Steel as icy cold as the northern winds of Jorrhild enwrapped his hands, the spiked gauntlets making not a noise as he flexed his fingers. The metal moved with unnatural ease, almost as if his skin was bare. He looked out through the slits of the helmet atop his head and saw only a sliver of his surroundings, and the fraction of what he saw was a living nightmare. All around him was ash and flame, mountains spilling torrents of lava while a storm of soot and fire rained down upon the barren world.
The other boy went deaf from the explosion and Côme fell into a coma. On the Ombre's records, he was honorably discharged from service for medical reasons; as it was believed the other boy had prepared a bomb of sorts to kill Côme but it had unexpectedly backfired. None of the administration knew what it was made of or how he even managed to smuggle it in but were adamant in their belief that such a low born boy would be the only one capable of such things in a castle of virtue. Regardless, the families of both boys came to pick up the now severely damaged children, exchanging nothing but looks of loathing with one another.
Côme was taken to Oakclyff to be seen by doctors, nurses, and healers employed by the noble family. After the first week or two of failure, and with his son's body deteriorating before his very eyes as the boy starved, Joquain did what he had to; turning to the Court Casters of old. The Ombre family had been employing the same lineage of Yanar Celestial Mages for generations (some tall tales claim the Yanar mage was the one who first spotted the sacred tree). It was only such a person did the Lord of Oakclyff trust his child with.
It was exhilarating. The pair broke free from the confines of gray that coated the land and into the bright canopy of clouds and sunlight. Crisp, cold air whipped at his steed, the refreshing winds aiding them as they sailed through the air. He was free. Free at last.
Cackling streaks of cyan energy enwrapped the boy, zapping any who approached. His body was suspended above the ground by some unnatural means and in an underground cavern beneath Oakclyff, magic unbounded. Light barriers had been erected by the Yanar mage who desperately tried to contain the swirling hurricane of Exist essence, the eye of the storm above the hovering body of Côme.
Their brisk flight through clear skies was cut short as the dragon suddenly dove into the mess of gray beneath them. His head held high and reeling back, the armor covered rider was incapable of pulling the beast back from its dive. In a crash of ash and fire, they broke free from the canopy of clouds and returned to the hellscape he had been so eager to escape.
