Vajras

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Vajras was born with rage in his heart.
He clawed his way through the egg's shell with a war cry stuck in his newborn throat. There was a simmering poison rushing through his veins even then; a violence that borne his name. It called to him like a siren's song and Vajras would not silence it.

They called him problematic at first, for he was born - maybe ironically - into a peace-loving clan that had no need for warriors. From an early age, Vajras could feel the disapproving frowns and the concerned whispers that followed in his wake. Vajras was like no other dragon in the clan. Living as his clan did - noiselessly and afraid like a rodent in a cat's den - left him with a foul taste in his mouth.

He became the clan's main hunter, for it was the only task that Vajras could really accomplish without the need of supervision. He often brought back more than what was needed - and left the same amount of dead prey scattered throughout the territory for scavangers to find. It was never enough for the restlessness stirring in Vajras' blood. It needed more, always more, always thirsty for something that made him lash out time and time again.

There is little left of that clan now but whispers and ashes. After all, mice fall into traps no matter how careful and silent they are.
Vajras had been hunting that day, blood staining his pretty feathers and dark hide. The scent of burning things was what alerted him, but by the time he got to the clan's lair there was little to be done. The attacking clan was everywhere and his own clan was mostly dead or retreating. Yet, as he stared down at the destruction of all that was familiar to him, in that brief moment while he was surrounded by chaos and destruction and war, Vajras felt... unleashed.

Something took over him then, or perhaps his mask had simply broken, having no reason to stay in place. Whatever it was, Vajras felt like he was shedding a skin he'd been wearing for years and it felt intoxicating. Vajras knew, as he'd always known, that he was a broken, toxic thing. He was not right; he would never be right - and he didn't care.

By the time the first enemy reached him, Vajras was more than ready. He remembered the second {gutted by a quick swipe of his claws} and the third {a swift broken neck}, but the rest blurred before his eyes as he fought, a machine of war and death dancing upon a condemned battleground. However, no matter how good he was, Vajras could not take on a whole clan by himself.

Vajras was not looking for any kind of salvation, but it came for him anyway. The memory would be forever seared into his brain, of those sharp golden eyes staring at him through a world of smoke and blood and ruin. For the first time in his life, Vajras felt completely exposed to another - undone by a single lazy swipe of those golden orbs. They judged him, right down to the marrow of his bones, finding his faults and qualities, balancing them quietly and deciding his fate.

To this day, Vajras doesn't know what Morgenstern saw in him that made him decide in his favour. What remained of the enemy clan - spooked by Vajras' killing streak - ran away at the sight of another dragon. Since then, Vajras has become Morgenstern's most loyal companion: a shadow that is as dark as Morgenstern is bright.


"the predator's hymn echoes in the sharpness of my fangs
sinking deliciously into your supple neck,
a symphony of breaking skin and muscle.

it flows, unending, deep into the mucles beneath my scales,
they hold you down so dearly, so gently, until
they wrap around you and,
my dear, they break you so well.

breathe into me, filled with desperation, let me
drink it all up until it soaks into my pores
let me watch you, broken, sinking into the ground
as I cut the puppet strings that held you alive

my dear, my beloved,
aren't you happy I set you free?"