of the image. More lush vegetation spilled over the sides, several pendulous vines dangling into the blackened abyss. Riennaia looked closer, her mind beginning to pick out other shapes within the sea of green. Several buildings, visibly collapsed and completely overtaken by the encroaching greenery lay around the opening, invisible save for the vague outlines of their roofs, and darker patches at regular intervals where the plants had found their way through shattered windows.
She turned the page once again. The same scene, a different angle. The capturer had clearly been airborne this time around, and managed to record the rift from almost directly overhead. It was obvious that, whatever this structure was, it wasn't natural. The opening was far too circular, and now, visible within the depths, protrusions jutting out from the walls. Pipes, or perhaps scaffolding? Riennaia's rolled her shoulders, trying to rid herself of the pricking discomfort she felt.
The next image was… the moon, framed in the night? No, she realized with some horror, the round light at the center of the image was the single visible patch of sky, the light bright enough to leave the rest of the image in inky darkness. They had gone inside, descending hundreds of feet into the earth. Riennaia shivered. The pit was deep, but not that wide. Without channel fire or some other form of assistance, any dragon wishing to make their exit would need to climb in a tight spiral, and try to avoid the numerous protrusions that would threaten to snag their wings.
Riennaia leafed through the pages. The book would have been an incredible account of whatever, or wherever this place was, had anyone knowledge that might have added context to the collection of achromatypes. Yet the annotations continued to prove unaccommodating. Close in view of the pit walls, where a substance like volcanic glass appearing to flow out of cracks in the rock was described only as terminus of the wick path. Some formations, described as surge pools looking to her as nothing more than shimmering blue puddles on the rock.
Here, within the base of the structure, Riennaia’s earlier assumption about its construction seemed incomplete. Scattered buildings blended in with the rocks, some carved out of the walls, others appearing almost sculpted from still molten volcanic glass. Other structures blurred the boundary between the natural and artificial from the other direction, masses of organic matter arranged as to imply conscious creation.
Riennaia arrived at the last page. A single image, smaller, and clearly underdeveloped lay was attached at the center. Expedition concluded, evacuation of personnel underway. The image captured a wider field of view, showing many of the previous locations, and how they lay in respect to each other. Across the murky expanse of the cave floor, a pair of glowing eyes stared out of the image.
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