Guardians - Of Dragons, Wraiths and Endings

Posted on Thu Nov 12th, 2026 @ 9:39pm by Captain Marie Batel & Patin

3,682 words; about a 18 minute read

Mission: Guardians
Location: Bajor / Celestial Temple

The last echoes of the dragon's furious roar faded into the depths beneath B'hala, leaving behind a cavern that scarcely resembled the ancient chamber they had entered. Great slabs of obsidian lay scattered across the fractured floor, their once-polished surfaces blackened by celestial fire. The concentric Bajoran inscriptions had been torn apart, their intricate patterns disappearing into the enormous chasm that now dominated the chamber. Far below, a dull crimson glow flickered intermittently through the settling clouds of ash and dust, offering little indication of whether the creature had retreated or was merely waiting.

Patin stood near the edge, the remnants of her celestial shockwhip dissolving into delicate strands of blue-white energy. Her triumphant expression had vanished, replaced by a growing sense of unease as she surveyed the destruction. The Counter book was missing, and so was Faro. “Well, that's just fucking brilliant,” she muttered, searching the scattered debris for any sign of the ancient tome.

She moved cautiously around a broken section of the dais, her gaze sweeping the chamber for some indication of where Faro might have gone. The crimson corruption that had invaded her celestial form was gone, yet the memory of its presence remained disturbingly vivid. Somewhere beneath the humor and bravado, Patin understood that she had come dangerously close to losing herself to something she barely comprehended.

Her attention turned toward the Prophets, whose ethereal forms hovered above the devastation. They regarded the shattered chamber with their customary detachment, their collective presence beginning to shimmer as though preparing to withdraw from the mortal plane. “Oh, don't you bloody dare,” Patin warned, pointing toward the nearest celestial figure.

One by one, the Prophets faded, their luminous forms dissolving into the familiar golden currents of the Celestial Temple. Their departure carried neither explanation nor reassurance, leaving the two Guardians alone amid the ruins. She stared at the empty space they had occupied, her mouth hanging open in disbelief. “Un-fucking-believable,” she exclaimed, throwing her hands into the air.

She then turned toward Marie, her expression softening as she remembered the dragon's enormous claw sweeping toward her fellow Guardian. “Oi, Marie. You alright?” Patin asked, looking her over with genuine concern.

"I'm not the one who was turning red from the inside out" Marie quipped as she looked around the destroyed cavern. The day had taken a turn she most definitely hadn't expected.

Patin glanced down at her hands, flexing her fingers as though checking for any lingering traces of crimson beneath her skin. “Yeah, well, red's never been my color,” she replied with a crooked grin. “Besides, you got it out of me before I started sprouting horns and breathing fire. ” Her smile lingered a moment longer before she gave Marie an appreciative nod. “Seriously, though. Thanks for that.”

Her gaze briefly returned to the smoldering chasm before settling on the damaged passageway leading from the chamber. “Reckon we've done enough redecorating for one day,” she added, offering Marie a crooked smile. “Let's get the hell out of here.”

"I need a drink" Marie added as they headed out of the cavern.

Beyond the ruined chamber, the ancient corridors of B'hala bore the scars of the confrontation. Hairline fractures traced the walls, and scattered fragments of masonry littered the passageways. Yet the deeper they traveled, the more the destruction seemed to diminish, until the familiar architecture of the ancient city emerged from the dust and shadows.

They passed the locked cabinet, still untouched, and continued moving. At the threshold of the main chamber, where the passage opened toward the older corridors, a solitary figure stood waiting.

The Architect. His presence seemed strangely untouched by the chaos behind them. The ancient stonework surrounding him remained intact, and the faint illumination along the corridor cast long shadows across the floor.

Patin slowed, recognizing the figure immediately. For a moment, she regarded him in silence, considering the destruction they had left behind and the questions that remained unanswered. “Just when I thought we were done.” She turned, folding her arms across her chest. “Alright,” Patin called, her voice carrying down the corridor. “Now what?”

"Who are you again?" Marie felt an odd connection with this mysterious man. "Weren't you the one who lured Rhenora down here as part of your grand plan to rebuild Bajor? What are you?"

The Architect's face brightened into a broad, almost childlike smile as he spread his arms in welcome. “Why, I am the Architect, of course! Surely you remember?” He chuckled, seemingly amused that such a question should need answering. “I was there at the beginning, you know. Quite a remarkable beginning, if I do say so myself. And I shall be there at the very end, though I suspect that will be considerably less pleasant, darker perhaps.”

His attention wandered briefly toward the passage behind them, his fingers moving absently as though arranging invisible pieces upon a tabletop. Then, remembering his guests, he clasped his hands together with renewed enthusiasm. “But enough about endings! Tell me, tell me! Did you take care of those troublesome beasts of burden? Such dreadful things, always getting into places they oughtn't.”

"Shouldn't you know that if you were there at the Beginning?" Marie tossed back, shaking the dust and debris off her uniform and sending small clouds of dust into the air. Patin looked like she'd wrestled with some of horrible beast - which wasn't very far from the truth.

" What was that thing anyway?" Marie continued, prompting where there could be answers to the zillions of questions that continued to bubble away in her mind.

Patin found herself content to let someone else ask the questions, though the expression on her face suggested she was reserving the right to call bullshit on whatever answers they received.

The Architect merely grinned, apparently delighted by their continued interest. “Come, come! A drink is in order, I should think. Yes, something to settle the nerves. Terrible business, all that rumbling and crashing about.” He gestured enthusiastically for them to follow, leading the way through the ancient passageways and out from beneath B'hala. Along the way, he paused twice to examine cracks in the masonry, muttering something about tolerances and structural integrity before remembering his guests and continuing toward the peculiar tent that served as his office.

Once inside, he busied himself among the cluttered tables, scattered scrolls, and curious instruments that occupied nearly every available surface. “Now then, what was the question? Ah, yes! The beast!” He turned toward them with an expression of scholarly enthusiasm. “Why, it was a dragon, of course. Rather obvious, wouldn't you say?” He chuckled at his own observation before continuing. “But more importantly, a beast of the Wraiths. A guardian, you see, designed to protect something of considerable importance. A pet, of sorts, though I wouldn't recommend attempting to scratch it behind the ears.”

He paused, considering the matter with a slight tilt of his head. “Its purpose was to prevent the Counter book from falling into the wrong hands. According to the design, naturally. Everything has its place, its purpose, its proper arrangement. Remove one piece, and the whole structure becomes rather... unpredictable.” His fingers fluttered through the air, rearranging invisible components before his attention abruptly shifted toward a nearby cabinet.

“Tea? Coffee? Oh, no, no, of course not. You ladies prefer something with a little bite!” With an almost theatrical flourish, he produced two glasses containing a rich amber liquid and offered one to each Guardian. The bottles and glasses seemed to have been waiting for precisely this occasion, though whether by preparation or some stranger means remained uncertain.

“There we are!” he exclaimed, looking immensely pleased with himself. “Now, where were we? Ah, yes, questions!” He settled comfortably into his chair, crossing one leg over the other as though hosting an afternoon social gathering rather than entertaining two celestial beings who had narrowly escaped a confrontation with an ancient monstrosity. “Go on, then. What else would you like to know?”

Patin accepted the glass with a suspicious squint, swirling the amber liquid before bringing it beneath her nose for a cautious sniff. Her eyebrows rose appreciatively as the sharp, familiar aroma reached her senses. Without further ceremony, she tipped her head back and emptied the entire glass in one magnificent gulp, smacking her lips as the warmth settled pleasantly in her belly. “Mmm, not bad!” She held out the empty glass toward the Architect, a mischievous grin spreading across her face.

"So how did the Wraith get a guardian dragon?" Marie scoffed as she accepted the glass and sniffed it's contents cautiously. "And how come they got a dragon and the Prophets have.... oh no... they have us" She facepalmed at the realisation and balance the universe had again brought to the situation.
"The bad guys get a fire breathing dragon, and the good guys get a woman hell bent on negotiating with explosives and a dead captain."

“Sounds like a pretty balanced match to me,” Patin replied, her face splitting into a mischievous grin. “Besides, you're a hell of a lot more than a dead captain to me, Batel. You kick ass when you need to! That whole Beholder business was pretty damn impressive, the way you took on the Vezda with nothing but pure light.” She raised both hands dramatically, spreading her fingers as though unleashing a tremendous burst of celestial energy, complete with an exaggerated expression of divine concentration. “POW! Take that, ya ugly bastard!” She chuckled at her own performance before giving Marie an appreciative wink.

The Architect watched their exchange with obvious amusement, his eyes following Patin's theatrical gestures as though observing an especially entertaining demonstration. Yet when he spoke, his jovial manner gave way to something more thoughtful. “Ah, balance! Such a marvelous thing, wouldn't you agree? Without it, a building cannot stand, nor can a bridge bear its burden. The universe itself is built upon symmetry, from the smallest particle to the grandest celestial body. Everything exists in careful relation to something else.”

He brought his hands together, fingertips touching, before slowly separating them as though measuring the distance between two invisible structures. “Even the two of you balance one another, just as together you balanced the might of that dreadful dragon. Creation and destruction, beginnings and endings, each requires the other. One cannot plan the construction of a thing without considering its eventual demise. That, my dears, is the natural balance of existence.”

Patin's grin gradually faded as she considered his words. The Architect spoke of creation and destruction with the casual certainty of someone discussing the foundations of a house, yet she could still remember the crimson corruption clawing through her celestial form and the terrible possibilities the Prophets had laid before them.

She lowered her hands, her expression settling into something considerably more serious. “Alright, then. If everything's supposed to balance out so nicely, explain something to me.” She leaned forward, fixing the Architect with a steady gaze. “What happened to Faro, the Wraith, and that bloody book? Where'd they disappear to, and what the hell happened to your precious balance?”

The Architect regarded Patin for a moment, his expression brightening as though she had asked a particularly delightful question. “Ah, time! Such a troublesome thing to explain, especially to those who insist upon experiencing it in only one direction.” He chuckled softly, then reached toward a loose thread hanging from the edge of a nearby tapestry, rolling it thoughtfully between his fingers.

“You see, time, much like balance, begins as a collection of possibilities. Individual strands, each with its own direction, its own potential. One by one, they are woven together, crossing and intertwining until something resembling a coherent design begins to emerge. A tapestry, if you will, with each thread contributing to the whole.” He gestured toward the fabric, tracing its intricate patterns with one finger. “But unlike an ordinary piece of cloth, the tapestry of existence is never truly finished. There are always loose ends, frayed edges, strands that refuse to follow the pattern laid out before them. Some are woven back into place, while others find entirely unexpected and unique paths through the fabric.”

He released the thread, allowing it to fall loosely against the tapestry. “Your friend Faro is one such strand. A rather troublesome one, I might add. Where she has wandered, and what she carries with her, remains part of a pattern that has yet to reveal itself. Perhaps she will find her proper place eventually. Perhaps she will create an entirely new one.” He gave a small, almost apologetic shrug. “Time is a fickle creature, after all, and terribly resistant to being told what it ought to do, much like yourself in that regard I think.”

His attention returned to Patin, and for a moment his wandering expression became unusually focused. He studied her eyes as though searching for something hidden beneath the surface, then smiled with a quiet recognition.

“Ahhh, but you've seen it, haven't you? The possibilities.” He nodded slowly, apparently pleased by his discovery. “Two of them, at least, among countless others. You've seen what may happen should that loose thread become entangled with the young Emissary. The suffering, the consequences, the terrible price of allowing certain strands to cross.” His voice softened, though his manner remained curiously matter-of-fact. “But you've also seen another possibility, one in which your presence changes how those threads are woven. A different arrangement, a different outcome, provided you are there when the moment arrives.”

He leaned back in his chair, folding his hands comfortably across his lap. “And the most curious thing of all, my dear Guardian, is that you've already made your choice. You have seen what might be, and you have decided what you intend to do about it.” His smile returned, warm and almost paternal. “So tell me, why all this worry? The tapestry is still being woven, and you've already taken hold of the thread.”

"You speak like there's a whole lot of choice going on and not someone pulling the strings attached to said threads" Marie retorted, hands on hip and an expression that meant she wasn't entirely buying whatever it was he was selling. "We may have taken hold of one end of the thread as you call it, but the other end is firmly in the hands of someone else"

The Architect clapped his hands together, releasing a boisterous laugh that seemed entirely disproportionate to Marie's accusation. As he did, the blueprints and drawings scattered across his desk and pinned to the walls shimmered faintly, their intricate lines shifting for the briefest moment as though responding to some unseen adjustment.

“Exactly!” he exclaimed, clearly delighted that she had arrived at such a conclusion. He chuckled again before lifting his glass and taking a leisurely sip of the amber liquor. “Someone is always taking hold of the threads, or at least claiming to. Control over the narrative has always been something of a tug-of-war, you see. Sometimes it takes the form of a dragon beneath a mountain of obsidian glass, and sometimes it's a desperate soul reaching for a book filled with ancient words and terrible promises.”

He gestured toward the drawings surrounding them, his fingers tracing an invisible pattern through the air. “Everyone has an interest in pulling those threads this way or that, each convinced their particular arrangement is the correct one. But does it truly matter who pulls hardest, provided the threads eventually become a tapestry?”

He paused, considering his own question before answering with a thoughtful tilt of his head. “Ah, but the quality! Therein lies the difference. A tapestry may still be woven, certainly, but whether it is beautiful or dreadful depends entirely upon the eye of the beholder. The buyer, perhaps, or the one who commissioned it.” His smile widened slightly. “Or, of course, the one who designed it.”

Patin regarded him for a moment, her earlier amusement giving way to suspicion. “Are you suggesting you're the creator?” she asked, studying his expression.

The Architect offered an almost innocent shrug. “I am the Architect, my dear. Nothing more, nothing less.” He set his glass upon the desk, carefully aligning it with the edge of a nearby drawing. “Design is rather implied in the title, wouldn't you agree?”

Marie took a moment to consider the words just spoken. It was akin to standing beside whoever created the universe, just chewing the fat as it were about this and that. "If you're the creator....you created the dragon, and the books, and the Prophets and Wraith. You did all of it"

The Architect took another long drink from his glass, considering Marie's accusation with an expression of mild amusement. “Oh, wouldn't that make everything wonderfully simple?” he replied, lowering the glass. “One creator, one grand design, one convenient fellow upon whom to place the blame. Every sorrow explained, every injustice accounted for, every dreadful little tragedy given someone to answer for. You'd like that, wouldn't you? Someone to hold responsible for all the things you could neither prevent nor understand.”

She was dumbfounded, as though someone had come and taken the thoughts right out of her brain and them filled the empty space with more emptiness.

His expression softened, and for a moment the peculiar enthusiasm that had characterized their conversation gave way to something more sincere. “I can see you're still angry about what was done to you, my dear. And why shouldn't you be? I certainly wasn't particularly fond of how that chapter unfolded. Such a dreadful waste.” He turned his glass slowly between his fingers, studying the amber liquid before looking back toward her.

“But you did receive an ending, didn't you? Perhaps not the one you would have chosen, certainly not the one you deserved, but an ending nonetheless. And yet, here you are, having another conversation, asking another question. Curious, isn't it, how often an ending turns out to be the beginning of something else?”

"You speak in riddles that are impossible to make sense" Marie retorted, flustered in the moment but desperate to say something. "You speak of beginnings and endings as though you own them, or have written them"

He glanced at the glass Marie had scarcely touched, his brow furrowing with a momentary disappointment before his customary smile returned. “Ah, I see. Still unconvinced. Well, that simply won't do, will it?” He set his own glass aside and leaned forward, resting his elbows upon the desk. “Very well, then. I propose an arrangement. Ask me anything. Anything at all. No subject forbidden, no question too grand or too insignificant. I shall endeavor to give you the best answer I can, though whether you find it satisfactory is, of course, another matter entirely.”

For a moment, his attention drifted toward the countless drawings and blueprints surrounding them. The delicate lines upon the parchment shimmered faintly, revealing intricate arrangements of shapes and patterns that seemed to extend beyond the boundaries of their pages. When he spoke again, his voice carried a quiet gravity that contrasted sharply with his earlier enthusiasm.

“All I ask in return is that you keep an open mind, whatever answers you receive and whatever may come of them. For there is a rather extraordinary difference between seeking the truth and being willing to accept what it might reveal. After all, some answers change how we understand the universe. Others change how we understand ourselves. And occasionally, my dear, a single answer can change everything we believed was possible.”

He brought his hands together, interlacing his fingers as the familiar twinkle returned to his eyes. “Now, that is no small responsibility, is it? So tell me, Captain Batel, are you prepared to carry it?”

Marie had questions - so, so many questions relating to the nature of the universe, religion, creationism, the history of everything, who orchestrates the pieces, who created the pieces to be orchestrated in the first place. Was this man the conductor? Or the composer? Did he write the notes or interpret them into a new composition?

"I only get one question?"

The Architect's smile broadened into an expression of absolute delight, his eyes sparkling with the enthusiasm of a man who had just been presented with the most marvelous joke in all of creation. He leaned forward slightly, considering Marie's question with exaggerated seriousness before offering a single, perfectly articulated answer.

“Yes.” He then settled back into his chair, looking immensely satisfied with himself.

Patin blinked, her empty glass still extended toward him in the increasingly forlorn hope of a refill. She glanced at Marie, then back at the Architect, before the implications of that solitary word finally settled into place. “Oh, you've gotta be joking!” she exclaimed, her eyes widening with incredulous amusement. “Batel! Did you just waste your one bloody question asking if you only get one bloody question?!”

The Architect burst into delighted laughter, clapping his hands together as the blueprints surrounding them shimmered once more. “Oh, marvelous! Quite marvelous indeed! An excellent demonstration of the importance of choosing one's questions carefully!”

Patin opened her mouth to deliver what promised to be a spectacularly colorful assessment of the situation, but the familiar golden radiance of the Celestial Temple began gathering around them. The edges of the Architect's office softened, its scattered drawings and instruments dissolving into luminous strands that stretched toward an unseen horizon. “Oh, come on!” Patin protested, throwing her hands into the air as the light intensified around the Guardians. “I wasn't finished insulting the bastard yet!”

The Architect remained comfortably seated, watching their departure with an expression of affectionate amusement. He raised his glass in a cheerful farewell. “Until the next beginning, my dears!”

As the tent and its peculiar occupant faded from sight, Patin's laughter mingled with one final indignant complaint. “And I never got my fucking refill!”

The golden light swallowed the last of their surroundings, carrying the Guardians back into the timeless embrace of the Celestial Temple.

END

https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=YNtgQdfvhag&si=dJEcGDy5t0Tcmor0

ACES - Fall Out Boy

 

RSS Feed