In this scene which takes place early in the novel, we see Vyranoth struggling with Alexstrasza and the others’ decision to become Ordered – changed by the Titan Keepers. Not yet a Primalist Incarnate herself, Vyranoth is approached by Raszageth – who recently became one – and we see how the friendship develops between these two, with Raszageth offering Vyranoth a sense of escape during troubled times.
For several turns of the moons, Vyranoth tried not to think of that day at the Ruby Life Pools, nor how Alexstrasza had asked her to join the five flights. She could not imagine allowing titan magic to change her, even if it would allow her to stay by Alexstrasza’s side.
The keepers found Vyranoth and her primal kin wanting. They found the whole of the world wanting, which was why they forced their order upon it. But the planet was already perfect in its innate beauty—why should it be forced to submit to the titans’ whims? Why should Alexstrasza and her flights hold the titans’ views so much higher than those of their own kind?
After all, hadn’t the illustrious Tyr failed to defeat Galakrond? Hadn’t five primal dragons, working together, found a way to fell that beast? And if Vyranoth knew the story true, why then did Alexstrasza feel she needed the titans’ power at all? How had her own strength not proven sufficient?
These were the thoughts that rolled in Vyranoth’s mind, day in and day out, as seasons passed. While she could certainly understand the Aspects’ desire for greater power, it seemed naïve to trust the keepers. Hadn’t their titan-forged trapped and captured primal dragons in the north? Even if Alexstrasza and the other Aspects had fought to free those poor creatures, the damage had been done—it was obvious the titans and their creations saw dragonkind as little more than servants . . . or worse, as thralls.
Perhaps that was why the flights’ oaths gave Vyranoth such pause; she would not serve a force she neither knew nor understood. Could Alexstrasza say, truthfully, that her keepers would never ask her to do something she disagreed with? And if it came to that, what then?
One afternoon, Vyranoth could not sit with these thoughts any longer. She left her aerie and took wing. The cold, icy gales that whipped around the peaks were a panacea to her, easing her troubled heart and chasing away her doubts. Overhead, the clouds rumbled and roiled. Webs of lightning raced along their bellies—an unusual sight this far to the north, where the air was usually too cold to produce such phenomena. The snows had yet to fall, but she could sense the blizzard swirling in the skies above.
Vyranoth reveled in the storm that swirled around the mountaintops, enjoying the fierce, frozen day. The sheer power of the storm was a delight . . . and perhaps in one dark, small corner of her heart, Vyranoth could understand why Alexstrasza might seek a stronger wind under her wings. Regardless, the Dragon Queen should have sought such power from the world itself, not from an external force.
As Vyranoth soared around one of the peaks, enjoying the wind in her mane, a familiar voice thundered from the clouds: “Vyranoth! I did not realize you enjoyed chasing the gales.”
“Is that you, Raszageth?” Vyranoth halted, turning her attention skyward. It wasn’t unusual for the Incarnate to follow the winds across the Dragonwilds.
With a laugh like the crackle of lightning, a large primal dragon dipped from the clouds. For a dragon so young, Raszageth nearly matched Vyranoth in size—part of that was due to having been imbued with the very element of storm, no doubt. Rumors said the Storm-Eater was capricious, volatile; but Vyranoth had never sensed any malice from the Incarnate. On the contrary, Raszageth seemed to exude a wild glee, a feeling that Vyranoth had experienced little of late.
“Who else but me?” Raszageth said, tossing her head. Sparks snapped between her four great horns. “I hope you do not mind the . . . unannounced intrusion. I am here to follow the storm and naught else. But since you are here, would you like to fly with me?”
“Fly with you?” Vyranoth said, giving her wings a great beat to rise higher in the skies. “And where shall we go?”
“Anywhere we want,” Raszageth said with a grin. “Let us see how great a gale we can whip up with our wings! Let us make the greatest of blizzards to shake the sky!”
It sounded like the right sort of distraction to take Vyranoth’s mind off the concerns that had tormented her for so long. So, with a nod of her head, she followed Raszageth into the maelstrom.
They spent a thrilling afternoon racing through those peaks, stirring the storm into a frenzy. The winds howled in Vyranoth’s ears and tore at her wings. They ducked and dived, spiraling through the storm. The snows raged, each flake sharp enough to shred a lesser dragon’s wings. Lightning arced through the sky, answering the Incarnate’s call.
Raszageth challenged Vyranoth to wild, death-defying games—they would plunge toward the ground, and the last to halt their descent would be declared the victor. Vyranoth lost this game every time—she was far more cautious than the Storm-Eater. However, Vyranoth often bested the Incarnate in breakneck races through the Peaks, sometimes dodging past great bolts of lightning to win.
Raszageth was not trying to harm her, but the Incarnate wasn’t afraid of alarming the older dragon, either.
Despite the chill of the storm—and her companion’s rather unnerving penchant for danger—Vyranoth’s blood burned in her veins. Her heart pounded in her chest. She could not recall a time in which she had felt so alive, not in many, many long years. No, not just alive . . . liberated. Free. She stopped thinking about her loneliness, about the Aspects and the Incarnates, and about their keepers and their loathsome Order magic. She stopped thinking, stopped worrying, and just lived.
As the day began to die, Vyranoth and Raszageth let the storm ebb. They landed on a ledge just north of Vyranoth’s aerie, watching the winds settle and the snows drift away.
“You realize that you could become as I am,” Raszageth said, giving her head a shake. “Incarnate, ever powerful.”
“Did Iridikron tell you to say that to me?” Vyranoth said without malice.
“No,” Raszageth said, chuckling. “I merely sense that you are a kindred spirit. I have friends in all the far-flung corners of the world, but few of them revel in the storm as you do. Fewer still can bear the wrath of my maelstroms.”
Vyranoth turned her head to the sky, watching the storm continue to ease into a gentle snowfall. “It has been many long years since I have felt so free.”
“Perhaps that is because you are listening to your instincts, rather than fighting them,” Raszageth said. “Can you imagine how much more free you’d feel after being imbued with the elements?” Her features twisted into a smile. “It is dangerous. Very dangerous. But I believe you have what it takes to embrace the elements and master their powers . . . should you so choose.”
The suggestion gave Vyranoth pause, then Raszageth continued, “However, it matters not what you are to me, so long as you love the storm. Friends?”
Vyranoth’s breath caught in her throat, but otherwise, she made no outward sign of her surprise. Friends, just like that? Vyranoth barely knew Raszageth . . . but perhaps there was a kinship there, forged in storm. In understanding. In acceptance.
“Friends,” Vyranoth said with a nod.
The Incarnate grinned. “Come, then,” she said, launching herself back into the air. “I will show you stronger winds, and we shall truly fly free.”
The keepers found Vyranoth and her primal kin wanting. They found the whole of the world wanting, which was why they forced their order upon it. But the planet was already perfect in its innate beauty—why should it be forced to submit to the titans’ whims? Why should Alexstrasza and her flights hold the titans’ views so much higher than those of their own kind?
After all, hadn’t the illustrious Tyr failed to defeat Galakrond? Hadn’t five primal dragons, working together, found a way to fell that beast? And if Vyranoth knew the story true, why then did Alexstrasza feel she needed the titans’ power at all? How had her own strength not proven sufficient?
These were the thoughts that rolled in Vyranoth’s mind, day in and day out, as seasons passed. While she could certainly understand the Aspects’ desire for greater power, it seemed naïve to trust the keepers. Hadn’t their titan-forged trapped and captured primal dragons in the north? Even if Alexstrasza and the other Aspects had fought to free those poor creatures, the damage had been done—it was obvious the titans and their creations saw dragonkind as little more than servants . . . or worse, as thralls.
Perhaps that was why the flights’ oaths gave Vyranoth such pause; she would not serve a force she neither knew nor understood. Could Alexstrasza say, truthfully, that her keepers would never ask her to do something she disagreed with? And if it came to that, what then?
One afternoon, Vyranoth could not sit with these thoughts any longer. She left her aerie and took wing. The cold, icy gales that whipped around the peaks were a panacea to her, easing her troubled heart and chasing away her doubts. Overhead, the clouds rumbled and roiled. Webs of lightning raced along their bellies—an unusual sight this far to the north, where the air was usually too cold to produce such phenomena. The snows had yet to fall, but she could sense the blizzard swirling in the skies above.
Vyranoth reveled in the storm that swirled around the mountaintops, enjoying the fierce, frozen day. The sheer power of the storm was a delight . . . and perhaps in one dark, small corner of her heart, Vyranoth could understand why Alexstrasza might seek a stronger wind under her wings. Regardless, the Dragon Queen should have sought such power from the world itself, not from an external force.
As Vyranoth soared around one of the peaks, enjoying the wind in her mane, a familiar voice thundered from the clouds: “Vyranoth! I did not realize you enjoyed chasing the gales.”
“Is that you, Raszageth?” Vyranoth halted, turning her attention skyward. It wasn’t unusual for the Incarnate to follow the winds across the Dragonwilds.
With a laugh like the crackle of lightning, a large primal dragon dipped from the clouds. For a dragon so young, Raszageth nearly matched Vyranoth in size—part of that was due to having been imbued with the very element of storm, no doubt. Rumors said the Storm-Eater was capricious, volatile; but Vyranoth had never sensed any malice from the Incarnate. On the contrary, Raszageth seemed to exude a wild glee, a feeling that Vyranoth had experienced little of late.
“Who else but me?” Raszageth said, tossing her head. Sparks snapped between her four great horns. “I hope you do not mind the . . . unannounced intrusion. I am here to follow the storm and naught else. But since you are here, would you like to fly with me?”
“Fly with you?” Vyranoth said, giving her wings a great beat to rise higher in the skies. “And where shall we go?”
“Anywhere we want,” Raszageth said with a grin. “Let us see how great a gale we can whip up with our wings! Let us make the greatest of blizzards to shake the sky!”
It sounded like the right sort of distraction to take Vyranoth’s mind off the concerns that had tormented her for so long. So, with a nod of her head, she followed Raszageth into the maelstrom.
They spent a thrilling afternoon racing through those peaks, stirring the storm into a frenzy. The winds howled in Vyranoth’s ears and tore at her wings. They ducked and dived, spiraling through the storm. The snows raged, each flake sharp enough to shred a lesser dragon’s wings. Lightning arced through the sky, answering the Incarnate’s call.
Raszageth challenged Vyranoth to wild, death-defying games—they would plunge toward the ground, and the last to halt their descent would be declared the victor. Vyranoth lost this game every time—she was far more cautious than the Storm-Eater. However, Vyranoth often bested the Incarnate in breakneck races through the Peaks, sometimes dodging past great bolts of lightning to win.
Raszageth was not trying to harm her, but the Incarnate wasn’t afraid of alarming the older dragon, either.
Despite the chill of the storm—and her companion’s rather unnerving penchant for danger—Vyranoth’s blood burned in her veins. Her heart pounded in her chest. She could not recall a time in which she had felt so alive, not in many, many long years. No, not just alive . . . liberated. Free. She stopped thinking about her loneliness, about the Aspects and the Incarnates, and about their keepers and their loathsome Order magic. She stopped thinking, stopped worrying, and just lived.
As the day began to die, Vyranoth and Raszageth let the storm ebb. They landed on a ledge just north of Vyranoth’s aerie, watching the winds settle and the snows drift away.
“You realize that you could become as I am,” Raszageth said, giving her head a shake. “Incarnate, ever powerful.”
“Did Iridikron tell you to say that to me?” Vyranoth said without malice.
“No,” Raszageth said, chuckling. “I merely sense that you are a kindred spirit. I have friends in all the far-flung corners of the world, but few of them revel in the storm as you do. Fewer still can bear the wrath of my maelstroms.”
Vyranoth turned her head to the sky, watching the storm continue to ease into a gentle snowfall. “It has been many long years since I have felt so free.”
“Perhaps that is because you are listening to your instincts, rather than fighting them,” Raszageth said. “Can you imagine how much more free you’d feel after being imbued with the elements?” Her features twisted into a smile. “It is dangerous. Very dangerous. But I believe you have what it takes to embrace the elements and master their powers . . . should you so choose.”
The suggestion gave Vyranoth pause, then Raszageth continued, “However, it matters not what you are to me, so long as you love the storm. Friends?”
Vyranoth’s breath caught in her throat, but otherwise, she made no outward sign of her surprise. Friends, just like that? Vyranoth barely knew Raszageth . . . but perhaps there was a kinship there, forged in storm. In understanding. In acceptance.
“Friends,” Vyranoth said with a nod.
The Incarnate grinned. “Come, then,” she said, launching herself back into the air. “I will show you stronger winds, and we shall truly fly free.”
Reprinted from World of Warcraft: Dragonflight: War of the Scaleborn. © 2023 Blizzard. Published by Random House Worlds, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC.
