Gou is a dark elf in Warhammer

Imrek is not stupid at all.

He looked at Leandera, at the undisguised fire in her eyes, and at the undeniable resolve in her voice, and suddenly understood something.

Combining Leander's words, her actions, and what he sensed—his illusion of the dragon opening its eyes in the distance?

No, it's not an illusion.

He was certain that it wasn't an illusion!
His face changed, and his expression underwent a noticeable transformation.

He understood. He finally understood why Leandera had asked them to leave.

She can! She can awaken dragons! She can sing the dragon's song! And...

Even stronger than him.

“You’ll die!” he blurted out.

“I should have died long ago,” Leandera said calmly, her voice not loud, but clear like the last embers in a fire. “I should have died in the war of revenge. I am already very happy to be alive today and to see you all stand up.”

“No!” Imrek gritted his teeth, took a step forward, and pleaded in a rare tone, “You will die! You can’t die like this! You can’t die like this!”

His voice was hoarse, and he finally lost control of his emotions.

"As a descendant of Imradik and Soriol..."

He paused mid-sentence.

He suddenly realized that such a declaration of identity was meaningless at this moment; he was Imrek, not Imradrik.

He lowered his head, considered it again, then looked up, met Leandera's eyes, and spoke again.

"I need you, we need you, the entire Kingdom of Caledo needs you."

"Although... I'm reluctant to admit it, you do know a lot, and your abilities are beyond doubt. We... we need your guidance and your advice."

He took a deep breath, his voice becoming earnest and firm.

"You can die, but not like this, not this way."

"Leave the rest to me."

His gaze remained unwavering, and he stood ramrod straight.

"I believe I can! I really can!"

"May I?"

The cave was completely silent.

Leandera stood there, gazing at the cave ceiling, remaining silent for a long time.

After a long while, she finally lowered her head and sighed softly. That sigh seemed to express a thousand years of wind and snow and endless regrets.

"I am indeed... cursed."

The voice was as soft as a dream, as if speaking to oneself.

She offered no further explanation or uttered any more words.

He turned and left.

Behind her, the Dragon Prince and the Dragon Mages silently watched her retreating figure, seeing her off into the distance, and no one uttered a word.

Imrek watched her retreating figure and closed his eyes.

Then, he turned around and looked at the crowd.

"You all leave too."

This time, his tone was devoid of any extra emotion.

"Leave this to me..."

He added softly.

"wait for my good news."

No one objected, no one said anything, and everyone left as instructed, their figures disappearing one by one outside the cave.

Imrek was left alone, standing in the dim cave, his breathing slightly rapid.

He slowly sat down, staring at the shadow lines cast by the faint light in the cave.

He didn't say a word, but covered his face with his hands. After a moment, he wiped his face and a bitter smile appeared on his face.

He might have been out of his mind just now.

Why didn't he leave Leandra behind to help him with the ceremony?

Does this not count as breaking a promise to a friend?
Like him, Leandera was one who received a response from the dragon.

She was qualified too; she was even earlier and stronger than him...

But now, is there any point in saying all this?

Is he going to walk out of the cave and, under the watchful eyes of all the dragon princes and dragon mages, call Lyandra back?
He can't.

I really... can't do it.

He sat there, trying to keep his thoughts from wandering. He closed his eyes and regulated his breathing.

When he was sure he was ready, he stood up, his hands trembling as he took the heart leaf from his waist and threw it into the center of the brazier.

This is a dried magical herb that, when burned, releases a pungent odor, a mixture of charred wood and iron. At the same time, dazzling platinum-gold flames rise up, illuminating every rock wall of the cave and the sky above the Dragon's Rest.

If heart-leaf is burned where an awakened dragon can see or smell it, the dragon will immediately become aware of it. If the dragon has a history of cooperating with elves, they will know that the burning herb is intended to attract their attention, and may therefore take appropriate action.

However, even if dragons are friendly to elves, they will be unhappy about being awakened, especially if those who seek their attention do not respect them, expect dragons to do things against their interests, or speak to them without a serious reason.

Imrek held his breath.

He will sing the Dragon Song alone.

He was a son of Caledo.

He is Imrek Karad.

Many years ago, Minas Nils taught him the melody.

It wasn't a melody taught through words, but a silent language, a soundless voice, a rhythm directly implanted into his consciousness. It had no language, no rhythm, no harmony, yet it was deeply etched into his soul, like an ancient seed, slumbering in the deepest recesses of his memory.

Now, it's time to sing these melodies.

The moment he finally imbued those melodies into his voice, tears silently streamed down his face. He had never imagined that his voice could utter such sorrow, such tenderness, and that the beauty of these melodies seemed so incongruous with their creators, those terrifying and majestic dragons—almost absurd.

He closed his eyes, immersing himself completely in the melody imbued with sound. The Dragon Song seemed to be a living entity, drawing upon his life force to nourish and strengthen itself. The sound pierced his bones and soul, echoing within every inch of his flesh. He could feel himself withering away, while the Dragon Song flourished.

Such a voice is far beyond what an ordinary person's voice can sustain for long, which is why he refused to accompany Leandera. Leandera had lived too long, while he was still young.

His breathing became slower and deeper, flowing out with the song. He felt as if his consciousness was sinking into the deepest chasm of the sea, where there was no light, no sound, only endless darkness and chilling silence.

That is where monsters nest, a forgotten abyss, the edge beyond reality.

Darkness swallowed everything.

But it was at this very moment that he was closer than ever before to the vast and unfathomable consciousness of the dragons. He realized that he was entering a higher level, a vast realm belonging to the dragons.

In this deep, dark, and inaccessible realm, consciousness roams freely, vast as the sea, far beyond the comprehension of mortals. They cannot be imprisoned by the body, nor defined by form; they exist between dreams, above life and death, and within eternity.

In this void, the dragons dream of distant stars, of the myriad worlds that float on the edge of the universe and surround it.

The song of the dragon surrounds him, flowing like the wind.

In this darkness, he sensed something far beyond his comprehension—an extremely slow, extremely heavy pulsation.

If the dragon's heartbeat was already extremely slow, then this sound was even slower, as if each beat required traversing an era and passing through the extinguishing of a star.

He couldn't tell what he was listening to, but as soon as the thought arose, the answer came to him naturally, like a revelation.

That is the heartbeat of this world.

He finally realized the true nature of the dragon race.

He understood that the dragon was not a sojourner of this world, but a part of it, the skeleton and bloodline of the world, the original will and the last echo.

Their connection to the world is so complex that it is beyond the comprehension of mortals. The relationship between dragons and the world is as inseparable as that between rivers and forests, mountains and deserts.

When one prospers, the other also revives; when one declines, the other falls into oblivion.

Imrek sensed the awakening of those vast consciousnesses.

They... noticed him.

Initially, the attention was vague, like the slight discomfort one feels when bitten by a flea. His call was nothing more than a trivial disturbance to these great beings, so insignificant that it was almost not worth noticing.

But they eventually noticed.

Although he knew that he no longer had a physical body in this darkness, he continued to sing the Dragon Song with even more fervent emotions and more unwavering faith than before.

He abandoned defense, abandoned fear, abandoned hope, leaving only that call that pierced the soul and tore apart the essence.

He completely filled his existence with that silent melody, making the sound one with him.

"You may take everything I own." He spoke with his soul, cried out with his consciousness in the realm of shared dreams, "But please heed my call!"

"I am Imrek, and Ulthuan needs you!"

This is a prayer, a plea for help, a last gamble, a flame lit by a lone warrior in the boundless darkness.

And that firelight, in the far distance of nothingness, seemed to... respond to him.

A yellow vertical pupil slowly opened in the darkness, as sharp as a cat's eye, yet more ancient and larger. It was a gaze that pierced through time and reality, a lingering shadow from the dragon's lost dream.

That eye was enormous, as if the entire void was its field of vision. It had no eyelashes, no expression, only indifference, only absolute gaze, scrutinizing the intruder's soul like a judge.

It is watching Imrek.

Just a moment...

Huang Tong then made a judgment: He is not worth paying attention to.

The surge of interest vanished instantly, and his eyes slowly closed, as if they had never been open, as if even being looked at was an insult. He was once again plunged into a pitch-black abyss, an absolute darkness, an absolute indifference, where even the void itself seemed to hold its breath.

Imrek roared in the abyss, howling at his defeat, his powerlessness, how his fragile voice could not penetrate the slumbering dream. His dragon song began to crumble, the rhythm disintegrated, the notes scattering like broken ice shards, a futile and comical struggle like that of a drowning person.

Once the ritualistic rhythm of the Dragon Song is interrupted, his connection with this dream is severed, forcibly terminated, without mercy.

His soul was suddenly flung back into his body.

He suddenly opened his eyes, his chest heaving violently, and let out an angry and painful roar, like a dying beast.

He was already so close! Just one glance, even just one glance!
This defeat was even harder for him to bear than when he heard the message from Leandera.

It was a tearing apart of the soul, a hope shattering into dust between the lips and teeth, a desire being crushed into nothingness.

He was as weak as a newborn beast, his body ice-cold, barely able to straighten up. He tried to calm his shattered nerves and his wildly beating heart, like a lost child, trembling as he tried to find his way.

His hands trembled uncontrollably, his knuckles turned white, and his throat burned with pain from chanting melodies that mortals should not touch, as if scorching his voice and will.

"You...you heard me!" he cried, his voice so broken it was almost unrecognizable. "Why do you still refuse to wake up?"

His voice, like a mournful cry tearing through the air, echoed within the cave, then quietly dissipated between the rock walls, unanswered.

He knew the answer; he always had.

But he asked anyway, because he was Imrek.

At this moment, the name has long since become meaningless to him.

He knew he could never truly reach the hearts of those dragons, and that his efforts were nothing more than mortals bowing to the gods.

No, it doesn't even qualify as kowtowing; it's merely ants slapping against rocks.

The cave's heat enveloped him; the billowing, fiery steam should have been a symbol of life, but he only felt a bone-chilling cold, as if he were in a tomb built of lava.

But even though he knew it would eventually kill him, he began chanting the Dragon Song again.

Even though his throat was ruptured, even though his mind was being torn to pieces, even though his body was withered, he did it all to keep the melody going.

He continued to sing.

His consciousness sank into the dark abyss of an ancient dream, a realm even the gods dared not venture into.

He had severed the silver threads that bound his soul to his body, all in order to reach the ancient consciousness of those slumbering dragons and awaken the primordial flame.

Even if he ultimately succeeds, his mind will forever be lost in the gap between thought and reality, forever adrift between reality and dreams, light and shadow.

Unable to return to his body, his soul will wander in darkness forever, or until his body is eroded away by time and sand.

Perhaps, this is for the best.

In this way, he wouldn't have to bear those responsibilities and the cruel burden of fate.

He cried out, pleaded, wept, and roared in the darkness, using the last ounce of his life to pray that they would awaken.

However, they remained unmoved.

They had no interest in his presence, not even bothering to respond. They simply continued to dream of their own glory and the boundless sky, immersed in their own grand dreams, like stars floating in the universe, lonely, indifferent, and untouchable.

He could sense them moving slowly in the darkness, their massive, mountain-like consciousnesses churning and swirling like deep-sea monsters, each movement affecting the very fabric of the world.

But they remained unmoved.

They seemed to have no more attachment to this world, nor any more desire for it. They were immersed in the long-extinguished glory of their dreams, as if the world was no longer worth them spreading their wings again.

They are the remnants of the past.

And he was the only one who hadn't given up calling out.

This world is declining, losing its former color and meaning, becoming dull and lifeless. It was once glorious, but now it is like a slowly cooling star, dying inch by inch.

It's nowhere near as good as in my dreams.

The world of dreams is eternal, a place where flames never cease, rhythms never end, and miracles are always within reach. There, there is no death, no decay, power is everywhere, faith needs no proof, and greatness needs no questioning.

Who would want to leave such a world?
In that endless dream, Imrek finally accepted the views of the pessimists in Lorthorn, those arguments he had once scorned and dismissed as cowardly now weighed heavily on his heart like iron law.

The dragons are asleep, asleep in this world that is ending. They will not wake up, not because they cannot, but because they no longer wish to.

He had long evaded this conclusion, using glory, responsibility, bloodline, and oaths to deny its existence, once believing that as long as his will was firm enough and his voice loud enough, the dragon would eventually answer the call.

But now, he finally admits he was wrong.

The moment he accepted this fact, the will to awaken the dragon crumbled like sand and dust, vanishing with the wind. All hope and struggle instantly returned to nothingness, as if they had never existed.

He could no longer return to that fragile and weary body; all that remained was a shattered mind and a rootless, drifting soul.

Imrek succumbed to despair.

He let himself drift slowly with the undercurrents of those ancient consciousnesses, like a fallen leaf, silently sinking into the depths of the sea of ​​dreams, forever lost in the shared dream realm of the dragon race.

I don’t know how long it has been...

Could it be a second? A day? A month? A year? Or even an entire era?

He didn't realize that he could no longer feel the passage of time here; it had lost its meaning.

Even if time still existed, he no longer cared. He believed himself to no longer exist; he was no longer Imrek, no longer the prince of Caledor, no longer the descendant of the dragon tamer.

He was merely a lingering consciousness, a name that had not yet been completely extinguished.

However, at that moment, he heard singing.

He had thought that in this dreamlike land, among the slumbering souls of the ancients, no one would ever sing again.

He once sang, a cry for help, a plea, a lament for a life for a soul, but no one listened, and no one responded.

When his willpower was exhausted, the melody stopped abruptly, as if it had never existed, merely an echo in a dream.

His life was reduced to a sliver, like a spark about to be extinguished, trembling helplessly in the darkness.

No, it's not darkness...

It was flames, blazing flames that surrounded and engulfed him, like the light of sunrise illuminating the earth.

The faint light suddenly blazed forth, leaping forth as a great song rose from the flames, embracing him into its indescribable, vast melody.

This is the most magnificent hymn in the world; even with a lifespan of a thousand years and ten thousand years, it could not be accurately narrated. It has no words, no melody, no mode—only imagery that brings tears to one's eyes.

That was a legendary era, a time when Ulthuan was still cooling from the fire of creation, a moment that created and destroyed everything, a hymn to fire and wind, the beginning of dreams and matter.

The light surged like a giant wave, dispelling the darkness, filling the air, and blowing out the purest heat, as if the entire universe was being reshaped in this hymn.

In this scorching heat, the first dragon spread its wings and soared, its wings as broad as the continent, its eyes reflecting the stars and destiny.

That was a glorious era.

An era where "impossible" is no longer possible.

A world where language has not yet been given any restrictions.

Imrek witnessed all of this, and even more.

That was an era when the universe operated in an instant, an age where a single flap of wings could traverse stars and star clusters. He witnessed the fierce competition among dragons, saw wars powerful enough to tear the world apart, and heard poems born, destroyed, and reborn in flames.

That was an era that no one dreamed of, no one knew.

A secret history that has never been recorded or sung, and is only remembered by the dragon race itself.

Now, this history is being told to him by the greatest being among them, the oldest, deepest, and most powerful consciousness, in a song of fire.

Imrek found himself staring directly into a huge eye.

It was an eye beyond description, the size of a star itself, its outline indistinct, as if the entire dream's sky were formed from its iris and pupil. It existed in silence and light, yet it ruled over all the order and rhythm of this dreamland.

He was nothing more than a speck of dust in that person's eyes, insignificant, humble, and not worth mentioning.

Nevertheless, it truly "saw" him. Not a glance, not a sweep, not knowledge, but a complete and thorough gaze, like a creator looking down upon a newborn planet, illuminating every crack in his essence, past, will, memory, and even soul.

Everything he lost in endless wandering and despair is now being slowly reshaped by the melody of this ancient dragon song, bit by bit, silently, yet sacredly.

It was a melody unknown even to the young dragons and elves. The melody came from the beginning of time, in an era when the flames of creation had not yet been extinguished. In that pure white, fiery, dazzling dream that was almost blinding, he was lifted up, not as a prince, not as a warrior, not even as an elf, but as 'himself'—accepted, inherited, and given meaning.

That is a realm that mortals can never enter; only those who burn themselves out, offer their souls, and dedicate everything can glimpse even a fraction of its true meaning.

Imrek finally let out a cry, a cry that was the sum of pain, release, rebirth, and a call to action.

He suddenly opened his eyes—he was back.

He returned to reality, back to that vast and deep cave.

The surrounding rock walls were distorted by light and heat, and steam and ash swirled and surged in the air like souls, trembling slightly with the tremors as if the whole earth were breathing.

His withered, dying body, which had been utterly devoured by the Dragon Song, was now restored to its former glory. His breathing was steady, his mind was clear, and his body was as if reborn. The suffering and depletion brought by the Awakening Song had been completely reversed by the supreme power of this final song.

It was as if they had died and been reborn, as if they had been reborn from the ashes.

Miracles that elves cannot accomplish are merely a matter of a gesture from that being.

Imrek rose to his feet, his movements slow yet resembling a king rearranging his crown amidst the dust. His eyes gleamed with an unusual light, neither fire nor energy, but rather an echo of communion with that being.

He looked around, and in the firelight, he saw that he was not alone.

Beside him were the dragon mages lying on the ground, still unconscious: Kellis, Lamelaan, Tynton, Dalamas... and Leandera.

Further away, amidst the misty steam, some enormous figure was slowly writhing.

The dragon is awakening.

Those ancient, vast, and unfathomable lives are returning from their slumber, their consciousness, once lost in an eternal dream, now gazing once more upon this familiar yet strange land.

One of the most enormous dragons stood slowly before Imrek.

His body seemed to be constructed from the bones of stars and covered by the dust of time, his scales shimmering with a star-like brilliance, and with each breath he reshaped the air and pressure of the cave.

He lowered his massive head, and his eyes, burning like amber, shone with the flames and wisdom of the primordial era.

He looked at Imrek, no longer ignoring him, no longer scrutinizing him, but looking at him with an equal gaze. (End of Chapter)