Aslakahm slumbered, even if it maintained one eye open. It rested, even if its breathing attempted to rival the fluttering of a Starmaker’s wings. It slept, but it knew it shouldn’t. Its breath, while faint, shuddered the Tower of Infinity and all the egg-nests unfolding amidst the kingdom.

  Therefore, when the Horn of Eternity sounded, sending forth melodies that usher planets to dance and comets to hinder their movements, it came as no surprise how quick everything arose. The hibernating Starmakers emerged from within their egg-like nests, an air of curiosity and dread betraying their calm demeanor.

  Alghamior’s head shifted when the noises thundered, and his composure, whatever remained of it at least, evaporated. He abandoned his throne to tremble on its own, his limping limbs leading him to the edge of the Tower. From within the brilliant darkness of the Materium came forth three bodies. Shadows, sharp white lines traversing them and granting them much needed shapes. Lightstealers. Black fog arose with each new flap of their wings, casting an unwanted blur that cascaded with the intent of reaching Aslakahm and imprisoning its colors. Muscles tensed within Alghamior, vigor surging through his pulsing dots. What does this intrusion hope to accomplish? Hmph.

  The Lightstealers descended on a Bridge of Life, one of the four entry points within the kingdom. As they landed, Aslakahm let out a sigh for Alghamior to hear. It pleaded to be rescued from their despicable presence.

  At least their boldness didn’t push them into heading straight for Alghamior’s Throne uninvited. Respect, while an unfriendly concept to the Lightstealers, showed some hints of wishing to escape their utter darkness.

  Starmaker guardians met them on the Bridge. Alghamior squinted his six eyes, his mind carrying discreet battles and succeeding in none. What sort of courage must one have to come unannounced to a kingdom that views you as not merely an enemy, but a contempt? A curse spreads its fingers across the Materium, strangling it, squeezing its life, enslaving existence and everything it holds dear, and now Lightstealers show the audacity to impede Alghamior’s efforts of finding a solution?

  With eagerness, one guardian ascended to meet Alghamior. He idled above the Throne, spreading his six wings as the custom demands anyone desiring an audience with the king do. Alghamior nodded and the guardian landed.

  “Mighty king,” he began, “may your knowledge usher the path existence must traverse and hold the Materium in balance. An audience has been requested from you.”

  Alghamior’s face hardened, shoving forth an exhale. Audiences are meant to be granted when balance doesn’t fear for its own life. What can one expect from a Lightstealer dragon, disruptors of the Materium and eaters of his own kin’s remains?

  “The request is granted. Send forth the intruders,” Alghamior replied, despite uneasiness crawling its claws through his essence.

  “I shall deliver your response at once, mighty king.”

  As the guardian departed, Alghamior turned, the limp already asking him to head back to his seat. Showing the Lightstealers what predicament befalls the king of Aslakahm is an unwise choice. The death of his brethren is already a much despised sight.

  Alghamior shut his eyes and channeled his thoughts for a message to be sent. The Tower of Infinity came with many advantages, besides granting him the ability to view how creation is faring. The Tribunal crafted it in such a manner, that if needed, messages can be sent to any dragon belonging to Aslakahm. Even defenses can be raised, if needed. But Alghamior dreaded that concept. He reached for his councillors, informing them to leave whatever matter needs their presence and to return to the Throne..

  A series of thumps warned him that the intruders were already defiling the Throne with their presence.

  Alghamior regarded the three Lightstealers in a controlled manner, the limp now at rest, knowing his seat was supporting it. “I see you’ve grown even bolder than your roles within the Materium, Lightstealers. Such invasions, no information relayed, no hint granted, inspires me to believe that you either carry important words, or desire to enrage the Starmakers.”

  “We bring forth peace to you, king of Aslakahm,” one of the Lightstealer dragons spoke, even if his frowning eyes betrayed his attitude. His four straight lines of gleaming white seemed to desire to fight him, not engage in a discussion. “I believe the concept of peace is a matter the king of such a mighty kingdom shares alongside us.”

  Alghamior rested on his seat. “If your beliefs are deluding you into believing that treading amidst my Throne comes lightly, you better begin telling me what actually brings you here. Now.” He emphasized the last word, earning a mixture of reactions from the Lightstealers—a smirk, a step backward and a tense of the arms.

  “I believe you possess information that you are unwilling to share with your distant brethren, mighty king. Information that, mind your excellent wisdom, has to do with an apparent curse you claim to hunt down your own kin.”

  “Nothing is apparent, ‘distant brethren’, about the situation my Starmakers face. What you see is what it is. What you view from my Throne is reality. Stars are rapidly fading and my brethren are unable to replace them,” An unseen scar began to terrorize Alghamior as a result of his words.

  They stepped forth, prompting Alghamior to shoot them a glare. Such provocations when the Starmakers are already facing extinction?

  “Mighty king, surely you understand that lies and foolish games are far beneath our might. You possess arguably the most important role within existence.” He waved his claws uncaring. “Surely you wouldn’t dare place the Materium in such an uncomfortable position.”

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  “Lies?” Alghamior asked, a frown antagonizing his eyes. “You came here to name me a liar?”

  He shrugged. “You tell us what we shall name you, and we will.”

  Alghamior exhaled. “Do your eyes view me as desiring to destroy Tribunal's creations? To disrupt everything out of my own indifference and foolishness? Am I suddenly desiring to spread lies for my own supposed benefit?!”

  “We lack an answer to those questions. Precisely the reason why, under command from Lord Rahmanegol, we came to ask them from you.”

  Alghamior crinkled his snout at the mention of that name. The leader of Zhozpzsn and a power to not only be regarded, but fled from with all your strength. When a dragon grasps his title through violence and unparalleled strength, even the Tribunal ought to be concerned. Compared to Alghamior’s, his title holds no true value. It doesn’t belong to one capable of tossing aside brethren to cling to it.

  “We’ve always shared our wisdom with you, Lightstealers. We’ve spoken everything our minds possess with honesty. Nothing has been hidden from you,” Alghamior said, lifting the upper set of wings to showcase truthfulness. “Death is approaching my kin, and my knowledge seems incapable of disrupting it.”

  Steadily, each of their four eyes descended into squints. “Your knowledge is inadequate, king,” another amidst them snapped. The lines traversing his body shifted, carving muscles of insidious strength. “Tell us plainly what your wisdom has been able to do in regard to this.”

  Disdain escaped his echoing voice, prompting Alghamior into tensing. These dragons lack the awareness of their surroundings, it seems. Is Alghamior’s powerlessness that evident to those that acknowledge him for such behaviors to emerge?

  “Our own tasks are treading uncertainty, king,” he continued, much to the displeasure of the first Lightstealer that engaged Alghamior. “You rest on your Throne and watch your kin decay, but don’t seem bothered enough to end their claimed despair.”

  “Lightstealer,” Alghamior snapped, despite himself, “be mindful of your words!”

  Tribunal, he thought, give me the strength I need to tear those mongrels apart. Why have you left me in such a state, unable to stand against such disdainful sights?

  A claw held the daring Lightstealer from approaching. “You have spoken plenty, Targhanion,” the calmer Lightstealer said. “Rahmanegol left clear instructions.” He shifted his gaze toward Alghamior. “Mighty king, forgive my brethren’s way of speaking. Surely you understand why we are pushed into acting in such a manner.”

  Alghamior leaned forward. “Understanding and accepting are distinct concepts.”

  “Wise words, mighty king.” The calmer Lightstealer spun, watching Materium’s stars. Alghamior joined in the search, a smile forming in the corners of his snout. Distant dots glinted, signaling that they were carrying out their duties successfully. At least those were the lies they whispered. Beauty persevered, but… decay chased after it. As he’d grown accustomed to by now, multitudes of stars faded, falling into Materium’s unseen mouth and feeding it its essence. Others attempted to be born, but the only thing they were giving birth to is excruciating pain to the Starmakers enduring the transformation. A new discreet scar wounded Alghamior’s essence and his eyes resigned behind cover.

  “Stars are not fulfilling their cycles. Planets are crumbling without the light needed to evolve. Galaxies are slouching before your sight, king,” the calmer Lightstealer spoke, mostly to himself.

  “My body is already filled with wounds, Lightstealer. Don’t afflict me with your uncaring words,” Alghamior said, dropping his head.

  The Lightstealer returned to his initial position. “What news has arisen from within Jila? Has the Error succeeded in his task?”

  Alghamior opened his eyes. “I’m afraid no information has reached my ears as of yet. The Error is deep within the Jila and it hasn’t returned, nor do signs point to any potential arrival on his part.”

  As he finished speaking, a new wave of tension washed over the Lightstealers. “Then our creators are nowhere to be seen and here you claim a curse is terrorizing your own dragons, while you lack the ability to come up with a solution? What then do you believe us Lightstealers should do with such incomplete and infuriating information?”

  “What is it you demand me do, Lightstealers? Has existence bore such contempt to us before the Tribunal’s departure, that I may be filled with the knowledge to solve it?”

  “This is not a question we need answer, king,” the wrathful Lightstealer snapped once again. “An agreement is an agreement. The Error was supposed to find the Tribunal’s whereabouts while you, in the might you so desperately claim to possess, should’ve solved this situation with the freedom given to you.”

  Alghamior sighed. “I am doing the best I can.”

  “Not enough, king. Not merely enough.”

  “Targhanion, please,” the calmer one commanded. Reluctantly, he obeyed, leaving behind a groan before departing in the opposite direction.

  “We shall relay this discussion to our lord, as I’m sure you understand we must. But be warned, mighty king, if no solution arises from the knowledge of Aslakahm, we shall be the ones bringing the resolution.” The calmer one spread his four wings, and Alghamior swore death incarnate laid right in his face. A shadow of pure strength showcased its true form, leaving his eyes to be subdued by a tremble, the Throne of Infinity wishing it had arms to crawl itself away from his presence. “Heed our words,” he pointed in the distance, “if you fail to deliver a cure for this curse until your three brightest stars fall right before the might of your Throne, we shall return. Trust what I’m telling you, on behalf of Lord Rahmanegol, ruler of Zhozpzsn, that when fog drowns the waves of colors your kingdom displays, your kin won’t enjoy losing its brilliance. Be mindful.”

  Alghamior felt the words tear a hole through his chest. The Lightstealers held enough boldness to threaten him right on his own Throne. And he can do nothing in regard to it, other than to hope that the Error finds their lost creators and brings them home. If only strength wasn’t seeping through the pulsating dots within his body with each passing eternity…

  “Forget not that this kingdom once belonged to you also, Lightstealers,” Alghamior found the voice to say, even if a faint quiver forced itself into his words.

  “Forget not that it doesn’t anymore, mighty king.”

  The three Lightstealers departed, wings of a fearsome dark spreading with the desire to engulf Aslakahm. Alghamior was left behind to ponder on how to fix existence and how to avoid a war from erupting. For if such a situation occurs, all hope will be lost for Aslakahm and creation.