The Sword of the Wyrm Gods

[White Wyvern57]

Prologue: The Guardians at the Lair​

A piercing cry, reminiscent of a dragon's roar, shattered the gloom of the throne room, filled with heart-wrenching despair.

Beregon jerked awake upon his orichalcum throne, wondering what had disturbed his slumber. Yawning loudly enough to shake a mountain, he stretched his arms above head. Blinking blearily, and trying to clear his foggy mess of a mind, he looked down at the ancient scrying portal.

It took him a few seconds to process what I was seeing. The shock of what was happening before him jolted him to full alertness. The normally inert runic symbols now thrummed with power—power that did not come from himself.

Then, with sudden understanding, he saw a pale blue orb with countless stars creating a beautiful backdrop. It was more than just a mirror—it was a fully fleshed-out projection of a place full of potential.

"That explains a lot," he thought ruefully, his eyes gazing at the planet hovering before him. "This version of Earth is always steeped in tragedy, thanks to those damnable Magi and Vampyres… but something seriously wrong must have happened for it to reach me all the way here."

Earth, the home of humanity, is a world of possibilities. In many histories, magic has impacted mankind for good or ill. One such reality is the Moonlit World, once full of mystery, but as mankind advanced scientifically, the mysteries of magic faded away, leaving only magecraft—powerful, yes, but inferior to the magics wielded during the Age of Gods.

But now was not the time for recalling old history; it was the time for action. With a gesture, Beregon zoomed in on the source of the cries. The array completed its task, revealing a scenery filled with vibrant nature, reminiscent of my home world.

Grass of the deepest green spread beneath a sky of deep blue. Flowers grew in patches across the field, while a towering oak tree dominated the landscape near a clear cerulean lake. Birds sang happily in the background from a nearby forest, while in the distance stood a tall ivory tower. He could have sworn someone inside it was looking back at him.

Despite the beauty, there was an undertone of great sadness. As the array's scrying spell approached the lake, weeping could be heard. In this paradise, one could hear cries of pure despair.

"Why?!" came the mournful cry from under the oak tree. "Why did this have to happen to him? Must we be forever separated by the whims of fate or gods?!"

A young woman in a teal dress lay crying beneath the ancient oak, tears staining her dress. Her blonde hair swayed in the wind as her cries echoed throughout the surroundings.

'Oh dear, oh dear,' Beregon thought, visibly wincing at the sight of the young woman wallowing in grief.

"Oh Shirou…," the young lady wept, her hands falling away from her face to reveal brilliant emerald eyes. Tears streamed from them like waterfalls, and her expression, now marred by anger, held a draconic fury.

Raising his left hand, he paused the runic array's image. With his other hand, he pinched the bridge of my nose. For the name Shirou was one the denizens of this world believed long dead. Never mind the other implications of him being…

'No, I need to contact his family,' he thought, gulping.

"I need to speak to them about this," Beregon thought, barely suppressing my glee at the ramifications, alongside the trepidation at the meetings (and paperwork) to come, not to mention the likely refusals to accept he was alive. "This… this could change everything."

One hard lesson he had learned about dragons: never threaten their offspring or mates. It appears some fools angered a dragon in mortal form, by doing something stupid to someone she loved, one believed long dead by his family.

"Time, I may require your assistance," Beregon said to seemingly thin air before a woman appeared.

"Yes, my lord?" Time replied, her voice seemingly coming from everywhere at once. She bowed respectfully, her form a reflection of the celestial movement of the universe—a humanoid shape made of an unobstructed view of stars in the night sky.

"Did you know about this?" he asked quietly, gesturing toward the runic array.

"Did you know Shirou was still alive?"

"Yes, my lord, I did," she replied, her voice the mournful echo of dying stars. "But I was only recently informed. He was alive… until just a few hours ago when he was executed by those he had saved from a great disaster."

The shadows of the throne room lengthened and swelled as my fury nearly sent my power out of control. I took a few calming breaths, trying to regain my composure. It wasn't working.

"So he is dead…," he ground out. But then a thought struck him. "Shouldn't he have been able to escape? I mean, he couldn't have just transfor…?"

"No, he could not, my old friend," came the response, not from Time's lips, but from a woman clad in polished armor with a one-and-a-half-hand blade of exquisite craftsmanship strapped to her side. "He was not aware of his heritage, nor of anything else related to it."

Her face was less stressed than the last time I had seen her, looking younger and free from the weight of leadership, her bright scarlet locks and beautiful green eyes making her look truly beautiful.

I recognized the sword at her hip; its aura was different from what he remembered. I had once wielded it many, many years ago before my self-exile. A powerful blade, one he had used to save his home planar, and in the process, self-exile himself to this fortress in the outer realms. I snorted internally, for that self-exile ended as soon as it began due to many factors.

Stil…

"Ayra? How did you…?" Beregon began, then stopped himself. It wasn't the time to ask how she had come to be here. He started again. "What do you mean he didn't know? What could have possibly prevented him from knowing his bloodline abilities?"

"A fire," she replied simply.

He gaped at her, the absurdity that a fire, of all things, could affect Shirou.

"It was made from a curse, the fire was," she elaborated.

"Oh…" he said lamely.

"Come on, Beregon!" she said, grabbing my arm, her fluffy cat ears flicking in annoyance, her equally fluffy tail swaying in tandem. Her piercing emerald gaze turned toward a door behind my throne. "The Great Wyrms wish to speak with us about this whole mess. They even dragged Akatosh in from his planar reality!"

"What do you-?!?" Beregon managed to exclaim as she dragged him toward the council chambers. "Ayra, come on! I can walk by myself!"

"Ok!" she chirped cheerfully, letting go of his arm.

Beregon sighed as he rubbed his gauntleted wrist, the expression on his face embarrassed as he turned to look back at Time.

As he opened his mouth to say something, she interrupted him, saying "I will be at the meeting as well my lord." And then she faded out of sight.

"Let's get to it then," Beregon said flatly to Ayra. "Don't want the bosses to get annoyed with us for being late."

Ayra nodded seriously and they both began walking towards the archway that led to the Council's chambers. Stained glass windows depicting scenes of battle and bravery lined the halls, moonlight glinting through them and casting shadows.

After a few minutes of walking together silently, they finally reached the door beneath the arch.

The doorway was flanked by two statues made from enchanted marble, and decorated with golden filigree, the gemstones in their eyes flickering with an inner fire. Right in front of the door, stood two guards, both armor clad in Outland Mithril Armor.

"My lord and lady!" both guards said as they saluted them and stood at attention.

"At ease!" said Ayra, nodding at both of them.

They both dropped the salutes, but remained in parade rest posture. One of them then asked, "You are both here for the meeting, I presume?"

"Aye, that we are," Beregon said. "I assume we need to present identification?"

"Nay, milord. The Siblings are here, as are The Father and Akatosh. Bahamut's and Tiamat's siblings couldn't make it. The Queen of Miscellania and Etcetera, when she arrived, instructed the statue scanners to be activated, so we know that you are who you say."
"What about the Crimson One?" Ayra asked. "I know it was going to be here, but I just wanted to make sure."

"Aye, the crimson one is here, my lady." was the reply from one of the guards. Then, the guard said, "Akatosh had to be dragged here by Lady Isara…"

Ayra winced at that. She was going to press further, but the door suddenly glowed with a faint light and began to steadily open.

Beregon then said formally, "Good work men." and then strode past them.

"Good, keep up the good work boys!" Ayra said cheerfully as the doorway opened, and she and Beregon walked inside.

---

Edit as of 08/26/2024: I have updated the chapter and further fleshed out the story to flow better.

 

[White Wyvern57]

Chapter 1: A Sword Forged in Flames ​

It was an ordinary night, or so it seemed. Recently, however, there had been multiple disturbances that the local police force had been unable to resolve. Fortunately, due to an anonymous tip, the police discovered that the wanted serial killer was dead. While many breathed a sigh of relief, others remained uneasy, sensing that this was merely the calm before the storm.

Those who belonged to the latter group were correct. The odd occurrences of the past few days paled in comparison to the true disaster that was about to unfold...

Boom!

With that single sound, followed by a rush of roaring flames, a night of hell on earth began.

The flames twisted and writhed with a cruel will of their own, reaching out toward those attempting to flee. The fire exuded sheer malevolence and wicked intent as it spread beyond its point of origin.

Friends doubled back to help each other off the ground, rescuing them from being trampled by those concerned only with their own survival. Family members desperately tried to save loved ones trapped under debris or still inside their homes. Lovers embraced with closed eyes as the flames closed in, finding solace in each other as they faced inevitable death. The flames consumed them all, leaving nothing but charred remains.

Buildings meant to last for decades crumbled before the searing might of the conflagration. Modern or ancient, nothing could withstand the living flames as they rampaged through the city center; even the newly constructed municipal building, destined to be a hub of activity, had completely collapsed.

Things that should never have caught fire did so anyway, reduced to cursed ash and cinders. Even animals were relentlessly consumed by the vengeful flames, as if the fire wished to obliterate both man and nature. The nearby waterways choked on ash and debris. The flames cared nothing for the laws or powers of the world; they existed only to spread evil and despair, rage and hatred.

Amidst this scene of carnage, with wails of despair and cries of desperation filling the air, Shirou staggered onward. His only purpose was to survive a few more seconds in this hellscape, to escape death's cold grasp.

He ignored the cries and pleas for help from those he passed, prioritizing his own life over theirs. People who might have been saved, or at least survived a few more minutes, were left behind.

Insidious whispers cackled in time with the flames, echoing in his mind and clawing at his sanity. But, stubborn as iron, he refused to succumb to the dark words attempting to invade his thoughts. Shirou resisted as best he could, fighting the flames' will with his own, pushing himself forward to survive. To live.

But the boy knew that in order to do so, he had to make sacrifices. With a survival instinct that would both impress and horrify, Shirou began to relinquish pieces of himself to the fire.

The first to go were his memories, from birth until that very night. The flames eagerly consumed them like a starving beast. But still, they pursued him, demanding his life.

Next, Shirou sacrificed his emotions, bit by bit. What good were they if they only hindered his survival?

His hatred held him back? He tossed it into the flames.

His sadness, which made him want to turn back? He discarded it.

His despair, which nearly brought him to his knees? It, too, was cast into the maw of the fire.

Happiness, fear, anger—all of it gone. All that remained was a whisper of the emotion known as love, clinging stubbornly, preventing him from becoming truly hollow. Along with this sudden stubbornness came the faint sound of two names, Shirou... and Elcaladaron.

The blackened flames roared and raged in frustration at this, but they were mollified when the young boy suddenly collapsed face down from sheer exhaustion.

The flames sped up toward the boy who had somewhat defied them. But as they reached out, the sound of thunder rang out, and rain began to fall.

This rain, however, the flames could not burn. The sky, once choked with smoke and ash, opened with thunderous booms around Shirou. With an unearthly shriek, the flames retreated, withering before the rain that now fell upon the entire city.

But for Shirou, the rain had little effect on what the fire had done to him, for he lay there, slowly dying. Then a man's voice cried out nearby, desperately searching for survivors.

"Hello?! Is anyone out there?!" the voice called into the night as the rain continued to pour. "Please! If you can, give me a sign!"

Shirou could barely breathe, let alone muster the energy to call for help. But as the man's voice grew faint, Shirou heard the rapid clinking of metal as someone in full armor ran to his side.

"Oh, thank the Twelve and Io!" a woman's voice exclaimed as she turned him over.

"Oi! Beregon!!!" shouted the woman with scarlet red hair and striking green eyes in a knightly suit of armor. "I found him! But we're gonna need help! He's fading fast! You too, scraggly-looking man!"

"There's someone still alive?!"

"Hurry up!!! We probably don't have much time!"

Two more pairs of footsteps crunched on ruined brick and mortar, and soon two men came into Shirou's field of view. One was another armored figure, the symbol of a butterfly proudly stamped on his chestplate. The other was a scraggly-looking man with ash-covered black hair and eyes that shone with a mixture of emotions as he rushed to Shirou's side.

A sudden golden light erupted as the man held his arms in front of his chest, and a finely crafted sheath, colored gold and royal blue, appeared. Carefully, the man placed it over Shirou's chest, and the sheath slowly faded into golden particles that sank into Shirou's dying body.

Energy flowed through Shirou's body, enough that he could finally take a breath. Slowly but surely, life returned to him, and the man began to cry with a smile on his face.

"Thank you!" the man said to Shirou, tears beginning to fall from his eyes. "Thank you for being alive!"

As Shirou saw the man's smile, he wondered to himself.

"Can I ever be as happy as that if I saved someone too?"

Then the golden-eyed boy fainted, having gone beyond the limits of any normal human being.

It was later reported by first responders that the thunder sounded like the roar of some kind of animal, as did the few other survivors who had miraculously escaped the flames. This was dismissed as a form of PTSD by all who were involved in the Great Fuyuki City fire.

But none of that mattered in the moment, as Shirou was rushed to the hospital, unconscious but dreaming of swords and a golden light in the shape of a dragon.

---

Edit as of 08/23/2024: Updated the chapter for better flow of the story.

 

[White Wyvern57]

The past few hours, had been hectic at Fuyuki City General Hospital. Doctors and nurses ran hither and thither in the halls, some accidentally bumping into each other as they rushed to treat those with terrible injuries and save those at death's door.

In the nearby parking lot, a triage area had been set up for emergency care for the people that were now flooding into the hospital. While there had been survivors, they had no injuries to speak of save for smoke inhalation due to the fire. There were so few patients with that condition. Those were the lucky ones.

Other patients, injured in the disaster zone, had received immediate treatment, but their conditions steadily worsened over time. It was a nightmare for the staff and volunteers who responded to the crisis.

And it was this nightmare that three adults, two men and a woman, came upon after being evacuated to the hospital. One of the men carried a young red-haired boy in his arms. Thankfully, none of them needed to go to the triage area and were instead ushered into the main building.

Once inside, the young boy was taken from their group and was admitted into the Hospital and put into an observation ward. While he was being treated, the three adults had a tension of silence that was palpable to the other patients in the waiting room.

It was a few hours later that a nurse came by to give them an update.

"I'm looking for a…" she paused looking down at the clipboard in her hands. "…Mr. Emiya, and Mr. and Mrs. Kazehana?"

"Yes, that would be us," came the response from Kiritsugu Emiya, his eyes still holding a haunted look at what he had witnessed. The three of them stood up and walked towards the nurse with trepidation in their hearts, fearful of bad news.

The nurse seeing this, smiled calmly and said, "He is going to be all right. The poor child had symptoms of smoke inhalation, which is why we put him on a respirator. He's just unconscious."

"Thank the kami," Mrs. Kazehana said softly, as Mr. Kazehana placed his hand comfortingly on her shoulder. She reached up and gently squeezed his hand in response.

"When can we see him?" asked Mr. Kazehana.
"As soon as he's awake I believe. But the doctor in charge of his case isn't sure when he'll wake up," Was the nurse's reply. She looked curiously between the two and then asked, "Are you his parents perhaps?"

When both of them shook their heads negatively, the nurse looked despondent. But then Mrs. Kazehana replied, "No, but we do know his parents, his mother to be precise. She's an old friend of ours and has been searching for him for 5 years."

"I believe he was adopted by the Enjou family about five years ago, if I recall correctly," Mr. Kazehana informed them.

"I see…" the nurse said slowly. Then she hesitantly asked, "Are they still alive?"

"Unfortunately not," Kiritsugu answered. "All we found were two burnt bodies in their family home. It was right in the path of the fire."

The nurse sighed and nodded, jotting down the new information on her clipboard before walking away.

Kiritsugu then said to the Kazehana couple, with his eyes narrowing, "We need to talk."

---

Shirou awoke suddenly, his golden eyes frantically scanning the area, ensuring there were no flames nearby. As his vision cleared, he found himself standing on a narrow mountain path, the air crisp and cool, with trees lining either side like silent sentinels. No flames were in sight, meaning it wasn't another one of his nightmares.


Those to his right were sickly looking and twisted, growing on top of ancient ruins. To his left, the trees stood tall and proud, with intact buildings strewn here and there. A building with a green butterfly symbol briefly caught his eye; it looked strikingly familiar.

"Where am I?" Shirou asked out loud, his voice echoing out towards the distance.

'Am I dead?' He wondered, though the steady rise and fall of his chest seemed to mock the very idea.

"No, child, you are not," There was a short snort of amusement that sent a gust of wind down the mountain path, the trees on both sides swaying in the wind. "I remember saying those exact words to Naurelin. How long has it been since then?"

'Not very long, dear sister. Perhaps a few months or so,' responded a male voice, old and wise, carrying the weight of centuries.

"Ah yes, that does make sense." The first voice, a woman's, spoke with amusement, her tone suggesting someone who had finally overcome despair. Oddly enough her voice sounded like a chorus of women speaking in sync. "And it looks like our guest has more questions for us."

"Yes, I would be surprised if he didn't. It is not very often that someone as young as the one before us, is offered this choice," An incredibly ancient voice said, whose tone made it clear it was a male's.

Two of the voices came up ahead from the direction of the cliff, while the third came from the direction of the ruins.

"'Who are you three?' Shirou asked, his voice tinged with unease, feeling the weight of unseen eyes upon him. "Where are you?"

'Come forward, child, and all will be explained,' came a fourth voice, soft yet commanding, as if the very air urged him to obey.

"Aye, you have come this far," the third voice continued. "What are a few more steps compared to what you have already gone through?"

"Very well…" Shirou replied, resigned to his fate.

"Not like I know how to go back anyway." He muttered, more to himself than to the voices.

When he reached the end of the path, he was met with a sheer cliff face that opened up to a gorgeous mountain scenery, the valleys between them covered by fog. There was an oddity in the scenery though; there was an island nearby, held aloft without any visible support in the sky. On top of this magical marvel stood a citadel that was worn down by the passing of the ages. Nothing at all like the ruins further back down the mountain trail though, for this structure defiantly stood proud against the passing of time.

"Good you've finally arrived," the softest of the voices spoke once Shirou was a safe enough distance from the cliffside.

"I do believe it is time to introduce ourselves, no?" the third voice asked of the others.

"Agreed," Came the perfectly aligned response from the others.

Shadows appeared in the depths of the foggy valleys and from them arose four gigantic shapes. Piercing through the clouds, they appeared, banishing the fog with their wingbeats.

"Dragons.' Shirou thought with an awestruck look on his face as he gazed up at them. Somewhere deep inside of him, he felt a foreign but warm feeling.

"Hmmmm, Hmmmm. It appears they were correct my old friends," The third dragon, whose midnight sky black scales glistened, streamed with water from the now visible lake. Long and serpentine, his wings were folded against his sides. "He did not run away or faint. I normally expect that these days from mortals from his world."

"Yes, Elariel and Vorkathum were correct about him." the third voice spoke again with a whisper. He was not a traditional western dragon, instead he looked more like a wyvern, but with golden scales. The aura he exuded however, was one of extreme power as he sat atop the cliff to Shirou's left. "As were you, Midgardsormr. Did you forget that you were the one who brought this matter forward at the last meeting?"

"My apologies," came the rebuttal from Midgardsormr. "But I do believe that it was the watcher and the warrior who brought the matter forward, even if we were alerted to it an hour beforehand. And may I remind you that we are in the middle of something far more important?"


"Yes, I do have to agree with you Midgardsormr," The dragon named Bahamut replied with a sigh, shaking his head, radiant sunlight glinting off his scales. With scales the color of polished platinum, Bahmut was easily the size of a large foothill, maybe a small mountain. "What of you, Tiamat?"

The last dragon, Tiamat, who was a female and therefore more dangerous, nodded her heads in agreement. She almost looked like a hydra, except that her heads were each a different chromatic color. Red for the central one, blue, green, white and black for the others. The eyes of her many heads were twinkling in amusement.

"Yes brother," she said. "I am most thankful to those two for helping to save him. I also find it quite funny that you, Akatosh, would mention the meeting, seeing as we had to drag you to it, once we realized you weren't there. I too would also like to move on to the matter we are here for."

Akatosh chuffed, turning his head in a way that expressed embarrassment.

"Now young man, my brother and I have come here to offer you a deal." Tiamat said, turning her many heads to look at Shirou. "You can either accept it, or reject it. The choice is really up to you."

"Why me?" He asked, his gaze fading out of focus somewhat reliving the trauma of the recent tragedy. His young mind just could not understand why

"Why me and not anyone else who deserves it more? Why do I deserve it? Why should I live while others don't?!"

"Because you are still here, child." Was the response that came from Midgardsormr. "Many are those who deserve a chance and do not get it, and those who dont deserve it and do acquire a second chance."

"That, and also the fact we, and many other people have been searching for you." Bahamut added. "For good and ill."

Shirou mulled over what he had been told, thinking back towards the sight of the black haired man who had saved him. His tearful smile as he saw that Shirou was still alive.

Reaching a decision, he asked them, "Will I be able to be as happy as that man when he saved me, if I accept this deal?"

"Perhaps, perhaps not young one, but what it will give you is the power to shake yourself free from the chains of fate," Explained Akatosh. He chuckled at the look upon Shirou's face, which had scrunched up in confusion. "You will understand when you are older."

"But I take it you are accepting the deal? Despite what it might do?"

It only took a few seconds to receive their answer, for Shirou nodded his head once in affirmation saying, "Yes sir."

"Very well then," the Golden Dragon said with a sense of finality. "Bahamut, Tiamat, I believe you both can begin."

"I feel it would be best, if I were involved, my friends." interjected Midgardsormr. "I was asked to give him something by the Queen of Miscellania herself. You know what that means, I believe?"

"You can do that when he is out of the hospital MIdgardsormr," countered Akatosh rolling his eyes in exasperation. "Now shall we…?"

Seven heads bobbed slowly in acknowledgement. A feeling of power soon exerted forth from both Bahamut and Tiamat, and two talons, one from each of the draconic siblings, gently touched Shirou's forehead.

"I Bahamut, grant you the power to defend the weak and the innocent, heal the sick, and provide refuge for those in need." The point of his talon sparked and glowed with golden radiance that did not speak of war or conquest, but of peace and justice. It felt very similar to the object the black haired man had transferred to him. But there were still differences between the two.

"I Tiamat, grant you the power to smite and crush your enemies into dust, the ability to crush all those who oppose you, and the power to do what needs to be done." Her point of energy was purplish in color, and thrummed with power. This point of power felt completely different to the other one, giving off the feeling of smiting his enemies, and crushing those who dared to threaten those who he cared for.

"But we mustn't forget about the great wealth and riches."

"Oh yes brother, you're right. We must not forget that!"

"Yes, sister. After all, what is a dragon without their hoard?"

"Not a dragon at all I would say!"

"Wait… what do you mean?!" Were Shirou's last words as the dreamscape exploded with light and roared with thunder, and he disappeared.

Akatosh snorted in amusement. "Taylor thought something similar, along those lines. If I recall correctly." He reminded the dragon siblings, his voice having a teasing tilt to it.

Both siblings just gave heavy sighs at that comment. Midgardsormr just roared with laughter that shook the heavens.

---

Well this chapter gave me just a bit of trouble, but I think I got it right in the end.
As always, please like and leave reviews if you found this entertaining!