Caledon had often pondered on the depths of his father’s power.

  Highlord Berevan Brimstone. Herald of the eternal phoenix.

  Even amongst the nobility, he stood amongst the elite. A Highlord, leader of the esteemed Brimstone family, known for their mastery over flame in many forms.

  Throughout his childhood, he had caught only glimpses of his father’s Fearshaping. He recalled when his father's guide, the phoenix, Sale, would lounge with his family. Keeping a watchful eye over him and Viveria alike as they bumbled around with the energy and clumsiness of youth. When she spoke, warmth would blossom in the air before her, lulling a younger Caledon into a sense of security. She had been as much a part of the family as he was.

  Caledon had wept for days when Sale had disappeared.

  He recalled the times he crept up on his father’s training with Sale. Many a time his father caught him, or entertained him with wilful ignorance, conjuring up flashy displays of flame with his greatsword arts.

  There had been one day though, at the very edges of his memory, where he had seen his father’s eyes steeled with determination, and where Sale and his father had rendered pure destruction, dispelling a terrifying winterstorm. Despite the power they carried, Sale and his father had been ever gentle, humble in their abilities.

  Many only knew Berevan Brimstone as a bringer of destruction. That was certainly the image provoked when one thought of the Highlord of Flame. But, as he had quickly learned, destruction alone was not the sole purview of the phoenix’s flame.

  Regeneration, was his specialty, Renewal, an ever-burning vigour made manifest.

  Yet still, as a boy, he had counted himself unlucky. Wishing to see feats of destruction as any young boy would. When he came to realise his father’s distaste for it, for what it wrought, he came to hate tools of destruction as well. When it came time to embrace Brimstone’s flame, to become a Fearshaper himself, he wished to create.

  Given the nature of his Fear, he feared his dreams may have been dashed.

  Still, throughout the ages, he had rarely been privy to the heights of his father’s abilities. He had always thought it a shame.

  The scene before him quickly convinced him otherwise.

  The serene courtyard of the academy of Anhedonia had been reduced to ash and flame. Streaks of molten lava spread outwards from the centre of the courtyard. At the epicentre of all the destruction was a spear of dark ash, which glowed with threads of pulsating red light that peaked out from under its cracked, black surface.

  The untouchable Terror that had been the academy’s guardian had been propped up on the weapon, like a glorified fish hung casually from a fisherman’s spear. Her iridescent wings of ice were shattered and hung limply from her back, drooping towards the ground.

  As he attempted to step closer, the heat that radiated from the courtyard before him caused him to recoil. He wiped sweat from his brow, and struggled to decipher the burly man that stood so casually next to the spear, the cause of the destruction.

  Could it be…?

  As the figure turned, Caledon’s breath caught.

  The familiarity.

  It was not his father.

  It couldn’t have been. His father didn’t carry a spear. Caledon would recognise his burnished greatsword anywhere.

  Thick white hair dropped to the man’s shoulders. A build to rival his father’s own, with muscles curled around wide forearms and a barrelled chest. A thick silver beard to boot.

  He knew him only from a portrait, one of the many that hung in the halls of Brimstone Manor.

  He was the spitting image of Valeric Brimstone, his grandfather.

  "Grandfather?"

  Caledon heard a familiar sneer.

  Lord Semille, draped in the armour of the Knights of the Dreadwood emerged from behind one of the academy’s pillars that surrounded the courtyard, along with his knights. The swirling roots that comrpised their armour were singed, but they were otherwise unharmed. He must have finally recovered from his latest wound.

  "You’re kidding. He’s your grandfather? Something went wrong somewhere along the bloodline."

  His grandfather lay silent, his eyes on Caledon.

  "Semille, explain yourself."

  While the young lord was as cocky as ever, he was worse for wear. Being slashed in the throat and then in the stomach by blades of frost had it’s consequences, even with his armour’s miraculous healing capabilities. Not to mention being singed by the winged Terror that had perched on the Archcity’s clocktower. Caledon was beginning to feel pity for the poor fool.

  Yet, Semille’s expression betrayed a hint of confusion.

  None of them knew why his grandfather had descended into the academy.

  "Grandfather… you were alive? Where have you been?"

  Caledon’s thoughts raced, and he watched as the figure casually lifted his spear, irreverently flicking the academy guardian’s body away from him, sending it hurtling into a nearby pillar. The impact sent shards of stone flying.

  Finally, he met his grandfather’s eyes.

  Valeric returned a warm smile, the very same one he bore in Brimstone Manor on his portrait.

  NO.

  Caledon steeled himself, and shook himself from his reverie.

  He looked at his grandfather, again.

  In the place of that warm smile was an empty expression.

  But it was not one that bore the markings of death, no.

  Could it be… a nightviper? There’s no way.

  His grandfather was very much alive.

  His gaze though, was of the deepest gold. The mere sight of it sent Caledon’s heart racing, and he was overcome with a sensation of pure revulsion. This was different to what he had glimpsed with Triol.

  "Good. You reocognise it"

  "He isn’t dead. My grandfather… I can sense my Fear."

  Caledon’s thoughts raced. He was anything but at ease, yet his Fear had emerged to show him a warm smile in place of his real expression devoid of all emotion, or warmth.

  "Corruption?"

  He was met with no response from his guide, but it finally clicked as the realisation set in.

  He materialised his torch, holding it uselessly before him.

  "Grandfather, please-"

  In the moment between seconds, his grandfather had advanced before him. He reached out a hand, and gripped Caledon’s head, the heat from his grip searing a ring into his forehead.

  Caledon’s mind went blank.

  ---

  Caledon opened his eyes, and the scene before him had vanished in an instant.

  He floated in space, surrounded by innumerable points of light of the darkest gold.

  It felt akin to the room of descension he had chanced upon, filled with blazing balls of fire that had hung in the space between darkness.

  "What you lack in competence, you certainly have in luck."

  Caledon opened his mouth wordlessly, and his thoughts were conveyed to his guide.

  "What do you mean?"

  "Put your legendary “curiosity” to use."

  Caledon tried to will himself, to the nearest light. As he drew closer, he realised that it was in the shape of an elf. His grandfather. He lay sleeping within it, blissfully unaware of his surroundings. Even as he slept in this ethereal plane, the area around him was distorted by the heat of his aura.

  "This…"

  He wrenched his gaze away, and willed himself to move closer to the next light.

  Another elf, this one that slept surrounded by blades of every size and shape. Despite the fact that the elf was sleeping, moving in his presence felt like it put Caledon at risk of being cut.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  He moved to another, then another.

  All of them Fearshapers.

  Nausea began welling in his gut, his heart started to race.

  "What is this? They were all… corrupted?"

  He was met with only silence from his guide. No, he needed to do this alone.

  He extended his presence out, wrenching at the light that surrounded his grandfather – the source of his corruption.

  Caledon knew what he had to do. After all, it was the very thing they had set out to achieve.

  He took the corruption into himself.

  As it began to fill him, he felt his connection to his physical body wane. He momentarily lost sight of why he was here. Who he was. Before his sense of self came slamming back to him a moment later.

  "If you lose yourself to this, you will never descend. Elves were never meant to possess such power, it is as clear now to me as it has ever been."

  Caledon shunted his guide’s useless words from his head, and redoubled his efforts, pulling at the light around his grandfather. The truths of the nature of their affliction began to dawn on him.

  "Their willpower, stolen by this?"

  As he fought to keep his sense of self, he wondered if he would lose himself in the process. Then, a sudden realisation.

  Rage began to fill him, and his worries melted away.

  Caledon began to scour the plane, looking, searching.

  For a sign of his mother.

  But there were too many lights, each one a different Fearshaper sleeping within. Caledon reached out in rage and desperation. He drew more into himself. He reached out to the lights within which other elves slept.

  "Draw in too much, and there will be no one left for me to guide. Use it to create a vessel for your Fearshaping, but do not lose yourself to it."

  Caledon smirked internally, at the very first kindness his guide had shown him.

  He ignored it.

  "Stop, you idiot."

  Yet he pulled, doing his best to wrench away the corruption that surrounded his grandfather. Drawing it all into himself he searched to no avail glimpsing countless faces, before finally…

  Snap.

  ---

  Caledon’s eyes darted open,

  Valeric stood before him, the golden light in his eyes, gone.

  Caledon noticed how his grandfather’s brown eyes swept the area around him in an instant, hardening. He had adapted to his sudden lucidity in an instant.

  He growled as he regarded Caledon.

  "Grandfather."

  The man’s eyes narrowed, as he closely scrutinised Caledon’s features. He let out a hot huff of air, as his breath reached Caledon.

  "It figures you would take after your father, the troublesome bastard."

  Relief flooded him.

  "Grandfather! What happened to you? You’re alive? Why didn’t you respond?"

  His grandfather’s eyes lit up. There was a fervour in his gaze that set Caledon on edge.

  "It would seem congratulations are in order… Grandson. You’ve descended. Wings above."

  Then, his expression immediately clouded, his thoughts far away. Caledon frowned in confusion.

  "That’s right. Berevan. What have I done."

  They were interrupted by a loud snarl from Lord Semille.

  "You are his grandfather then? That boy has been harbouring the peasants that attempted to take my life! Why-"

  His grandfather turned calmly to the source of the noise.

  And called his Fear into reality.

  [Wrath of the Dragon King]

  In a split second, the air before them blossomed into red flame. A tornado of fire instantaneously manifested around them, enveloping Lord Semille and his entourage in a split second.

  The flames passed harmlessly over Caledon, his body locked up in shock.

  Lord Semille and his knights lay prone once more, the flames having torn through their armour, leaving it singed and in tatters. Yet, they remained alive.

  "Tsk. That bitch’s armour."

  His grandfather looked wistfully at the flames that rotated slowly around them, immune to the destruction that he so casually wrought. Gone in a second. Then, his father looked upwards, his voice wistful.

  "Ignael… I can’t hear your voice."

  His grandfather shook his head. With a snap of his fingers, the scene around them reverted to normality.

  Valeric’s eyes focused on Caledon once more, provoking fear within him. The realisation didn’t surprise him. Where the purpose of his father’s flame was to defend, to nurture – his grandfather’s flame wrought casual destruction.

  His father had rarely spoke about his grandfather. He had never met him, as far back as he could remember. He slowly began to realise why.

  "Afraid boy? You’re a Brimstone."

  He spat to his side.

  "How has your father been raising you?"

  He spread his arms at the destruction around him.

  "This is what it means to be a Brimstone. Where do you think our namesake came from? The hearth? We certainly aren’t called Hearthstone."

  He laughed, and Caledon internally winced. So, his long thought to be dead, psychopathic grandfather had a sense of humour.

  "Caledon!"

  A sharp cry rang through the academy. Vale, Shiver and Pevir rushed towards him. His grandfather raised palm casually in their direction.

  "No! Grandfather stop! They’re friends."

  His grandfather looked at him quizzically.

  He met Shiver’s eyes.

  "Do friends harbour the will to kill you these days? My, have the times changed."

  Shiver met his gaze with a cold smile, unfazed by Valeric.

  "Not the boy, I’m after his father."

  His grandfather let out a bellow of a laugh, which rang throughout the courtyard.

  "It appears you were too late girl. I got to him first."

  Dread welled in Caledon’s gut at his grandfather’s words.

  His eyes darkened for a moment. Then, they widened just for a split second, his grandfather clutching his temple as if pained by something.

  "We had best make haste."

  "What? Where?"

  [Wings of the drake]

  Wings of dark red flame sprouted from his back, akin to the wings of ice borne by the guardian. He felt a flash of terror at the flame, a remnant of his grandfather’s Fear.

  It was alien and strange, different from his father’s Fear - from which spurned immolation and renewal both. This was…

  "Where are you going, grandfather?"

  "Your father… I fear, I left him in a poor state. We fought. Against my will, as troublesome as he is."

  Caledon felt shock ripple through him. He raised his voice in alarm, attempting, and failing to quell his rising angst.

  Grandfather fought with father? Why? Against his will?

  Caledon’s eyes widened, as he came to the realisation. His grandfather had been under the influence of corruption, forced against his father. He gritted his teeth, and his eyes hardened.

  Valeric Brimstone laughed softly at the sight.

  "There may be a bit of Brimstone in you yet, boy. I was not possessed of my faculties."

  With a flourish of his hand, his grandfather’s Phobia, the spear of ash dissipated.

  "We must return to him."

  His grandfather’s eyes hardened.

  "He betrayed us all. Cooperating with the-"

  His grandfather, a Fearshaper at the heights of his power, fell to his knees, clutching at his head.

  Caledon watched as his eyes began to blink with gold, as if something was attempting to reassert itself.

  "I must know… why. We return to Brimstone. Come boy, we fly."

  He looked back to Vale, Shiver and Pevir. On Vale’s shoulder, a small skeleton that looked like… a rat?

  Vale looked at him with concern, and Shiver…

  Caledon steeled himself. An exit had been presented to him. Shiver’s eyes piercing into his own.

  "We bring them with us."

  His grandfather paused, looking at them. He nodded as if it would not present an obstacle. He gestured to the wings of flame that sprouted from his back.

  "Then this will not suffice."

  Dreadwalk: I strode in the wake of dragons

  As he spoke the words, Caledon’s head swayed as a sudden rush of heat surrounded him in an instant, suffocating him.

  Then, he saw something strange. His grandfather, began to shift.

  Cracks gradually appeared as his skin parted, painting its surface with dark blood. Yet, Valeric’s expression betrayed no sign of pain. His limbs elongated, he hunched, and placed all four of his limbs to the ground. Bone speared through his back, far above him. They split into piesces, and muscle sprouted from the depths of the bone, covering them in an instant, forming what looked like… wings.

  These weren’t the wings that he had conjured just a moment ago, no. Here, his grandfather was morphing.

  Into the very object of his Fear.

  All the while, his body continued to burgeon, and his face elongated, grotesquely taking the form of-

  Caledon swallowed, as he saw the living embodiment of his old house insignia, in the flesh before him. What his previous invocations has alluded towards, when Caledon had felt his grandfather’s fear wash over him.

  The dragon towered above them, and met them with eyes that burned.

  Caledon winced, as he suddenly grew conscious to the heat that hung in the air around him.

  "Come."

  A deep growl emerged from the dragon’s jaws. It crouched, allowing them access to its back.

  "Avalkin’s rotten left testicle. Never thought I’d be riding a Brimstone."

  "Shiver, this is not the time."

  Vale gripped Shiver’s arm, her fingernails biting into her skin inspite of the cold. Caledon gestured to them, and they climbed onto the dragon’s back.

  Which was when he realised, that Pevir hadn’t moved to join them.

  The stout archaeologist raised a hand to them, and shouted over his grandfather’s idle windbeats.

  "You know that my place is here! You must have seen it, the wards flickered out. The academy awaits!"

  "We’re not leaving you behind, you idiot!"

  Vale called out over the rushing wind with concern.

  The archaeologist’s lips twisted into a roughish smile. He pushed his circular glasses further up his nose bridge, giving them an easy smile. One that spoke of his passion, yet unfulfilled as it was.

  "There is so much left undiscovered. Rest assured my friends, it’s been an unforgettable adventure, and just as you pursue your purposes, I will pursue mine. After all…"

  He turned his back to them.

  "You young ones certainly spurred something in me. A desire to delve into the unknown. To confront my own Fear."

  Caledon imperceptibly drew in a breath.

  "What sort of elf, no archaeologist would I be if I had nothing to show for our reunion, eh young ones? Trust me to unveil the secrets of this Feardamned place. We barely scratched the surface. Most importantly…"

  He looked back at them with a wink.

  "I’ll save some of what I find for you when we next meet. Tell my dear niece that I’m waiting!"

  With that, his grandfather lost his patience. His idle wingbeats accelerated with intention.

  "You better stay alive you crazy archaeologist, I’ve taken a liking to you!"

  Shiver screamed down, over the wingbeats, as they slowly began to rise in the air.

  Then, they hung on for dear life.