Creative Corner

I realized I need a nice clean thread for all my examples and posts for my lore shop, so this will be it. Links to members who ordered the lore/story will be included. If you are interested see my button, Red's Art (with the imperial).

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Josce's Lore, for Necromonger

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Josce began his life in Dragonhome; born to regal parents who held great love for him, and a clan that treated him with respect and dignity. As a hatchling he observed the dragons of his home around him, taking unusual interest in the sick and injured for a dragon of his grandiose stature. Josce began exploring the task of a healer in secret, as many clan members felt he should set his sights higher than serving the sick and injured. Josce began to train with the healer of his clan, working into the late hours of the night—sometimes even from dusk till dawn. He memorized the herbs, ingredients, diseases, common ailments, injuries, cures, and anything else he could get his paws on. He soon left his clan, though he was hardly older than a hatchling, intent on finding a clan that could use his newfound passion and skill more than the one he was born into did. Josce traveled first to the Shifting Expanse, but he found the arid climate unsuited to his preferences. He then decided to explore the Sea of a Thousand Currents, the Sunbeam Ruins, and the Viridian Gardens before finally arriving in the Scarred Wasteland (after avoiding the Tangled Woods). Though he saw the irony in a future healer living in the Plaguebringer’s domain, Josce felt his skills could be most useful here. After a few weeks of mindless wandering and perfecting his skills on wounded rogue dragons and creatures, he discovered his current clan and learned they had very few healers for such an inhospitable homeland. He took it upon himself to fill that role, throwing himself into perfecting his work as a healer and carved out his own place within the clan where he gained their friendship and trust.

After Josce’s time as a wandering dragon, he found it comforting to have a true home and was content with his position as healer, though he was always striving to improve his craft. Josce, being one of the few healers within the clan, is fiercely protective and spoiled by dragons around him. His profession was rare within the Scarred Wasteland, possibly due to the hostile nature of the land, so his value to the clan was practically immeasurable. In time, he began to learn about many of the other dragons within his clan as he healed their wounds and cured their ailments. Josce is quite the amicable and sociable dragon, especially for an Imperial, and takes tremendous pride in that. He strives to make his patients the most comfortable during their stay in his lair, learning about their struggles and accomplishments and sharing a few of their owns. Josce boasts a charming personality to go along with his regal looks, and while he does enjoy his conversations with the common dragon, he has been known to sweet talk his way into some herbs from the clan gardener, Oberon.

One such successful instance was during the Mistral Jamboree, when an unusual case of Marble Dragon Pox—a disease that is caused by a toxin in the body—broke out among the unsociable Bogsneaks of the clan. Josce was perplexed and irritated; he had tried everything he knew to cure the unknown illness (at that point there was no mention of the illness in any of his books, and Josce ended up writing the entry himself) and had no success. Josce was worried, he had no idea of the extent of the illness: if it would be life threatening, chronic, or pass with time. His concern only heightened when the Bogsneaks did not improve with rest, and he briefly left the clan’s home to speak to other healers, which led him to discover a book containing what he believed was a cure for the mysterious ailment that plagued the dragons. He began gathering the materials—counting the red clover leaves with tweezers and a microscope, measuring the ingredients he needed with careful accuracy—only to find he was missing one key (and irreplaceable) ingredient; herbal plantain. Fortunately, Josce seemed to remember that Oberon had kept one such plant, and he quickly put on his most innocent face (as much as an imperial dragon could) and rushed off to the gardener’s lair.

He gently slipped through the door, careful not to tread on any of the plants and invoke Oberon’s wraith and called out sweetly. Oberon, of course, was in the garden and gave Josce a look of annoyance when he poked his head out (she was busy, couldn’t he see?). Josce quickly apologized for bothering her, but you see, with the Bogsneaks as ill as they were, he is in desperate need of her help. She is the only dragon in the realm that could possibly grow the plants he needs, but if she is too busy then he will leave, of course, no problem.

As he began to slowly back away, he heard the gentle but annoyed sigh, and Oberon called out for him to stop, what plant does he need? He may be intruding right now, but she was not heartless.

Josce grinned slightly, and told her that he required herbal plantain, as well as a few other ingredients (that were not necessarily for this remedy, but she didn’t need to know that). He left the lair with a bag full of herbs and plants and tried not to look too proud of himself as Oberon sulkily watched him leave with her beloved garden spoils.

Of course there are other times when he is not as skillful with his bribery, mainly because he is not in as desperate of a situation. One such time was just a week before the Thundercrack Carnival, dragons were busting in and out of the clan, preparing for the celebration. Josce found that his supply of seasoning herbs was almost completely out—what a tragedy that was! How could a dragon have a celebration with dully flavored food? Intent on restoring his stock, Josce quickly left his storeroom to ask Oberon for some. He did stop by the hoard and retrieve a few decorative pots in what he hoped would bribe Oberon—perhaps she would want something nice to put her plants in.

Unfortunately, he happened to literally run into a few dragons on his way, and his grip on the pots failed him. The ceramic items crashed to the floor and shattered into pieces, then were ground to dust under the foot falls of other dragons as they passed by, unaware of what had transpired. Josce considered returning to the hoard to find some more pots, but quickly decided against it, as if too many went missing he would likely have to justify his ‘borrowing’ as ridgebacks would say. Instead, he continued to Oberon’s lair, empty handed and slightly flustered, still hoping to obtain the herbs.

Once he entered the familiar home, he quickly saw his quest would be much more difficult than he assumed, as Oberon was in a particularly annoyed mood. She glanced up at him and snorted, pointing out that there was shards of ceramic in his mane, then went back to her careful cultivating. Josce shook the pieces out of his unruly hair with an annoyed grimace, then politely asked if he could, ah, borrow a few herbs for the festival. Oberon stopped her work and sat back with a glare and snapped, oh, he intends to bring them back after he’s done with them? And not eat them? What, does he think she would just gladly give him her plants for the festival because he is too lazy to go gather them himself?

Josce frowned back and responded that no, he was not too lazy, simply too busy, healers must prepare for the festival too. Perhaps he wouldn’t give them back per say, but the festival wouldn—.

Oberon quicky cut him off there, sharply snapping that the festival was all the clan could talk about these days! She cannot take days off for a festival, her plants would die, and all this commotion is putting some of her more sensitive plants at risk! Does he not realize how difficult it is to grow these things in the land of the Plaguebringer? It’s hard enough for the conventional plants, but there are several that are intoned with magic so delicately that their effects will only remain effective if they are taken care of just right! So many dragons have been sweeping in and out, asking for this or telling her that, normally she may appreciate the company but currently it is driving her crazy! Her plants are suffering because of the festival and she will not stand for it.

Josce stood in silence for a moment, making sure that her rant was truly done, before very gently asking if that means no? Oberon, for her part, did not yell, but rather just stared at him for several moments, before he finally got the message and slunk away.

When he fails to smooth talk his way into what he needs with Oberon, or when he requires larger amounts, Josce will accompany the miners, Horus and Mooneyes, out of the clan home to gather ingredients. Though he is a large dragon, as a healer he has very little experience in defensive or fighting in general and his clan leader refuses to let him leave the clan unguarded. He enjoys his expeditions into the Scarred Wasteland for the most part, his time as a wandering dragon had imbedded a sense of exploration and adventure into him that he has not silenced. He takes great pride in the fact that, while the miners are normally stoic and reserved individuals, they have established such a friendship that permits them to appreciate the time together in a more relaxed way, sometimes even playfully swatting or nipping at each other’s hides. Josce enjoys the mock fights with Horus and Mooneyes, but the bogsneak and snapper’s eating habits can more than annoy him at times. Their obsession with any and all things edible sometimes delays their explorations and the animated conversations over something so trivial grates on his nerves. Despite this, he still considers both dragons his close friends-more like brothers than anything else—and can never stay irritated at the two for long

Short story for Virath, character belongs to them.

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The Sun, The Clouds, and the Ice

The early morning breeze billowed through the peaceful green forest, stirring leaves from their rest on the ground and causing the branches to dance in the cascade of soft light. The wind wisped through the trees and vines of the forest, slipping between the cracks in a wall of boulders on a steep mountain side, bringing scents of a new day to the three dragons slumbering inside. The smallest of the trio, a slender and elegant white dragoness, was roused from her sleep first, as her head was facing the entrance to the cave that was hidden by vines and rocks.

Sleenia carefully slipped out from her two loves’ wings, having been kept close to their side under a blanket of scaled wings at night as per usual. She walked silently towards the entrance, trying not to wake either of the two males from their slumber, then pushed the long vine tendrils from the doorway with her wing and crept out. She stretched luxuriously on the small platform outside their home, enjoying the warm light from the sun on her silvery scales as the breeze picked up around her and blew a shower of leaves up towards her. She watched silently as the leaves danced up towards her before losing their momentum and dropping back to the ground, a small smile gracing her lips.

Sleenia enjoyed the quiet mornings quite a lot: the soft chirping of birds and far away sounds of activity in the forest were soothing to her. The rain that had plagued their homeland for weeks had finally ceased, though it still left the ground moist to the talon and a scent of dampness in the air. However, she did not mind the scent as much as she minded the boredom that accompanied. The three dragons had been trapped indoors for the worst of the storm, and as much as she loved her two mates they had gotten on her nerves with their arguments and competition (despite knowing it was all peaceful and friendly).

The soft sound of footsteps roused the beautiful dragoness from her thoughts, and she turned her head to see the approaching form of Glacier appear from behind the curtain of vines. His soft blue scales glittered in the sunlight, their icy appearance causing the light to dance in colorful designs. His spine covered back and head coupled with his silent, monotone look caused many to see Glacier as a fierce enemy with no chance of a gentle relationship, yet he was more deeply in love with his mate than it would appear. He shared a quiet smile and a silent greeting with Sleenia before taking a seat next to her and wrapping his tail around them both.

“Good morning, sleepy head,” Sleenia murmured shyly as she nuzzled into Glacier’s neck.

“Good morning love,” Glacier hummed quietly, placing an icy blue paw over her silvery white one as he softly touched the top of her head with his nose and loosely wrapped his wing around them both, “I trust you slept well?”

“Mhm,” Sleenia purred back, settling into the larger male’s side with a content sigh, “Now that the rain has stopped I have found it easier to sleep. Though perhaps that is in part due to you and Devi…” she trailed off while a red tinge graced her scales.

Glacier hummed his response, only minutely jealous at the mention of Devi but not enough for Sleenia to notice and the moment to be ruined. Instead, Glacier looked back down at the slender dragoness as she stared into the forest that was stirring with life, and he marveled how lucky he was to have her. Though she was not entirely his, Glacier loved her with his entire soul, and he realized just how much he needed her next to him. He was by no means a poor dragon, nor one with scars and horrors of life covering his scales. If he so wished, Glacier was confident in his ability to secure any mate he wanted, but the more he contemplated it the more he realized his heart belonged only to Sleenia.

Despite this, he was willing to share the sole female’s affection with Devi. While he felt no ill will towards the larger golden dragon—he was a respectable and kind dragon, whose only fault in Glacier’s mind was that he could get overbearing socially at times—he would admit (grudgingly) that he felt a certain amount of jealousy because of their shared affection for Sleenia. This feeling of envy that plagued Glacier on occasion was less because of both Glacier and Devi’s shared love for Sleenia; in fact, he was more than happy to let anyone love his mate so long as he remained in her sights of interest. The issue lies in Sleenia’s shared interest in the two males, though Glacier is willing to set aside his own jealousy in order to preserve his place beside Sleenia.

The peaceful silence of the morning was broken by the grumbling and groaning of Devi as he stirred unwillingly from his slumber. He lumbered out of the cave and laid on the other side of Sleenia, wrapping his golden tail around her and Glacier.

“Good morning, you two,” Devi yawned, “Beautiful day, isn’t it? The rain has finally stopped, the birds are out, I would even venture to say it might stay this way.”

Sleenia snorted, shyly leaning down to give Devi a quick lick on his glittering gold head. “Good morning to you too. What were you trying to do, sleep all morning?”

“I was, but then I was left all alone in the cave! It’s lonely in there without you two, not to mention cold. Besides,” Devi pushed himself up and nuzzled the underside of her neck, “I prefer to sleep by someone I love.”

Glacier briefly glanced at the two and leaned into Sleenia a little more, surprising himself in the fact that the normal competitive side of him was not rearing its ugly head, and he found it easy to enjoy their time together. When Devi offered for the three of them to enjoy the day together, maybe wander the woods, Glacier found himself nodding along in agreement.

Devi stood first, after a few moments more beside Sleenia, and shook the dirt off his golden scales, then stretched with a mighty yawn that sounded more like a roar. He glanced at Sleenia, who nuzzled Glacier once more before passing Devi, flicking her tail at him affectionately and leaping into the sky so she would not get beat down by the gusts of wind that Devi’s flight always stirred up. Glacier nodded to Devi, who took a running leap into the sky and pumped his golden wings to catch up to Sleenia, with the final ice colored dragon following suit. Sleenia found herself between the two larger males, their wings brushing slightly in flight, but all three content with the amiable silence between them, and the peaceful woodland adventure began.To an outsider, the far off roars and playful noises of the trio of dragons would be regarded as a fight, and said outsider would likely flee. However, the dragons and sole dragoness knew better than that as they looped and soared through the sky, their powerful wings whipping winds into life.

Sleenia was the most agile of the three, flying loops around Devi with a small grin on her face that turned to a shy smile when she noticed both the males watching her graceful show with admiration. She slowed down and glided into a wave of warm air that lifted her up, Devi and Glacier tipping their wings to follow her above the clouds. Her scales shimmered with drops of moisture that clung to her body, accentuating her lean form and slender horns. She glanced back to catch the admiring eyes of Devi and Glacier. She felt her heart skip a beat at the thought of them both loving her so truly and deeply, and she shook herself before leveling out from the ascent.

Devi let out a deep, draconic purr and folded his wings, plummeting into the clouds (which garnered a gasp from Sleenia), then reappearing moments later with a majestic sweep of his powerful wings. Glacier had to admit, despite his personal feelings, the dragon did have style. His golden scales glinted with light, the tiny droplets of water that covered them acting as miniature prisms as he twisted in the air, showing off his shear power. He flew up, above both Sleenia (who watched in awe) and Glacier (who was a mix of silent admiration and a tinge of envy), and soared above their heads with a bemused smile.

“Ah! What a lovely day, isn’t it?” Devi said as he glided along, “I have to admit, it is more than nice to be able to fly like this after being cooped up for so long in the cave. I was worried perhaps my scales had gotten rusty, but—” The golden colored dragon shook himself, causing the light to shimmer across his scales, “it seems I am just fine!”

“Indeed you are. You look…” Sleenia struggled to find the word she wanted, “Striking.”

Devi let out a satisfied purr and swooped back down to fly beside Glacier so he could be heard better, “It is as if I am the sun, while you, Sleenia, are the clouds—the good kind, the gentle ones of a nice day— and Glacier, you would be the rain I suppose. Your scales already look like ice, and you have that smooth and gentle demeanor about you.”

“Were you not just saying how much the rain annoyed you?” Glacier countered as he began to descend, having been the only of the three to spot a large clearing in the forest to land in.

“I mean the rain as in the annoying kind, the cold and trap-you-in-your-cave kind. You are more like the gentle day rain that waters the plants, you make flowers grow.”

“I am not a gardener, Devi.”

“I meant metaphorically, Glacier. I’m trying to be poetic.”

“Alright, boys,” Sleenia interjected as they landed, “That’s enough showing off. I still have room for the both of you in my heart, regardless of what metaphor Devi describes you as.” She leaned up to nuzzle the underside of Devi’s chin and wove her tail in Glacier’s long blue tail, blushing when Devi purred in response and Glacier touched his nose gently to her cheek, ghosting a nibble over her neck as he pulled away.

“That’s a comfort to hear,” Devi smiled as he looked around at the tall oaks of the lush forest. The trio of dragons were caught up in the scenery of the world for several long moments, and they marveled at the life this seemingly small woodland could hold.

A small family of squirrels could be observed daring to venture a few feet into the clearing occupied by the large dragons, only to snatch a few nuts and berries from the hard, earthen ground and scamper back to the tree they came from. A woodpecker was perched on a branch, it’s beak hard at work pecking away at the wood beneath its feet, intent on discovering what delicious bugs resided in the interior, though still cautiously aware of the creatures around it. Sleenia could hear the scratching and foraging of a family of wood mice, apparently busy at work making their home in the rotten log more hospitable. Glacier was seemingly fascinated by the gentle wind that blew the fallen leaves around them; to him the leaves looked like tiny dancing fairies, dancing in their own world.

It was Devi that finally broke the silence of the woods and the peaceful trance they were in, although it was not really his fault. His stomach had let out a dragon sized growl, as it was early morning and he had yet to eat. He grinned sheepishly as the small animals all scampered away to their separate homes, then turned to his two companions.

“Well, if I am to have any say in what we do today, I’d say hunting is a good priority,” Devi declared.

Sleenia let out a small snippet of laughter, then turned to Glacier who was nodding his agreement. “I’d say it’s a yes from me,” Sleenia replied in a soft voice.

“Excellent,” Devi said, leaning forward to give her a quick lick before turning to lead the way deeper into the forest.

The slender white dragoness felt a blush creeping onto her cheeks when Glacier too nosed her lovingly as he passed her, then followed the two larger males into the woods. Devi glanced back at the two dragons following him, then lifted his muzzle to the wind, searching for the telltale scent of a herd of deer. It took a while and some more searching in the forest, but he eventually located the trail of a hopefully large herd. Devi then quickened his pace while shifting his weight to mask his footsteps some, not wanting to tip the sly creatures off. He motioned with his tail for Glacier to take up the right side and Sleenia the left.

The three dragons worked together seamlessly, having practiced this many times before and perfecting their technique, and it was not long before the trio each had the carcass of a deer at their feet. They made quick work of breakfast, eating in a comfortable silence, before Devi stood up and offered for a walk through the forest once again. His offer was to go to the nearby waterfall and lake, the water would be enjoyable to swim in.

“I’d say a swim sounds nice right about now,” Glacier piped up from his position by a large tree, watching the two of them with a content smile.

“I agree,” Sleenia said, standing up and licking her maw once more before rubbing noses with Devi and Glacier, blushing at the protective embrace she received from Glacier in return, and the gentle nibbling of her neck from Devi.

“Well then, let us be on our way,” Devi murmured, smoothly turning and leading the way out of the clearing, his tail trailing in the dust ever so slightly. He smiled once again as he heard the familiar footsteps of Glacier and Sleenia following him. The day had started out great and had only grown to be fantastic, he would have no other dragons by his side in this moment.


The winds billowed through the lush forest, sending the fresh scent of the woodlands to the three dragons that ventured to and from the depths side by side, the slender form of Sleenia between the sturdier forms of Devi and Glacier as they walked. Sleenia’s long white tail was intertwined with Glacier’s, and both Glacier and Devi were lightly resting one wing over Sleenia in a sort of fond hugging gesture.

There was an amiable silence between the dragons, each with their own pensive gaze plastered on their face, and similar thoughts running through their head to match. The majority of the journey passed this way, with the occasional loving nuzzle or soft brush of noses between Sleenia and her two mates. Not a word was spoken, but yet each of them felt entirely listened to and understood in that moment.

It was Devi who eventually broke the silence, about half way to their ultimate destination of the waterfall within their territory. “Do you recall the time, many moons ago I believe, when a group of hunters gathered within our territory, apparently intent on driving us out with their flimsy pointed sticks?”

Glacier smiled slightly and closed his eyes, a vague look of amusement crossing his face. He did indeed recall this time, most vividly because their goal of protecting their home was almost ruined by a small mistake on Sleenia’s part.

Sleenia blushed, remembering the same as Glacier, and nodded as she answered, “I certainly do, not that I want to. That was not my most graceful of occasions.”

Devi chuckled and affectionately nudged her shoulder, “Now come on, it wasn’t that bad! I mean, we are still in once piece, aren’t we?”

“That is true” Glacier piped up, lifting a low hanging branch out of their way, “But you must admit, Sleenia, that was quite the, ah, show.”

Sleenia flushed more and shoved the larger, icy male playfully, “Hey! Why don’t you try to sit in a tree for hours on end, it’s more difficult than you think! Plus, spying on those humans is more dull than you would expect.”

“But falling out of the tree is not?” Devi grinned at Sleenia as he said this.

“Devi!” Sleenia lightly slapped Devi with her tail, feigning annoyance while she felt her blush deepen.

“Alright, alright” Devi laughed, stumbling slightly on a tree root, “I’ll give you credit, you still managed to scare those puny humans off our land, even if it was by falling out of the tree—ow!” Devi rubbed at his nose, which had been hit by Sleenia’s tail a little rougher than she meant to.

“Sorry! Are you alright?” Sleenia leaned in with a worried frown as Devi nodded and leaned down to steal a quick nuzzle from her (making her already crimson face even more red) before righting himself.

“I’m fine. You know, now I know why they ran. It’s because you are so very intimidating,” Devi jokingly teased Sleenia.

“If I recall correctly,” Glacier smirked at Devi, “there was also a time when you, ah, shall we say, missed your mark?”

Devi looked confused, tilting his head slight before suddenly recalling the incident Glacier was referring to and getting an indignant look on his face.

“That was once, and it did no harm!” Devi puffed out his chest, attempt to regain his cool demeanor as Sleenia giggled to the side of him.

“Well,” Sleenia began,weaving her tail with Devi’s in a fond gesture, “I will admit, it was very brave and admiral of you to fight off all of those knights so valiantly. However, that doesn’t negate the fact that you did miss the thief sneaking past you.”

Devi snorted as Glacier chuckled at him, apparently amused by the whole ordeal. Sleenia leaned into Devi and nuzzled his shoulder, earning a somewhat disgruntled purr from the mildly annoyed dragon beside her, which quickly turned to a sigh and lick on her head. Sleenia then looked over at the silent, smiling form of Glacier, who raised an inquisitive eyebrow at her.

“Well? Come on, Glacier,” Devi grinned, “We all shared our embarrassing stories—”

“Shared is hardly the right word,” Glacier interrupted quickly.

“—now it's your turn!” Devi continued, ignoring Glacier’s response, “I can think of at least one time when something like that happened to you.”

Glacier stood up and quickly lead the way towards the lake as he spoke, “It was only once, and I still managed to complete my mission.”

“Still,” Devi joked, lengthening his strides to catch up with Glacier, “it was amusing!”

“Summoning an ice golem that destroyed half the cave is not my definition of amusing,” the azure dragon replied with slight annoyance.

“I mean,” Sleenia interjected as they reached the lake, “Your golem still did defeat the enemy.”

“Hm,” Glacier hummed in response, stopping to briefly rub noses with Sleenia, then waded into the water. “Perhaps, but I suppose each of our errors were still effective in the original goal, for the most part.”

Sleenia purred in response, grinning at the two of them before springing nimbly into the water. She dived beneath surface, her glittering silver scales shimmered for a moment under the water before disappearing into the darker depths. Glacier followed, slipping into the water without a splash and out of sight within moments, swimming strongly to catch up with the sleek form of Sleenia sliding through the water with ease. Moments later, Devi leaped in as well, his muscled legs and wings churning the surface of the lake as he dived deeper. Sleenia twisted around elegantly and gazed up at her two love interests, a soft smile on her face, and lifted one slender paw up to gently wrap behind Glacier’s neck and pull him closer. He smiled gently and pulled her into a hug, surrounding them both with his wings and touching his nose to her forehead in a loving gesture.

There was a gentle tug on Sleenia’s tail as Devi swam down to where the two dragons were entwined. He slid beside the two and tangled his tail with Sleenia’s silver one, enjoying the comforting embrace with the two. It was Glacier that pulled away first, tugging lightly at Sleenia’s arm as he swam deeper. The gold and silver dragons followed him quickly, deeper into the cool lake where the light was low.

The water this far down was not as lively as at the surface, but the lake bed was covered in oddly shaped stones, some quite stunning. It was to those that Glacier was swimming to, and when he finally reached the rocky bottom he glanced back to ensure that both Sleenia and Devi had followed him. He looked back down and pulled a patched silver and black stone from the mud, delicately handing it to Sleenia. Devi rooted around for a moment and discovered a red tinged one, freckled with grey and black spots, and handed it to Sleenia as well. Sleenia flushed red at the gifts but gave each of the dragons a sweet nuzzle on their necks in response.

The lack of air finally becoming an issue to the large creatures, Devi lead the way to the surface with a powerful kick off the lake bed. He breached the surface first, letting out a mighty roar as he did so before striking out across the water to shore.

“Done so quickly, love?” Sleenia called out curiously, gliding through the water behind him in a very graceful manner.

“I'm not one for swimming,” Devi responded over his shoulder as he clambered onto the shore, “I've always liked the heat of the sun more than the waves.”

The silver dragoness hummed in response, briefly dragging herself onto shore to deposit the gifted stones in a safe place, then slipped back into the water with a quick lick on Devi’s head. Glacier, who was treading water part way out into the lake, flipped onto his back and floated leisurely while his silver scaled lover swam back his way.

As the cool blue waves lapped at Glacier’s scales, Sleenia couldn't help but marvel in his beauty. He had a powerful but lean frame, complimenting his azure scales that resembled ice and accentuating his power in battle. The water spilled over his strongly built wings and spine covered back, and she couldn't help but realize exactly where his name came from.

The slender female ducked beneath the surface of the water, swimming beneath Glacier and popping up on the other side of him in a playful manner. She flicked a pawful of water in his face and giggled when he responded in kind. Glacier flipped onto his stomach again and hummed happily, playfully pouncing on her and pulling them both underwater. The two slenderly built dragons slide through the crisp blue water, diving and twisting around each other in a beautiful mix of icy blue and snowy white scales. They swam back to the bottom of the lake, Sleenia taking the lead in a lighthearted race for a while, before her legs and wings tired and she slowed, allowing Glacier to take the lead.

Exhausted, Sleenia turned and swam back to the surface and then to shore, her eyes watching the quiet form of Devi laying on the sunny rocks. In contrast to Glacier, Devi’s scales were of a much warmer tint, resembling the gold that humans valued so much. His thickly muscled form and sturdy horns, coupled with his natural claws and teeth, ensured that he was a fierce looking dragon. However, despite his looks and typically cool demeanor, Sleenia could look past all of that and admire the sweet nature within him. Not that she didn’t admire his looks too, she would be lying if she said she considered him unattractive.

She slipped from the water onto the rocky shore where Devi lay, her silver scales sparkling with droplets of water. With an elegant shake of her body, Sleenia walked towards her mate lounging in the sun and chirped a greeting. Devi’s eyes fluttered opened and a sweet smile graced his face, causing Sleenia to briefly flush red.

Devi pushed himself partially upright and opened his wing, inviting Sleenia to lay next to him, to which she obliged.

“Tired, Sleenia?” Devi leaned in and nibbled gently on her neck while he wrapped his wing around them both.

“Mhm,” Sleenia hummed back, leaning into him, “And a little cold, if I must admit.”

“Well it’s a good thing we have all this sunshine to ourselves then,” Devi put his paws over Sleenia’s and pulled her closer into his side and wrapping his tail around her. She tucked her head just under his chin in response and purred gently when Devi softly licked her nose.

“How are you, Sleenia?” Devi’s question caught Sleenia off guard, and she glanced up at him with a curious look on her face.

“How am I? I-- I’m good I guess. Great, in fact,” Sleenia purred, settling into him more as she entwined their tails together, “This has been a lovely day with the two of you, and even more so because we are finally free of the rain. We haven’t gotten to spend this much time together for a while.”

“Indeed,” Devi purred, absentmindedly running his paw up and down her arm as he did so, “I have found today very relaxing. The weather is fair, the forest is lush and full of life, hunting is good, and most importantly, everyone is happy. I know Glacier and I haven’t been on the best of terms lately, being cooped up has heightened some of our… reservations about each other. However, I am glad to see that we can put that behind us, and that you are able to love us both because of it. I would never sacrifice your love an affection for a silly competition between each other.”

“I know, Devi. I know,” Sleenia rolled onto her side with her back pressed against him, “I know that you and Glacier may not always get along perfectly, but you two are very capable of pushing past that so everyone can enjoy the day. I for one having been having a great time. You two have been so sweet to me, I can’t help but wonder how I got so lucky with you guys.”

The golden colored dragon yawned and rolled onto his back, tugging Sleenia gently onto his chest so he could comfortably look up at her as he spoke. “The answer is you. I may have compared you to the clouds earlier, but that was more because I can think of nothing that holds your beauty rather than accuracy. When I first met you, your were beyond stunning, and you caught my eye more than any other dragon ever has. It only makes you easier to love with your sweet and caring personality; you don’t want anyone to ever have to suffer really, and you make sure you have room in your heart for both Glacier and I.”

Sleenia was touched, her scales flushing a brilliant red and tears forming at the corner of her eyes when she heard his sweet words.

The two dragons looked up at the sound of approaching footsteps, noticing that Glacier had finally left the cool water to join them on the shore. The icy blue dragon smiled softly at the two laying entangled in each other’s limbs in obvious peacefulness. Sleenia rolled off of Devi and stood up, touching her nose sweetly to Glacier’s as he approached, then settled back down with one male on either side of her. Devi replaced his golden wing over their backs and pressed close to Sleenia, settling his head across her feet and purring happily when she licked and nuzzled his head fondly. Glacier wove his tail with Sleenia’s and leaned down to nibble and lick Sleenia’s neck sweetly, being rewarding with a small, content sigh out of the silver dragoness as she leaned into him slightly.

The trio of beautifully scaled dragons lay in the sun for many hours, simply enjoying each other's company. Sleenia was nestled between the two larger males, content with her life and day with her two loves of her life surrounding her in a soothing warmth and gentle nuzzles. Devi was in a similar situation, enjoying his time with Sleenia (and even Glacier) and basking in the sunlight. He had a more than wonderful day, the time spent with his favorite dragons in the world was quite the relaxer for him after spending so long cooped up in the cave while the rainstorm drowned their forest.

Glacier also enjoyed his day, in a more quiet and subdued way, but he enjoyed it nevertheless. He loved Sleenia with all his heart, and although he might never say it in so many words like Devi had, he made his utmost efforts to express this profound feeling to the shy silver dragoness. It was the time that he got to spend in her presence, enjoying her scent and beauty while settled beside her, that made him realize how madly in love he was.

The day of love and gentle words between the dragons was beginning to draw to a close, and the trio had no motivation to return to their cave that they called home. The sun was setting slowly over the horizon, casting a red glow over the trio still lounging on the now cooling rocks. It was Devi that finally rose, dragging the other two dragons up with him, and took a large leap into the sky, leading the way back home.

With the final rays of light disappearing over the horizon, the three dragons landed on the rocky ledge outside their cave. They slipped under the vines that sheltered their home the elements, entering into the dark cavern side by side and settling down once again in their soft beds, curled up together once again. If there ever was a case of true love, this would be it, and will forever continue to.

This story was written as a submission for a valentines day contest, featuring two of my dragons (Mahal and Dew on page 4 of my lair if your curious). My boys have only been in my clan for a short period of time, but have inspired me greatly for writing and as such their lore is in the works. It should be noted that Dew has a pretty bad stutter due to an incident as a hatchling, and I have never written a stuttering character before. Feed back is much appreciated in that sense, is the stutter over the top? Would you suggest a different way of writing it? thank you and enjoy reading!

---

It was the early morning when Dew awoke from his slumber, groaning as he struggled to untangle himself from the low hanging hammock that served as his bed. He stumbled to his feet, shook his mane, and gave a massive yawn. Blinking blearly, he looked at the list pinned to his wall by a nail, dictating the chores, tasks, and meals he had to achieve within the day, which was beginning to pile upon him as the Novlas Dies--or day of New Wings--approached. It was the tenth of February, and while the Trickmurk Circus would occur later in the month, it would be the fifteenth when Novlas Dies arrived. Dew would have to be very busy in preparation, baking treats and chipping away at the feast. It was a good thing that the skilled technicians within the clan had developed an electrical icebox that would allow him to store the food in advance.

He read down the list quickly, organizing and noting the items in terms of time and importance, but startled at the last item on the list. Unlike the rest of the writing, it was in a messy pen scribble, as compared to the looping charcoal that Dew wrote in. The note described a simple meal to be prepared for one dragon: an elegant seafood dinner for a new member arriving later in the day.

“Oh, th-th-th-thanks, M-M-M-Midnight,” Dew stuttered sarcastically, “Just give m-me m-m-more to do.” He looked again at the note he surmised was written while he was asleep, sighed once again and promised to himself that he would start the meal after a bath--his fur was too thick to allow him to comfortably live in this climate without a daily bruising and wash.

With a forlorn glance at his hammock, Dew exited his relatively small living space adjoining the large kitchen beyond. This was the place he felt most comfortable in, with it’s high arching walls held up by imposing pillars of metal, a series of grates, gears, and electrical wires serves to function as vents. The majority of the floor space was taken up by counters, cabinets, and a many number of currently unlit ovens. Dew navigated the large room easily, snatching up a loaf of bread in his maw to serve as breakfast.

He wove his way through the complex of brightly lit tunnels, dipping his head in greeting to the dragons he passed. The majority of the clan would be in the main cavern, either preparing for the event or resting from their hunting or patrolling. He found the hot spring baths, located only a short walk from his kitchen, and pushed the iron rimmed doors open. The warmth and steam hit him like an over-zealous hatchling, but he moved past the initially heated water to the more temperate area that would better suit his own preferences.

Dew spent a good half hour in the bathes, enjoying the water and then drying and brushing his thick mane and fur coat. He then returned to his kitchen to begin his day, tying back his fur in many braids in order to keep the food sanitary.

“Let’s get t-t-t-t-oday s-start-t-t-te-ted, hm?” Dew sighed to himself, shaking his mane once more before donning his typical chefs gear, “Long hours ahead, D-Dew.” The handsome tundra then set to work, humming a silly tune to himself as he began the long day ahead.

---

It was a few hours later when Dew finally took a break from his cooking and preparing, having exhausted himself from the surprising amount of physical activity that it took to cook meals for the entire clan. He had dinner prepared for the clan tonight, as well as the specialty meal for the new member that was to arrive in a few hours. The pastries and sweets were to be made first, which was completed, and his next task was cutting and portioning the meat.

Despite his busy schedule, Dew could not help but wonder at the new arrival to the Galestorm Flyers. He had only hear that it was an imperial from Plague, a mage that was desperate for a new start after watching his clan suffer from starvation and lack of space. He had to admit that he was unusually excited about this, he had not been a member of this clan for a very long time but he had already seen a few dragons come and go but none with quite the reputation as a mage. Furthermore, the note left in his sleep had peaked his interest, as he would be one of the first dragons to greet the mystery dragon in order to give him his meal.

The new dragon was due to arrive in ten minutes, so Dew took these last few minutes to set out the stunning meal consisting of fish and shrimp, as well as a moment to lay down with his eyes closed. He sighed, exhausted, and let his tired limbs collapse onto sacks of flour and grain, which he decided would serve as a good enough bed for the time. He drifted into a sleep like state, not quite dreaming but certainly not awake either. It was only moments later when he was awoken by sharp prodding from a clawed foot, which belonged to Hellrise.

“Hm? Wha?” Dew mumbled, jerking his head up and smacked his lips, his mouth having a funny taste in it, “Hellr-r-rise, w-what’s going on?”

“Nantis has arrived with our newest clan member, I wanted to give you warning as he is very tired and hungry,” The intimidating wildclaw replies in a sharp tone, “Don’t screw this up. Serezha is causing enough trouble with his dark magic already, we don’t need another mage of darkness.”

“Aren’t y-y-you and S-Serezha t-together?” Dew queried as he doubled checked the food set out, mentally tallying his tasks left for the day. He scented a slightly strange smell from the meal for the new member, but he thought nothing of it.

“Shut it, tundra.” With the final scathing comment, Hellrise turned and stalked away, apparently intent on returning to his job or perhaps stopping Serezha from cursing another dragon--Dew could never tell with him.

True to Hellrise’s word, the mysterious newcomer arrived only moments after Hellrise had left. The massive imperial dragon had quite an effect on Dew, who was completely enamored with the stunning mage. His wings were a mellow orangey-tan, similar to Dew’s own wings, and covered in intricate butterfly markings. His body was a mottled yellow orange, sharp grey marks adding to his beauty while his underbelly was a rich, glimmering orange. He was abnormally thin--a product of too many dragons in a clan--but still held himself with a humble sense of pride. Dew was simply awestruck by him and was unsure of what to do.

“Hello,” The imperial said in a deep baritone voice, “My name is Mahal,a mage of Light. You must be Dew, the cook?”

“Y-y-yes,” Dew stuttered out, for once glad that he had a natural stutter that served as an excuse, “Pleasure to m-m-m-m-mmm-m-meet y-you.”

“And you too,” Mahal replied, dipping his head respectfully. He glanced over to where the food was as his stomach gave a large growl, which Dew noted caused the regal dragon to blush ever so slightly.

“T-t-that’s f-f-f-for you,” Dew gestured at the meal laid out on the table, “I m-made it m-m-my-my-m-m-”

“Yourself?” Mahal interjected kindly, noticing his trouble, “Why thank you, that was very kind but unnecessary. The other dragons should eat first, I can wait.”

“Th-they alr-ready have eat-ten. Th-this was made f-for you.”

Mahal looked slightly surprised, but quickly recovered and took his seat to finally fill his belly. Dew, on the other hand, was still caught up in what he was now convinced was true-love’s shine. Mahal was stunning, coupled with his graceful movements and his deep voice, he was any dragons dream. That didn’t even take into account his intelligence as a mage, and a future teacher if rumors were to be believed. Dew was positive he had all of the chance of a cockroach making friend’s with a germaphobe--that is to say, absolutely none.

While Mahal enjoyed his first true meal in a while, Dew set about preparing the meats for the festival. Each type of meat would be cut into portions for various sized dragons, which meant a lot of rather violent chopping. He worked quickly and efficiently, purposely trying to ignore the large distraction that was sitting at his table, eating his meal. As it turned out, he ignored Mahal a little too much, because when the imperial approached him he did not take any notice at all.

“Would you like some assitan-”

“WINDSINGER!” Dew jumped violently, accidently throwing his cut of meat off the counter, “M-Mahal, jeez… I w-w-wasn-n’t paying a-a-att-t-tention, you startled m-m-me.”

“I can see that,” Mahal said cautiously, giving Dew a strange look, “My apologies. I was wondering if I could make myself useful around here, you seem to be working quite hard. All you need to do is show me what needs done.”

“N-n-nonesense. You h-have just ar-r-r-rrived, you deserve a b-b-break.”

Mahal looked like he was considering arguing, but instead nodded his agreement. “I could use a break, but perhaps I could stay in here, keep you company.”

“Oh, I’m n-n-not t-that good company,” Dew replied, picking up the dropped slice of meat, “I cannot s-s-st-stop my s-s-st-s-stutter.”

“That is no matter, I find you enjoyable to talk to with the stutter, despite what you may think.”

Dew found himself blushing slightly, and then having a rather enjoyable conversation with Mahal as he worked. The rest of the afternoon was spent like this, Dew busy in the kitchen with preparations while Mahal read some interesting tombs out loud for his entertainment. However, the day came to a close all too soon for Dew, and Mahal decided to head to his new room and get some much needed rest. The slightly disappointed tundra decided to continue working for a good while longer, seasons and marinating the meats before bagging and freezing them.

It had been a long day, difficult in some respects and enjoyable in others. Dew found himself in a new and unfamiliar quandary, a love for a dragon who he just met and was miles out of his league. While he pondered his situation, there was another dragon in a new life that he struggled to adjust to. Mahal was also in an unfamiliar land, though a significantly better one. Unknown to Dew, the orange imperial also held the beginnings of love for the small dragon, but had no idea how to approach them.

---

The warm scent of roasted cinnamon stirred Dew from his dreamless sleep. He rolled off his hammock and stretched luxuriously, inhaling the merry scents deeply. He had slept later than he had planned, as the rest of the clan was already working on preparations for the festival, but it did not explain the scent of cinnamon.

Dew lumbered out of his room and into the kitchen, freezing in confusion at the sight that greeted him. Mahal was once again at his table, this time with some of the frozen cinnamon pancakes that Dew kept as reserve breakfast for days when he was unimaginably busy heating on the stove (which was almost burning at this point). The imperial was reading a large tomb at the table, apparently completely absorbed in studying.

Silently, Dew stared for a moment longer, then quickly scampered to the pan of pancakes and pulled them off the heat, serving up two portions and putting one in front of Mahal. He wanted to thank him for starting breakfast, but he also did not want to annoy the scholar with his stutter and interruptions, so instead he said nothing.

After scarfing down his pancakes quickly, Dew began the next stage of festival preparation: seafood. He would begin by opening the clams and oysters, which was a difficult task with his thick fur. It was slow going and boring, especially as he made efforts to remain silent in order to let Mahal continue his own work.

“Would you like some assistance?” Mahal’s deep voice sounded from behind him, once again startling Dew who managed not to throw the basket of clams this time.

“W-wh-what?” Dew stuttered, turning to see Mahal rising from the table to stand beside him, “N-no, I’m f-f-f- I’m f-f-fine, you should keep st-st-studying.”

“Nonsense,” Mahal said, taking the basket from Dew and setting it between them, “I can assist. My studies are for my own time, I don’t have much else to do right now. This is one way I can make myself useful for the time being. Would you like me to pin your fur back, perhaps make things a little easier on you?”

Dew stared a moment, slightly intimidated, but then nodded for simplicity. Mahal produced several clips and bands by magic, matching Dew’s mane, then gently took his paw in his own and effectively clipped his fur back, magically ensuring that it would not come undone. He also produced a light yellow flower, which he placed in Dew’s mane to ensure the fly away hairs would not get in the way either. Throughout this process Dew stood very still, almost holding his breath at the gentleness of his actions.

He had not known Mahal very long at all, only a single day, but he could not help the surge of emotions that seemed to boil up whenever the regal imperial was around. Perhaps it was the way Mahal spoke, or looked, or walked, but another part of him said that this was more than that. It felt as if he had known him for ages, longer than he had been alive, but that would be impossible. For now he chalked it up to his own overly impressionable mind, but he could not shake the feelings he held for Mahal.

Pulling himself out of his thoughts, Dew turned back to the task at hand and began his work. He efficiently began to open the clams in front of him, placing the completed clan in a strainer in the sink. Mahal was much slower, still struggling with the first few. The smaller tundra glanced over at him and frowned slightly.

“Do you n-n-need some help?” Dew asked tentatively.

Mahal glanced up, slightly embarrassed, “Ah, yes. My apologies. I do not have a spell that would allow me to do this, nor am I very experienced in opening clams.”

Dew nodded in response, then picked up a clam, “Copy m-m-me.”

The regal imperial spent the next several minutes mimicking the technique Dew employed, learning the basics in relative silence. Dew was typically more talkative than this, at least to himself, however he didn’t want to embarrass himself with his stutter. He felt strangely out of place next to the regal and composed figure of Mahal, especially with his tendency to dance around and hum to himself as he cooked.

“Are you alright, Dew?” Mahal glanced over at his companion, “You are being unusually quiet today, compared to the wonderful conversations we had yesterday.”

“Hm? Oh, I’m f-f-f-, I’m f-f-fine. J-j-just don’t want t-t-t-to bother y-you, it is diffi-ifi-ifi-difficult t-to have a-a-a-a conversation w-with me.” Dew was somewhat surprised at his own honesty, but simply continued to focus on his intently on his work.

“Difficulty does not mean impossibility,” Mahal replied, “A stutter does not mean that you are not an enjoyable conversation. I find it very entertaining to talk with you.”

Dew faltered in his duties, glancing up at the kind face beside him before turning back to his work. “I a-a-ap-appr-r-reciate your k-kind words, Mahal,” he began as he grabbed another basket of clams, “But I really am n-n-not that goo-”

“Nonsense,” Mahal interjected, “tell me something about you. How did you join the Galestorm Flyers?”

Dew found a smile creeping across his face as he began his story. It was not a particularly exciting one, he was a child in a dragon exchange and happened to end up here, but it seemed Mahal was enamored by every word. For Dew, it was a strange experience to be listened to so intently and with interest, not even Nantis had done that (despite his kind intents). He relished in the chance to talk freely with someone, and spent the rest of the time morning with Mahal doing just that.

Hours later, both dragons reeked of clams and oysters, having finally finished their duties. They now adjourned their job for the time being, and were attempting to play a game of checkers.

As it turned out, Dew was phenomenally terrible at checkers, and Mahal defeated him every single time despite his efforts to teach him how to play. Dew bore no ill will in this fact--he didn't like checkers really, he just enjoyed the time with Mahal--but he did force Mahal to join him in some dancing after his impressive losing streak. Mahal attempted to make it clear that he was no dancer, but Dew would have none of it.

“‘D-d-d-difficulty does n-not mean i-im-im-impossible,” Dew grinned, proud of himself for using Mahal’s own words against him, “I t-t-tr-tried check-ck-ckers, now y-you have to t-try dancing.”

“I-listen. I don't dance, I break things when I dance,” Mahal struggled to find a valid reason not to dance. “I would destroy all our hard work!”

“Shush, Maha-ha-hal,” Dew swatted him playfully, “Let's have some f-f-f-fun.”

“F-fun? Dancing is not fun”

“N-n-n-neither is checkers.”

Mahal narrowed his eyes at Dew, who grinned in response, then finally gave in. With an enthusiastic shout, Dew quickly turned on the speakers and music, then shook his mane and leapt onto the counter. Mahal found himself chuckling at the amusing actions of the tundra, eventually joining in in the wild and joyous dancing. The two dragons enjoyed their remaining break time dancing together in silly ways, eventually ending in Mahal tripping over his own tail and pulling both of them to the floor.

Mahal apologized sincerely, though Dew could care less--he could hardly stop laughing at the whole thing! However, the amusing time had to be cut short eventually, as Dew had to finish preparing the seafood. Mahal stuck around for the rest of the day, assisting where he could but for the most part acting as company.

Though uneventful for the most part, it seemed that both Mahal and Dew were reluctant to part ways when it came time to sleep. However, it was Mahal that finally bid Dew a good sleep before going to his own room.

“Sleep well, Dew,” Mahal smiled sweetly, almost dipping his head to touch noses, “It is late, you will need your rest.”

“N-n-noted,” Dew began, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, “But I've g-g-got a l-li-little bit more t-t-to do to-ton-n-night. Sleep well, g-g-g-ood dreams.”

Mahal smiled once again, hesitating only a moment before turning and exiting the kitchen, once again leaving Dew alone with his thoughts.

---

It was fine. Everything was fine. Dew was once again cooking in the kitchen, this time a five decker cake for the festival, despite the fact that he was absolutely certain that Nantis had vetoed this idea the day before. He was decorating the now completely baked cake, a elegant grey and teal frosting to mirror the colors of the storm catcher. It smelled delectable, chocolate cinnamon like he had when he was a hatchling.

Moments later the cake began to deform, melting and collapsing onto the counter. He wailed helplessly at his hard work spilling out in goo, then suddenly, Trana appeared in his kitchen. She stalked over to where the ovens were, using them as a furnace rather than an over and throwing out his food he was baking. He tried to stutter out a yell at her, telling her to go away, he was busy, but the most he could get out was a single word, repeated over and over like a broken record.

Furious and stressed, Dew tried to run over to her but found his feet caught up in his own overgrown fur, sending him crashing to the ground. He struggled violently, trying to free himself from their grasp.

“Dew,” a deep voice called out gently, “Dew it’s Mahal.”

Dew tried to respond, asking him to help him, but could only choke out the first syllable. He watched as Mahal’s face swam into view, a gentle smile that turned to a snarl in moments. His face began to distort, his teeth growing into grotesque fangs, his mane losing its luster, and worst of all, his comforting eyes turned black and began to bleed.

“Dew,” the monstrosity that resembled Mahal snarled, “Dew wake up. Dew, come on, wake up.”

“N-n-n-n-n-”

“DEW!”

The final roar tore Dew from his stressful slumber, he attempted to jerk upwards but found himself tangled hopelessly in his hammock. Mahal was staring down at him with a concerned frown on his face, holding what seemed to be an unnecessarily large book in one paw.

“Are you alright Dew?” Mahal asked gently, assisting the tangled tundra in his escape from the ropes, “You were thrashing in your sleep.”

“I’m f-f-f-fine,” Dew stuttered, attempting to sooth his frazzled nerves, “Just a n-n-nigh-nigh-n-n a n-n-n-nightmare. Stressed and st-st-st-stuff.”

Mahal nodded understandably, “The festival, I assume. I must admit that it has been weighing on my mind as well, despite my lesser duty in preparation. However, I believe I might have a way to help you out in that matter. It required some research--as I was uniformed on the topic--but it was not overly complex once I knew what I was doing. Come, I’ll show you.”

Still groggy, Dew stumbled after Mahal blinking his bleary eyes. In the kitchen he was greeted by two facts: he overslept by several hours as it was now noon, and Mahal had enchanted the cookware to prepare the insects on their own. Not exactly a typical sight.

“ARGH! It’s n-n-n-noon!” Dew cried, darting over to his oven in a panic, “I over s-s-s-slept!!!”

“Yes, I noticed, which is why I was in your room,” Mahal replied calmly, grabbing Dew and placing the enchanted gold bands on his paws once again, “Do not panic, I spent my night researching in preparation for this--or rather the general idea that this might happen. The majority of the tedious work will be done magically--I had to figure out what the work actually was before I enchanted things--but you will be able to finish the cooking process tonight.”

Dew paused his frantic actions, looking back at Mahal with wide eyes, “Y-y-you did t-this for m-m-m-me? What do we d-d-d-d-do the r-r-rest of the d-day?”

“Well I don’t know about you but I thought it was as lovely as it could be for a day out. Perhaps we could do some flying, I heard from Nantis there is a pleasant oasis nearby?”

The smile that split across Dew’s face was enough of a response for Mahal--to which he responded in kind--who then turned around to lead the way out. It took some weaving through the bustling hallways, but the pair eventually reached the entrance and took flight. Mahal soared just above Dew to shelter him from the raging storm above with his enormous wings, glancing down at him every once in a while with a content smile. With coaxing from Mahal, Dew eventually loosened up, abandoning the stress of the morning, and flittered playfully back and forth with Mahal. Neither were particularly nimble dragons and more than once both dragons crashed into each other and had to recover their balance. Plays roars and stuttering cries rang out over the land, not always audible over the thundering noise of the storm but excited nevertheless.

After a flight that took much longer than necessary, Dew and Mahal reached the peaceful oasis. A tall set of lighting spires stood on opposite sides of the circle, while a smaller pillars arranged as a wall served as a defense against the elements. Within the wall was a gentle slope that lead to a crystal clear watering hole. In the center of the pool was a large stone, which instantly caught Mahal’s interest due to the magical runes emblazoned on it. He waded into the pool and dipped his head under the surface of the water, gazing intently at the stone.

It was quite the startling surprise when Mahal felt a large thump on his back, sending him plunging fully into the water. He twisted around to look at the culprit, spying the grinning face of Dew under the water. The tundra shook his thick mane, and Mahal admired the way it flowed under the water. With a grin, Mahal surged upwards and tackled Dew, instigating a friendly wrestling fight between the two vastly different dragons. The water was filled with twisting dragon limbs as the two full grown dragons played like young hatchlings. It quickly became clear that this day would only be one of relaxing regardless of the pressing work that needed done.

“DEW!” Mahal roared with a grin when they burst from the water, “What are you doing?”

“N-n-n-nothing! J-j-just some friendly s-s-s-swim-m-ming,” Dew grinned, flipping his wet mane from his vision as he paddled to keep afloat.

Mahal flipped his tail underneath the smaller tundra to help him, “You, sir, could be a ninja. That was very sneaky of you!”

“I think I’ll s-s-s-stick to c-c-cooking, th-th-thank you,” Dew snarked, diving under the water once again with a playful flick of his tail.

Mahal grinned happily as he followed, still curious as to what the rock said but intently focused on Dew for the time being. He couldn’t stop the thought that he looked absolutely stunning under the water from crossing his mind.

As expected, the rest of the day was spent with the dragons at the oasis, enjoying a relaxing day of company from one another. Dew felt himself slowly falling further and further into the inescapable pit of love for Mahal. He could not explain his strange attraction to the imperial, it felt like more than just these days had influenced him, perhaps beyond things he could imagine. He did not want to consider the fact that these feelings were likely very one sided--it is difficult to love a dragon that cannot hold a conversation past a few words.

What Dew did not know was that Mahal too felt these unexplainable emotions, but he had an inkling of an idea that Dew felt similarly. Mahal was enjoying his time with him beyond any relation he had had before, barring his brother for the most part. However, he knew in his gut that this relation was far different than the love he felt for his brother, it was far more ancient than that. This was not to say that one was more important or better than the other, simply that they were different.

Mahal went to bed that night considering this, as well as his intentions towards Dew. He knew what he wanted, he wasn’t sure why he was so positive but he knew that he wanted to be with Dew more than he already was. However, he was not sure when would be a reasonable time to ask the tundra. He surmised that perhaps tomorrow he would ask Dew to the festivale, that would be a reasonable request he hoped.

Unfortunately for Mahal, both he and Dew were incredibly busy with last minute preparations on the thirteenth. Dew was frying, baking, cooking, and plating a feast for the entirety of the clan--an enormous task despite previous efforts to lessen it. Mahal found himself drawn in with the other mages, finishing decorations and safety precautions on the Dark Queen’s chamber (as her guard would be lifted briefly for the festival and she was not to leave the prison). Neither dragon saw the other until midday, when Mahal got to drop by the kitchen briefly to deliver something.

Mahal wanted to take this moment, however brief, to ask Dew what he considered was a very pressing question, but the kitchen was bustling with a variety of dragons assisting Dew. He called out loudly, hoping but failing to catch his attention.

“Dew! Dew! Dew!” Finally Mahal enchanted his voice to echo through the room, “DEW!”

The shout finally drew Dew’s attention away from his work, and he glanced back to Mahal, his face splitting into a smile when he noticed who was calling for him.

“Mahal! W-w-w-what is it?”

“I was wondering i-” the rest of Mahal’s sentence was drowned out by the crowd between them, frustrating both members of the party.

“W-w-w-what?” Dew yelled over the noise.

“I was wondering if you would lik-”

“Speak louder!”

“DEW WOULD YOU LIKE TO GO TO THE FESTIVAL WITH ME?” Mahal’s voice was abnormally high pitched, not to mention loud enough for the entire lair to hear. He felt a tinge of red dust his face but he chose to ignore this, instead throwing a sheepish smile Dew’s way.

Dew paused, having to take a moment to register the question that was said abnormally quickly, then froze in shock. His eyes widened and he stared at his paws for a solid thirty seconds before snapping out of his trance.

“I-I-I… What? M-m-me? I am not th-th-that good of comp-p-pany,” Dew argued loudly, thoroughly confused.

“That is a false statement and you know it,” Mahal yelled firmly, “I quite enjoy your company all of the time.”

Dew stayed silent for a few moments longer, before nodding quickly and burying his face in his paws. “Y-y-yes…. I would l-l-love to go t-t-t-to the f-festival with y-you. And perhaps th-th-th-the one a-a-a-after...”

Mahal grinned brightly at the response, understanding the unspoken words behind them. He did not get the chance to tell Dew exactly how much he loved him, as he was quickly ushered back to work, but he hoped that the rose he magicked into existence by Dew’s station would suffice for the time. He left the room giddy, never losing the uncharacteristic childish grin on his face, the knowledge that he and Dew were together brought a bounce to his step.

Unbeknownst to the unofficial couple, there was another strange pairing watching from just around the corner. Serezha grinned maliciously, tucking a love potion back into his cloak and leaning heavily into Hellrise who stood silently beside him.

“See? I’m a matchmaker Hellrise!”

“Your a psychopathic sorcerer who manipulated dragons into a relationship,” The wildclaw deadpanned in return.

“And yet you love me so,” Serezha cooed, “Besides, I hardly did a thing. You see, this isn’t a very strong potion, I only gave them each a drop. They were like this before.”

“Before?” Hellrise reluctantly draped a wing over his mate as he questioned his strange behavior.

“This is not their first time around in life, Hellrise. Nor do I think it will be their last, those two are destined for something greater than a baker and a mage. All it takes is a little prodding of memories, perhaps a little magic. But it’s as they say, love at second sight!”

“That’s not the quote, Serezha.”

“Shut it.”

This was a commission for Calavir.

---

Gone But Not Lost

The slim, tan and green figure elegantly leaped over the molten river of lava as he returned to his home in the Ashfall Waste after a long mission to the west. The area was aptly named, as a thin layer of ash had fallen onto the skydancer’s colorful feathers, muting the bright tones with an uncomfortably warm film. The volcanic eruptions and various pools of lava were more active than usual, preventing the returning hero from taking flight and traversing the land quicker.

It was not happenstance that this skydancer--who’s nickname was, in fact, Hero--took this particular route home; it’s path held a lot of fond, if not bittersweet, memories for him. Long ago, when he was but a young hero named Alfie, he held a deep friendship for another skydancer known as Daymion, who now went by Villain. His childhood was filled with make-believe adventure with his friend, play fighting invisible enemies with Hero always saving the day. Their roles had been so simple, Hero and Villain, but neither of them had held an animosity over the terms.

Those days had been peaceful, no bodies to identify, no crimes to solve, and most importantly, Daymion was not lost to criminal activity. Overtime things had changed, Alfie had made mistakes, ones that hurt Daymion and pushed him away. Eventually, darkness had enveloped his friend and Alfie was left to play the role of Hero against his friend, which was not something that he had ever wanted to occur in the real world.

The memories of a time before it was truly him against Daymion was the guiding force to his terrible decision-making that night. As Alfie finally took to the sky (the ash having let up enough to allow the feathered skydancer to soar above with caution) he wondered what strange force drove him to go to Daymion’s. The old friends were finally in an unintentional truce, their usual animosity had tampered down long enough to stop the crime spree. However, as the brightly colored Skydancer ascended above the towering geysers of lava, a sliver of doubt at his intentions wormed its way into his brain.

‘Maybe he will listen this time,’ Alfie tried to reason to himself, ‘We have an animosity, yes, but surely he will at least hear me out. Maybe this isn’t the best of ideas, but I can’t let him sit in the darkness forever. Not when it was my fault he is there in the first place.’

Alfie glanced down, his monarch glasses protecting his vision from flecks of ash, finally spotting the relatively clean and active home beneath him. He tipped his green feathered wings, his delicate butterflies clinging desperately to his side, and glided down in an elegant arc to the center of the town. Built a safe distance from the pervasive mist that surrounded the area, the town was a collection of sturdy buildings with the flowing lava directed around and underneath, heating their homes and fueling their lives. The police department stood in front of him as he landed, an imposing building with thick iron doors and heavily barred windows--the crafters had spared no expense with this building.

With a sigh, Alfie lifted his wings and allowed the brightly colored insects to once again resume their typical flight around him. He ran a quick paw through the tufted feathers on his back in a futile attempt to rid them of the uncomfortable ash, then entered the building with tired paws dragging on the floor.

Alfie slipped into the building relatively unnoticed, the other members of the force were busy with their own paperwork or preparations for a field job. He himself had just returned from one of his rare missions out, a rumor of a bandit attacking caravans had roused his interest. Contrary to popular belief, Alfie had not left the stacks of paperwork behind simply because of a bandit, but rather the worry that the bandit would be Daymion, which required his attention to cover for his misguided friend. While his suspicions were correct, the work was relatively sloppy for Daymion, like he was in a rush, which was why Alfie intended to visit him after his shift.

The ash dusted Skydancer plodded back to his desk that remained stacked with paperwork. He shuffled through the smallest of the piles, pulling out the single folder that he had stashed in a rush to leave, glancing through the report a witness had filed.

‘The attacker was a skydancer, small-ish winds, purple or red, wearing a bandana or hat.’ Alfie sighed as he read through the description, cursing himself for pushing Daymion to crime. Worry nagged at him as he stuffed the evidence he had gathered into a box (that would later be mysteriously lost in transit). It was unlike Daymion to be so sloppy, it was hardly a challenge to find the guilty party so quickly.

‘Perhaps it's nothing,’ Alfie furrowed his brow, staring blankly at the half-finished report in his claws, ‘But with Daymion, it’s hardly ever nothing. Could it be he is in danger? I'd love to think that's impossible, but…’

Suddenly remembering a report he had skimmed earlier, Alfie lunges at the pile of papers to his right and ruffles through them quickly, attracting strange looks as the minimally sorted files were scattered on the floor. With hardly a glance of concern, Alfie located the file he needed and fumbled with the latch closing the abnormally thick folder. Inside were a multitude of reports and truces with Daymion sent by the clan, including a recent request for possible exile (which Alfie was trying desperately to ignore) and the long list of threats against Daymion’s life. While most had been deemed worthless by Alfie, there was one recent addition that he should not have disregarded so easily. He skimmed through the letter, written rather politely for being a death threat, finally noticing that this was no normal attack. It was informing Daymion--”Villain” in the letter--that there was a price on his head, a hefty one. Included was a poster that made Alfie’s blood run cold, causing him to leap up, abandoning the scattered papers, and scurry out the door.

The poster lay on the floor, abandoned by the concerned skydancer, only to be picked up by a cloaked mirror dragon moments later.

“300 gems for the capture of Daymion “Villain”, dead or alive,” The dragon murmured, frowning. With an apparently apathetic shrug, the mirror tossed the paper into the lava vents to burn to ashes. The mirror swept away, their cloak dragging on the ground slightly, following the same path that Alfie had taken moments before.

“Daymion!” Alfie called loudly, standing outside the sparsely decorated house. “Daymion please open the door! I just want to talk, there’s nothing to fight about right now, don’t leave me hanging!”

Alfie stood on the doorstep, breathing heavily as he struggled to regain his composure from the frantic flight through the city. His mind was racing, the bounty put on Daymion’s head was dangerous enough as is--Daymion wasn’t exactly the most secretive of dragons, even if Alfie covered for him most times--but the dragon who put the bounty up was a different story.

‘An assassin, a professional assassin…’ Alfie’s brow furrowed in thought, ‘How did I not notice that before? Stupid of you, Alfie, you could have got him killed. You could have watched him die...’

The sudden click of the lock snapped Alfie from his thoughts, the door in front of him opened to reveal Daymion, his dim grey bandana askew on his head. The purple-hued skydancer frowned ever so slightly, fixed his bandana, and tried to arrange his face into a perfectly annoyed look.

“Hero, you do know it is customary to inform the host before you show up at their door in-” Daymion glanced down at Hero’s scuffed looks with a curled lip, “-in, ah, rags?”

“Wha? Oh, right,” Alfie looked down at his own ash covered wings briefly, “Sorry. I was in a rush, can we deal with my looks later? We need to talk.”

Daymion stared at Alfie for several long moments, considering his options, then let out a long sigh and moved aside to allow entrance. With a thankful smile, Alfie trotted inside, glancing around at the relatively spotless interior. The smile turning to a frown, Alfie turned back to Daymion, who stood somewhat uncomfortably by the door, and glared at him.

“What is it Hero,” Daymion snapped after several long moments of awkward silence, “Spit it out!”

“It hardly looks like you live here, Daymion,” Alfie replied, putting emphasis on his real name, “I can’t even tell if anyone has slept here for the past month, let alone if you’ve slept here!”

“Where I sleep and when I sleep is none of your business,” Daymion replied curtly, “If all you’ve come here to do is insult my interior decorating skills, we should just fight and get it done with. I do not have the time for this.”

Alfie paused, ignoring the slight directed at him, “Daymion…”

“Villain, Hero. I am Villain.”

“I don’t care what you call yourself,” Alfie replied, a hint of bittersweet sadness in his voice, “Your Daymion to me, you always will be. Yes yes, I know,” Alfie cut Daymion off before the annoyed skydancer could say anything more, “You’re the villain, I’m the hero, you made that clear. Right now, though, I’m just Alfie. I need you to listen to me, I have something very important to tell you.”

Daymion looked cautiously at him, finally conceding and gesturing for him to continue. Alfie straightened up slightly, trying to push confidence that he did not feel into his voice.

“There’s an assassin after you, Daymion. They set a price on your head,” Alfie paused, searching for a reaction and finding none, “I found a poster a day ago, it didn’t occur to me that it might be serious until you left that… that job half done, and sloppily at that. I panicked, I thought you might have been in danger, and then I took another look at the poster. Daymion, a bounty for 300 gems is on your head! Bounty hunters and assassins from all over are going to be scrambling to find you!”

Throughout this speech, Daymion had not moved from his pondering position by the door frame. After several long moments of Alfie staring worriedly at him, Daymion moved with his usual cautious purpose. He paced across the room in a thoughtful manner, eventually stopping at a single pile of papers on the counter and slowly ruffling through them.

“What makes you think I need your help, Hero,” Daymion began, a slight bitter undertone to his voice, “I appreciate the warning but it is remarkably unnecessary.”

Alfie flinched at his tone, but tried to steel his nerves before continuing, “Daymion I know you are capable of many things--good and bad--but you can’t fight the entire world when you have a price on your head! Life decided to throw you to the dogs, leaving you high and dry, so why don’t you let me help you?”

Daymion glanced over at Alfie, a small packet of papers in his paws, and attempted to keep an indifferent look on his face. “I appreciate all you’ve done for me, lying, begging, bribing, but this is not something you can fix. I have a solution--or rather the elders do--but I can guarantee it is not something you would appreciate.” Daymion walked forward, holding out the packet of papers to a very confused Alfie, then guided his self-declared nemesis to a seat. “Read.”

Alfie looked down at the papers, he had only skimmed the first page but the gist of it was clear. “No! You can’t do this-”

“Not my doing, Hero.”

“It’s exile! You-you can’t just up and leave like this! Daymion, I’d do anything for you, I’ll fight for this to be overturned! They don’t have proof that you committed the crimes, I can hide any evidence-”

“Hero even you are not that good,” Daymion attempted to interject into Alfie’s growing panic, not wanting to admit that a part of him still cared for the colorful skydancer.

“Then I’ll go with you! We can fight off, run from, whatever. We can get away from your enemies! If your going to suffer like this then I will share it.”

“It’s hardly suffering, Hero. I appreciate the sentiment, and while you suspect I would do the same for you-”

“THEN GIVE ME REASONS TO BELIEVE THAT!” Alfie’s sudden, uncharacteristic startled Daymion. Alfie’s eyes were filling with tears of frustration, a look of hopeless pain on his face as he stared at his friend he so desperately wanted back.

“Alfie you ask too much of a villain,” Daymion snapped tensely after a moment, slipping up with his titles. His eyes were narrowed and furious, he had given every reason for Hero to believe that, long ago, and he threw it away. There was no returning from what he had done.

“Daymion-” Alfie began, taking a step towards Daymion as he swept to the door, picking up his bag.

“My name is Villain,” Daymion said, venom lacing the words he tossed over his shoulder, “Goodnight, I suggest you leave.” The finality of the statement was punctuated by the skydancer sweeping out of the room, his bag strapped to his side. Alfie watched his retreating form, still gripping the papers of exile in his paws, trying to ignore the sting of tears at the edge of his vision.

“I’ll wait here. You will always be my friend, Daymion, and I will get you back.” Alfie felt his voice tremble as he watched the steady steps of Daymion falter for a moment, then continue. “You will always be my friend, my love,” Alfie whispered to himself, trying to reassure himself of his heart, “Even long after you’re gone…”

---

The months that followed the dramatic argument were comparatively calm and peaceful.

This is to say, not normal in any way shape or form.

By this time of year, Alfie was normally up to his chin in paperwork, most often involving Daymion causing some sort of trouble or catastrophe that Alfie had to find a way to cover for or simply lose. However, this time, he had scarcely a single case that could have possibly involved Daymion, but even those were unconfirmed. The colorful skydancer conveniently “lost” those papers as well, just for safety’s sake, but he was more and more anxious about the location of his old friend.

‘His exile isn’t until next month,’ Alfie pondered as he doodled his signature absent-mindedly on the paperwork in front of him. ‘If he isn’t gone because of that, then there is something bigger going on. Did he actually take my advice and go into hiding from the assassins? Unlikely, he’s too stubborn in his ways to listen to me. Wish he would have at least let me in on what he’s doing, if he falls to an attack I want to be there to catch him. Then again, this may just be some elaborate plot to get me out of the station, having to find him or something. Well then,’ Alfie snorted to himself, stabbing the paper in front of him rather violently with a pen, ‘I don’t know who he thinks he’s working against, I’m no detective. He’s going to get himself killed like this.’

A long sigh escaped Alfie’s maw as he moved the slap-dash report to the side. He had no drive to rise through the ranks of his job, nor to actually do an effective job for cases not involving his ever-loving idiot of a friend. However, when a mirror dragon approached him, he did at least look up to acknowledge their presence.

They were slightly smaller than him, cloaked in black with a white trim, the hood drawn up over their head. They were holding a scroll--not one from a messenger by the looks of it--and what seemed to be a small package.

“May I help you?” Alfie’s voice was bored, as he was tired and simply wanted to figure out where Daymion mysteriously disappeared to.

“You can help yourself,” The mirror replied in a low, rasping voice. They reached up and put both scroll and package in front of Alfie, “Perhaps even your friend, if you are quick enough.”

Alfie’s head snapped up, the mention of Daymion garnering his attention. The mirror simply stared ahead, though Alfie could not see their eyes, seemingly waiting for Alfie to open the packages. With only a moment more of hesitation, Alfie reached down and opened the scroll first.



Alfie stared unbelieving at the strangely written note, then jerked his head back up, intending to give the mirror--assassin--a piece of his mind, only to find they had disappeared in his distraction. He looked back down at the package in front of him, a cold sense of dread gripping his heart. It was small and unassuming, about the size of his foot and wrapped in brown paper. With shaking paws, he reached down and pulled the rope binding it together, removing the brown paper.

A necklace of three bird skills lay there, stained with blood, it’s brown feathers half ripped.

“Daymion,” Alfie breathed, his stomach dropping in fear as he recognized the necklace. The world seemed to slow around his while his mind raced ahead faster than he could process. The mirror, he had seen them several times, lurking, watching, grinning. They were playing a game, and Hero was a piece. Daymion was the gamble.

Still in shock at the turn of events, Alfie reread the note. There was a strange way it was written, capitalizations and spacing where there was no need. He furrowed his brow, rewriting the first letter of each line on a different paper, hoping his inclination was right.

“Yathrimave, 30 miw… miles, miles west. Yathrim avenue, 30 miles west!” Alfie jumped up, surging out the door without a moment's hesitation. He jumped into the air without regard for flying conditions, his wings beating as fast as they could as he hoped desperately that he was not too late.

The flight seemed like an eternity to Alfie--Hero at this moment--but he finally arrived at the site. He landed cautiously, looking around at the landscape, watching for signs of movement or danger. It was no special place, the lava vents were as active as ever, the igneous rock around them no different, the only thing out-of-place was a bundle wrapped in a canvas bag, lain carelessly at the edge of a lava river, it’s black and purple wings at an odd angle.

“Daymion!” Alfie shouted in a breaking voice, leaping towards the body with a sense of guilty dread in his heart. “Daymion! No no no, you can’t do this! You’re too important, Daymion, please, no…” Alfie’s voice cracked again, tears threatening to spill from his eyes, “You’re my crutch, my backbone, Daymion please. You have things to do, you can’t stop, don’t stop beating! Don’t you dare! Villain, Daymion, whoever, just don’t stop LIVING!” With a furious cry of pain, Alfie slammed his fisted paw onto the sack.

Feathers flew out, wisping away into the lava. They were white, not purple.

Alfie stared for a moment, then ripped the bag open, discovering the body he thought was his friend was no more than a pile of sand and feathers, two expertly crafted fake wings sticking out from it.

“Ah, you found my gift.”

Alfie whipped around, his feathered tail almost dragging in the lava. The mirror stood before him, their cloak still wrapped safely around them, but this time holding a collection of necklaces. His eyes were focused on the brown bird skulls, but Alfie rose slowly nonetheless, a look of confusion and anger engraved on his face.

“Really, from all the talk I’ve heard, I thought the Hero would be the smarter of the two in this partnership,” The mirror taunted, dropping the necklaces to shatter on the ground. “How could you fall for such a simple trap! Here I was, hoping to have a nice game starting, but instead I defeat you in one fell swoop.”

“The necklace…” Alfie murmured, a realization finally dawning on him, “It wasn’t his.”

“You really are stupid,” The mirror sighed, “well, I suppose I should for-go the dramatic speech then.”

Alfie barely had time to take a breath before the attack. He felt the small but strong body of the mirror crash fiercely into him, sending both of them closer to the lava’s edge. He could feel the muscles beneath the hunter’s skin straining for the chance to kill him, but he fought back best he could. Thrashing limbs and bloody teeth struggled for several long moments, before finally the mirror stood victorious, one paw on Alfie’s chest as he struggled to remain on the rocky edge of the lava river. The skydancer was bleeding from several places and hit his head, his mind creeping towards unconsciousness.

‘The heat is unbearable,’ Alfie thought distantly, looking up at the dragon who grinned in victory. ‘So sorry, Daymion. Didn’t… left you… should have saved…’

As Alfie felt the last of his strength leave him, there was a sudden removal of the pressure on his chest. He heard vicious roars, then Daymion’s face swam before him, helping him to his feet. Alfie looked up at his friend, blinking in confusion as he tried to wrap his head around the current turn of events.

“Hero,” Daymion said, a tinge of worry in his voice, “Why in the Flamecaller’s name are you attempting to fight Naoi?”

“Huh?” Alfie was well aware of his own stupidity in his statement, but he honestly could not figure out this strange turn of events.

“The assassin, Hero.” Daymion turned his head to see the mirror, still standing, about 40 tail lengths away from them.

“Oh. I thought you were dead,” Alfie muttered, as if that was a normal statement. “Oh-OH! Daymion! You’re alive! And you’re… here?”

Daymion flinched and sighed as the childish skydancer suddenly yelped and hugged him, though he did not pull away. “I caught wind of this plot by Naoi,” Daymion shot a fierce glance at the mirror, who watched with an uninterested gaze, “Thought I would stop in and keep you from getting yourself killed.”

Alfie pulled back, a grin fixed on his face, “So you finally admit you actually are good!”

“No,” Daymion said flatly, though for a brief moment his face betrayed him, “I am simply repaying a debt, you do many things for me.”

“Alright alright, I surrender,” Alfie said, “Honestly, always knew you’ve always done the same for me.”

“Hm,” Daymion said, stepping in front of Alfie with a dark expression coming over his face, “Well, then if you have such a high opinion of me, don’t watch what happens next.”

Alfie had no time to ask what his message meant, as Daymion--now Villain--leaped forward, his claws flashing dangerously. The mirror, Naoi as Alfie now knew, met the charge head on, snatching at Villain’s outstretched paw with sharp teeth. Villain landed on the back of Naoi, claws ripping into the cloak on their back, finally revealing the dragon underneath. Alfie only caught one glance of the dragon below, silvery-purple wings with darker purple stripes, a dull grey base underneath. The next moment, both Villain and Naoi were a tangle of limbs.

Though a proclaimed hero, Alfie was no fighter, so he instead stood back, anxiously watching and hoping that Daymion would be the victor of this battle. It seemed that he watched for ages, fear pounding in his chest at the sight of the tangle of bloody limbs, until finally a victor emerged.

The form rose unsteadily from the mess, bloody dripping from his claws, and turned to Alfie. Villain stumbled forward, walking towards his friend in halting steps before stopping in front of the stunned skydancer. For a moment, both skydancers simply stared at each other, a heavy silence over them.

“...Alfie,” Daymion finally croaked, nodding awkwardly, “I’ll be going now. My exile was moved up.”

“Wha- no! You will not be going!” Alfie shouted, finally recovering from his shock and gently pushing the injured skydancer to the ground, “You’re injured, I’m not letting you leave yet.”

“Al-Hero, I’m fine,” Daymion tried to insist, “Just, move on, I’m leaving. It would be better for you to forget about me all together.”

“I’m not moving on, and I’m still going to love you even long after you’re gone,” Alfie insisted, attempting to clean and bandage Daymion’s wounds best he could with the meager supplies he had. “You just saved my life-”

“Because you had in the past.”

“-and now I’m not letting you throw yours away for me,” Alfie finished, as if Daymion had never interrupted.

“Really? Because that’s what you did before,” Daymion shot back, trying to hurt him.

“Are you really going to bring that up again?” Alfie chided, though he felt the familiar pang of guilt in his gut, “We were children, Daymion. I made foolish mistakes, now let me fix them.”

“You can’t change the past, Hero.” Daymion finally pushed Alfie’s shaking and bloody paws off his wound, bandaging it himself before standing unsteadily. “Just leave it, leave me, get on with your life. Exile is exile.”

Alfie felt tears ***** at his eyes once again--too many times for one day--and he glared at Daymion in fury. “How could you say that?!” Alfie’s shout broke half way through, and he jabbed an accusing finger into Daymion’s chest, “How could you ever say something like that?! Exile is not just exile! I’ll never see you again, and I’m not ready to admit defeat! I’m going to get you back, I’m not going to let you just walk away from your life here! You’re my friend, we were best of friends back when we were just hatchlings, and I love you damn it! I’m not going to move on, my heart beats for you at this point! You are my job and the reason I am here, so if you are leaving then I’m leaving too!”

Throughout this heartfelt speech, Daymion had been staring at Alfie with a confused look, one eyebrow cocked.

“You…” Daymion began slowly, “You didn’t read the entire exile paper, did you?”

Alfie looked equally confused and hurt now, not grasping what Daymion was getting at, but shook his head nonetheless. Daymion sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head, then limped to where his bag had fallen, careful to avoid the crumpled form of Naoi. He picked it up, tried to dust the blood off to absolutely no success, then opened it and shuffled through the contents. He finally withdrew a scroll, then walked back to Alfie and handed it to him.

Tentatively, Alfie took the partially blood stained scroll and opened it, recognizing it as the terms of Daymion’s exile that he had skimmed months before.

“Daymion, I alread-” Alfie began, sniffling slightly.

“I know, read it.”

“Bu-”

“Read, Alfie,” Daymion snapped, slipping up names in his annoyance (much to Alfie’s happiness).

With a frown, Alfie turned back to the paper and read, though he did not see anything new. He looked back up at Daymion in confusion, who sighed in annoyance and pointed to a clause written in blue ink.

“Under the guidance of the Flamecaller’s Council, skydancer Daymion, also known as Villain, shall hereby be exiled to his birth land of the Southern Icefields for the duration of two months…” Alfie read aloud, his eyes widening as he realized the implication of this sentence.

“See?” Daymion said, a tinge of annoyance in his voice as he took the scroll back, “It’s not forever, you childish fool. You speak in finalities, but I will be back. Just… forget about me for the time, but expect a challenge when I return.”

Alfie felt the tears finally spill from his eyes, but a smile graced his face as he nodded at his friend. “I’ll wait for you then, until your back, and when you return I will bring you back to the light.”

“Don’t sound so confident about that,” Daymion replied, settling his bag at his side.

“Don’t sound so confident that I won’t,” Alfie replied in kind, his eyes never leaving the purple skydancer.

“Hm,” Daymion replied, the barest hint of a smile on his face, “Goodbye… Hero.”

“Goodbye, Daymion.”

The warmth of the stones beneath Alfie’s feet seemed to be less of a vicious thing now, knowing that Daymion would return to him. He watched with a sense of bittersweet loss as Daymion sprung into the sky, his wings beating steadily as he rose on the heat drafts from the volcanic vents, tipping his direction to the south. All the memories of the good times seemed to fill Alfie in that moment, a sense of progress filling him. Despite Daymion’s words, he had come to save Alfie, even if only to repay a debt.

“I love you, even though you may be gone,” Alfie murmured to himself once again, “I’m never going to stop loving you, even after you have gone.”

Finally, the colorful sky dancer turned from the bittersweet scene before him, instead facing the mess of a scene behind him. With a sigh, Alfie took on his persona of Hero, moving to take care of the evidence. Even if Daymion was not here at the moment, it was safer if there was nothing that could implicate him in the crime. If need be, Alfie would take the fall for it, but he intended to get rid of any sign of trouble before things came to that. It took several hours, but finally, the scene was clean of any evidence, and Alfie returned to his home.

As he landed on his porch, he sighed, his heart heavy with loss but still afloat with a sense of hope. He opened the door and walked in, enjoying the blast of cooler air, and moved to the baths to rid himself of blood, sweat, and ash. He walked to his room, then settled into his bed, exhaustion overwhelming him.

With a frown, Alfie realized his sleep was disturbed by something hard, poking him incessantly in his side. After a moment of grappling with the sheets, Alfie produced a brown bird skull necklace with a small note attached. Confused, Alfie extracted the note and set the necklace aside carefully, opening it.

Alfie sighed, a tired smile gracing his face as he lay back down, finally preparing to get some sleep.

Indeed, Daymion would be back.

This entire story has a very strange origin. I had a class assignment that I was not in the mood to do and wanted to write about my dragon children, and so I wrote about my dragon children for class. It went over surprisingly well, I got a %100 on it. Enjoy my strange story!

---

The electricity crackled angrily from the underground wires, attempting to shock the annoyed pearlcatcher sprawled ungainly on the ground. The royal blue dragon lay on her back, her wings--adorned with electric-yellow switchboard patterns--flared on either side of her, while her shimmering pearl was clutched close to her chest. She stared grimly at the ceiling, her single horn digging uncomfortably into the ground as her fur tipped tail flicked in annoyance.

“‘Make a communications golem’ they said. ‘It will be fun!’ they said.Yeah,” Vetra rolled to her feet, shaking her mane, “Lots of fun. I can’t get the freaking thing to work!”

“Perhaps you should start by connecting the wires to it,” the amused, muffled voice of Nylite came from behind her. Vetra turned, scooping her pearl under her
arm, and snarled at the wildclaw, who smiled at her from behind his metallic mask.

“I’m not a dimwit, Nylite. I disconnected the electricity because it wasn’t working,” Vetra gestured to the deconstructed lump of scrap metal in front of her, “That’s all that exists of it at the moment.”

“Hmmm,” The older wildclaw hummed, fumbling with the grey, desert-resistant cloth covering his face. He tugged it off and tossed it by the door, leaving him only with his breathing mask and the metallic sprigs adorning his scaled chest and large wings. “Alright, turn off the electric current--no need to make Greymane and Darkfury annoyed at using up the reactors juice. Then you can walk me through the idea, and we will work something out together.”

Vetra sighed, nimbly leaping into the air and snatching at a chain above, pulling sharply on it and effectively shutting off underground electric current. Satisfied, Nylite fully entered the room, his feather tipped tail sweeping gently on the ground. Vetra settled by her work desk, placing her treasured pearl safely in a hidden drawer, then brushed the gears, wires, and other electric tools aside to reveal a scribbled plan.

“Midnight wrote this?” Nylite’s voice was light and humorous as he attempted to decipher the messy scribbles that dictated all the instructions, “For a scribe, his handwriting is absolutely horrendous.”

“He only writes neatly on official documents--the lore book, out-of-clan messages, treaties, edited stories,” Vetra shrugged, pulling out a fresh piece of paper, “It’s a bother sometimes, but I generally get what he wants for this project. He’s tired of writing messages every time someone wants something delivered to another part of the clan, so he wants a golem system to communicate across the lair for him.”

“Sounds like a lazy dragon’s solution,” Nylite muttered as he picked up an inkwell, “But I suppose that’s what we sparks are for. Make things easier for everyone, crazy, anti-social scribe included.” Nylite’s eye sparkled as Vetra snorted in amusement, “Regardless, we know the requirements, now we need the steps. You know anything about the steps of communication?”

“Erm, talking?”

Now it was Nylite’s turn to snort in laughter, which turned to several short coughs. He silently adjusted a dial on his chest, breathed deeply for a few moments, then turned back to Vetra. “I meant communication systems, like the courier system from the auction house, or Iolite and Ion within our clan. They are parts of a communication system. Typically, a system will contain eight parts, which will help us figure out how to build this.”

“Hm,” Vetra squinted angrily at the words Nylite was scrawling across the paper, “It sucks being the new member of the Flyer’s, especially as an engineer. I don’t know all that much and now you have to be here, babying me.”

“We all have to learn somehow, and just because your parents did not slate you for an engineer--and therefore you did not get the education we got--does not mean you cannot learn. We are a clan; we help each other.”

Vetra only huffed in response, folding her arms across her chest, her tail once again flicking in annoyance. Nylite smiles behind his mask, amused by the younger dragon’s fit, then cleared his throat and began his teachings.

“So, first off, what are the eight steps? In general, the order is source, encoder, transmitter, receiver, decoder, storage, retrieval, and destination. Each of these will have it’s own encoded device--what we build--that allows it to function throughout the lair. Of course, there has got to be edits for dragons such as Asymeth and Themis--maybe a verbal cue for their blindness--and the opposite for Echo’s deafness. Naylia’s lair is just a mess--ghosts and electricity don’t work well together--and then of course there are the size differences between dragons. However, we can deal with that later; for now, let's identify what each step will involve and work through the plans. You, Zara and I can implement this later tonight, once Darkfury and Greymane stop messing with the power.”

As if on cue, the electric lights overhead flickered and went out, sending groans and roars of annoyance up through the rest of the lair. Vetra fiddled around in the desk for a moment, eventually producing a oil-powered lamp, which she lit with a small, portable electric lighter and set on the desk.

“Right,” Vetra sighed, picking up her own pen, “Let’s get started then. Source, I assume that’s where the message originates?”

“Precisely,” Nylite nodded his affirmation, picking up a scrap of paper, “The technical source would be the dragon who writes the message, like you or me. That means one less thing we have to make, all the better.”

“Wouldn’t the source be whatever terminal we create? That is where we are sending it from,” Vetra scribbled aimlessly as she spoke, keeping her paws busy.

“No,” Nylite said firmly, “The terminal is more like the transmitter, not the source. We make the message; we are the source. Next is the encoder, take a guess on what that it.”

“Encodes the message,” Vetra said blandly, lifting a gear to fiddle with it.

“Essentially, yes. It encodes the message and turns it into a format that can be transmitted. We will do this with the physical terminal, probably a keyboard of sorts that will allow the message to be input into the system.”

“Okay, well, how about something like this.” Vetra threw the doodle paper aside, grabbing a fresh piece and picking up her pen. She quickly sketched out a basic terminal, the screen fitting into an indent in the wall with the keyboard sticking out. The keyboard consisted of many squares, as well as a smaller, circular selection to the right. “Basic idea: an electrical screen for the encoded message to appear on--that will tell us if the encoder worked--with the keyboard being hooked up to it. We will need a way to connect the keys with the screen and turn the typing into letters and numbers. On the right are the numbers, circular so Themis and Asymeth can tell them apart, and we can have raised letters for their sake as well. That work?”
Nylite observed the drawing closely, fiddling slightly with a dial on his chest, then nodded slowly, “Yes, that will work. Well done, we can refine the sketch later on. The next step is the transmitter, which will transmit the message, in this case to the designated terminal in the lair.”

“We can run a secondary wiring along the electric wires that can transmit the message, it will take a lot of rewiring but it will be the simplest solution in the long run. We already have so many wires, whats a few more?”

“Good solution--Zara will be annoyed but she can deal with it. The next step is receiver, which would be the receiving terminal this time.”

“So that just needs a way to receive the message, we can make the screen have something for that,” Vetra scribbled another sketch, annotating the messy doodle, “Just a little touch of golem work to receive the message.”

“And the decoder? It essentially is the opposite of the encoder,” Nylite found himself grinning behind his mask, satisfied at his unintentional-student’s work.

“We can add a secondary function, under the receiver, just flip the encoder and edit as needed. The next step was what, storage? Enlarge the receiver, add more space and wha-la!”

“Clever,” Nylite nodded, accepting that he was now just the moral support.

“So that leaves retrieval, more golem work I suppose. We can use a miniature communication system to allow the receiver--the actual dragon not the part--to open the message, that might take some work. And then destination: the dragon the message is intended for reads the message, no work required. So,” Vetra looked up from her doodles, grinning at Nylite in the low light, “Did I hit all the steps?”

“Mhm,” Nylite nodded happily, eyes scrunching in a smile, “Very good, considering you just learned of this. Shall I leave you to your refining?”

“Yeah, I’m good now, off you go,” Vetra made a shooing motion, turning back to her work. Her platinum blonde mane fell over her eyes as she leaned over the paper, focusing intently on the new plan.

Nylite considered snapping at the pearlcatcher, but decided against it, instead rising to his feet and snatching his grey linen cover from the ground. He throws the cloth casually over his back, clicking his raptor-like claws on the metallic ground to make a satisfying clanging noise. Moments later, the power whirred back on, sparking from the wires around Nylite as he walked and lighting his path through the dark lair. Yet another day in the Shifting Expanse, dealing with the ever-present issues of violent lightning storms. How he got roped into this communication system he had no idea, but he hoped the outcome would be worthwhile, considering the effort going into it.

Vanishing Light

The gentle thrum of electricity bolting through the thick cables embedded in the walls was the only company Serasorth had that fateful twilight night. What patients he had had in the day were all minor, so they had bid him goodnight before wandering off to their own dens within the underground lair. Xena had left him an hour before, her scent book tucked close to her chest, muttering about needing to study. Serasorth, understanding the intense need to understand all the problems the Flyers may face, simply grinned and hummed a gravely goodnight.

Now, the shimmering blue imperial tinkered around in the healers den, refreshing herbal stocks, clearing desks, replacing opened or discarded flasks. The monitor the engineers had installed the day before shone brightly in the dimmed room, a growing list of materials sitting on the screen. Serasorth shook his brilliant red mane, tucking the final few books onto the already overcrowded bookshelf before readying himself to return to his room.

While normally the imperial healer would remain in the healer's den until the engineers quit their work, tonight the Galestorm Flyer's halls were silent. The bangs and clanks usually heard echoing throughout the walls would not pick up for a week, as the mages needed the silence to prepare for the upcoming Novlas Dies celebration. Not even the lonely song of ShadowedGhost would penetrate the silence the mages required; an angry Serezha was not something any dragon wanted to face.

At the sound of gentle talons on the stone floor, Serasorth turned from his thorough examination of the bookshelf and felt a grin tug at his maw. Darkfury, a blaze of shimmering browns, pinks, and yellows, ambled slowly in, the bronze steampunk gear she wore like an armor settled neatly on her hide. The small toad that had kept her companionship for the past year was perched on her shoulder. When the imperial electrician spotted her mate, a smile split her face, but it was odd. Strained.

"Are you alright, my love?" Serasorth said quickly, his eyes instinctively scanning her body for blood or wounds. "Is something wrong?"

"No... no, nothings wrong. Or, I'm not hurt at least," Darkfury murmured, her voice soft, and Serasorth knew something was wrong. There was no wise crack, no foolish glint, no sarcastic joke about his worry-wart nature. "Serasorth, we need to talk. It's important, are we alone?"

Serasorth felt his heart split painfully, whether by his illness or by fear he was not sure. Grin and bear it, this matters to her, listen closely. With a soft, almost pained smile, Serasorth nodded, "Xena has left for the night, to study I believe. And all the patients today were well enough to return to their own abodes. You may say what you wish, it will die with me if necessary."

Darkfury looked away, focusing on her feet, "That won't be necessary Serasorth. Please, don't take me with you to your grave."

Serasorth frowned, stilling his body as his heart gave another painful jerk. Darkfury looked up, removed her goggles, and set them at her feet. He remembered getting her those, when she first arrived at the clan and set about building movable shelves for the healer's den. Sparks were flying far too close to her eyes, so the blue-scaled imperial had found a pair for her and given them to her. He wanted to savor the royal purple eyes and the curiosity they held.

"I'm leaving the Flyers."

His heart shattered.

Though his heart and mind knew what he heard would have to be true--Darkfury would never lie to him--his ears still could not believe it. He blinked, looked at his feet, the goggles glinting dully in the low light. He couldn't be sure it was his own tongue speaking, but the words came out in a gravelly, deep tone he knew to be his own.

"Pardon? When? Where will we go?"

"Not we, Serasorth," Darkfury sounded pained now, and when Serasorth looked up hesitantly, she had a sad smile plastered to her face, "Just me. I will be leaving tonight, before the mages release the silence. Exaltation is the highest honor you know, and I've always wanted to help the Stormcatcher directly."

The image of Darkfury was blurring know, and dimly Serasorth realized they were tears. Unable to force words from his throat, the healer nodded dumbly. Memories of his love were catching fire now, bursting into flames of emotion. Pain. Anger. Regret. Undeniable devotion. They rolled through him like the winds above the sands of the Shifting Expanse.

"I loved you, Serasorth, I did. I do. But... but I need to do this, I need to be on my own. Please, please believe that."

"I-I do, I know... I know you did. I know you do," Serasorth managed to croak out. She was right, it wasn't his place to stop her, despite the burning pain in his chest that those words had ignited. Summoning what little strength he could, Serasorth managed a grin, pained and sorrowful, but a grin. "You must do what feels right to you. Always." My love.

Darkfury lifted the small toad from her head, stroking it's hide once before setting it on the ground, where it hopped slowly to Serasorth's shaking paws. Darkfury made to say something, but choked on the words, so Serasorth just nodded his head in understanding that he did not feel. It was a parting gift, he knew, but he still could not wrap his mind around the parting. Secondly, Darkfury lifted a delicate golden wreath from her bag, placing it in Serasorth's paw.

"For Xena, with my love. And... and for you, with my love." Serasorth could not move as Darkfury said her final words, standing from the stone ground and slowly, painfully leaving the den. His life. His love. His heart.

Though the order of silence given by the mages would not be lifted til sunrise, the pained wails of a broken heart still echoed through the halls that night. In the morning, dried tears would leave dull stains on the healers cheeks, though the gilded leaves still sat proudly on Xena's head, and the toad croaked softly in Serasorth's paws.

Hülya (n.) - a daydream that brings happiness

The air was as dry and acrid as ever, a contrast to the thick layer of storm clouds above. Huge bolts of electricity crackled downwards, snapping at the tall spires that dot the landscape. The sand was heavy and never-ending, soaking up whatever heat the storm clouds let through from the sun. Thick bundles of cables crisscrossed the land like a spider's web, connecting the ever-busy lairs of the Lightning Flight’s residents. Vegetation was sparse; a few dried tufts of tasteless grass, the occasional nest of twigs and dead shrubs, and—most frequently—spined cacti. The Shifting Expanse is a barren place, but beneath its dead exterior lies the bustling and humming livewires of a productive society.

Zorya paid attention to none of this. The dry, hot air around her was no bother to her thick coat of fur that protected her from extreme weather, vegetation was unimportant, the claps of thunder and flashes of lightning hardly registered on her intently focused lines of sight, and even the thick cables were a mere large step for the Gaoler, hardly worth a thought. She stood at the top of a mesa, her electric blue fore-eyes closed in concentration while the twenty-odd pairs across her flank and tail flicked around rapidly, searching the landscape. The wind that occasionally stirred her fur was getting obnoxious, throwing sand and thick purple strands into her line of sight. With a sigh, Zorya opened her eyes and leapt smoothly from the mesa-top, landing heavily on the soft sand—she didn't bother to cover her tracks this time, knowing Hessdalen would scold her for it but wanting Serket and Sarruma to be able to find her. It was safer that way.

She trod through the desert slowly, all of her eyes peeled for the tell-tale shadows that lurked and spoke of the Shade. Zorya had been tracking a Shade-touched being for a week now, the large shadowy figure first passing through her vision when she had been lounging in the sand with Sarruma and Serket. Weeks of keeping her eyes peeled and careful seeking in the Shifting Expanse had finally paid off; a trail was found on the outskirts of her resident clan’s territory and she began the true chase. She knew whatever this creature was, it had to be powerful—the shadows it left behind were too great for a mere speck of the Shade, and too vivid for something moving in and out of reality. It had to have a physical body, hence Sarruma and Serket assisting her in its capture.

A tendril of darkness caught Zorya’s eyes, snapping her out of her reverie and pulling her complete attention back to the task at hand. It cracked and struck at the rocks surrounding it, lashing out as if it were alive but bearing no trace of a physical body—only a remnant then, not her prey. Still, Zorya padded warily towards it, half her eyes focused on decoding the tendril before her, the other half flicking around for the true source of this remnant.

“Nothing more than a footprint,” Zorya muttered to herself as she stooped down to examine said track—it was larger than her own prints, sharper along the edges with a single, huge talon mark to the side. “Must be a ridgeback, too large for a wildclaw and too sharp for a guardian. So, a shade-touched ridgeback wandering the Shifting Expanse, destination unknown and path winding…” Zorya sighed, moving to follow the tracks of darkness back into the desert, “Difficult prey this time.”

Zorya traveled through the desert for a mere hour more before the scent of destruction hit her nostrils. Though her scenting skills were not as keen as the modern tundra, the acrid aroma of melted wires and heavy smoke was difficult to miss even to her. She instantly quickened her pace to a sprint, her paws thumping heavily on the ground as she crested the ridge of the sand dune—thick columns of disturbingly black smoke billowed up in the distance, and Zorya’s heart skipped a beat. Without another thought, she raced towards the destruction, hoping she was not too late.

By the time she reached the tattered clan’s lair, pandemonium had ensued. Twenty odd dragons were scattered around the area, their colors, patterns, and breeds ranging from the largest glittering red guardian to the smallest monotone grey fae. A lone blue skydancer noticed her, tensing as she approached—Zorya willed herself to relax, trying to take on the façade of peace Hessdalen had taught her to use with modern dragons.

“Greetings, I am Zorya of the Seeker order,” Zorya half-gasped, trying to catch her breath, “Where is the shade-touched dragon?”

The skydancer seemed confused for a moment, then relaxed slightly, “I am Seabound, a guard of this clan. I suppose you speak of the Dark Queen, our clan charge if you will. She was free for the last couple months, but she has returned to wreak havoc on our clan. I am unsure of her precise whereabouts within our lair, but you might consult with Themis—“ Seabound gestures to a dull red nocturne curled in a small ball towards the edge of the group, “—He was enchanted by the Dark Queen and shares an unfortunately profound bond with her, he will be most likely to know where she is in the lair. I can sense you are here for the good of my clan Zorya, but if you are fooling me…” Seabound stares at her steadily, one paw resting on the long, bloodied trident next to him in silent threat.

Giving a nod of understanding to Seabound (he looked unsatisfied with this answer but moved to tend to the new dragons escaping from the lair) Zorya hurried over to the curled ball of nocturne. He smelled heavily of smoke, and Zorya could see tiny faded patterns of darkness skittering over his scales like insects—it was disturbing, but harmless in the long run.

“You, Themis,” Zorya half snapped, then took a deep breath and steadied herself into a more socially acceptable manner, “I’m sorry to disturb you, but I need to know the location of the shade-touched dragon immediately.”

Themis flinched at her words, curling in on himself more and grasping his head with his stunted legs. The banner that usually lays over one’s wings was tangled in his limbs and tail, and a sword lay discard to the side. Everything about this dragon screamed for help, and Zorya couldn’t stop the unbidden image of herself, curled in fear of the shadows, her own icy shards stabbing her side. They were far too alike.

Grasping the simplistic stone necklace she always kept hidden in her fur, Zorya frowned and slowly kneeled down, touching the nocturne with her muzzle as gentle as she could.

“I was told you can help, Themis, and I need your help,” Zorya murmured quieter this time, trying to pull on the voice Sarruma used when her own panic took hold. Soft, gentle, a little gravelly but kind nevertheless. At first, she thought the nocturne was ignoring her or couldn’t hear here, but then he slowly uncurled his head from his grasp—his eyes were wide and blank, the ruby red cloth that must typically cover them was hanging in tatters on his nose.

“I can hear her… I don’t want to hear her…” His voice was tiny, cracking and quaking in fear—Zorya felt her heart break for the dragon, but she pushed forward.

“I can see her; in all the darkness she is. You are not alone in your horrors, not this time, but I can only do so much. Where is she? I don’t know your clan like you do, tell me where she is, please. Themis, look at me.”

“I can’t,” Themis murmured, almost as if on instinct, a tiny broken grin spreading over his maw as if his joke was the funniest thing in the world. Zorya had no idea if it was actually funny—her manner of humor was vastly different—but she chuckled nonetheless. Themis, apparently pleased, tilted his head to one side and then the other, mimicking the owls Zorya had seen at night.

“She’s screaming,” Themis said softly, unsteadily, “But so is Serezha, so he must be there. I hear bees—Shivani is there? Or maybe she is by Shivani? No, I hear glass breaking, that must be Shivani’s door so she is there; downstairs, to the left and near the prison and moving closer.”

Zorya grinned broadly at the information gifted to her—a tiny golden tundra looked petrified at the sight—and stood up quickly, casting her gaze out for the figures of Sarruma and Serket. She saw no sign of them, instead turning to head back to her mission on her own and trusting in her mates to arrive in time.

“Wait,” Themis called as Zorya began to leave, “Who are you? I thought you were Flashflame, but you smell different, and you walk like sand is dragging at you. I’m sorry, I just… my mind is thick with the Dark Queen right now, I can’t tell my clanmates apart.”

“I am not your clanmate, I am Zorya of the Seeker order. Stay safe,” Not bothering to sooth the startled gasps from Themis or the dragons around him, Zorya sprinted towards the huge iron doors, one pulled off it’s hinges and lying crumpled on the ground. If Themis could keep himself out there, she could keep him safe. She had to.

She carefully traversed the rubble around the door, shoulder her way through the crowd of escaping dragons with muttered half-apologies. Arriving at a large cavern, Zorya could clearly see a path of destruction and shadows leading down a large spiral staircase. Her eyes focused on the shadows—now so thick they resembled goop to her eyes, pulsating with power—and she stalked toward the edge, carefully peering into the depths below. Even without the heavy power of the Shade overlaying her vision with shadowy tendrils, the staircase descended into utter darkness and seemed unending. With a deep breath, Zorya trusted her Seeker instincts and leapt nimbly over the guard rail, stale air whipping through her fur as she plummeted into the shadowed depths.

Her instincts were correct, and Zorya landed only moments after she went blind to the darkness. She crouched, rolling forward on her paws in hopes of absorbing some of her heavy impact, but still winced in pain.

“Sarruma will throw a fit about that,” Zorya muttered to herself, closing her two eyes on her head and letting those on her flank guide her forward, “He will have to understand, I have no time. They have no time.”

The screeches of battle were getting closer and closer, and despite all of Zorya’s training she felt herself shiver and her hackles raise at the mad cackling echoing off the walls. Just as the panic threatened to glue her paws to the stone beneath them, she rounded a corner and faced the battlefield. Her breath stopped at the sight before her.

Eight dragons surrounded the shade-touched dragon, all of their hides speckled with varying degrees of blood. Two grey and orange guardians stood steady beside a pair of massive doors on the other side of the room, thick chains grasped in their teeth as they struggled to heave the shade-touched ridgeback into the darkened room. A mirror was stalking the edges of the room, snapping at shadowy tendrils; fluttering above the mirror was a glittering fae, who’s eyes sparked with the power of the Stormcatcher. A massive gold and black imperial stood above a skydancer draped in purple—the mad cackling came from the skydancer—while a second, entirely gold imperial murmured a chant from the entrance to the room. A thin layer of ice covered the battlefield, blossoming out from a spiral curled around the black imperial’s tail.

Though Zorya’s flank eyes took in the entire battlefield without trouble, she felt her breath stolen by the sheer power of their enemy. A deep blue, almost black ridgeback, towering over even the guardians as she reared on her hind legs. Massive spines poked out from beneath her purpley-black coat, their silver sheen marred with blood. Her eyes were dead white, staring at nothing as she grinned menacingly at her foes. Her huge purple wings were splayed against the door the guardians were attempting to dragon her through, blocking them from any progress unless they wished to break her wings. It would be near impossible to do so, as Zorya could see the thick tendrils of darkness wrapping them, surely reinforcing them against damage.

Perhaps she should have warned the resident clan of her plan, but in the moment, she didn’t think she even had a plan. With a guttural roar that only a Gaoler could manage, Zorya leaped forward, huge maw snapping at the ridgeback—the Dark Queen. She slammed into the shade-touched dragon with great force, sending them both sprawling backwards with a resound snap—Zorya wasn’t sure if it was the ridgeback’s wings or the door that snapped, but they had tumbled into the large room. In her glance around (curtesy of the many pairs of eyes on her body), Zorya determined this to be some archaic prison, which may slow this being but not stop her forever. She could only hope Sarruma and Serket would get there in time to fix this mess the clan had caused.

“Close it! Close it now!” The mad-cackling skydancer called from behind her, ceasing his chanting momentarily.

“Don’t! There’s another dragon in there, we need to get them out!” That sounded like a guardian, but Zorya couldn’t be sure which.

“We have no time!”

“Make some!”

“We can’t risk the Dark Queen escaping again, Nantis please,” Zorya thought that was supposed to be a plea from the skydancer, but it sounded more insane than anything.

“We are not monsters; we can’t lock them in with her.”

“I can,” Though Zorya knew this is why she had entered the room in the first place, the decisively monotone voice of the fae still ran her blood cold. She heard shouts of protest, then screeching of metal and crackling of energy. Then there was nothing.

“They dare call themselves dragons,” A raspy voice came from below her, and Zorya leaped back on instinct, wincing as her shards smacked painfully on the stone wall, “They are monsters, like me, like you. We are all abominations; we all deserve to be razed. Raze it all.”

“You are one, but I am not,” Zorya said with a sureness she still did not feel—how many years had it been and she was still not over name calling.

“Perhaps not in your eyes, but you are. We all are,” The Dark Queen muttered, wheezing as she rose ungracefully to her feet. It was dark, but Zorya’s eyes could still see the shadows oozing from her like blood; or maybe it was her blood, Zorya couldn’t tell anymore. “I don’t aim to rule this world; I am no Queen as much as they call me that. I am more… a reaper. A fire—of ice ironically—but one that will raze the world so it may start anew. So much has gone wrong, not even the Eleven can fix it. Better to just… start again. Better this time.”

“I’ll admit, that is appealing,” Zorya said slowly, stalking around the edge of her room—the Dark Queen was hunched over, talking to her paws with a terrifyingly still grin on her face, “But I don’t think you get to decide that.”

“And you do?” Suddenly, pale white eyes locked onto hers, and Zorya froze in her steps, breath catching in her throat. She wanted to say no, that it was no one’s choice, that what’s done is done and they now must reap what they sew, but nothing came out. Suddenly, the Dark Queen rose, her face smoothing to eerie blankness and she glided forward.

“You don’t. I don’t. The Flyers—my captors—don’t. No one does, yet everyone does,” The Dark Queen muttered, almost as if Zorya wasn’t there, “Look with me, you have so many eyes yet you are still blind.”

Zorya felt her gut scream at her to move, all of Hessdalen’s training pushed her muscles into motion as the ridgeback reached a single paw out to touch her eyes. She dodged the swipe, curling around to snap with thick jaws, intending to crush the Dark Queen’s foreleg in her maw. She could smell blood, taste it almost tantalizingly, and Zorya felt the thrill of being a Seeker once more—a hunter through and through. A single snap, incapacitate this being and wait until her mates arrived to thoroughly chain it. Prove herself, again; to her parents, her family, her old clanmates, Hessdalen. Everyone. She was a Seeker, and a marvelous one.

A screaming white pain blossomed over Zorya’s tail as she snapped her jaws shut on the limb, a cry of pain ripping out of her throat as she struggled to hold onto the flailing limb. Panic raised through her veins as suddenly a third of her vision blackened, another third filling with blood. Images flashed through her mind unbidden—a great black mass, beating down relentlessly on the shimmering gold form of the Lightweaver; the Stormcatcher throwing bolt after bolt at the Shade making no progress; the Eleven laying exhausted on their planet, content to sleep till a new age.

“Watch, see with me,” The Dark Queen murmured in her ear, the limb not splintering in her jaws reaching up to card through her mane disturbingly sweetly.

Now it was the Shade, fragmented and beaten back, coiling gently around the unsuspecting dragons nearby. Then it was scenes Zorya recognized—the eldest of the Gaolers, standing strong before their icy ward, unaware of the shadows slipping from their hosts behind them. Imperials, fallen and buried, rising to live again and wreak havoc on the land as abominations of the Lightweaver. Chaos ensuing in the water domain as the Tidelord disappeared, leaving his children without a guide.

“They ruined this planet, the Eleven discarded it long ago. Now it is time for us to let go as well, follow the Shade into the darkness and begin anew. Come, Zorya, come with me. We may start anew, no fear, no pain. Raze this world and all that is in it. You need not fear with me, need not want, need not need. All you need is a fire, a taste for destruction; you have that in you, I know it. Come, Zorya, now is our chance to rid this world of the demons that hurt of and follow the Shade into the darkness. Come, Zorya…”

Her offer was tantalizingly sweet, the taste of revenge still lingered in her mind as a hope for one day. Years of pain at the tongues of others, all the tears that spilled from her eyes like blood, all the blood that soaked her fur when she curled in on herself too tightly. She still feared the shadows that lurked in her vision, the insanity that crept ever closer to her every day. The freedom offered was sweet as a summer wind, and it tasted of blood.

“Zorya…” The whispered word sent chills up her spine, and Zorya felt her jaw slackening slightly.

“ZORYA!”

The screech from outside the door was unimaginably loud, shattering the tense silence of the room and jerking Zorya back to reality. The Dark Queen startled back as well, trying to wrench her arm from the Gaoler’s grasp, but Zorya held firm now.

She may fear the shadows, but she had light to beat them back now—soft brown fur with thick gnarled horns that smelled of dew and storms; gritty orange fur studded with bricked scorpion spines riddled with hidden packages of cherries. Insanity lurked at the edges of her mind, but sanity lay in her paws—the ground beneath her was hard, stone with runes carved if she was feeling it right. The taste of bloody revenge was sweet, but the blood in her mouth was acrid and metallic—thick and warm, disturbingly so but real nonetheless. It was real. Here was real, and it would stay that way.

With a growl of anger, Zorya leaped back, tugged the Dark Queen with her violently. The two fought for footing, the ridgeback attempting to snap at the Gaoler but getting mouthfuls of thick fur while Zorya scrabbled backwards, teetering the Dark Queen dangerously off balance. Distantly, Zorya heard heavy banging and shouting, but the snarling and gnashing teeth before her were more important. She felt the white-hot pain of claws rip into her shoulder, and though she screeched through her teeth with pain she flung herself toward the daggers regardless, digging her shards into the soft scales on the underside of the joint. Another scream of pain from the Dark Queen, and the ridgeback threw herself downwards, teeth snapping dangerously close to Zorya.

Though her thick fur has often been her savior, here it was her downfall. Her untrimmed foot fur was slick with blood, and the floor was unforgiving to her mistake. Zorya felt a single step slide, and though she scrabbled to correct her error, the Dark Queen surged forward as well, toppling them both with the Gaoler pinned beneath. Panic enveloped Zorya as she flailed and struggled to escape the now all too close enemy, her long tail thwapping uselessly against the ridgeback’s side. With a predatory grin, the Dark Queen struck forward like a snake; Zorya shut all her eyes at once, she couldn’t stand to see the shadows win.

Strangely though, no pain came. Slowly, Zorya cracked open her eyes, quickly sucking in a startled breath.

The Dark Queen—now bathed in glorious light—hovered angrily over her, her maw bound in metaphysical light chains that were snapped her jaws shut. She heard a steady chant from behind her, and the skydancer that had called to leave her before had summoned a dangerous looking electric purple chain that smashed violently into the Dark Queen as well, wrapping tightly around her wings and pinning them to her side.

“Zorya!” The call was probably a shout, but Zorya’s ears were ringing so it sounded more like a whisper. Still, she knew that voice anywhere, and she struggled to twist her mangled body from beneath the Dark Queens with a soft keen. Her vision was quickly filled with gritty orange fur, and she felt a gentle grip on her mane tug her from beneath her enemy. She saw one of the imperials and the skydancer flit past—probably to take care of securing the Dark Queen—and then the unwavering form of Sarruma at her side.

“That was foolish,” His voice was quiet and gravelly as always—Zorya’s hearing was slowly returning—but instead of his usual disappointed stare in her direction, his gaze was fixed on the room she had been pulled from. She knew blood spattered the walls and her fur was probably everywhere, but she couldn’t tell is he was truly upset at her or at the events—Sarruma was a mystery even now.

Not trusting herself to speak, Zorya reached to run a paw softly through his thick fur, keening when he stepped out of reach. Serket, ever the sweetheart to her mate, leaned down and nuzzled into her head, offering her soft version of a purr in hopes of comforting Zorya. Still, both of them watched as the largest of the three Gaolers strolled into the room like it wasn’t the site of a murder, his gaze never leaving the chained dragon before them. He stopped when he reached the Dark Queen, stooping down to look her in the eyes as she was pinned mercilessly to the floor by glowing chains from the two mages.

“It was foolish of you to think you would win against Zorya,” Sarruma said. Said, not growled, not snarled or threatened. Just said, as if it were a fact and not a promise for further damage by her mates. “She is stronger than you will ever know, and I suggest you stay out of her way.”

With his warning delivered, Sarruma smoothly turned back the way he came, coming to a stop next to his mates again and carefully nuzzling Zorya’s nose, trying not to hit her with his wild horns. Zorya knew she should feel something for Sarruma’s words, but frankly all she could feel right now was pain, utter pain.

“Sleep,” Serket murmured, her trademark cheshire grin plastered on her face again as she looked fondly down on Zorya, “We will take care of the rest, hülya.”

Her eyes slipped shut as if waiting for a command, and for once she was not terrified of the shadows that lurked in her dreams. She sighed deeply, curling into her light more—it smelled of gentle rain and tasted of cherries.

@Ebony3 Here's the story! Told in a variety of POV's, but this just Would Not Leave Me Alone. Next up is to write Gulfam's actually bio lore so I can get a theme song from you :P

---

The cavern was as dark as it ever was, any light that may have been let in instantly squashed by the enormity of her power. Darkness was her friend, her servant, her kin, her grave. The Dark Queen, holding the reigns of shadows while forever at their mercy. In one of her rare moments of lucidity, Geth almost regretted where her life had brought her. Imprisoned once again, miles beneath the surface of their world, taunted with freedom until the Gaolers emerged. She had no chance of escape now—the Guardian who stood watch was a fearsome enemy, and the muscular Gaoler as clever as he was strong. Indeed, forever at the mercy of her shadows.

It was strange though, the emotions she could taste when shadows weren’t clouding her mind. They weren’t hers—she wasn’t sure she could feel emotions anymore—but she knew they were real. There was a sense of peace from someone smaller than her, though tinged with the bitter taste of anxiety. There was utter excitement from a long creature—probably one of the spirals in the Flyers. The savory taste of regal pride almost made her mouth water, and she recognized its source as Nantis; if she were to ever escape this prison, he would be the first to taste her claws, then the purple Gaoler.

Her breath hitched when yet another taste came into play, overpowering and making her gag. It was from another Guardian, one Geth had felt unending longing and sadness from before; she had tried to take advantage of this before, but the source had been deaf to her words. Now something stirred within it, some foreign urge to move, to find, to… what? To protect? Geth couldn’t recall the last time she felt that. She grinned maliciously, feeling the large Guardian rise to his feet, the urge growing in his chest.

This would be interesting.

---

Flashflame knew the fear of losing a charge intimately. When she first discovered her purpose was to guard the world from Geth, she hoped it would be easy; keeping a dragon in prison wouldn’t be too difficult? She would stay and guard her charge until the threat could be erased. Then Geth escaped the first time, wreaked havoc on her clan’s lair, and nearly tore Flashflame’s soul in two as she saw her charge’s destruction racing towards her. It was terrifying, and the unshakeable Guardian was left gasping for breath as panic claimed her. When all was said and done, she couldn’t sleep for three days and refused to move from the prison gates.

Suffice to say, she knew the suffering of losing a charge, but she dared not imagine what it would be like to live for decade like that. She saw Sumrokul suffering, saw him wilting, whining, and whimpering as he paced the corridors like a lost soul, hoping his charge would miraculously spring from the earth. She no longer tried to comfort him—the first time she tried, he had stared at her and asked why she hadn’t burned him with his forest. The blue flames that danced around him had claimed his charge long ago, before the desert was there, and left him broken. Flashflame’s fire was only a reminder of that.

It was irony that the one dragon in the clan who could relate to Sumrokul was the one he both feared and hated the most, though not for any personal reasons. Flashflame understood—she hated her fire too—but it still stung that she could do little more than watch from the sidelines. So, she did, she watched as the great Guardian let himself decay, growing thinner, more tired, more sunken into himself. He no longer paced the lair, no longer searched or offered his assistance in matters of anyone else. Instead, he simply lay curled among the plants of Shivani’s greenhouse, perhaps waiting for a seedling of his charge to emerge again, perhaps waiting for his body to rot into the ground so he may reunite with his roots.

“KAYMAHKA!” Flashflame couldn’t stop herself from leaping up, wings stretching out in a defensive pose instantly. The roar was deafening, reverberating around the steel lined walls of the cave and rattling her armor.

“KAYMAHKA!” The voice was deep and grating, probably from a Guardian because what else would be able to be so loud? She couldn’t name its origin, but it sounded vaguely familiar, like a friend from long ago… could it be?

“KAYMahka…” The roar was quieter this time, retreating away from the depths of the lair. Suddenly, it clicked, the image of a blue Guardian laying among plants as he withered popping into her mind. Flashflame smiled, relaxing her stance.

Sumrokul was revived.

---

The desert was almost always peacefully silent to Iolite, the enchantments on his carved hollow silencing the deafening thunder quite effectively. The forks of lightning that struck the spires atop the mesa lit up his lair in brilliant blue light, almost rendering the electric lamp placed on his desk unnecessary. Technically, he should be writing the most recent thank you note for the Flyers’ new ally, but his eyes kept going back to the desert. The large, endless sand dunes, marred by thick cords of cable that crisscrossed the land were entrancing to the messenger. Had he had an actual job to run for right now, he would be out there in a heartbeat.

“KAYMAHKA!” The massive screech startled the messenger Mirror, who unfortunately spilled his pot of ink over the half-finished text. He cursed quietly, trying to salvage the paper for a few seconds before giving up and tossing it aside. Flicking his ink stained paws, Iolite tiptoed out of his lair enough to see what in the Stormcatcher’s name was louder than thunder.

It was, unsurprisingly, a Guardian, but not one Iolite was familiar with. Far bigger than Nantis, Iolite couldn’t help but feel a touch of fear at the beast, who was covered in brittle blue leaves and faded cloth. From the little bits of scale Iolite could see, the beast looked far too thin and weathered to be standing, let alone roaring at the sky. Its eyes were covered by teal sage cloth, and its tail caged in pale roots tipped with more blue leaves. Iolite frowned as he observed the Guardian, standing at the opening of the Flyers’ home with his head raised to the sky; the beast’s heat signature was unfamiliar, was it perhaps an enemy?

Before Iolite had the chance to act on his thoughts, the beast leapt into the sky, great green wings unfurling. They looked far too tattered to fly, but after a few unsteady beats the Guardian rose into the sky, still dipping and nearly crashing several times. Iolite watched the beast leave, flying due west, and wondering where it had come from. Fortunately, he didn’t have to wait long for an answer, because the familiar regal figure of Nantis soon appeared where the beast had been standing. The king looked out at the sky, appeared to sigh heavily, then smiled softly and turned to leap easily to Iolite’s lair.

“My lord,” Iolite greeted respectfully, “If I may, what in the name of the Eleven was that?”

“Patience, Iolite. I have a message to send immediately,” Nantis replied smoothly, glossing over his question. Iolite hummed, pulling out an unstained piece of paper and a fresh pot of ink, dipping his quill and pausing to let his King dictate it. “To whom it may concern, King Nantis and Queen Elspeth would like to warn you of a possible visitor to your clan. A member of the Galestorm Flyers has found his charge once again, and is currently searching it out with great fervor. We request you do not harm him, as he is not a danger to your well-being, but please grant him the space he needs to find it. The Guardian is blue and green, covered in leaves, and goes by the name Sumrokul. Yours truly, Nantis and Elspeth.”

Iolite nearly lost hold of his quill at the name, barely finishing the letter with a shaky paw. He looked up at the King, his mouth agape.

“That was Sumrokul? What,” Iolite gasped, trying not to blush at the amused chuckle Nantis responded with, “I’ve heard tales of him, but I hadn’t ever met him in person. We don’t really cross paths, what with him never leaving the lair. That’s… wow, he did not match what I was envisioning. He found his charge again?”

“That is what we theorize,” Nantis replied, “We cannot be sure, but the name Kaymahka is what he used to mutter as he moved through our lair. Elspeth thinks it’s the name of his charge—his old one at least. We aren’t sure exactly what is going on, but he hasn’t hurt anyone, and I would like him to stay safe on whatever his journey is. Hence, the message.”

Iolite looked down at the scroll, nodding, “Understandable. I will deliver this now.” The messenger tucked the scroll into his bag, slinging it carefully over his shoulder before giving Nantis a polite nod and slipping from the lair.

---

It took far too long for Sumrokul to reach the edge of the desert; a day’s flight was exhausting on his wasting body. Still, he persisted over the fiery lands of the Flamecaller and into the Windswept Plateau, the feeling in his soul growing ever stronger. Three days, and his charge was still there. Three days…

He hadn’t expected that stir within him; he thought he would taste death before he ever felt whole again. When Kaymahka had first burned to the ground, his soul had burned with it. The great forest, golden sunlight that sent shadows dancing on the floor, life beating within it, gone. Nothing but ash. He had wept for days, cried and screeched and screamed as his charge was torn from him. How could he let it happen? How could he fail? For the next decade, Sumrokul had kept vigil over the grave—a charred stone—until the desert took over. Still, he stayed, watching the merciless sands kill all signs of vegetation. When the Galestorm Flyers moved in, he didn’t move. He became a part of their clan unwittingly, their hunters trying to feed the mourning Guardian. He expected to stay there until his end, waiting for the time his bones would be free of decaying flesh.

When the shattered pieces of his soul were pulled back to him, knit together by strings of light and their shadows, he stirred. When he felt the silky soft whispers of wind roll through his lungs, he sat up, breathing in the familiar scent of Kaymahka though it was nowhere in sight. When the soft cries of something so tiny, so fragile rang in his ears, he rose to his feet, a roar springing from his throat. He felt raw, broken yet made whole so suddenly. He began to run through the lair, screeching the name of his charge, hoping he wasn’t too late. He couldn’t be too late again.

Now he was here, flying unsteadily in the crisp, powerful winds brought about by the Windsinger. Finally, his wings gave up, and he plummeted towards the ground, Kaymahka’s name torn from his lips and lost to the wind. He hit the grassy lands with a sickening crunch, and though Sumrokul could feel the bones in his legs and wings shift how they should not, his desperation outdid his pain. He climbed to his feet, surging forward with a cry of nonsense. He had to be in time…

The shocked gasps from the clan he arrived in was enough to bring him to a halt. He hadn’t truly spoken with another dragon in ages—Shivani and his bees didn’t count—and for a moment, he froze. How was this supposed to go ago? Was he supposed to introduce himself?

“Sumrokul,” A small Mirror dressed in a neat trench coat approached him, offering him a smile, “You’re welcome here. Find what you need to.”

A part of him questioned how the Mirror know his name, but the need for his Charge was stronger. With hardly a nod to the Mirror, Sumrokul charged through the clan, keening at the sky for guidance. Slowly, he moved around the area, coming to rest outside a covered den. Carefully, he pushed inside, pausing at the entrance of the hatchery and slowly lifting cover over his eyes so he could peer around the airy garden that housed the hatchlings. There was another Guardian curled protectively over her sole hatchling, and a group of three Tundra hatchlings nestled against their caretaker's furry belly. Sumrokul felt his heart tug at the sight, almost dreading the words he would speak to the darkest of the Tundras.

“You. You are my Charge.” The words almost didn't come out of his mouth, after so long of avoiding that phrase they felt foreign. He wasn’t too late… Kaymahka was still there. The smile that appeared on Kaymahka’s face was soft, and Sumrokul felt a painful memory slice through him; sunlight cascading through leaves, sending shadows to dance on the forest floor.

---

Most of Gulfam’s days were spent in the fields with his Dunhoof friend, wandering the land and inhaling the scents brought to him on the wind. He would wander aimlessly, watching the skies, entering the forests that occasionally dotted the landscape, never a destination but always back by sundown. His mother thanked him for that, because though he was to leave the clan eventually, getting lost was not how he was to do it.

He liked the forests the best, the way he could watch the leaves dance in the breeze, the rustle of the wind as it flowed through them, the soft chirps of birds. He watched everything, from the snakes on the ground to the birds in the sky, each of them battling for survival and living their own life. It was fascinating. He liked the frogs the best.

Sometime along the way, his Dunhoof—whose name he had forgotten—suggested making maps so he could find his way back easier, so he began to do so. They were rudimentary and badly made, but he could find his way, so they were effective.
Rare was a change in his schedule, but on the day the huge, skeletal Guardian barged into his hatchery, Gulfam was glad for the change. The Guardian was covered in soft looking blue leaves laced around him with pale roots and faded cloth. His eyes were covered by teal fabric, though he quickly lifted it away to reveal pale ice eyes, brimming with moisture. One leg was held crookedly, and his massive, tattered green wings looked almost shattered at the joints—he knew those injuries came from a fall, he saw them in his clan from time to time.

“You. You are my charge,” The Guardian spoke, his voice gravelly and broken. Gulfam smiled softly—something about that statement sat right with him—and rose on two unsteady feet. He carefully walked forward, looking at the Guardian up and down; he was sure he had never met him before, but as his scent wafted towards him, he smelled… sweet. Right.

“You smell like my friend.”

“It’s been one hell of a week, hasn’t it Lief,” Monarch’s typically cheerful voice was subdued, contrasting the gleeful clinks of the rocks strung about her wings, “First Rikku, then Cristatus. Gods above, I’m not sure how much betrayal the Flyers can take.”

Lief chittered a response, perched upon her back with long sytche paws carefully gripping the leather satchel tucked on her side. The wildclaw and kamaitachi were a strange looking duo--a golden brown creature with claws for arms perched upon a flightless dragon, who was covered in bags filled with odd trinkets and has decorated her wings with strings of pebbles. They trotted through the desert like that, earning strange looks from the fauna around them.

“Ash is devastated,” Monarch continued, pausing by a rocky outcropping to dig in the sands for a moment, “He never expected his son to… to find the Dark Queen. It’s painful to watch him grieve.” Monarch fell silent again, staring at the ground with an unusually pensive look; Lief chittered worriedly, leaning forward to nip at her horns.

Pulling herself from her spiraling thoughts, Monarch sighed dramatically, nearly dislodging Lief as she started forward at a brisk trot once again.

“Well, if I cannot help him in his grieving, I shall at least help cheer him up. Maybe. What sort of things do shamen’s like? Tayne likes plants and birds, but they aren’t Ash and as far as I know, they work differently. I’m realizing now I hardly know them, they are just funky shadow dragons to me. Not literal shadow dragons of course, metaphorical, don’t give me that look Lief it’s a reasonable comparison.” Monarch picked up the pace again, earning an annoyed noise of protest from her familiar, which she ignored as she found stride in her monologue, “Now, focus, we are looking for gifts. What sort of gift would a grieving guardian like? I can’t exactly find his charge, now can I. Shame…”

The pair trotted over the landscape for some while more, criss-crossing the desert while expertly avoiding the worst of the sandstorms and dangerous bolts of lightning. They picked up a number of trinkets--three rusty gears, an old instrument, far too much rotting leather, and a strange orb that Lief was intent on gnawing through--but Monarch seemed unsatisfied.

“There’s nothing here that Ash would take even a remote interest in, let alone draw him out of his grief! Stormcatcher above, this is hard,” Monarch sighed, repacking her bags she had spread out before her and carefully placing them on her shoulders. “Come on, Lief, we should get going now.” The wildclaw turned to where her familiar had been waiting, only to find a gnawed on sphere sitting in the sand and the kamaitachi standing a few feet away at attention, staring into the desert.

“Lief, hello, time to get moving. Have you finally lost your sanity?” Monarch moved towards Lief, who startled and skittered a few feet away, chittering angrily at her, “Come now, quit that. We need to get moving Lief, daylight is wasting and we still have to get back to the clan.” Monarch moved to pick her familiar up again, but he gracefully avoided her and smacked the ground angrily with his clawed arms, snarling.

“Lief, last warning,” Monarch growled, mimicking the kamaitachi’s motions with her own curved talons.

Lief, seemingly deciding his fate, gave one final chirp, then turned and bolted up the dune beside them like a rat on fire. Monarch let out a yell of frustration, jerking into motion as she sprang after her familiar with a half snarl. She chased after Lief, cursing her larger form as she struggled to keep up with him as the sands shifted under her feet. Just before his golden-brown fur disappeared over the crest of the hill, Monarch lunged, aiming to snag him by the back of his vest. Instead, she only succeeded in pushing the creature over, sending him tumbling down the otherside with a panicked squeal.

“Lief!” Monarch screeched, any anger lost the moment she heard his fear. She scrambled up the last few feet, feet scrabbling for purchase in the sand, a terrified keen in her throat as she crested the dune, breath caught in her throat. She let out a relieved whine as she surveyed the scene--nothing more than a small hill, no jagged rocks or dangerous creatures, just Lief, tumbling to a stunned stop at the bottom of the sands.

As Monarch began to pick her way down the slope, Lief righted himself, shaking his fur free of sand and whirling around to chitter angrily at Monarch with admonishing waves of his scythes. Monarch hums in amusement, slowly kneeling down to nudge her familiar gently, closing her eyes and breathing in his scent, allowing the panic to fade from her body. That was far too close a call, and her poor heart could not handle losing anymore of her companions.

“Don’t go doing that to me, Lief,” Monarch murmurs, “I’d rather not lose you, particularly to these sands. Now come on, up you go.” Monarch straightens up, offering her tail to the kamaitachi to climb up, a stern look on her face.

Lief stared at her for several long seconds, chirped once, then turned and skittered away once again, a growl of annoyance following him as Monarch once again chased after her familiar. Fortunately, Lief only darted forward a few feet before stopping to dig frantically at the sand, tugging at a tuft of wires that emerged from the ground. Monarch paused, sighed, then leaned down to grasp the tuft, giving it a firm yank. She pulled it from the ground, unearthing what looked like the classic Lightning Flight style nest, though riddled with holes and coated in sand. Settled in the center was a cyan egg covered by a rough layer of sand as well, but seemingly whole.

“Lief! You’re brilliant,” Monarch cried, whipping a soft cloth from her bag and gently cleaning the sand from the egg, “An egg, what a perfect gift for Ash! Perhaps the promise of a new child will bring him from his grief, or at least give him something to think about. Now, let’s get this home, for real this time.”

With the help of Lief, Monarch shuffled the egg into her largest bag, swaddled in cloth and held close to her chest. Finally, the kamaitachi scrambled onto the wildclaw’s bag, clinging to her as she turned back the way they came and began to trot home, egg in hand.

“You know, I’ve been told we shouldn’t just take random eggs while we are out,” Monarch said as she walked, “But I’d say we are in the right on this one.”

Lief chittered his agreement.

---

“Monarch,” Nantis stared tiredly at the wildclaw, his orange beard unusually tangled, “Please, tell me you haven’t taken that egg from someone.”

“No! Not at all!”

The grey and gold guardian stared unflinchingly at the yellow wildclaw before him, watching her squirm in discomfort. Nantis was known to be kind, but he was frankly exhausted and had little energy to deal with the oddities of his clanmates in the usual way. Had Serasorth been any less worn down, he would have asked him to deal with things, as the imperial’s empathetic nature would have been useful at the moment. However, as the clan’s most experienced healer, Serasorth was busy trying to do damage control with those injured in the recent battle with the Dark Queen, and Nantis could not ask more of him.

“Okay, so there was no one there at the moment, but maybe at one point there was someone,” Monarch finally caved, earning a hum of acknowledgement from Nantis, “Honestly, I just found this egg buried in the sand, alone. We are lucky it wasn’t crushed!”

Nantis paused, considering his options, then let out a sigh that sounded more like a growl than anything. An egg, a future child. It could be what they needed after the betrayal of Kusarikku and Christatus.

“Indeed we are,” Nantis stood, motioning for Monarch to follow him, “Bring the egg, we will go see Serezha.”

“WHAT?” Monarch clutched the egg close to her chest, backing away from Nantis as Lief chittered and waved his arms threateningly.

“Calm yourself, he’s sane right now. I just need the enchantments from a few years ago, I’d like to keep this egg safe and untouched by the Shade’s powers until Novlas Dies. With the recent increase in Imprisoned Dragons, we need to be more careful,” Nantis explained with as much patience as he could muster, “Now, please, bring the egg.”

Monarch looked properly guilty, following the larger guardian out of the lair and into the hall. Their cavernous home still showed signs of the recent battle--support pillars chipped, claw marks raked through the relief carvings, lights shattered, metal plating bent and battered. They had to detour to avoid major reconstruction of a cooling system outside Isolda’s room. Finally, they reached the lair of Serezha, marked clearly by the pile of bone shards outside the door. Nantis knocked politely, entering at the grumbled reply from inside.

“Heya king,” Serezha muttered, not looking up from the book on his desk, “Need something? Hellrise isn’t in right now, he’s taking a shift on Geth Guard while our sassy tundras get some rest.”

“We aren’t looking for Hellrise right now,” Nantis replies, stepping over a pile of disturbingly red cloth, “Monarch found an egg in the desert.”

“And she brought it back, imagine that. A wildclaw, stealing an egg, what a surprise. Like a thief in the plight, or something.”

“Thief in the night, and I didn’t steal it!” Monarch huffed in annoyance, cradling the egg while Lief glowered at Serezha from over her shoulder, “It was left alone, I couldn’t just let it be crushed!”

“Whatever,” The black and white skydancer looked up at last, glancing over his clanmates. Nantis could see the exhaustion in his figure, and was suddenly hit with a wave of remorse.

Of all the mages, Serezha was hardest hit by the betrayal and subsequent imprisonment of their two clanmates, having to deal with sealing away the Shade’s power once again. Not only was it a physically exhausting ordeal, but Hellrise had revealed that the skydancer never slept well after encounters with the Dark Queen and her minions, plagued by nightmares and bouts of rage for weeks after. Judging by the hard lines and spindly shape of Serezha’s limbs, he also hadn’t been eating well, and asking him to protect an egg would likely send him over the edge. An apology was forming on Nantis’ tongue as he prepared a hasty exit, but Serezha beat him to it.

“Don’t bother, I’m fine Nantis. Hellrise has been getting on me to eat and whatnot, so I have it in me to set up some wards. Mahal can finish what I can’t,” Serezha rose, steadying himself on his staff and pulling the purple cloak tighter over his shoulders, “I’d like to help. This egg, you want it for Novlas Dies, yes? That's where I shine, I don’t want to skip my chance to do what I can for this clan. So, shut up, good king.”

Nantis paused in his breath, then hummed and nodded, “Of course, just don’t overdo it. I’d rather not have your husband gunning for my head.”

Serezha snorted, “Yeah, me neither. Monarch, put the egg on that pedestal, then step outside the room please. I’ll seal it, ward it, and keep it safe, I promise.”

Monarch hesitated once again, then slowly moved into the room and carefully set the egg where Serezha motioned, ducking out with a final glare over her shoulder. Nantis gave a long, final look at Serezha, then followed Monarch out, shutting the door as he went. The quiet chanting of an ancient language graced his ears, muffled by the door but still laced with power. Nantis gave a nodded farewell and made his way back to his room, his spirits lifting as he spied the familiar shapes of Serasorth and Elspeth curled together.

As he joined his mates, exhaustion gnawing at his bones, Nantis couldn’t help but feel a sense of hope. They were not beat yet.

---

The world was illuminated with sound.

From all around Themis, there was the noise of the Galestorm Flyers, preparing for the festival to come. He could hear the soft breathing of Eretham standing next to him, the clinking of armor as King Nantis strode to the helm of the room, clicking claws and rowdy laughter as the mirror pack assembled before what Themis could only assume was an exhausted looking Alaric. There was the familiar and constant hum of electricity, accompanied by the whirring of gears as the newly installed mechanical platforms moved into place to allow the smaller dragons a better view. Swishes of cloaks--Tayne, Mahal, Nyrin, Echo--scraping swords, and the distinctive grinding of metal on metal that followed the mechanical body of Xenon. He listened as the dragons of his clan gathered for Novlas Dies, trying to imagine the decorations that garnered their halls.

“It’s the symphony of the Flyers.”

“Aye,” Eretham breathed his reply, knowing the nocturne’s sharp ears would pick it up, “And today, it is filled with cheer. This festival will be good for everyone, Ash in particular. He looks weary and thin, Themis, and I fear for his health. If he were a coatl, his feathers would have long since faded.”

“But he is not, and so they have no,” Themis curled his tail around Eretham’s, “Do not fear for him, he is a strong dragon, and he will find his way. For now, enjoy yourself; you deserve it, my prince.”

“It is moments like this where I wish your eyes could see the beauty of our clan,” Eretham said after a long moment of pensive silence, a note of wonder in his voice, “Sound can only convey so much.”

“Then describe it to me.”

“I fear I don’t have the words.”

“You have more than you think,” Themis hummed, turning in the general direction of his love, “I’d like to hear what you think, what you see.”

There was a long moment of silence from Themis’ companion, and the nocturne began to think he would not respond. Finally, he heard a sigh, and felt the mirror shift closer to him, a wing laid gently over his back.

“There are so many of us,” Eretham began, “Nearly a hundred, all tangled together. We are a patchwork of colors, from the deepest blacks to the lightest silvers. There are rich blues, bright reds, vivid oranges, and vibrant greens. We wear our apparel like a badge--banners and cloaks, helmets of steel, bracers, gloves, wraps, and drapes. We are staggered around the cavern, its like… like…”

“A swarm of bee,” Themis interjected, tilting his head with a sly grin, “I can hear them all buzzing around.”

Eretham’s laugh was bright and cheerful, “Yes! Precisely, a swarm of bees. In fact, I can see Shivani and his swarm of bees, they resemble a blanket from this angle. And our lair, by the Stormcatcher it is so different. The greys of the stone and steel have been covered in bright tapestries with our emblem, and strings of sparkling tinsel cover the wires now--”

“That seems like a fire hazard.”

“Do you want me to explain things or not?”

Themis forwent a verbal response in favor of bumping his head into Eretham’s shoulder with a half purr. The mirror gave a soft chuckle, leaning into him and curling his one wing closer around him. Eretham tucked his head into the crook of Themis’ neck, the hard edge of his helmet digging into Themis’ skin as he did so.

“You make me good, Themis,” Eretham breathed against his scales, “You are my good.”

The words were a reminder of love, one Themis had heard a thousand times in a thousand places by now, yet they still brought a surge of affection to his heart. It took his breath away every time.

“Dragons of the Galestorm Flyers,” Nantis’ commanding voice rang out clearly over the noise of the clan, calling the murmured conversations to a close. The massive guardian was somewhere ahead of Themis, probably perched on the overhang where he typically address his clan. Themis could hear the gentle croaks of Serasorth’s frog nearby, so the healer was beside his mate, and Elspeth likely was as well.

“Over the last few months, much has changed in our clan. We have gained many, and we have lost some. The Dark Queen’s influence spiked a few months ago, and her poison seeped into two of our clanmates minds, and called another threat to our lair. Now, with four imprisoned, our hearts feel heavy. We miss those we have lost, and mourn their descent into madness; we can only hope there is an answer to their ailment somewhere.”

“It would do no good to dwell solely on these losses,” It was Serasorth’s voice this time, deeper, more rumbling, lined with age brought by illness, “For there have been many that have joined us, and bring us light. Warlocks, scientists, scholars, and totems, they all bring us something new, something wonderful.”

“Despite the setbacks, our clan has grown,” Elspeth called out, sharp and clear, “We have triumphed and survived against all odds, fought back against nature that screamed for us to bend to its will. It is what we Sparks do, we do not bend to the wills of another, we never have. I have watched the clan, my clan, do just that over the years. For those without eyes, a new form of sight is found. For those without ears, a new sound. Without limbs or wings or a healthy set of lungs, we find a new crutch as well. I’ve watched so many come into this world and let it eat them from the inside out, let their struggles bend their heads to the ground as they bow before the unseen master of Destiny. Yet you, my Flyers, have not.” There was a whoosh followed by clicking, which Themis could only guess meant Elspeth was pacing the clan now. “Not one of you have.

“You’ve found yourself in ways no one could expect. You’ve taken the name you are meant to have, and the pronouns to go with it. You’ve built the identity you require, free from influence by blood or flight, making it your own. It is the plague flight that preaches survival, but the Lightning flight teaches you to thrive.”

“Many flights and clans view our flight as one focused solely on industry and efficiency,” Serasorth picked up again, “They say we preach constant work without pause, but I know that is not true. The Stormcatcher is gentler than we know, kinder than we thought. He knows and understands that, as mortal as we are, we must rest and restore to be efficient. We make allowances, and then we make supports. Every body, every mind, and every soul has something to offer to this world, so long as we give them the tools to make it.”

There was another rustle and a small shudder as something big shifted, and Nantis spoke again, “Which brings us to today, Novlas Dies, the Day of New Wings. Our clan has existed for years in this desert, bending the mesa hills to our needs and using the tunnels beneath it for our home. We garner supplies from the sands, food from the hills, and fish from the waters. Today, we celebrate that, and promise to continue that. A new dragon will join us today, and whomever they may be, they will be one of us. A Flyer. Serezha, if you would.”

There was a long period of silence, which Eretham interpreted as Serezha leaving to gather the egg from it’s hold before placing it in the center of the room, safely tucked in a wired nest. Eretham stepped forward, guiding Themis alongside him so the mirror could get a view of the nest.

“Serezha is removing the written seals now,” Eretham murmured into Themis’s ear, “There are more than last year; my father must have been concerned with the increase in the Imprisoned.” A long moment of silence, then murmured chanting from below, just loud enough for Themis to make out the sounds and recognize them as foreign. “Now he is removing the spoken seals, the egg will hatch soon. There we go, he stepped back, the seals are all gone. The hatchling is moving inside, I can see it’s heat signature growing, it’s rather strange looking, all curled up like that. Oh, there’s a crack now, it’s tiny but one is there, go little one, come greet the world.”

Themis strained to hear as Eretham fell silent, both holding their breath in anticipation. The entire clan was silent, only the hum of electricity and tiny squeaks from an annoying joint somewhere in the lair breaking the quiet. Finally, Themis could hear a small chirping noise, steadily growing louder as the tiny hatchling fought its way free of the egg. There was a crack, a collective gasp, and a tiny squeak.

“It’s free, they have joined us, Themis,” Eretham whined, almost jumping onto the nocturne’s back in glee, “A new Flyer! How adorable!”

“Tell me, what do they look like? What breed are they? Their scales? Or fur, feathers? Don’t keep me in the dark Eretham!”

“They are gorgeous, Themis,” Eretham chirped, “They are the color of--”

A loud keening broke out before Eretham could finish his sentence, and the clan’s collective chatter fell silent as something moved through the crowd.

“Child, sweet child,” A hoarse voice called out, one Themis hadn’t heard for two months, “A child, here in our lair, where darkness lurks in the depths. Please, please.”

Ash’s voice was laden with heavy emotion, cracking and breaking from disuse and pain as he pleaded with some unknown force. The shamen had always been a benevolent creature, befriending the shadows and caring for things he probably shouldn’t. Even when his own son betrayed them and fell into the claws of the Dark Queen, he loved him, and he tried his very best to keep him safe. It broke Themis to hear him so broken, so shattered.

“Please, Nantis,” Ash continued, “Nantis.”

“I know, Ash,” Their king spoke, his voice soft and gentle, “I know. They are your charge, are they not?”

“They are,” Ash whined, “My charge. Nantis, please, let me raise them, let me protect them.”

“I am not one to stand between a guardian and their charge, Ash,” Nantis replied, “And I rather think they like you.”

The keening began again, but this time followed by a much softed, higher whine. Soon, the celebratory hollars and music began to rise from the crowd, echoing around the halls as the party began again. Themis nudged Eretham out of his stupor, demanding an explanation.

“Ash, um. Ash has the hatchling with him now, he bundled him off to somewhere quieter, as my father did with you. He looks… by the Gods he looks happy, Themis, happy,” Eretham sounded ecstatic, “He’s got his charge, Themis.”

“And what is his charge, Eretham? You never finished your sentence,” Themis cried in frustration.

“Alright, alright,” Eretham laughed, nudging Themis fondly, “They are a mirror child, oddly bright purple and dusty brown wings. They are a bit gangly and full of energy, as all mirrors are. Their eyes are a richer cyan than others, one of the darker variations.”

“A fine dragon, and a fine charge,” Themis said, tucking himself into Eretham’s side as the mirror led him towards the thick of the party, “Dare I say this particular tradition is a success today?”

“I would say so. Here, shall we take some food? You did say it is a day to celebrate,” Eretham guided Themis to a stop, touching his forepaw to the edge of a table.

“I said to enjoy yourself,” Themis corrected with a grin, “But that works as well.”

“Aye, it does. Thank you, Themis.”

“What for?”

“Being here.”

“Always.”