Once, the Dragon had thoughts, plans, ambitions.
Once, the Dragon had a name.
The Dragon dreamed of these times, and in its sleep, it wept for what was lost. Rain fell from its bed of clouds, watering the land.
Then its dreams changed.
More memories came: of its predecessor, its form beautiful and white and hungry. The one who had infected it with the hunger that could never be satisfied. In its dreams, the Dragon was furious at its ancestor for passing on this curse. Though it knew that the original’s fate was far worse than its own, the Weeping Dragon couldn’t resist its own anger.
Until it woke, and then its thoughts would retreat back into haze, and it would revert to a predator prowling on instinct. Just food and sleep.
While it dreamed, the Weeping Dragon feared waking. But…not this time.
It found that its dreams grew clearer and clearer. First they were dreams of the past, and then they were memories. And then they were thoughts, realizations, knowledge. Plans.
What it had lost was coming back. And the Weeping Dragon realized that it was becoming whole.
It woke, and this time, it really woke.
The Dragon’s cry of joy alone killed thousands of people. It was aware of this, though it didn’t care.
Distantly, it knew that something must have happened to its predecessor. The Slumbering Wraith had died, or at least released what it had been holding.
The Dragon would check on that later. There might be something to learn.
But for now, it would relish being in control of its own body. It wanted more than just food, it wanted shelter. A domain. Children. Servants. Treasures.
Countless serpents of madra rained from its cloud, crackling with its lightning and carrying its will.
It wanted…everything.
Deep in the jungles of the Everwood Continent, the Silent King crouched in its den.
Unlike its siblings, the King had never lost use of its mental faculties. It would have been impossible to control dream madra otherwise. It was its body that had suffered.
It had never carried as much devastating destructive power as the others, and was only as big as one of these human houses, but for the last several centuries, it could be overpowered even by the average human Herald.
While it was almost always better to avoid dangerous combat, the Silent King still considered this unacceptable. It was a Dreadgod. Except by its own siblings, it should be unequaled in all respects.
The Silent King’s mind was rarely focused on its own body. Even now, it tended to its mental web. Its subjects filled the jungle for hundreds of miles. They lived in cities, talked, joked, created art. Remnants crept by newborn sacred beasts and both traded respectful nods. Neither should be as intelligent or aware as they were, but thanks to their King, they could live up to their full domain.
In these lands, there was true peace.
But this was as far as its domain would ever extend.
The thought filled it with fury, and back in its den, it opened its jaws. A waiting sacred artist plunged willingly into its teeth, and the King chewed. The snack helped a little, though of course no amount of food could ever fulfill the curse of its hunger madra.
That was a problem it could solve, though. If only it was allowed to.
For the hundred thousandth time, the Silent King ran its spiritual perception around the boundaries of its kingdom. Roots stretched all around it, roots under her command. Its greatest enemy.
The Silent King knew that its sibling, the Dragon, often lost itself in dreams of the past. But its dreams were…crude. Simple. It didn’t know how to dream. The King knew, and sometimes its dreams were so vivid as to be indistinguishable from waking.
Whenever it dreamed, it liked to imagine the elaborate revenge it would take on Emriss Silentborn. It dreamed of revenge even more often than it dreamed of plans to restore its power. The only reason for achieving its full potential was for revenge.
That, and to spread its peace over all the world.
Satisfying its hunger would be a nice side effect, but it had willpower the likes of which mere humans could not comprehend. It could withstand its own urges forever without losing itself. It wasn’t a barbarian, like its siblings. It could endure.
But when the wave of hunger aura passed over it, the Silent King drank it in with absolute delight.
While it luxuriated in the sensation, it never stopped thinking. Who had killed the Wraith? Who could have breached that prison? The Silent King had tried personally, centuries ago, and failed.
Whoever it was, the Dreadgod owed them a debt. One day, if it was so inclined, it would repay that service. Perhaps this mysterious savior would enjoy a continent in thanks.