7 The Well of Peace: Atlantis and the Rise of Dragon Riders

For centuries, the Well of Peace in Atlantis reflected nothing but harmony, its waters guarded by the black dragon and the white—until the day the first shadow appeared.

The marble terraces still gleamed with the quiet radiance of Atlantis at her height. Water flowed through the channels surrounding the sanctuary, singing softly as it descended into the circular basin at the centre of the temple garden.

At the heart of the basin lay the Well of Peace.

Two dragons rested beside it.

One black as volcanic glass.

The other pale as moonlit alabaster.

They lay coiled upon the stone paving like ancient guardians, their immense wings folded, their long tails curving gently toward the water. Neither slept. Dragons seldom did. Instead, they held the patient stillness of creatures who had seen ages rise and fall.

Between them stood a simple stone bench.

Aisha, Temple Priestess of the Well, sat there now beside a woman whose hands trembled in her lap.

The temple was beginning to stir for the day. Pilgrims were already passing through the outer gardens, their voices hushed out of habit. Yet the space around the Well remained quiet, as if the dragons themselves held the air in a delicate equilibrium.

Aisha lifted a small silver cup from the basin and filled it with water.

The surface shimmered faintly as she brought it to the woman.

“Drink,” she said gently.

The woman obeyed, though her eyes darted nervously toward the dragons.

“They will not harm you,” Aisha assured her.

The woman drank slowly. Some colour returned to her face.

Aisha studied her in silence for a moment. The bruise along the woman’s cheekbone had already begun to darken.

In Atlantis such injuries were… rare.

“Tell me again what happened,” Aisha said quietly.

The woman clasped the empty cup between her hands.

“He asked me to submit,” she said.

Her voice wavered slightly, though she tried to keep it steady.

“I told him calmly that I was his equal.”

Aisha inclined her head.

That was the law of Atlantis.

Equality between the masculine and the feminine was not merely a custom; it was the foundation of their civilisation.

“What did he say then?” Aisha asked.

The woman hesitated.

“He struck me.”

For a moment even the sound of the water seemed to still.

Aisha’s gaze moved briefly toward the dragons.

The white dragon’s golden eyes remained serene.

The black dragon’s slit pupils narrowed slightly, though it made no sound.

“And afterwards?” Aisha asked.

The woman swallowed.

“I told him he should come here. To the Temple of Peace. I thought… perhaps the Well might help him remember himself.”

A faint, weary smile touched Aisha’s lips.

“That was wise.”

The woman looked down.

“He laughed.”

“What did he say?”

“He said the male temple priests will soon change everything.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “He said they have plans now. Plans for our resources… our power.”

Aisha felt a small cold current move through her chest.

“The Solar Collegium,” she said softly.

The woman nodded.

“They speak of dominion,” she continued. “Of expanding Atlantis beyond the seas. They say the world must be organised under rational authority.”

Aisha said nothing.

For centuries, the male priesthood—the Solar Collegium—had served Atlantis honourably. Their mastery of mathematics, engineering, and celestial navigation had helped shape the empire’s prosperity.

Yet lately something had shifted.

Their conversations had grown sharper.

More calculating.

The language of balance had slowly been replaced by the language of control.

The dragons stirred faintly beside the bench.

Aisha took the cup back from the woman and refilled it.

“Drink once more,” she said.

The woman obeyed.

As the sacred water touched her lips, Aisha watched quietly.

Yet a private thought passed through her mind.

It was not this woman who needed the Well’s elixir.

It was her husband.

And many others besides.

Somewhere deep within the currents of Atlantis, a different influence had begun to move—subtle at first, like a shadow crossing the sun.

The dragons had felt it before the humans did.

And now Aisha felt it too.

Something had entered the hearts of men.

Something ancient. Hungry. Cold.

Sarah opened her eyes slowly.

For a moment, the scent of salt and white stone lingered in her mind. The sound of flowing water seemed almost audible, as if the channels of the Temple of Peace murmured somewhere nearby.

Then the familiar shapes of her bedroom returned.

The small lamp on the bedside table.

The pale glow of the streetlight filtering through the curtains.

Her laptop still open on the desk where she had been writing.

She exhaled quietly.

The memory of Atlantis had come to her many times over the years. The Temple of Peace, the Well, and the two dragons guarding it had become almost as familiar to her as places she had visited in this lifetime.

Yet tonight the memory had carried an unusual intensity.

She knew instinctively that she had been revisiting a turning point—one of those moments in the long arc of history where the direction of an entire civilisation quietly changed.

And she had been powerless to stop it.

Just as Aisha had been powerless then.

Sarah sat up in bed and swung her legs over the side, letting her feet touch the cool wooden floor.

“Another memory,” she murmured to herself.

Outside the night was utterly still.

For a few minutes she simply sat there, allowing the last impressions of the temple garden to fade.

The dragons.

The Well.

The wounded woman on the bench.

The first crack in Atlantis.

Eventually she lay back down and pulled the duvet around her shoulders.

Sleep came quickly.

But it did not last long.

Something woke her.

She did not know what at first.

There was no sound.

No movement.

Yet the air in the room felt… different.

Sarah opened her eyes.

At first she thought she was still dreaming.

A shape stood beside her bed.

Tall.

Dark.

Impossibly large.

Her breath caught in her throat.

The creature’s scales reflected the faint streetlight filtering through the curtains. Black as polished obsidian, they absorbed the light rather than reflecting it.

A dragon.

For several seconds Sarah could not move.

Her body had gone completely rigid.

Every instinct screamed at her that what she was seeing was impossible.

Then the dragon lowered his head slightly.

Golden eyes met hers.

And in that instant recognition flashed through her mind like lightning.

The Well of Peace.

The bench.

The black guardian dragon.

“You…” she whispered hoarsely.

Her fear began to dissolve, replaced by stunned disbelief.

The dragon’s voice did not come through her ears.

It arrived directly in her mind.

You remember.

Sarah swallowed.

“Yes.”

Her voice trembled.

“You were there.”

A low rumble vibrated through the room—something like a dragon’s version of a laugh.

I have always been there.

The dragon shifted slightly, folding his wings closer to his body so they would not brush the walls.

Even so, his presence filled the small bedroom.

Sarah pushed herself upright against the pillows.

“How is this possible?” she asked.

The dragon regarded her calmly.

It has taken us a very long time to cross the veil.

His thoughts flowed into her mind like deep, resonant music.

The boundary between our worlds weakened slowly. Only certain places allow passage. Sacred wells. Ley lines. And the stillness of night.

Sarah’s heart was beating hard now—but the fear had vanished completely.

“What is your name?” she asked.

The dragon inclined his head slightly.

Jet.

The name carried the weight of great age.

Something in Sarah’s memory stirred.

The black dragon of the Well of Peace.

Jet.

“Why are you here?” she asked softly.

Jet’s golden eyes brightened.

Because you are ready.

The words settled into her mind with surprising certainty.

You are my appointed rider.

Sarah blinked.

“My… what?”

Jet’s thoughts carried a faint note of amusement.

Dragon rider.

The phrase sounded absurd in the quiet bedroom.

Yet something deep inside her responded immediately.

As if she had always known.

Jet continued.

The time has come for our work to begin again.

Sarah felt a ripple of excitement move through her chest.

“What work?”

Jet’s presence grew more focused.

The Draco influence you saw beginning in Atlantis never truly left this world. It has spread through many of humanity’s institutions.

Images flickered briefly through Sarah’s mind.

Cathedrals.

Abbeys.

Stone crypts beneath ancient churches.

Many of our kind have been trapped beneath such places for centuries. Bound in ways humans scarcely understand.

Sarah sat forward now, completely awake.

“You want me to free them?”

Jet’s eyes glowed softly.

Not you alone.

His gaze sharpened.

Others are waking.

Excitement flared inside Sarah.

“What do I need to do?”

Jet’s answer came without hesitation.

Find them.

A series of faint impressions moved through her mind—people scattered across different places, each carrying a similar spark.

Gather those who remember.

Jet lowered his head slightly until his enormous eye was level with hers.

Together we will begin clearing the Draco currents that still bind this world.

Sarah felt something she had not experienced in a very long time.

Hope.

Real hope.

“And the dragons?” she asked.

Jet’s voice softened.

We have waited a long time for you.

Outside, the night remained silent.

Inside the small bedroom, Sarah’s mind raced with possibilities.

For the first time since sending that final message to Paul, the future felt wide open again.

A quiet laugh escaped her lips.

“Well,” she said quietly.

“This should be interesting.”

Jet’s eyes gleamed.

Somewhere deep beneath the sleeping earth, other dragons began to stir.

This chapter forms part of the living mythology behind the Dragon Twin Flame Oracle.