Ash on Neutral Ground

Why here?

Wulfric didn’t ask it aloud at first. He scanned the shoreline instead. Every grain of sand, every bend in the grass, every place something might be foolish enough to hide. Old habits. Storm-drilled instincts.

Being assigned to protect a Draconic Prime usually meant long days perched on mountain ledges or tucked into volcanic caves. Watching dragons come and go. Racing the occasional challenger who mistook seniority for speed, and losing interest halfway through beating them. He’d outrun elder storms, broken challengers twice his size, and won races before his rivals realised they’d begun.

This, however, was new.

Not a mountain.

Not a cliff.

The sea.

And her.

Meshiune the Peacemaker stood at the edge of the grass, already dressed for the town. Travel-worn boots, layered robes, hair tied back with deliberate care. She had remained in human form since he’d set her down from his back hours ago, after the long flight from the mainland.

A century older than me, he thought. A century of practice.

Most dragons struggled to keep such a shape for more than a day. Some barely managed an approximation. Meshiune wore it effortlessly, no horns to hide, no tail slipping free when distracted. Anyone passing would think her human.

Wulfric’s form still needed work. Azure blue scales still covered his back, and his horns stretched out high above his silver hair. His tail too swung below the ragged cloth Meshiune passed him when he shifted.

She only chose me because I am fastest way here, Wulfric thought sourly. Damned Sea dragons.

“Why here, milady?” he asked at last, taking a breath.

Meshiune didn’t turn. “What do you know of my mother, storm-kin?”

Wulfric blinked. The question caught him off-balance.

“Your mother…?” He frowned, replaying it. “Ah. Shren’lea the Wise. Honoured among your kin.” A pause. “She died in battle?”

Silence stretched. The wind off the sea tugging at his ragged cloth.

“Storm-kin,” Mesh said again.

He startled. “Yes— sorry. I was thinking.”

Her eyes finally flicked to him. Truly unsettling how human they seemed, especially when you know that behind them, lies something far stronger.

“She did,” she said simply.

They crested the rise, the town spreading below them in low stone and salt-stained timber. Nets hung like bones between posts. The air was thick, damp, heavy in his lungs.

“We’re close,” Meshiune said. “Could you morph your tail away?”

Wulfric stiffened. “I— apologies, Lady Meshiune. I’ve not fully mastered—”

She sighed. “Just Mesh. Your father taught you discipline well enough. You don’t need to perform it for me.”

“Yes. Sorry. Mesh.”

He bowed, even as three humans approached along the path. Full packs. Careful steps.

Followers, he realised.

Mesh stopped short.

“Are they—”

“I heard you’re titled now,” she cut in, her left eye flashing reptilian for the briefest moment as she assessed the approaching men.

Wulfric straightened despite himself. “As of last autumn. Wulfric the Swift.”

“Very apt,” she said.

He allowed himself a thin smile, hoping that was acknowledgment in her own way.

The humans bowed. The central man lifted his sleeve, revealing the draconic mark of the sea-kin. The one beside him bore the same. The third bore magma-kin.

Mesh moved instantly. She seized the man by the collar and hauled him forward, teeth bared.

“I requested only followers of the sea-kin.”

The man gulped. “M-milady, I—”

“There are only two of us on the island,” the central man said quickly, bowing deeper.

“Lady Mesh,” Wulfric interjected, stepping forward. “They’re doing what they can. Three is always the procession for a Prime.”

She rounded on him. “I do not care about tradition, boy.”

She shoved the magma-marked man back.

“Drop the bag.”

He obeyed and ran.

Wulfric swallowed. I didn’t think things were that bad, he thought.

Mesh exhaled sharply and waved the remaining men away. “Find something for Wulfric to wear. He cannot enter the town draped in rags.”

“And your robes, milady?” one of them asked.

Mesh pushed past without slowing. “Later. Wulfric, dress quickly. We go straight to the beach.”

She didn’t look back. Just walked to the cliff’s edge, eyes fixed on the sea below.

The two men hovered around him, hands full of ill-matched garments, murmuring apologies as they tried to be useful. Wulfric endured it in silence, eventually settling into the least offensive of the options. He straightened the collar, tugged at the sleeves, and accepted that presentable was a generous term.

When he approached Mesh, he caught the tail end of her low, sharp scolding. It stopped the moment she sensed him behind her.

She turned, looked him up and down.

“Passable,” she said, already turning back toward the road.

Wulfric hesitated, then followed. “May I ask where we are going, Mesh?”

She took several steps before answering. When she did, her voice was quieter, controlled, but tight.

“My mother died on this island,” she said. “On a beach just up the coast.”

Wulfric slowed.

“That day, I took up her mantle. Became Draconic Prime. Took on every responsibility that came with it.” Her jaw tightened. “I was barely into my twenties. Title-less. Still just a child.”

“I didn’t think a title-less could become a Prime,” Wulfric murmured, then immediately regretted it.

Mesh stopped. Turned. Her gaze pinned him in place.

“Things were…” She inhaled. “They were not as they should have been.” After a pause she turned away again. “The circumstances required it.”

Wulfric gulped. “So… why here?” he asked again, almost tired of asking the same question.

“The civil war among the magma kin has reached a breaking point,” Mesh said, stopping at the edge of the town.

“I didn’t know it had become that bad.” Wulfric replied, coming to a halt beside her, trying to follow her gaze.

She grimaced, as if ready to snap, then paused, drawing in a steady breath. “The position of Prime among the magma kin is contested. So are their beliefs. On the empire. On humanity’s continued encroachment on our borders.”

“But… we’re at peace, aren’t we?”

Mesh let out a humourless breath. “Peace means little when humans strip our land bare. When they build airships to conquer the skies. They push. Always.” Her eyes hardened. “And the magma kin are done yielding.”

“So, this meeting,” Wulfric said carefully. “It’s to choose a Prime?”

Mesh glanced at him. “Yes.” She stared beyond the city. “But more than that will be decided. Perhaps the fate of our entire kin.”

She said nothing more as they passed through the town. Doors closed. Shutters drew tight. Those who noticed Wulfric’s horns and tail chose empty streets over curiosity. The two human attendants followed at a careful distance, murmuring reassurances that did little to ease the fear.

“I did not choose this island,” Mesh said at last, as the town fell away behind them and the road began to climb. “I had hoped never to return.”

She hesitated, the words catching.

“But this land belongs to no kin. It is neutral. The only place where such a gathering might remain… civil.” Her voice faltered. She stopped walking.

“Milady?” Wulfric ventured. The silence stretched. “Mesh?”

“The last time I walked this path,” she said softly, “I was in my draconic form.”

Her gaze drifted to a nearby boulder. Deep claw marks scored its surface. Weathered by time, but unmistakable.

“I thought I was running to a victory well fought.” She swallowed. “I did not know I was running to my mother’s corpse.”

The trees thinned as they descended, the forest giving way to open sky. Salt stung the air. The sound of the surf crept in, slow and relentless.

Mesh stopped.

The beach lay before them, grey, windswept, unchanged. The same stretch of sand where blood had once soaked into the tide. For a moment, she was no longer a Prime, no longer ancient or composed. She was young again. Running. Heart racing with pride and fear in equal measure.

She remembered the smell of ash. The scream that had torn the sky. The way the sea had gone so very still.

Her hand curled at her side before she forced it open.

Two processions stood waiting.

The beach was cleanly divided. Magma dragons lined the shore, all in human form. Tall, broad, their horns rising in deep crimson arcs that caught the light like banked embers. Their presence pressed heavy on the air, heat shimmering faintly above the sand.

Among them, humans hurried like insects, tending to their masters’ needs. One face stood out, the follower from earlier. He knelt at the feet of a magma dragon, expression empty, eyes dull with obedience as he watched Mesh emerge from the trees.

“It is unlikely this will end in words,” Mesh said quietly, drawing a measured breath as she surveyed them. “The magma kin are too emotional. Too driven by rage. They will only be satisfied with an honourable choice.”

“A battle?” Wulfric asked. “But this is human land.”

“Humans care little for this island,” she replied. “There is nothing here for them to exploit.”

Her gaze shifted south, toward the island’s heart. Where smoke coiled lazily from the distant mountains.

“A cannon runs east to west through the centre of this land. If blood is demanded, it will be spilled there.”

Wulfric followed her gaze, and then she seized his arm, sharp and sudden.

“Listen to me, Wulfric.”

He turned. Truly turned this time.

“If this goes badly, you will fly. You will not hesitate. No dragon alive can match your speed.” Her grip tightened. “You will return to the mountains and tell your father exactly what you have seen. You will warn him that war is coming.”

“War, but—”

“Just do it.”

Her attention had already shifted back to the magma kin, to one in particular. His human form was a lazy mockery of the shape. Nearly eight feet tall, scales still clinging to his skin, posture loose with arrogance. He stood apart, unmistakable.

Wulfric swallowed and nodded. “Yes… Mesh.”

He hesitated, glancing skyward, toward the storm clouds he knew as home.

“How will I know?”

Mesh exhaled slowly. “When this island burns.”