Entry 61: Cypria

by Hayley Thomas

Dear Diary,

That morning we departed from Talebra Velora, heading west along the same winding paths that had brought us here only days ago. Back through moss-covered groves and sun-dappled forest. Back toward the bridge. Back toward the encampment of the Black Knight.

And back toward the inevitable confrontation.

The journey took most of the day, and with every mile the silence around us grew heavier. It wasn’t the peaceful quiet of a forest walk—it was the taut, waiting silence of minds lost in thought. Everyone was preparing in their own way. Alistan rode at the front, unusually stiff in the saddle. Luke kept fiddling with his spell components, her fingers betraying her tension. Liliana tried to lighten the mood with songs, but quickly fell silent. Dadroz barely spoke at all. And I… I tried to focus, to mentally prepare for either a conversation or a duel, though my heart already knew which one we would get.

We said we wanted to talk. That diplomacy was our first option. But I think deep down, we all knew better. This wasn’t going to end in words. This curse, this game of champions—it wouldn’t stop until someone forced it to.

Still, we weren’t entirely alone on the trail. We had a watcher in the skies.

The copper dragon—she—was still out there. That much we were sure of. Whether she followed out of gratitude or grievance was another matter entirely.

Gael, ever resourceful, spent much of the journey talking to animals we passed. Birds, squirrels, even an exceptionally annoyed badger at one point. The rest of us tried not to laugh, but some of those exchanges were… colorful. Eventually, a small thrush seemed to understand what we were after and chirped insistently, fluttering from branch to branch until it brought us to a clearing where the undergrowth had been crushed flat.

The signs were clear: a massive creature had rested here recently. Bark had been scored. The earth was caved in under impossible weight. Scales, faint and metallic, glinted in the moss. It hadn’t been long.

She was close. Or had been.

But dragons leave little trail when they take to the skies, and tracking one through the canopy was a fool’s errand. So we moved on, casting occasional glances skyward, half-hoping she’d return. Half-hoping she wouldn’t.

By the time the sun began to dip below the trees, we reached the bridge again—the place where Alistan had dueled Baron Perenolde. It looked much the same, though the memory of that fight still lingered like a ghost in the air.

We were only an hour from the Black Knight’s new camp. Close enough to press on.

But we didn’t.

None of us wanted to approach the undead camp exhausted from a day’s ride. We needed rest. We needed clarity. And if this was to be our final conversation with the Black Knight—words or weapons—we would face him on our terms.
We set up camp near the river, just beyond the bridge. The trees around us whispered in the growing dark, and the stars overhead blinked to life one by one.

Tomorrow, everything would change. One way or another.

Most of us had already turned in for the night, the campfire crackling low and the woods around us quiet, when the silence was shattered by a sickening thud. Something massive had hit the ground nearby.

Weapons were drawn, spells murmured, hearts pounding.

A stag. A massive one. Dead, and very much dropped from the sky.

Before we could even process that, the earth trembled under the impact of something far greater.

She landed in a rush of wind and power—wings folding like banners at rest, copper scales catching the moonlight with a glimmer somewhere between regal and menacing. The copper dragon. Cypria, though we didn’t know her name yet.
She didn’t speak. She didn’t even properly acknowledge us at first. She merely glanced in our direction—once, briefly—then tore into the stag with a hunger that was both primal and calculated. Our greetings were met with silence. Any attempt at conversation was met with the crunch of bone and tearing of sinew.

So we waited.

Eventually, she finished her meal and—perhaps theatrically—tossed the antlers in our direction. A gift? A warning? Hard to tell.

Only then did she lift her head, golden eyes scanning us with cool intelligence. “Come,” she said, with the casual authority of something that had never needed to ask twice.

We approached. Cautiously.

She straightened her serpentine neck, settling into a more formal pose, and at last gave us her name: Cypria. And without preamble, she asked if we had been the ones to enter her lair.

There was no accusation in her tone. Just a simple fact laid bare.

When we confirmed it, she nodded slowly. “You need not worry,” she said, and it wasn’t a reassurance—it was a judgment passed. She wasn’t angry. Quite the opposite, in fact.
She viewed what we had taken as fair trade. Payment for ridding her lair of the wyverns. An understanding, of sorts. I couldn’t help but feel slightly relieved, and slightly impressed.

Then came the mention of the basilisks. She thanked us for sparing them, though her gaze sharpened when she said it. “Even though,” she added, her tone carrying a faint edge, “they are worth a small fortune in spell components.”

Her eyes slid meaningfully to Luke.

I could almost hear the sheepish cough he didn’t make.

Truth be told, I hadn’t even thought about it.

With the matter of her lair settled, Cypria’s attention turned—inevitably—to our purpose here. She asked about the undead. About our plans. About what we hoped to accomplish.

But there was something behind her questions. A weight to them. As though she already knew what we intended. As though she already understood the curse better than we did. Perhaps far better.
And though my instincts begged me to reach out, to touch her mind and feel the shape of her knowledge, I didn’t. Not this time.
She had been gracious. Respectful. And terrifying.

And I wasn’t quite ready to test the limits of that respect.

Cypria’s golden gaze swept over us like sunlight through storm clouds. “You came from Keralon, didn’t you?” she asked, and the question wasn’t casual—it was dissecting. “Which Circles do you belong to?”
Gael, ever the polite one, answered calmly—listing us off like checkmarks on an old scroll. She nodded along as he spoke, each name and affiliation noted with a twitch of her ridged brow.
But when her eyes fell on Liliana, something changed. There was a pause. Then a direct, pointed question:

“Why aren’t you a knight?”

The air hung heavy for a moment, but Liliana didn’t flinch. “It didn’t feel right,” she said simply. No excuses, no elaboration. Just truth, laid bare.

Cypria tilted her head slightly, then shook it—slowly, almost sadly. “Strange,” she said. “Very strange.”

And then, with a sweeping glance at the rest of us: “So… are you here for king and country, then? Knights answering the call of Keralon’s throne?”
Before anyone else could speak, I stepped in.

“No,” I said. “This isn’t about the crown. We’re here at the request of Rachnar. And Talebra Velora.”

That earned me a brief nod of approval, or perhaps recognition. It was hard to read a dragon’s expression—but she seemed satisfied by the answer.

She then asked the question we had no real answer to: “How do you intend to deal with the Black Knight—and the curse?”

None of us spoke right away. Because the truth was, we didn’t know. We had guesses. Hunches. Fragments of stories. But no real plan. Not yet.

It was Gael who finally broke the silence, asking if she had any knowledge of the Challenge of the Final Tournament—a phrase we had only just begun to unravel.
Cypria frowned, her tongue flicking briefly against the roof of her mouth. “No,” she said. “That name means nothing to me.”

And just like that, another potential lead vanished into the dark.

Sensing the lull, Gael pivoted. He warned her—gently—that it might not be wise for her to remain in the Fenhunter’s domain much longer. The green wyrm was aware of her presence, after all.

Cypria laughed.

Not cruelly, not mockingly. Just deeply. Like someone who understood far more than she was letting on.

“Oh, I know,” she said, stretching out her long neck with a fluid motion. “Morenthene and I are well aware of each other. She is… ancient. Wise. Dangerous. I do not plan to linger.”

It was a strange moment—watching two dragons circle each other without ever meeting, two titanic creatures threading diplomacy through the trees like whispers through a battlefield.

And then Cypria turned to Alistan.

“You,” she said. “I would like to speak with you. Alone.”

There was no doubt in her voice. No request, really—just an invitation backed by impossible weight.

To his credit, Alistan didn’t hesitate. He stepped forward, murmured something about trust and honor, and accepted. Cypria lowered herself, letting him climb up between her shoulder blades.

“I hope you know,” he said, half-joking, “this is probably the coolest thing that’s ever happened to me.”

She didn’t answer. Just leapt.

The sound of her wings filled the night sky, and then they were gone—vanishing into the darkness above.

Liliana and I took the second watch. The night stretched long, lit only by the soft glow of our fire and the distant shimmer of stars above the treetops. We didn’t speak much—just watched, waited, wondered.
They didn’t return until well into our watch. Alistan climbed down slowly, deep in thought, the flicker of the firelight dancing across his face.

Whatever they’d spoken about, it had shaken him. Or changed him. Or both.
But he didn’t say anything. Not yet.

And none of us asked.

Continue reading...

Entry one: The trials

Entry two: The bramble

Entry 3: Rosebloom

Entry 4: Hearts and Dreams

Entry 5: of ghosts and wolves

Entry 6: Hillfield and Deals with Fae

Entry 7: mysteries and pastries

Entry 8: The scarecrow ruse
6th of Lug, 121 Year of the Tree

Entry 9: A betrayal of satyrs
7th of Lug, 121 year of the Tree

Entry 10: The fate of twins
8th of Lug, 121 year of the Tree

Entry 11: Cursed twins
10th of Lug, 121 year of the Tree

Entry 12: Loss and despair
11th of Lug, 121 year of the Tree

Hayley's rules to being a Witch

Entry 13: the price of safety
12th of Lug, 121 year of the Tree

Entry 14: A golden cage and fiery tower
13th of Lug, 121 year of the Tree

Entry 15: A trial by fire
14th of Lug, 121 year of the Tree

Entry 16: Keralon
15th of Lug, 121 year of the Tree

Letter to Luke 1

Letter to Luke 2

Letter to Luke 3

Letter to Luke 4

Letter to Luke 5

Letter to Luke 6

Entry 17: I shall wear midnight
1st of Nuan, 126 Era of the Tree

Entry 18: peace in our time
2nd of Nuan, 126 Era of the Tree

Entry 19: Caern Fussil falls
3rd of Nuan, 126 Era of the Tree

Entry 20: I see fire
4th of Nuan, 126 Era of the Tree

Entry 21: Cultists twarted
10th of Nuan, 126 Era of the Tree

Entry 22: Ravensfield
14th of Nuan, 126 Era of the Tree

Entry 23: The Hollow Hill Horror
15th of Nuan, 126 Era of the Tree

Entry 24: Burn your village
16th of Nuan, 126 Era of the Tree

Entry 25: Ravensfield burns
17th of Nuan, 126 Era of the Tree

Entry 26: There will be blood!
21st of Nuan, 126 Era of the Tree

Entry 27: A happy reunion
22nd of Nuan, 126 Era of the Tree

Entry 28: The embassy ball
23rd of Nuan, 126 Era of the Tree

Entry 29: The fate of Robert Talespinner
24th of Nuan, 126 Era of the Tree

Entry 30: A royal summons
28th of Nuan, 126 Era of the Tree

Entry 31: of Dogville and Geese
29th of Nuan, 126 Era of the Tree

Entry 32: A boggle named Pim
30th of Nuan, 126 Era of the Tree

Entry 33: A deal broken
1st of Aran, 126 Era of the Tree

Entry 34: The cost of doing what is right
2nd of Aran, 126 Era of the Tree

Entry 35: A dish best served cold
9th of Aran, 126 Era of the Tree

entry 36: Cornu returns?
10th of Aran, 126 Era of the Tree

Entry 37: A letter from Amarra
11th of Aran, 126 Era of the Tree

Entry 38: The case of the (not) missing villagers
14th of Aran, 126 Era of the Tree

Entry 39: A curse broken
15th of Aran, 126 Era of the Tree

Entry 40: Into the Lorewood
18th of Aran, 126 Era of the Tree

Entry 41: Cabin in the Woods
19th of Aran, 126 Era of the Tree

Entry 42: Myrdin and Anaya
20th of Aran, 126 Era of the Tree

Entry 43: Into the Immerglade
21st of Aran, 127 Era of the Tree

Entry 44: A tale as old as time
22nd of Aran, 127 Era of the Tree

Entry 45: The truth
23rd of Aran, 128 Era of the Tree

Entry 46: Luke's Ordeal
24th of Aran, 128 Era of the Tree

Entry 47: The festival
26th of Aran, 128 Era of the Tree

Entry 48: Trouble at the Cathedral
2nd of Brigan, 128 Era of the Tree

Entry 49: Quinn's court
4th of Brigan, 128 Era of the Tree

Entry 50: onwards to Latebra Velora
5th of Brigan, 128 Era of the Tree

Entry 51: Where is my cow?
6th of Brigan, 128 Era of the Tree

Entry 52: Here be dragons
7th of Brigan, 128 Era of the Tree

Entry 53: Dragon hoard with a side of scarabs
8th of Brigan, 128 Era of the Tree

Entry 54: Leave the basilisks alone
9th of Brigan, 128 Era of the Tree

Entry 55: Return to Ravensfield
10th of Brigan, 128 Era of the Tree

Entry 56: The needs of the many...
11th of Brigan, 128 Era of the Tree

Entry 57: Dreams of Sister Willow
12th of Brigan, 128 Era of the Tree

Entry 58: wetlands be wet
13th of Brigan, 128 Era of the Tree

Entry 59: Baron Perenolde
14th of Brigan, 128 Era of the Tree

Entry 60: Talebra Velora and the lady Morenthene
15th of Brigan, 128 Era of the Tree

Entry 61: Cypria
16th of Brigan, 128 Era of the Tree

Entry 62: Dragon takes Knight
17th of Brigan, 128 Era of the Tree

Entry 63: Return to Talebra Velora
18th of Brigan, 128 Era of the Tree

Entry 64: Your presence is “requested”
19th of Brigan, 128 Era of the Tree

Entry 65: I stand alone
20th of Brigan, 128 Era of the Tree

Entry 66: A day of normalcy
21th of Brigan, 128 Era of the Tree

Entry 67: Into the Neverhold
22nd of Brigan, 128 Era of the Tree

Entry 68: The Warg King

Entry 69: Chased by birds

Entry 70: Whitewail

Entry 71: Nimmerhold

Entry 72: The menagerie
29th of Gobu, 128 Era of the Tree

Entry 73: To the library!
30th of Gobu, 128 Era of the Tree

Entry 74: The people's tournament
First of Mannan, 128 Era of the Tree

Entry 75: Nimmerhold party
First of Mannan, 128 Era of the Tree

Entry 76, The return home
Second of Mannan, 128 Era of the Tree

Entry 77: A week of peace
10th of Mannan

Entry 78: The tomb of the First King
11th of Mannon, 128 Era of the Tree

Entry 61: Cypria

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