A mighty red wyvern soared through the sky, bellowing at the feeble attempt of an entourage that followed a dark-haired man on the plains below, half concealed by the trees. The wyvern dipped his head in descent as he roared again, bearing down his wings in calculated thrusts, he swooped to hover mere feet above the ground, cascading violent, scalding, turbulent air onto the surrounding pillars of the forest, their leaves losing all the life it had absorbed from the heavy rain that had raged all throughout the night with a different kind of outrage.

Nature is unforgiving.

And the wyvern knew of it well. His vehement, hot coals for eyes penetrating every cowering fool that showed up on this day, daring to present demands to his rider - as though his rider owed them, and their drivel of a life, any attention. He could sense the chemicals in their bodies, inducing excitement and alertness in a way that only these beings moved with such agility. However, they would not bother him in the slightest if they were but a blackened scorch mark on the forest floor.

A single gruff puff of smoke from his nostrils was all it took for him to accept this favour for his rider, so he honoured the gesture from his rider, that familiar knock against the upper part of his haunches that signalled the command to land.

At once, the air under his membranes were set free, and the very earth shivered to disperse the vibrations as he thundered onto the ground, the weight of his chorded muscles rippling lazily on impact, sending a cluster of fauna into their instinctive flight inside a league’s radius with that delicious aura of authority. He gave it a few seconds at most, then growled in satisfaction as the winds returned to their normal pace.

“Emisyre.” The voice from between his wing blades spoke with the clarity of centuries. “I believe I made clear the conditions of a return visit should you be compelled to pay recompense.”

The dozen or so men gathered before the wyvern shifted uncomfortably as they played with the weights of their weapons. An assortment of machetes and broadswords and longbows.

“Speak, when you are spoken to, son of Earth!” The voice redoubled, this time with a tinge of irritation. A tall, proud man with pristine white, shoulder-length hair streaming behind him, emerged at the swish of his red-black cloak as he unburdened his mount, standing on his own two feet to regard his audience more closely.

“Perhaps you prefer to address me on level footing.” He was a tired man. A man who has seen too much and fought too hard, just to come away empty handed playing the game of war. And so he smiled humourlessly, his face showing signs of a thousand years despite being flawless in all its contours. “I have no weaknesses, Emisyre.”

The man he was addressing finally stepped forward, similar in nature to all the other men around him yet distinguished by his dark hair and more defined features. He also happened to be the only one smiling back.

“You are your own weakness, Oh Almighty. We all know it.” Cillian Emisyre bowed his head in an excruciatingly slow manner, making sure he held eye contact with the Almighty at all times while paying his due respects. When he straightened back up, his smile was gone. “As for your recompense, you shall be paid in full. I have information for you.”

The Almighty clasped his hands behind his back and began pacing to and fro thoughtfully, his eyes set at a fixed place that only he could see. Right before he was supposed to turn, he paused with eyebrows carrying a mixture of calculated shrewdness and curiosity,

“So, the time has come.” The white-haired man let out the exhausted sigh that he had been holding in for years as he so wearily walked back to his red steed. The proud wyvern snarled at Cillian in displeasure before laying his head and chest to the ground, giving way for the Almighty to climb back onto him in preparation to depart. He waved the protruding blades along his spine all the way down to his tail threateningly. “I have no use for your information, for I am but an old man. Even so, your arrival here has told me everything I needed to know and more.”

The Almighty signalled for his wyvern to take flight and without a backward glance, called out to Cillian in a dangerous tone,

“You forget that I am the First Almighty, Emisyre.”

The smile returned to Cillian’s face – this time wider as he was overcome with malicious amusement, watching as the wyvern launched himself off the ground with one fluid thrust of his wings.

“A second age is born!” Cillian yelled after the enormous red creature in the sky gleefully, but the wyvern tipped his head up to a cluster of clouds and let loose a roar that shattered the sound barrier as he flitted through the white unknown and disappeared from sight.

Just then, Arda awoke with a start, drenched in cold sweat, and breathing heavily.