Forever

Writers: AL
Date Posted: 16th July 2025

Characters: K'lin
Description: Kedolin impresses.
Location: Barrier Lake Weyr
Date: month 8, day 20 of Turn 12
Notes: Mentioned: Donnarion

It was dark. That was the first thing that hit Kedolin’s mind when he opened his eyes, the fog of slumber quickly shaken from his mind. Normally he slept well, unable to be awoken during the night. He was the sort of person who fell asleep quickly, but also aroused early, greeting the sun as it peaked over the horizon, casting its golden hue across the horizon, and chasing away the stars. Ebony turned to cerulean, and many a dawn rose to a silent greeting from the Smithcrafter.

He was grateful they allowed him to continue his craft at the Weyr. It was hot and delicate work that engaged him, fashioning the molten globs into something beautiful, well crafted, and beautifully formed. During those times, he was able to tune out the cacophony of voices that rang through his head. During those times, he was able to feel some relief from the constant noise. During those times, he was at peace.

Donnarion had more skill in shutting out the dragons. It was not that Kedolin did not like them - quite the contrary - but their steady and incessant chatter overwhelmed him, and if he didn’t start the day with a headache, he ended it with one. In the quiet of the early mornings, however, the voices were fewer, the noise was quieter, and he could enjoy the respite, along with a polite conversation here and there with whomever was awake.

That morning was different. He awoke before the dawn, the shadows still heavy upon the earth. The insects of the night still sang their song, unwilling to give up their stage until the last second, when the light sent them scurrying into the depths of their lairs, only to emerge upon its descent.

Something was different. He didn’t know what, and couldn’t tell what, and even the thin string of conversation from the few who were awake felt changed, as if somehow the dragons knew something was on the air, but could not yet say what it was. Pushing himself up, Kedolin swung his legs over the side of his bed, the coolness of the floor shaking off any vestiges of slumber that might stubbornly cling to him, and he turned his face to the ceiling, unable to see beyond, and yet somehow, knew what lay beyond. In their mind’s eye, he could see the pale of the early morn, the sliver of blue which had only begun to push away the dark of the night.

And then he felt it. In the back of his mind, something pressed. It was neither harsh nor cold, but warm, inviting, a sense of something - no, of someone. Who? He could not tell. Already more minds slipped from their slumber, and the chatter intensified. But that presence remained. Soft. Inviting. Gentle.

He sat there in silence, unmoving for the moment, clutching desperately to that sensation, that being which had inserted itself in the furthest most reaches of his thoughts. Closing his eyes, he tried to focus on it, to return that touch. For a moment, the voices faded, like a wisp of a breeze brushing over skin. There it was, that presence, unnamed, unknown, and yet somehow, completely known, completely familiar. Then it began to slip away.

Stretching out, he ached to touch it, but somehow it eluded his grasp. Mentally, he pressed forward, reaching, grabbing, seeking to hold on to whatever it was whomever it was that touched his mind. Don’t go! His own voice echoed in his head as he called out. Don’t go. Don’t go. Don’t go.

“WAKE UP!”

Kedolin jerked at the shout so close to his ear, and turned only to see it was not meant for him, but for another candidate who remained in his bed, covers over his head as he attempted to ignore reality as it encroached upon his sleep. Blinking, the Smithcrafter realised he had stretched out his arm, seeking to capture whatever invisible being had caressed his mind, only to lose his grip. It was gone.

He wanted it to return.

For several long, aching moments, Kedolin waited, hoped, but it was in vain. Whoever had caressed his thoughts had withdrawn, and he was left alone. Reaching up, one hand drew over his face, and he rose. Whoever it was had not revealed themselves, a rather elusive trait, quite undragonlike, but he would not force them. Yet, for that brief moment, he had felt…

How could he describe it? He couldn’t. Kedolin couldn’t put words to a sensation like that, and now that it was gone, he found himself more hollow. Shaking his head, he turned and opened his trunk, retrieving some clothes. He could not dwell on such a thing, for as much as he longed for that sensation, the day would not pause, and he could not simply linger there.

He had just finished lacing his boots when the normal buzz of draconic chatter turned into a frenzy. Jerking his head up, Kedolin’s eyes still could not see beyond the boundaries of the barracks, but one did not need to hear all dragons to know what it meant, for beneath the mental clamour that rose furiously with the dawn, a long, low humming accompanied it as an undertone. It was a sound that everyone in the Weyr could hear, for every dragon and every firelizard lifted their voices to join in the throng.

The eggs were hatching.

The frenzy of voices gave way to a frenzy of motion. The need to move and move quickly blocked out anything else. His unusual slowness to begin his day turned into a race to gather with the other candidates as they were hurriedly shuffled out the door and down to the sands.

As he had been when visiting the eggs, Kedolin was the last to enter, and as he crossed the threshold, he slowed his pace. Already the stands were crammed with bodies, faces bright and eager to see what dragon hatched first, and which of the candidates would receive which dragon. Dark eyes shifted around from one side to the other, the individuals that occupied the spaces blurring together into one, giant, wriggling mass. But it all faded into obscurity, when he felt that presence once again.

Immediately, Kedolin moved forward, then paused at the edge of the sands. Other candidates clustered about, eagerly watching the eggs. Some had chosen one during their visit, one to focus on, one to hope for. Others settled on no specific egg, but still dreamed that one might belong to them. Kedolin had chosen nothing. He had neither selected an egg or thought much about whether or not one would choose him. His purpose in coming to the Weyr hadn’t been to achieve the dream of riding the skies with a lifemate. It had been to remain with his brother, to keep an eye on him, to remain loyal to the only one who had known him from the beginning.

But all thoughts of his brother were swept away. All the din of voices were mere murmurs against that sensation. It had returned, settled upon him. It did not weigh him down, but instead brightened his thoughts, like the sun finally pulling above the horizon to give light to the shadowy world beneath. Then, his eyes fell upon an egg.

It was one of the largest ones there, and it lay at the very heart of the clutch. Suddenly, breaking through, a dragonet tumbled to the ground, still wet and glistening.

}:I have been waiting for you.:{

Before the words had even finished, Kedolin moved toward the creature, his eyes seeing nothing and no one save the bronze whose head lifted, whose colourful, whirling eyes met his own. The newborn pushed himself to his feet, trembling a moment on his unsteady legs, but his voice was warm and silken upon Kedolin’s mind.

}:I knew you would come back.:{ A distinct croon, rich and velvet rumbled from the dragonet’s chest, and somehow Kedolin knew that he had been chosen even before the hatching had begun.

**Of course I came back.** He answered, swallowing as his hand stretched out to caress the head, which leaned into his touch.

}:You are mine, K’lin, and I am your Zineth.:{

Zineth. The new bronzerider murmured the name. He did not shout or explain like the others, did not turn his face to find someone among the spectators. All his focus, all his desire was upon the one who had broken from his prison so that he could be his and his alone. He did not mind the sleek wetness, his desire to touch the miracle that had sprung forth before his very eyes far too overwhelming to be squeamish over such a ridiculous thing. He was his. All his. Only his.

Zineth.

K’lin.

Lifemates.

Forever bound.

Forever together.

Last updated on the July 21st 2025

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