Proteles ⭐

"The desire of power caused the ancients to fall." - Proteles

Proteles. A powerful title for a powerful Jader. Those fierce eyes, the scathing emotion they display, either good or bad. The sharpest teeth you’ve ever seen. Hoops of precious material adorned his dark ears, paws decorated with bands of metal, and his throat crowned with golden interlocking necklaces. He was worshipped. Rightfully so.

    Sand shifted listlessly across the landscape. Specks of desert grass could be seen shimmering along the trail in the wind. The sun was setting in a fiery red to the right of the dog, his nose pointed, his lips drawn back, and his tail lashing. His muscles stiffened, he let out a low growl in warning. Movement caught his eye and he lunged, narrowly missing a hare as it dashed from the tall, dry grass.

    He watched with narrow eyes as the hare vanished among the sand. Darak’i was once again lifeless. He turned his head behind him, marveling at the way his paw-prints vanished instantly. There was no turning back. He couldn’t go back. He was in a desolate place, hopeful to find something to make his heart less so. He turned back to the path, visible only because he had no choice but to make it up. He huffed quietly and continued on.

    There were no directions to reach this location. It was fabled to not even exist. His paws felt heavy as they sank into the sand, much like the sun sank ever so slowly behind the dunes. Fireflies and other bugs lit the path for him as he tread in the growing darkness. They blinked and buzzed by his ears, reminding him to keep a pace. Soon he would have to rest but the desire for answers and the lust for his goal kept his eyes wide and ears perked. I will get what I deserve, he thought to himself.

    He felt a burst of energy and leapt forward, scaring away a couple more hares from the sparse grass, but he ignored them. The sunset provided a clear path to his destination, and rumor had it, he was getting close.

    The night seemed to last forever, the only sounds were that of his tail brushing against the sand and grass and the sound of dragon wings catching bugs above him. The darkness was still. Proteles sniffed the air and faintly heard the sound of rushing water. He picked up his pace a bit, straying off the path towards the sound. A small cliff greeted him, along with a trickling waterfall and an overhang. He shuffled up the steep hillside, knocking back rocks as he did. He lapped momentarily at a pool of water, delighted at the lack of algae. 

    It was too dark to see much, but from what he could tell, the overhang had been devoid of a resident for quite some time. There were no prey bones or scents to indicate otherwise. The waterfall provided protection against the still blazing heat of the sand. He padded to the deepest crevice, only about 6 feet from the start of the cliff. The stone was cold.

    Proteles licked his paws and leaned against the overhang wall, gazing out into the abyss of the desert night. Stars sparkled overhead, and though comforting, reminded him that he was alone. He rested his head against his paws and sighed. How many more nights must he be reminded? He ached for warmth. Tomorrow he would get his justice.

    It was the beginning of the ruins that surprised him. Early morning sunshine hadn’t even had the time to heat up the sand. Collapsed columns and ragged chunks of stairs littered the area. From a distance, he thought they might be rocks. Upon closer inspection, they were not. The columns were wide, 6 feet in diameter and leaning almost lazily against each other, creating small patches of shade. Proteles swallowed hard. He was close. 

    It was rumored that only those who were pure of heart could seek out the center of the ruins. Those who did not, and stumbled upon it accidentally or sought with malice, were doomed to face the labyrinth alone, forever. While Proteles himself did not believe this tale, a lump still formed in his stomach. The ruins were huge. Cities paled in comparison to just the outer ring of this destroyed land, not to even touch on the mazes below the sandstone. How could he, a magicless husk, ever hope to find the center of this ruin, and lair of Hubris? He stopped to rest in the shade of the immense columns, wondering how large beings must be to have created and lived among so much grandeur. 

    He shook the thought away, his head ached from the burning heat He had been sitting here for a long time. He had to travel faster. He set off on a brisk trot, passing another column several yards away. He jumped from shadow to shadow for a bit, finding the exercise helped his mind calm down. 

    The sun was sinking in the sky by the time he decided to stop and rest. He began to notice a pattern with the destroyed city. It was almost like it was built for him to maneuver. He hardly had to jump over broken arches or avoid large obstructions. He felt an ominous prick in his pads, it seemed almost like he was being led somewhere.

    All light had nearly disappeared over the horizon when he spotted a faint glow over a dune. He stumbled in its direction, nervous suddenly. He forgot about resting, and without thinking he followed the crumbled stone path around the sand.

    What met him there was a palace. The dune he had walked around was only a small piece of the range that the entrance was carved into, and with time had given into the sand. The path leading down towards it was made out of marble. Four gigantic pillars held up the foundation of the ornate wall, it was decorated with symbols from top to bottom. Even from a distance, Proteles could tell they were depicting the story of the fall of Hubris. A single modest doorway was illuminated on each side by torches. Proteles took a step towards the entrance and then stopped. 

    He had heard stories of others venturing into the lair of Hubris. In all of those stories, the spectacular-ness of the palace was nowhere near this ornate. He also had heard they did not always survive. He felt Hubris had been guiding him, the clear paths in his head, the prick of urgency in his fur. He had not heard this in those stories. Proteles was stumped, however driven by his quest. He turned away from the entrance and padded to a column, erect and unbroken. He would wait here for the night.

Morning made its way slowly to Proteles. He was restless through the night, waking multiple times to the sound of whispering. He had not seen another creature in days aside from the prey he had caught, but something nagged at him. He woke up before dawn, his ears pricked. He was eager to find what was inside the temple. 

He stood up and shook his fur out, his throat was parched and his stomach growled. Soon he would need to find a source of water. Instead, he padded confidently down the marble steps to the entrance in the dunes. The torches were still lit. The dank smell of clay greeted him as he passed the threshold. The tunnel was illuminated by still more torches. He hurried past them, worried they may go out any moment. He was here.

He followed the twists of the corridor for hours it seemed, slowly pushing underground. There were no breaks in the walls, no other doors to go through. He knew someone was waiting for him down here. He began to hear the sound of rushing water, and the torches seemed to  grow dim. He started to run. He needed to drink something soon. 

A greenish-grayish mist hazed the hallway after a while, and suddenly he skidded to a stop. A steep drop off met his claws, he had nearly flung himself off it. He looked up and around at the domed ceiling above him. Glass intertwined with sandstone above him gave a stained glass effect to the ground below. The sun was high in the sky, it must’ve been noon, and it shone with vengeance down through the glass dome. Where was he? 

Proteles glanced down. A waterfall fell gracefully from a split in the wall nearby where he was standing, and it pooled down below. A small stream bisected the floor below, made out of sand and broken chunks of marble. Smaller columns stood in a half circle to the right side of the stream, obscured a bit by rocks and other growth. It was quiet, peaceful. Proteles looked around to find a way to get down. He was very high up.

Luckily for him, a sandy trail led down, almost like it was pulled out of the wall. He followed it and marveled at the detailed carvings on the mossy stone beside him. It was the fall of Hubris, the same story as on the entrance to this haven. Proteles huffed, excitedly stopping at the creek to lap some water. It was so clean, fresh. Must have a well nearby. 

He stood confidently after drinking his limit. He pricked with anticipation. Nothing could stop him now.

“Hubris!” He howled, “I am here for your blood.” 

The loudest, most haunting laugh Proteles had heard in his life echoed on the stone surrounding him. A heavy shape with dark fur sauntered out from the half-circle of columns. The huge wolf-like ancient bore two pairs of eyes and a downward facing crescent that almost seemed to glow. 

“And you are?” He sneered, his claws scraping the ground as he crept threateningly forward, “I do not recall asking for a magicless dog to enter my home.”

Proteles snarled, “I am Proteles. I’m here because I was robbed of the magic I deserved when I was born. You are the father of the wolfkin, and of the direwolves. I am a wolf, I deserve the magic. And I’m going to take it from you no matter how hard it is.” He lashed his tail and crouched down, ready to launch himself at the Ancient.

“You are pathetic,” Hubris’ tone turned much more hostile, “You will die here.”

Proteles leaped forward several bounds, only to be batted to the side like a toy by Hubris’ huge paws. The jader fell to the ground with a yelp, scores of torn skin down his flank. Pain seared through him, but he couldn’t stop. He scrambled to his feet and tried again, landing squarely on Hubris’ shoulder and began to tear angrily at his fur.

Hubris shook him off easily and threw him once again across the room. Proteles landed with a thud and small crackles. He wheezed and spat, his ribs cracked under his weight. 

“I deserve magic just as much as the others in this world. I was born here! I should have a place to call my own,” Proteles gasped for air, “And you abandoned me...” 

Hubris growled, “Are you so dense and selfish you think you are the only one to wonder what it is like to be without a family? Are you so pathetic that you think you are the only one who has no place in the world?” Hubris stepped forward menacingly, “How dare you come to me, begging and threatening for magic, when you have nothing to offer me! You are an orphan, a shell. The humans have broken you just like they break everything else. You are destined to be this way.” He lifted a paw, ready to deal a killing blow.

Proteles let out a whine, scratching at the ground as he tried to stand. He would not go without a fight.

“I would rather die here without magic than live a life that is so alone. You’re the one who is pathetic, Hubris. You sit in here for months and don’t even recognize those you claim to love. The wolfkin are right to abandon you.”

Hubris snarled and whacked at Proteles, a silencing crack echoed. Proteles did not stand again, and blood dripped from the side of his mouth. 

“You are a pathetic creature,” Hubris howled at the corpse, “You do not belong here!”

Hubris’ anger was only prodded more with the words Proteles had said. The Wolfkin are right to abandon you... and you abandoned me. Hubris turned his back roughly, his emotions were getting out of control. He let out a scream and lashed out with his claws, tearing up stone in his wake. He jumped across the room and toppled several of the columns, smashing them one by one. 

“I did not abandon you!” He shouted at Proteles, “I am not in control of those humans! I have no control over the will of my kin!” Hubris’ anger turned to sadness.

“I have no family anymore.”

Hubris sat down with a huff, staring at the body of Proteles, turning over the actions in his head. What did he do to deserve such a fate, that he would have to strike down something he himself had the power to change. Hours passed. The night was in full swing when Hubris stood again.

He padded to Proteles’ body and crouched. His anger had melted away. It was the anger of this dog that had sparked his own, and he knew well enough he did things he didn’t have control over when he was angry, but it seemed he didn’t have control over anything anyway. 

Hubris started to whisper to the body. He whispered for hours, incantations and calls to Asher. After he finished, he stood, and stepped carefully back to the column ruins on the other side of the room. Dawn was approaching.

He sat among the ruins and watched Proteles until the sun was high in the sky. He watched as the labored breathing to start again. He waited for the rustle of fur and the blink of an eye to let him know Asher had blessed him. 

Proteles let out a small whimper, and opened his eyes.