novelraw Chapter 96: The Dying Dragon, The Path to Immortality
Chapter 96: The Dying Dragon, The Path to Immortality
Garoth's dragon wings stirred up a fierce wind as he roared towards Crescent Valley, the clouds above churning like boiling water. The moment his shadow passed over the bonfires in the valley, the entire wolf pack erupted like ignited oil.
"Dragon Lord! The Dragon Lord has returned!" An old werewolf missing half an ear suddenly stood upright, pounding his chest with his front paws like a drumbeat.
This sound seemed to open some floodgate. More and more werewolves emerged—some still holding half-gnawed bones in their mouths, others not even having time to remove their sleeping claws. The cubs feigning sleep in their dens were startled awake. Too young to understand why their elders were all rushing out while howling mournfully at the sky, curiosity eventually drove them to join.
Amidst the chorus of wolf howls, Garoth folded his wings and descended upon a clearing amidst the Howling Moon Clan. He noticed several newly adult cubs pushing to the front, their eyes wide with wonder. These youngsters had clearly never seen him before, standing on tiptoes to glimpse the legendary Dragon Lord. One particularly bold cub even tried climbing onto a roof, only to be swatted back to the den by a she-wolf.
"Six years and four months!" Russell's voice rang out. The chieftain's mane showed traces of silver, yet his movements remained agile as he dashed through the crowd, the first to kneel before Garoth. "I knew you would return. The Howling Moon Clan has awaited your coming."
Meanwhile, the old Shaman emerged from a stone hut supported by Frostfang, hobbling forward with unsteady steps. Garoth observed this nearly toothless werewolf with completely whitened fur and paused slightly. He remembered their first meeting—though aged, the Shaman had stood firm with vigorous spirit. Now he appeared on the verge of collapse.
These past six years... For a dragon, merely the blink of an eye—a single sleep's duration. But for species with fifty- or sixty-year lifespans, an entire era had passed.
"You've grown mightier," the old Shaman said respectfully. "One day, your wings shall overshadow the entire Ser Wilderness, making you the world's unparalleled wyrm." Shaking off Frostfang's support, he trembled as he attempted to kneel in loyalty.
Garoth gazed downward, his massive wings deftly extending to support the elder's body. "No need for kneeling," he stated bluntly. "You seem close to death."
"Your mercy honors me," the Shaman squinted. "A werewolf's life burns briefly—please understand." After a pause, he added, "I can no longer serve you, but I've chosen a worthy successor. She is wise and will employ Shamanic knowledge in my stead. The Howling Moon Clan shall follow you for generations."Given draconic longevity—barring untimely demise or the clan's destruction—they would cycle through dozens of generations beneath Garoth's wings.
The young Shaman Frostfang showed no fear, only curiosity and reverence bred from constant exposure. She knelt in the elder's place, pressing her forehead against Garoth's claw in solemn oath. "By ancestral spirits, the Howling Moon Clan pledges generations as claws and fangs beneath your wings. We shall tear apart your foes and guard your domain until the last cub breathes no more."
Garoth nodded slightly. "I accept your loyalty. Rise." Frostfang stood, carefully supporting the old Shaman again.
Seeing the elder's state, a realization struck Garoth: though long-lived, dragons weren't immortal. All eventually reached life's end—unless they grew powerful enough over millennia to undergo metamorphosis into eternal beings, shedding mortality's shackles. This too was among Garoth's goals. He refused to one day become like the failing Shaman.
A dragon's unique physiology didn't weaken with age, but upon reaching certain years, they inevitably entered the "Twilight" state—like during Dragon Sleep, experiencing soul-deep exhaustion craving eternal rest. Succumbing meant never awakening. Such sleep was a dragon's natural death.
Notably, if an Ancient Dragon resisted Twilight's pull, battling themselves, they could survive to become an Elder Dragon—transcending Twilight to walk the Path of Immortality, breaking free from lifespan's constraints. Every Elder Dragon stood at existence's apex. Beneath deities, none surpassed them. All dragons ultimately sought this pinnacle.
As for rivaling Dragon Gods... that remained impossibly distant. Even the proudest dragon wouldn't claim such an unreachable ambition.
Garoth refocused, scanning the werewolves. As Frostfang's vow still echoed, commotion erupted. Bristlefire shoved through the crowd, flanked by followers, his crimson mane blazing like unquenchable wildfire against the night.
"Dragon Lord!" Bristlefire's voice rose. "Since you've returned, bear witness—" He wheeled toward Russell, fangs bared. "I challenge this old fool for the chieftainship!"
The pack's unrest grew. The Shaman's claws whitened around his bone staff while Frostfang's ears pricked up, neck fur bristling. Garoth studied the unfamiliar young werewolf through narrowed eyes. Though addressing him as Dragon Lord, Bristlefire's gaze held little reverence. He approached standing tall, chest out, tail high—radiating arrogance without kneeling.
"Show respect before the Dragon Lord! Bristlefire, kneel!" Russell growled angrily before bowing to Garoth. "Forgive this reckless cub's rudeness—youth makes him discourteous."
Bristlefire grinned, answering for Garoth: "The Dragon Lord cares not for trivial formalities." He bared gleaming fangs at Russell. "Enough pretenses! If you fear my challenge, surrender the chieftainship now!"
"Tradition demands challenges during full moons," Russell countered, glancing at Garoth for confirmation when no objection came.
"To hell with tradition!" Bristlefire snapped. "Don't you always say the Dragon Lord's will supersedes all?" He turned to Garoth with exaggerated smile. "Great Dragon Lord, surely you wish to see true strength proven?"
Though using honorifics, Bristlefire's tone lacked reverence. Worse, he presumed to speak for Garoth—an offense that displeased the dragon.
Have you ever been a dragon? Such presumptuousness. Garoth fixed his gaze on the youth. "You claim to be the true power here?" he finally asked, unhurried.
"Absolutely!" Bristlefire thrust out his chest.
The audacity. Garoth rarely considered himself strong—preferring to view himself as weak to avoid arrogance and approach situations cautiously. Yet here stood a mere werewolf proclaiming himself mighty before a dragon. Amusing, yet perplexing. Where did such confidence originate? Lacking draconic gifts yet brimming with draconic pride? Perhaps he possessed some hidden advantage.