Evolution begins with an ant colony

The afternoon sun cast a warm glow upon the bustling streets of Biskivill, one of the state jewels within the Holy Empire. Merchants hawked their wares, their voices echoing all around. Children chased each other around as they had fun, their laughter echoing through the cobbled streets.

Women in brightly colored gowns gossiped by the fountains, Men, dressed in sturdy work attire, carried out their daily tasks, their faces calm yet serious.

At the very core of this lively and bustling scene, there stood the noble House of Biskivill. This truly magnificent structure was not just a building; it was a proud symbol of the region's enduring prosperity and success.

The House of Biskivill was a towering structure that seemed to stretch endlessly upwards, almost as if it was trying to touch the skies. Its imposing walls were covered with stunning carvings that vividly portrayed scenes of alchemical discoveries and the pursuit of knowledge.

As you approached the main gate, you couldn't help but be struck by its beauty. Crafted from gleaming obsidian, it stood as a silent yet powerful reminder of the proud lineage of alchemists who had made Biskivill their home over the generations.
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However, the shadow of a loss still lingered over this land. 3 years ago, Biskivill had been plunged into grief with the passing of their beloved Lord, Sir Quinton Von Biskivill. The land had mourned deeply, their future uncertain.

But under the steady guidance of Lady Bella Von Biskivill, a woman known for her wisdom and strength, Biskivill had not only weathered the storm but begun to thrive once more.

Meanwhile, cloaked in brown hooded robes, Kaladrix and Mellin entered Biskivill, making their way through the bustling crowds. Mellin, her sharp eyes taking in the vibrant scene, couldn't help but remark, "They've come a long way, haven't they? These humans. Compared to what they were a thousand years ago."

Kaladrix, let out a humorless scoff. "Indeed," he agreed, his voice a low rumble. "But progress doesn't equate to wisdom, Mellin. They are still a race of fools, blinded by their own faith."

His words dripped with disdain. "Worshiping that… that treacherous Velora as some kind of goddess. Pathetic."

Mellin sighed, understanding the bitterness that laced his voice. Velora had caused them both a great deal of suffering. But dwelling on the past wouldn't solve anything, instead they were here to get payback, and perhaps avenge the long lost souls of their people from that tragedy thousand of years ago.

"So," she asked, her voice steady, "what is our approach here my lord?"

Kaldarix simply responded with a calm tone saying, "We a dragon monarchs Mellin, we have no need for a plan, we simply stroll into their grand cathedral and end the lives of all who are present there, as well as those who stand in our way. Then we'll proceed to rid this land of a lord that could approve of such a religion, the worship of a dragon that betrayed her lord."

Mellin then mutterd, "I understand your anger fully my lord, but you remember the agreement we came to last night, right?" She said, tilting her head slightly as she walked besides him.

Mellin's comment hung heavy in the air, a stark contrast to the joyous chaos of the Biskivill marketplace.

Kaldarix, however, remained unfazed. His jaw clenched, a flicker of anger still smoldering in his purple eyes. But the bustling scene around them seemed to have a subtle effect – the laughter of children, the rhythmic clatter of the blacksmith's hammer, the melodic chirping of birds nesting in the town square trees.

Suddenly, a new sound cut through the cacophony – a young girl's whimper, followed by choked sobs. Kaldarix and Mellin exchanged a glance, a hint of curiosity replacing the simmering tension on their faces.

Following the sound, they spotted a small, red-haired girl, no older than five, huddled against a weathered wall of a bakery, her face streaked with tears.

A feeling of something simmilar to pity struck Mellin. "Looks like someone's lost," she murmured, her voice softer than usual. Kaldarix, ever the stoic warrior, remained silent, yet his gaze lingered on the child. In the depths of his dragon eyes, a flicker of something unexpected – a sliver of empathy – could be seen.

Mellin, sensing a shift in his demeanor, nudged him gently. "Perhaps we should help her?" she suggested, a hint of amusement in her voice.

Kaldarix hesitated for a moment, then let out a low growl. "Fine," he conceded, his voice rough but not unkind.

He knelt before the sobbing girl, his imposing figure casting a large shadow over her. The girl flinched, her large, tear-filled eyes widening in fear. Kaldarix's stance, which appeared less threatening and more curious, had a soothing effect on her.

"Hey there, little one," Kaldarix mumbled, his voice surprisingly gentle. "What seems to be the trouble?"

The girl hiccupped, her voice barely a whisper. "I... I can't find Mama," she mumbled, clutching a raggedy doll to her chest.

Mellin knelt beside Kaldarix, her demeanor radiating warmth. "Don't worry, sweetie," she said in a soothing voice. "We'll help you find her. Do you remember where you last saw her?"

The girl shook her head, her lower lip trembling. "We were looking at the pretty pastries," she sniffled, pointing towards the bakery. "Then, a big crowd of people came by and I couldn't see Mama anymore."

Kaldarix glanced around the marketplace, his sharp eyes scanning the bustling crowd. Though his heart remained steeled on his mission, the sight of the distraught child tugged at something dormant within him – a faint echo of a time when his own people hadn't been slaughterd by the gods.

"Alright," he said, his voice surprisingly gruff but reassuring. "Let's retrace your steps." He tapped her head softly.

He stood up slowly, and for a moment, the girl clung tightly to his leg. Then, with great care, he gently lifted her up with his large hand. Despite her tiny frame in his giant grasp, she seemed unafraid and even oddly comforted by his presence.

Mellin, watching the scene unfold, felt a faint smile tug at the corners of her mouth—a rare expression for her typically serious demeanor. In the midst of their ongoing quest for vengeance, she thought, maybe a small act of kindness wouldn't hurt.