A Spire Of Magic And Dreams

20260803

Written for “Smogust’s Story Hoard”, prompt 1. (Click through to see awesome art drawn for the event!)

Nobody knew whether the spire had always been there, for there was no record of anyone venturing so far into the ocean. Why would they? There were no islands. No promising currents. Nothing at all to encourage you to abandon the safety of the shoreline and strike out away from all known land.
Until, half a moon ago, dragons started flying this way.
Not all at once. The largest and oldest crossed first. But without pause the next largest followed, and then the next, an unbroken stream of determined flesh-wrapped magic.
Such a migration - or whatever this was - had no precedent that scholars could find. So they selected their wisest and fittest, gathered an experienced crew who were also curious about this mystery, and set off following the dragons.
It was the clouds above the spire which excited the crew out of fretting, for they said such things did not form on the open ocean. And indeed none had been seen throughout the featureless fortnight, where only on the dragons overhead assured them they were not adrift.
As they grew closer the structure itself could be studied. It glimmered in the sun, an ethereal white arm rising from the crashing waves, as if cast from nacre. Impossibly detailed and pristine given its harsh surroundings; surely such filigree would be worn away in short order by salt breezes? And however would such a tall structure remain stable all the way out here?
The captain lowered his telescope and said “Aye - well, I can see blobs of colour moving around up top, at least. Can’t think what it’d be except dragons.”
“One will likely fly over before we can try and dock.” The first mate glanced up, shading her eyes, and nodded as she spotted a blot behind them. “There we are. They do seem to be getting slower. S’pose it’s longer to go, with smaller wings. But we’ll know for sure soon.”
“Well,” a scholar mused, “even if they’re landing here, they might merely be resting before travelling onwards.”
“Nothing to eat.” The first mate retorted reasonably. “This far out, you won’t get many fish close to the surface. Can’t think dragons dive well enough to catch enough fish to get by. And if you can’t eat, or drink, rest’s just wasting time while you waste away.”
The scholars murmured uncertain agreement.
“What could possibly be calling them out here, then?”
Of course nobody could answer. While some watched the approaching dragon, and the crew worked to try and get the ship close to the spire without being dashed against the structure, one scholar settled into a corner and pulled out a scrying-plate. Hoping that previous attempts having failed was due at least in part to distance.
At first it seemed this was not the case, for the crystal showed only the vacant mist that heralded a failed casting. But, just as they sighed and were about to cancel the spell, the mist swirled and pulsed and a voice, soft and sounding like aching velvet, echoed from the plate.
“Who are you?”
“Ah - I, um, we have travelled here to try and learn what the dragons are seeking. We mean you no harm.”
While there was still no image on the plate, something about the mist put them in mind of an eye. “You… are not a dragon?”
Before they could answer the voice mused “No. You are not a creature of magic at all. Yet you have magic. How is this?”
“Errrr I am human?” The scholar frantically waved to the rest of the group, desperately trying to get a second, ideally more qualified, spokesperson involved. “We, um, we aren’t of magic, but we have learned how to, to build tools which let us connect with magic…”
“Magic tools?”
“Yes. That’s, uh, that’s how I’m talking to you.”
“Hmmm…”
“Do… do you mind if I ask who you are?”
“I am-” the rolling syllables didn’t fit in human ears. Apparently the voice realised this, for it kindly added “Call me the Eldest.”
“The Eldest… dragon?”
“Yes. I have been watching over the Dreamer. Do you know of them?”
“I’m afraid not. Is that what… who… you have all gathered about?”
“Yes. And no. Have you noticed the magic fading?”
The scholar froze. “Fading?”
“Yes. Over the past six hundred years.”
“Ah. Um. Humans generally only live, er, a tenth of that time? And I fear our records have not - we generally cannot measure magic easily, and…” They trailed off helplessly.
“Oh.” The Eldest sounded baffled. “I have missed so much, being separated from my sibren. There were no humans when I last saw land.”
Goodness. But history was a matter for when the present wasn’t quite so worrying, so the scholar brushed this aside and asked “Do you know what’s happening to the magic?”
“Yes. The Dreamer grows worn. We are here to try and bolster them. You, with your building of magic, might help…”
“Well, we’re certainly happy to help however we can!” The scholar tried to get people’s attention again, sorely regretting having picked such an out-of-the-way spot.
Then the plate went blank, the mist returning to its usual consistency. Oh. Oh dear, had they been offended? Or perhaps the magic had simply failed? Or-
The eye reformed. “My sibren tell me that humans are small and easily carried, and they can see you from here. Would you be willing to come see the Dreamer?”
Peering up at the spire, the scholar could just make out a host of colours now clustered on the ledge, presumably dragons peering down at the ship.
“I, ah, let me tell everyone and we will gather our magical tools and… then, yes.”
Because even if no-one else was willing to try riding a dragon, they certainly were! Much less the chance to meet a creature older than humanity, and if what they said about the Dreamer was true, then…
Whoever would’ve guessed so much knowledge lay in the midst of the ocean!

I took the prompt as “A mystical structure has risen out of the ocean. Dragons seem drawn to it, for reasons unknown. Write about an expedition to uncover the structure’s purpose…”