Flow I: Wings of Wrath ⇧
Obsidian scales soared, glinting in the blaze of apocalypse. Rising smoke tangled with dark storm clouds, turning sulfur-yellow as the beast’s jaws unclenched, unleashing hell and fury below. Giant black wings unfurled like a warship’s sails, fanning sparks and ash, the winds shrieking with the voices of burning horror.
Then the flames relented, momentarily, their roar giving way to a booming voice: deep, rumbling and uncannily crisp—
“At TrollHunter69, thanks for the Golden Scribe, appreciate it. Yes, I do polish my horns and fangs. You can find out more over at my Patron’s Guild—”
The beast froze mid-sentence. It hovered in place, wings clearing debris below. Its narrow eyes—crimson hot embers—glared, as runes morphed on the magic tablet’s smooth surface, spelling:
“Kiphex, What the fuck did you just say to me?” The terrible dragon queried, rumbling voice laced with indignant rage. Cries echoed from the chaos below as the runes morphed yet again:
The dragon huffed, plumes of wiry smoke curled from his nostrils. “This looks fake to you, bitch?”
The view shifted to the desolation below: Cinder, char and smoke. Buildings scorched, collapsing. Streets in chaos; panicked figures scurrying around, some on fire.
“Haven’t I seen you raiding my flows before?” The dragon’s sigh carried both fury and exasperation. “Unbelievable. Pathetic trolls. I swear, if I ever—”
The flow shimmered, smoking ruins dissipating into an opulently furnished high chamber. Runes shifted again, forming:
“—is, like, my second favorite apothecary—” the harrowing screams gave way to the silky-smooth sing-song voice of a pale, young lady. Her lake-blue eyes shimmered under the soft flicker of a cool-flame torch as she dusted her cheek with a delicate white powder—containing phoenix ash, allegedly—though reviews appeared mixed.
“—you can really see how the gloss complements my tones.” She tilted her head slightly, showing off the stark shadows in her cheekbones. “I really like their firetoad-paste concealer, too. And I hear that they’re actually having a clear-out right now, so if you mention “PrincessAlenaMakeup2G”, they’ll take two coins off any purchase—”
The sudden crash of glass and steel cut her off. Her head turned back, blonde locks swaying, as a fully-clad knight in shining armor landed on the white marble, kneeling low.
“Worry not, my dear princess Alena! Your noble rescuer is here! I have fought beasts, scaled towers, crossed seas and fires alike, for I am—”
“Back off, Sir Incelot!”
A phial in her hand released a red mist, clouding his visor. He clutched his helmet with a high-pitched yelp, then tumbled back and out of the window frame, his scream fading as he fell.
Alena turned back to her flow, rolling her eyes. “Ugh, snipers.”
The flow shifted again, this time revealing a half-transformed werewolf, mid-howl. Runes revealed:
“—Awooo! Aw-Ghk—” he choked mid-howl, breaking into a raspy fit of coughing.
He straightened after a moment, eyes watering, and grunted: “You see this?” He flexed hard, muscles bulging, mana-infused veins twisted beneath his skin. Tufts of gray fur twitched on his forearms and under his chin.
“True Alphas don’t need a full moon, and don’t let the haters tell you otherwise!” He held up a small vial, labeled: MoonGainz™ - Transformation Enhancer (Non-Alchemy).
He flexed harder, baring his teeth. A single fang stuck out. His eye flickered yellow briefly, then returned.
“—urghhhUAHH! Awooooo! Awoo-awooo! See? You see that??” He pointed at his arm. “Another hair just popped out!”
It didn’t.
The black dragon Hyperion reappeared in the flow, his raspy voice still deep in tirade to the tune of terrorized screams.
“—know? An honest dragon puts down his whole life, his entire hoard, all for you guys, you know, your entertainment, and then you, you get these, little gremlins—”
Kip the Kobold—also known as “kiphex”—lay sprawled in his cot. His chamber, smallest in the warren, was a damp mess: empty potion bottles, grub-bar wrappers, and broken trinkets littered the musty stone. The only light came from his scryPad, casting a vivid, flickering orange across his elongated snout. His green-scaled tail dragged idly along the stained bedding, as clawed fingers tapped frantically at tiny rune-inscribed buttons to reveal at last:
The obsidian menace paused, his red glare more lethal than his flames. He flared his nostrils and let out a thunderous roar.
“That’s it. Discourse, find out who this little fucker is.”
“Fuck ToS! Thanks, Hunter.” He smiled, exposing a row of immaculate, vicious fangs. “Hope you’re ready, Kippy; you’re going viral.”
Kip tossed the scryPad, plunging the chamber into a tense, flickering darkness.
Fuck.
His heart pounded in his ears; cold sweat ran down his neck.
Did that really just happen?
He swallowed through a dry throat, breath coming in short, frantic bursts.
Oh FUCK.
He sprang to his feet and rushed outside, stumbling on a loose charging coil and an ornate smoke-horn, snatching the tablet—cracked, still glowing.
The warren buzzed outside his chamber. Vendors packed the narrow corridors; a nearby stall displayed chargestones, mana amplifiers, and a row of “used” scryPads. The smell of roasted mushrooms and rat skewers filled the air, mingling with the tang of fermented larvae from a food stand.
Kip pressed through the swarm toward the central hub, where groups gathered— bartering, hanging out or running errands—but mostly staring into their tablets. A cacophony of colors flickered across root-strewn walls, casting strange, shifting shadows.
Kip climbed over a stall near center, ignoring the owner’s curses, and yelled:
“EVERYONE! Listen up! A dragon is coming!”
Most ignored him. A few looked up, murmured something, then returned to their screens. Others pointed their pads at him, capturing the spectacle to share with their peers or followers.
“Didn’t you hear me?! I mean it! We have to clear the warren! It’s heading here now, and it’s gonna—”
“Yo, shut the fuck up!” A shout cut him off, scattering chuckles. The chatter resumed like nothing happened.
An arm reached, pulling him down. “Kip, what the hell are you doing?” a familiar voice scolded.
“Tess, we have to get out of here, NOW!” he gasped, recognizing the gray-hided kobold he’d dated—only once, she’d insist.
“What are— Kip, are you okay?” her blue-patched brows furrowed. “You look pale as bone…”
“There’s no time!” he grabbed her arm, pulling her along as he ran.
“What—Hey!”
He led Tess past a flooded cavern used as a cistern, through a tight corridor half-blocked by a giant gnarling root, and up a spiraling passageway lined with moss.
“Where… are we… going?” she gasped behind him.
“Please, Tess, trust me!” The taste of iron rose in his throat.
They emerged wheezing atop a mossy hill overlooking the warren’s grounds.
Kip scanned the valley, still panting. It was late afternoon. A caravan below had already started packing their goods; another marched along the winding route. A few campfires flickered. Golden sunlight polished treetops in the distance. Thin, orange clouds streaked through the pink-yellow sky.
No fire. No smoke. Not yet.
His scryPad buzzed. The fractured surface glowed: “Trending in your area: crazy kobold loses shit over dragons #PublicFreakout”
Maybe Hyperion was fake after all? A facade, a figment of the flows?
“Now,” Tess finally caught her breath, “What the hell is going on?!”
He sighed. “I may have… pissed off a dragon.”
“You pissed off a dragon,” Tess repeated. “How?”
“I sort of… implied that Hyperion was… fake… on his discourse…”
“You messed with the Hyperion? Oh, Kip.” She sighed, rubbing her temple. “What were you even doing watching that… thing?”
“I don’t know!” Kip protested, “he just showed up on the Scrolls!”
“So now he’s headed here?”
Kip nodded. She scanned the horizon, squinting at a blurred speck—just a diving eagle. “We have to do something.”
“What can we do?” Kip shrugged, “You saw me try to warn them. They won’t listen.”
“So you just… stand here and let him kill everyone you know?”
Kip stared at her.
She shook her head, holding her hips. “I’ll try to cast it, get some eyeballs on it. Maybe if we get it out fast enough…” She reached into her pouch and pulled out her tablet, a thin slab of white granite encrusted with various unpolished gems.
“Good thinking. Let me hold your pad.”
“No, you hop back on Hyperion’s flow—” She poked his chest with her stretched claw— “to try and get him to stop.”
“But he—”
“No excuses! You crawl back to his discourse, and you beg. You hear me? You grovel. You do whatever it takes. Are we clear?”
“Got it,” Kip replied obediently. He’d found the snap of command in her voice to be frustratingly hot.
His pad flickered on. A claw scraped the cracked screen; a shiver ran down his spine.
“Oh, Skral,” he cussed, “I think he blocked me. I have to start a new binding.”
◈ Create a New Scrollbinding ◈
Sigil: kiphex4
Error: Sigil already bound.
“What the hell?!”
Sigil: kiphex4444_real
Spellkey: ********
⚠ Warning: Chosen Spellkey is not telepathy resistant.
☑️ I, the above-mentioned, hereby bind myself to the Scrolls and their Sacred Covenant, in full awareness of potential doom.
Kip’s fingers tapped around the edge of the tablet. “Please wait,” the runes pulsed softly.
“Come on, come on,” he muttered, scanning the horizon. The tablet buzzed:
◈ Soul Verification is required for new bindings. ◈
To continue, please answer the following riddle:
You are in a cave.
There is a pond.
You gaze into the water.
What do you see?
- The back of your own head.
- You have no eyes.
- The face of Ra’alug, the Almighty Creator.
- The beginning and the end.
- All of the above.
Kip’s claw twitched before finally tapping 5.
Soul Verification Failed.
Please ensure you are not an animated golem and your essence is not bound to another entity or realm.
If the problem persists, please consult a metaphysician, or try screaming into the void.
“Are you fucking kidding me?!”
“I’m trying to concentrate here!” Tess gritted out. Her eyes shut tight, brow creased, heartbeat pounding in her ears as she struggled to attune her cast.
She drew a deep breath.
Her tablet shimmered, the encrusted gems glowed softly. With a high-pitched whir, it emitted a thin, white beam, which curved upward toward the Spire.
“I’m live!” Her face flickered onto the flow.
“Is this working?” She looked nervously at her mirrored projection. “Hello, everyone, this is Tess, from Ashroot Warren…” She cleared her throat. “Hyperion the dragon is headed here, so we need to clear out! If you can hear me—”
“Tess—”, Kip tugged on her cloak.
“Not now, Kip!” she snapped. “Please, share this flow with everyone you know—”
“Tess, look!”
She followed his gaze.
There he was.
Hyperion.
His dark scales glistened in the setting sun as he glided gracefully toward the warren, wings trailing gold-crimson streaks.
A distant, terrifying roar echoed through the valley, sending birds scattering from the trees.
“Everyone, listen!” her voice cracked with urgency. “Hyperion is coming to Ashroot Warren!” She turned her tablet’s view toward the horizon, where Hyperion’s dark silhouette was growing larger. “We have to clear the warren right now! If you can hear me, get out while you can!”
“I got it!” Kip shouted. “I’m back in his discourse!”
The screen revealed Hyperion’s face. He was humming a catchy tune in a deep, surprisingly melodic, bass.
“Shoutout to @DragonQuench for sponsoring this flow! To everyone just joining us, smite those Thumb and Scribe buttons!” He punctuated his plea with a barrel roll. “And remember, if you want to support your favorite dragon, you can always join my Patron’s Guild. We just released a new Slayer tier, with exclusive merch…”
Sweat streaked the scryPad’s surface. Kip wiped it clean, his claws trembling, then continued:
“—and now you have, you know, goblins, and gnomes, and, and all these other—”
A blue-skinned orc with a braided beard was talking passionately to a tall green orc with a sleek, pointed hairdo.
“Uh-huh, uh-huh—”, the green orc nodded enthusiastically.
“—and, Luhr, you’ll agree, I’ve always been the first to say, ‘I love goblins, I love gnomes’—”
“Absolutely,” the green orc, Luhr, agreed.
“—and then a goblin shows up at your door,” Griff continued, “and they’re like, ‘hey, I wanna be a part of your clan,’”
“Right, right—”
“And this is all the elves fault, you know, they’re the ones who started feminizing our culture—”
“—Bloody elves,” Luhr snorted.
“So now, you can’t even say ‘no’ to a goblin without being called a racist, or, or a bigot, or whatever—”
“—It’s cancel culture, Griff. Plain and simple.”
“I have seen your soul. I know what you crave.”
A hooded figure spoke in an ethereal voice. It raised a hand. With a snap of its fingers, a shimmering gold pile materialized before it.
“I can make it real.”
It waved its hand, and the pile vanished.
“But first… a small sacrifice.”
A contract appeared in the air, glowing with tiny, obscure runes.
“Sign, and I shall grant you an Astral Token— bound to your soul; now exchangeable for real gold.”
“—repeat, clear out of the warren!”
Tess glanced the flow’s eyeball counter— 270. Then 300. Then 350.
“I think it’s working!” She turned to look at the warren. Kobolds were starting to trickle outside, looking up at the sky; some ran.
Above, Hyperion loomed closer and closer.
“They’re not getting out fast enough!” Her voice climbed higher, panic pushing through. “Kip, you have to do something!”
“I can’t, I’m blocked again—”
The scryPad buzzed, startling him. A new message flickered on the screen:
@HyperionLive has invited you to his flow.
Submit / Resist
Kip stared at it, then at Tess. “Hyperion wants me on his flow.”
“Then what the hell are you waiting for?!” she cried.
Kip’s heart raced as he tapped Submit.
The scryPad hummed, then whirred. A beam emerged from the cracked surface, washing Kip’s snout with a cold, blue light.
His face appeared next to Hyperion on the flow.
“Well, well, looks like we have a guest!” Hyperion’s tone oozed faux politeness. His eyes smoldered. “Did you have something to say, little kobold?”
“Hi, uh, I’m Kip… Kiphex.” His own face mimed back at him from the pad’s screen, pale and unkempt. Dark circles lined his amber eyes. His fangs appeared sickly yellow next to Hyperion’s pearly whites.
“You’re the little hater who called me fake.” Outside the pad’s view, Tess watched in awe as Hyperion twisted and turned above the warren with mesmerizing grace. A small orb tracked his head, casting a flattering glow on his face.
Kip cleared his throat. “Yes… I, uhh, just wanted to, apologize, for… for calling you fake, Hyperion, sir.”
Hyperion stayed silent.
Kip exhaled. “I don’t know why I did that. Maybe I was bored. Or maybe I wanted the attention. Or maybe… I just wanted to believe it was fake.” Tess nodded, gesturing a tight circle with her claw.
He swallowed. “But I can assure everyone watching: Hyperion’s not fake! He’s so, so real. And terrifying. And I’m sorry, I really am! So please, Hyperion, please forgive—”
“Say you’re a sad, pathetic little troll,” Hyperion purred, his eyes narrowing.
Kip blinked. “I, uhh…”
“Louder, Kiphex! This one’s for the audience!”
“I’m a sad, pathetic little troll—” he winced, “and… I nearly got everyone killed.” He lowered his head. Tess watched silently, one hand gripping her other arm.
“That’s better,” Hyperion growled gleefully. “Apology accepted, Kippy. I hope you’ve learned your lesson.”
The tablet hummed, and Kip’s face disappeared from the flow.
“We did it,” he panted, tense muscles relaxing at last. He barely had time to flinch before Tess pulled him into a tight hug.
“You did it,” she released him, smiling. “Gods, you groveled so hard—”
“Now, who’s ready to roast some 'bolds?”
Her smile vanished; his stomach turned. Then—
—Fire.
It erupted from Hyperion’s maw, engulfing the warren’s entrance. Screams rose as the crowd scattered. The valley lit up orange; long, warped shadows danced across the ground.
A flickering yellow warmth washed over their faces—
Then the flames stopped.
Hyperion hovered, lifting dust and ash from below. He let out a deafening roar. With a beat of his wings, he tore through the rising smoke, leaving wispy spirals in his wake as he vanished toward the horizon.
The valley was suddenly silent. The gate stood; walls scorched, but intact.
Tess blinked, wiping a streak of tears from her cheek. “What the hell just happened?”
“I… don’t know…” Kip murmured. He looked down at the tablet. It displayed a shimmering gray pattern, overlaid with black runes reading:
Night had fallen by the time they made their way downhill toward the main gate, still recovering from the shock.
“Well… we’re not dead,” Kip broke the silence. “That’s something, right?”
“Don’t jinx it,” Tess replied. “At least the warren’s still standing… mostly.”
They passed an overturned cart, its owners chasing stray squashes and cabbages rolling down the slopes. A cleric knelt beside a row of burn victims, his pale robes rippling in the breeze as he chanted softly. Dazed kobolds wandered aimlessly, their clothes in tatters, faces smeared with ash and dirt. A young flow-scribe stood nearby, casting the devastation:
“—terrifying scene here, mercifully few injuries; we have multiple reports of moderate to severe burns and trampling incidents. A local known as Kiphex has claimed responsibility—”
Kip tensed and picked up his pace. He caught glares, low murmurs; two or three claws pointed his way.
They ignored the onlookers, crossing into the main entry hall. The walls were scorched black, the decorations completely incinerated. Charred debris littered the floor, and the air was thick with smoke and disoriented shouts. Evacuees trying to get back inside crashed into panicked inhabitants pushing their way out.
They carved their way through the turbulent tangle of sweat and soot, when a clawed hand gripped Kip by the shoulder, holding him in place.
“Where do you think you’re going?” growled a burly kobold, baring oversized fangs. He leveled a spear, blocking their path. Beside him, an even bigger brute with a crooked horn gripped a wooden club wider than Kip was tall.
“Back inside? I live here—”
“Not anymore you don’t,” the guard snarled. “The whole warren saw your little stunt, Kiphex. Get lost!”
“But all my stuff’s in there—”
“Oh boo, hoo!” the other guard mocked. “Why don’t you go cry about it to your followers?”
Kip turned to leave, his shoulders slumped. Tess caught his arm gently: “Wait outside, Kip. I’ll get your things—”
“Is there mud in your earholes?” the guard snapped. “You and your boyfriend are done here.”
“He’s not my boyfriend!” she snapped back. Her hand retracted.
“Save your drama for the flows,” he waved her dismissively. “Now beat it! If I ever catch so much of a whiff of either of you, I’ll deliver your corpses to Hyperion myself.”
“Tess, come on! I said I was sorry!”
The steady crunch of gravel beneath her boots threatened to fade into the restless chatter of night insects. Her figure blurred into the twisting shadows of branches, lit by a pale nearly-full moon.
He broke into a light jog. The chill stung his face, replacing the smell of smoke and sweat from his clothes with the scent of damp earth and moss.
“Tess! I get it, you’re upset, but will you please just talk to me—”
“Leave me alone.” Her voice was flat, gaze fixed ahead, tail barely twitching. Her claws were clenched.
“You have every right to be mad, but come on! You don’t have to forgive me—”
“Forgive you? Forgive you? You just got me exiled!” she snapped. “Your stupid, childish recklessness nearly got me killed! Along with everyone else in the warren!”
She drew a sharp breath. “I lost my home! My kin! But worst of all? You humiliated me, in front of everyone! So no, Kip, I don’t want to talk to you right now! Or ever!”
The chirping went quiet. Kip froze in his tracks.
“Tess, I…”
“Gods, what were you even thinking?” She turned to face him. “This isn’t exactly advanced runecraft—” her hand raised, and Kip flinched reflexively.
“You don’t mess with dragons.
You don’t mess with flowcasters…”
(She punctuated each line by counting on her claws.)
“…and you definitely don’t mess with cruel, sadistic, self-obsessed, genocidal dragon flowcasters, with sycophantic, doxx-happy cults glued to their tail end!”
She let out a groan and stomped, spraying gravel. Her tail lashed behind her.
Silence returned. Then the chirps.
“You’re right.” Kip lowered his head. “I messed up, and nothing I say or do can fix that.”
She sighed, crossing her arms. “Well, too bad being right doesn’t conjure a meal and a warm bed, does it?” She shuddered. “Come on, let’s find shelter before something else finds us.”
They spotted a small cave off the main road, half-hidden behind a curtain of roots and vines. Kip fished a piece of flint from his pockets. Tess handed him a small dagger with a carved wooden hilt.
“It was a gift,” she said quickly—though he hadn’t asked.
He held the blade over a loose pile of twigs and dry leaves they’d gathered, striking its edge with the flint. On the fourth try, sparks jumped. To both their surprise, one caught, releasing a thin wisp of smoke into the air.
He leaned in and blew gently. The flame blinked, then flared to life. They added larger branches, and soon a small fire crackled, casting its warm glow across the cave walls.
Kip pulled out his scryPad. It flickered once, then went dark. “Out of juice,” he muttered.
“Mine too.” Tess waved her lifeless tablet. “That emergency cast must’ve drained it.” She rummaged through her satchel. “Skral, I don’t have any chargestones…”
They sat in silence, watching the flames flicker, feeling the warmth wash over them. Exhaustion settled in, and Kip’s eyelids grew heavy.
“Kip—”
A nudge jolted him awake. The fire had died down; early morning light filtered through the cave entrance.
Tess caught his eyes. Her face was pale, her movements careful and deliberate. She raised a finger to her lips, then pointed toward the entrance. Kip nodded, the fog of sleep still clearing from his mind.
A glint caught his eye—the dagger, gripped tightly in her other hand.
He rose, slowly. His hand clutched a jagged rock; its chill bit into his palm. His heart pounded in his chest, senses focusing:
Birds singing. Leaves rustling. Smell of dew and ash. Then—
Footsteps.
Slow. Several sets.
Metal scraping stone.
Leather.
Rum.
Sweat.
Blood.
A raspy voice pierced through the vines:
“You smell that?”
Shadows shifted near the entrance.
“I smell… Kobold.”
Interlude: the ToS ⇧
The black dragon marched slowly into the Sanctum, each step echoing like a war drum on the polished stone. The iron doors sealed shut behind him with a reverberating clang that made his tail curl.
He reached the center of the heptagonal chamber and waited, growling low behind clenched fangs. His scorching red eyes scanned the corners of the room; each featured an elevated platform, all taller than his head, each holding a single cloaked humanoid figure. A breathtaking mosaic tiled the arched ceiling, vanishing into darkness high above.
The figure in front of him spoke. “Tribunal of Sanctions. 5th of Stormfall, 232 Rikard’s Era. All council members present?”
“Present,” the six other cloaked figures echoed simultaneously from their platforms.
“High Moderator Aeron, present, directing the tribunal.” He clapped once. Tall, white flames erupted from the floor under each platform. He continued, “Is the individual present before this Tribunal, the dragon known to the Scrolls by the sigil @HyperionLive?”
“I am,” grumbled Hyperion.
“@HyperionLive, on the 4th of Stormfall at high noon, did you cast yourself burning down three towns in the Feithum Valley?”
“I don’t remember; it might have been four.”
“Please answer: yes or no?”
“Yes.”
“And upon burning the 3rd town, did you or did you not then knowingly request that your discourse members reveal privy information of another flow viewer?”
“Seriously? He was—”
“HyperionLive, you are already in dire straits,” Aeron cut him off, “I ask that you do not complicate matters further.” Hyperion grunted, but held his tongue. “I’ll ask again, did you request that your discourse ‘doxx’ one of your watchers?”
“Yes, but he was—”
“Are you aware that abetting, requesting, or participating in the disclosure of personal information is strictly prohibited by the Covenant?”
Hyperion grumbled deep, then growled, “I am aware.”
“The Council will now hear your case.”
“It was that little kobold brat, he accused me of faking!” Hyperion lashed out, his booming voice sending flickers through the flames. “You know, that kind of slander can seriously hurt my reputation! These wretched trolls are trying to destroy my brand!”
“@HyperionLive, as you well know, the Council does not intervene in commercial, nor interpersonal matters; our sole duty is to the sacred Covenant of the Scrolls. That said, the council members shall now cast their votes toward retribution.”
The flames turned an ominous purple and grew taller, nearly engulfing the platforms. Each councilor raised their hands and murmured deep chants. Hyperion watched silently, his tail twitching.
“The council has determined,” Aeron declared as the flames returned to normal, “That as of this moment, @HyperionLive shall be suspended from the flows for… twelve noons!”
“Are you kidding me?!” Hyperion lashed out, “do you know how much Sponsorship gold that’s worth? I’m going to lose so many followers…”
“You may appeal the verdict to the Supreme Council within… forty-eight turns. The Tribunal is now sealed!”
The seven councilors clapped in unison. The flames snuffed out. They exited the chamber, leaving Hyperion alone. His shallow breaths echoed through the empty hall.
Then, he opened his maw and roared— so loud, it sent colorful shards of mosaic crashing onto the marble floor:
“KIPHEX!!!”