Against the night sky, the needleworms were nearly invisible.
As hundreds of small, dark shapes fanned out from doors and windows, there was only a barely audible whisper of sound. Even that disappeared without a trace as they thinned out and dispersed in all directions.
A single needleworm beetle was unnervingly silent.
Their wings only caught the barely-there light of a crescent moon at a few, rare angles, reflecting brief, dull, flashes of gray. Otherwise, they were also as good as invisible.
The beetles flew low over the ground, rising and falling with the rolling terrain of Silvershade. As the swarm dissolved further, each individual creature made straight for its target in a way that seemed almost frighteningly co-ordinated.
Drawn unerringly by warmth and breath, they flowed over rooftops and in between buildings, slipping through open shutters, broken tiles, and narrow chimneys with uncanny ease. Those that met closed windows did not linger; choosing instead to veer away and seek softer paths, guided by the faint rhythm of sleeping lungs.
All across the village, be it amongst clusters of thatched-roof cottages or within scattered stone houses, a similar scene played out within hundreds of bedrooms the dark.
A delicate beetle drifted downwards in a slow, spiraling descent, alighting softly upon an unaware face in the dark. It settled with the weight of falling ash, such that most didn't even notice its arrival.
A particularly light sleeper might stir, frown, or draw a breath to brush away the tickle at their lips. However, they'd never be fast enough to match the speed of a needleworm.
They'd never be able to wake up in time.
The occasional person who happened to be awake late into the night, might have had a better chance if not for the needleworm beetle's stealth and speed, combined with the average person's lack of knowledge of another region's terrors.
Those people, even if they were among the rare few to notice the faintest of shadows slipping their way through the dark, would attribute it to a common moth, perhaps, and fail to react in time.
Once a needleworm landed upon the lips, there wasn't even a second spared before the needle - a spike of dense, mineral-hardened chitin tapering to a near-invisible point - was extended.
And so, the awake were taken almost as easily as the asleep.
All over Silvershade, scores of people were killed in the purported safety of their homes and bedrooms, within seconds, and with nary a cry.
*
Arin sat on the gently slanting roof of the main estate building, waiting in silence. Right beside him lay the silvery, winged dragon that had carried him up there.
Curled on its belly, the creature unhurriedly swung its tail to and fro from off the edge of the roof, awaiting his instructions as it lazed.
After releasing the needleworms, he'd figured, why not.
Thanks to Tarra's transformation, he'd seen what the dragons of this world looked like. And since he'd succeeded in calling upon, or rather, creating, needleworms based only on the few descriptions and illustrations in some generally uninformative books, he didn't see why he couldn't do this too.
Dragons were awesome.
He just didn't quite understand why his illusion-dragon-creature seemed so lazy. That wasn't the way he'd imagined it to be, damn it!
Now, he looked over the village, eyes roving over the dark rooftops and shadowy streets.
It was silent. He'd already known it would be, even as the needleworms carried out their brutal massacre.
The only sounds were of the wind and the rustling leaves.
...and the dragon, occasionally grunting softly as it shifted and settled to be more comfortable against the roof tiles.
...
Arin shivered slightly in the cold, drawing his cloak tighter around himself as he waited.
And then -
'Someone! Do you hear me? Help! Help, Isay!'
Arin heard the panicked voice cut through the air from the distance.
Still, not enough.
He waited a little longer. From a house, far into the distance, a dim light flickered to life. Someone was attempting to fight with fire.
Still, more...
Arin tightened his mouth, waiting. Then, from far into the distance, from around the farthest point of the residential areas, another voice screamed something. It was much too far away for him to make the words out.
There it was.
He'd been expecting this, too.
Arin carefully climbed to his feet. Stepping towards the dragon, he said, 'Get up, lazybones.'
The dragons huffed out a warm breath, that visibly puffed out in front of its face before spiraling away into the night. Then, almost reluctantly, it took to its feet and stretched out its wings.
Arin clambered up its scaly side, and settled himself onto its back, until he felt somewhat snug in place. He just had to hope this was the correct way to ride a dragon. He wasn't sure.
His only other experience had had him dangling from the dragon's talons, after all.
Oh well...
Gripping tightly onto the large, steel-like spikes along the dragon's spine, he tucked in his chin, then said, 'Fly, lazybones. Fly low and slow over the village. Start from where the voices are calling.'
As the dragon lifted into the air, it's large, leathery wings flapping at its sides, Arin cleared his throat.
Then, he cried, as loudly as he could, 'Everyone, heed my voice! Help is here! Save yourselves, and gather!'