Nerokai

Nerokai's hatching day, well into summer, was hot. Very hot. The sun caused the few dragons out and about to cower, burrowing beneath the sand to reach the cool earth below. The sweltering air caused the odors of rot and contagion to grow stronger than ever. For most dragons, it was misery. For Nerokai, it was home.

Nerokai came into this world in one of its most vile places. Allied with the Plaguebringer, and marked by four bloodred eyes, he escaped his shell only to be imprisoned in the deathland known as the Abiding Boneyard.

Unfortunately, his hatching attracted the unwanted attention of more than a few strangers. Drawn by the scent of egg yolk and fresh meat, a small pack of Mirrors ganged up on the younger one, eager for their next meal. Pure luck saved Nerokai that day. Born with a warrior's heart, he flared his crest and growled, flexing his small but thorn-sharp claws- and found himself facing nearly twenty full-grown and viciously hungry dragons of his own kind. Still, he lunged without hesitating, burying fang and claw in the foreleg of his nearest opponent...and was promptly shaken off. "Sent flying" would not have been an exaggeration. In fact, he hit the sand so hard that it gave way under his weight and momentum, burying him at least a foot below the surface. Only instinct caused him to dig deeper, searching for the furrows that indicated dens long abandoned. He could hear the pounding overhead of eighty Mirror talons stamping, clawing, digging, desperate to get to him and their next meal. But Nerokai was quicker. He dug so deep he could scarcely breathe through the thick, coarse sand, and waited there longer than he thought it was possible to wait. Young though he was, Nerokai had received an excellent first lesson in the ways of the Scarred Wasteland, and indeed much of the wilds of Sornieth. The world was kill-or-be-killed, and Nerokai was not about to be killed.

Months, and then years, passed. Nerokai grew accustomed to thirst, to hunger, to exhaustion from the constant vigilant watch he had to keep in order to stay alive. He scavenged when he could, stole when he wanted, killed when he had to. The laws of the wild were not difficult for him to learn. The first and overpowering law was Stay alive. Anything else could wait.

Not long after the young Mirror had passed his youth, but not quite entered adulthood, he encountered a pack of Mirrors near one of the rare pools of untainted water in the Abiding Boneyard. It was clear that they ruled the area, patrolling their water source with a vengeance, but Nerokai paid that no heed. He wanted in.

Perhaps it came to him as a vague surprise, but no more, when the largest Mirror approached him. Really, he noted, though this male was the largest Mirror, he was certainly not the largest dragon; although tiny Faes flitted among the hunters, he also spotted an occasional Nocturne, and one solitary, massive Ridgeback. Yet it was clear this battle-scarred dragon was their leader.

"What is your purpose here?" His words were slurred slightly due to the wide gash along his cheek; it bled into his mouth and twisted it into a permanent, sickening grin. But his tone was nothing short of malice. If anything, the question was a challenge; telling Nerokai to either get out, or prove he belonged here. Naturally, the dark Mirror chose the latter.

"None of your business," he responded in a growl, lifting his crest slightly. "I'm thirsty. You're in the way. What's the problem?"

Evidently, this was the wrong response. The scarred Mirror opposite him displayed his own golden crest, red eyes narrowing to furious slits. "No problem," he snarled, "except you."

"Why?" Nerokai tilted his head arrogantly. He knew how to handle a challenge like this. Don't give in and start a brawl; don't submit and let yourself get beaten to a pulp. Keep up the pace set by the other dragon. Up the stakes if you can. Try to unnerve them. Don't submit. "All it is is a little water. I'm sure you don't mind sharing." He pointedly eyed the small pool that lay beyond the golden Mirror.

"That water belongs to the Boneclaws, and last I checked, you sure as plague ain't one." He took an imposing step forward, coming nose-to-nose with Nerokai. "Now get out of here, bloodbreath, before I make you."

Now Nerokai was starting to get annoyed. This dragon looked like he'd had his fair share of fights- but then, so had Nerokai, and you certainly wouldn't know it by looking at him. He'd hardly gained so much as a scar since that first day when he was hunted by the Mirror pack, but his muscles gleamed under his shadowy scales, and his intellect was keen as ever.

"Make me?" Nerokai pushed right back at the gold Mirror, baring his teeth in an aggressive display. "More like you should get out of the way, rotten-claws, or else I'll shred you."

That seemed to snap the scarred dragon's last nerve. He sprang at Nerokai in one massive leap, but the younger dragon was well prepared for the blow and ducked, then sliced upward at the glittering yellow underbelly. Although he missed, the other dragon's momentum carried him too far, and Nerokai was able to regain his footing before he attacked again.

Gold scales met black in a furious battle of the sands. Four pairs of bloodred eyes glared, searing with hatred, while claws grappled and scales flew. Nerokai realized this would be a very tough fight; the large dragon before him was deeply scarred, but he was still alive for a reason. Red blood ran into the gaps between his dark shoulder scales, and several tears mimicked the black patterns in his shimmery wings. But the other dragon was not getting off easily. His sides were gashed, his tailtip almost bitten through, and Nerokai was still determined to win.

It seemed to take an eternity for Nerokai to gain the edge. Blood began to drip from a gash on his forehead into his eyes, blinding him at times, and he began to feel numb to the pain of the bruises and scratches he had suffered. He simply tuned out the demands of his body and focused on the fight. And, through the fierce sun beating down upon both of the battling Mirrors, he persevered, and he prevailed. With one final, powerful blow, he slammed the golden Mirror onto the ground, and slipping on his own blood, he did not get up. A great stirring rippled through the ranks behind them, who had remained still through the battle, but now turned to one another in shock and uncertainty.

But Nerokai knew better than to kill the dragon before him. He knew his own capacity to lead was not at its prime, and he had much to learn by observing this dragon, who commanded such obedience from his pack. No, today would not see another death at his talons. But he would make this dragon remember his name.

In one quick, decisive slash, Nerokai scored a deep line into the golden dragon's cheek, mirroring the scar on the other side of his face. Now the twisted grin was outright creepy- a smile that stretched from crest to crest, and dripping with blood.

"You," he hissed, "will be known as the Joker, as the fool who tried to cross me. And you will remember the name Nerokai."

Nerokai was certain he had never made a better decision. Not only had he forced the golden dragon- the Joker- to allow him to join the Boneclaws and control the water pool, but he had taught him fear. The Joker would only submit to him. And, because of that, no other dragon in the Boneclaws dared oppose him.

But when a new group opposed the Boneclaws, there was no way the Joker could stop them.

Although there was no way Nerokai would have recognized them, as their ranks had swelled and adopted new species, this pack of Mirrors, Guardians and Snappers was the very same one that originated with those who had attacked him on the day of his birth. If he had recognized them, no doubt he would have died trying to kill each and every one of them. He was hostile enough as it was, though, and when it became clear the Boneclaws were going to fight the newcomers, he was more than ready to fight at their side.

The fight was long and bloody. Dragons from both sides died, and almost three weeks passed before a conclusion was reached: the survivors would be forced to share the water pool. Which, needless to say, Nerokai did not like. Not at all. He controlled this water source, one of the rare few in all of the Abiding Boneyard. No one else.

And he was more than willing to go down defending it.

Nerokai had suffered a few injuries in the great battle between the Boneclaws and the group who called themselves- originally- the Plaguebringers, but due to his cunning and battle prowess, he had come off quite well. He himself had slaughtered at least three Plaguebringers, which felt like an achievement to him. But there were many more to replace him, and all of them seemed very, very thirsty.

From then on, Nerokai's life became a neverending sequence of battles. He constantly had to fight for his life, and over the months and eventually a year, his scales toughened and his heart hardened. Though he never lost a fight- not once in a year, and all the times before- the walls around his emotions that the ceaseless battles caused might have been too high a price to pay. Granted, Nerokai never once believed that, but it was obvious that he had become emotionless, detached, and dedicated only to his next fight.

He was born in summer. He defeated the Joker in the summer. But it was the bitter winter that caused Nerokai to leave his home in the Abiding Boneyard.

The world of plague and rot was all the fierce Mirror had ever known. That day, the carcasses strewn about were dusted with snow, dulling the scent of carrion on the air and bringing a cold crispness that was scarcely felt in the Scarred Wasteland. But a bitter wind from the southwest, from somewhere near the Southern Icefield, swept away not just the scent of rotting bodies but the scent of all living things around Nerokai. Perhaps that was why the dragon who tried to kill him nearly succeeded.

Nerokai was not near the Boneclaws, nor the Plaguebringers. He did not wish to be around them that day; he had fought plenty from either side, and they had long since ceased to entertain him. Quite truthfully, Nerokai was not sure what he was looking for. An ordinary fight, perhaps. Certainly not an assassination plot. Unfortunately, that was exactly what he got.

It was a Ridgeback who actually attacked him. A massive dragon nearly three times his size, armed to the teeth- and ankles, and shoulders, and nose- who seemed to materialize out of the sand and snow, which was surprising, given his size. He tried several times, unsuccessfully, to strike Nerokai through the heart or throat- impale him, or rip him open, or tear out whatever body part he was targeting. Nerokai's quick reflexes and constant vigilance were the only defense he had until he realized what was happening. But he had battled the Joker, a dragon feared in the Abiding Boneyard for years, and won. There was no way he would lose his life in a battle against a petty Ridgeback.

He scrambled onto the massive dragon's back, careful to avoid the spikes at nearly every turn, and promptly dug his claws in, raking his way through scales and skin to damage the Rdigeback as much as possible. Though he bucked and writhed beneath Nerokai, and the spines along his back nearly hit the Mirror more than once, he managed to cling to the massive scales, and eventually clambered to the back of the Ridgeback's neck. Though he was well aware the skin there was too thick to slice through, his weight accomplished exactly what he wanted: the massive head lowered to counteract him, making it all too easy for Nerokai to climb through the spines onto his face and rip out his eyes.

At this point, the Ridgeback was beyond rage: he was furious, he was irate, but he was blind. Any blind dragon is no use in a fight, no matter their strength or size. Nerokai knew this. And he felt a small amount of satisfaction, watching the Ridgeback stagger around, swiping blindly at the slightest noise made by shifting sand or crunching snow. Nerokai leapt again, powering himself forward with his long hind legs to latch onto the Ridgeback's neck and bring his head once more to the ground. The Ridgeback flailed, slashed, but Nerokai nimbly dodged each blow. At last, exhausted from his struggle, the rest of the Ridgeback's body collapsed onto the ground. And here Nerokai held him.

"Who sent you?" he growled, voice surprisingly rusty from lack of use. Nerokai decided he liked it; it made him sound more threatening. He cast his gaze to the side, noticing that the eyes were electric blue; this dragon was from The Shifting Expanse. So he was simply a native Ridgeback. But that could not be all; no dragon randomly attacked him, not given who he was, no matter where they were from. Here he was respected. And here, if he was attacked while alone, that meant two things: someone was watching him, and someone wanted him dead.

The Ridgeback remained still. For a fleeting moment Nerokai wondered if he had somehow died, but then his eye sockets flinched. Still, he did not speak. Nerokai placed his claws dangerously close to the eye socket nearest to him and dug in slightly to the soft skin. "Answer me," he growled, and with a grating sound, the Ridgeback did.

"It...it...was a Mirror," he rasped. "I don't know his name. I don't know who he is. He offered me...treasure. A hoard full of gems, and I...couldn't resist. Treasure makes the dragon." He tried to shut his eyes, then seemed to realize he couldn't. With a smaller noise, he concluded, "I know who you are. I...know you're going to kill me. Please get it over with. I can't stand this darkness."

Nerokai blinked, then narrowed his bloodred eyes, confused. This dragon was not begging for his life. If anything, he was begging for the opposite. For a moment, something almost comparable to compassion flashed somewhere in the vicinity of his heart, but it vanished before he could even begin to ponder it.

"One more question," he snarled. "Where can I find this dragon?"

"I...don't know," said the Ridgeback softly. "But you can find...one of his messengers. In the Viridian Labyrinth."

Of course, Nerokai thought bitterly, but said nothing. Of course he would have to travel to the land he hated most to track down his assassin. Of course this had to be stupidly, stupidly difficult.

"Very well," he replied. For a moment, Nerokai hesitated, then did something completely un-Nerokai, something fundamentally against his nature. For whatever reason, he did it. "I am going to the Viridian Labyrinth. Have you anyone there you wish to send a message to before your death?"

The Ridgeback shifted his massive wings, then murmured, "No....my only family is in the Shifting Expanse. If you ever find yourself over there....find my mate...and tell her I'm sorry."

Nerokai pondered this request for a moment. But before he could respond, the Ridgeback cut in again. "Now, please...if you could. Kill me."

Nerokai was not sure if he would carry out the Ridgeback's former request. But he was more than willing to perform the latter.

The Viridian Labyrinth was exactly everything Nerokai had expected. Green, lush, vibrant, full of life and full of so much cheerfulness. Dragons everywhere swooped and flew, ran and laughed and called to each other like old friends. It was the opposite of everything he knew, and he loathed it.

Quite honestly, Nerokai wasn't sure what he was doing here. He knew a messenger of the Mirror he was looking for would be found here. Beyond that, he hadn't the faintest clue. Hopefully his name would be known well enough that he could discover this dragon's whereabouts.

Sure enough, heads turned as he wormed through the undergrowth. Any dragon with red eyes, regardless of scars (or, in Nerokai's case, largely a lack of them) was not to be trusted in the Nature domain. And his dark-hued scales and constant suspicious glares did not go unnoticed, either.

Judging by the brightly-colored hummingbirds, vibrant flowers and pools of crystal-clear water that met him at every other step, Nerokai knew he had entered in vicinity the Everbloom Gardens. By any other dragon's standards, it would have been lovely. By Nerokai's standards, it was gaudy, humid, and horribly full of plant life. One in the Abiding Boneyard would be lucky to spy a tumbleweed, and a shrub was a downright miracle.

Eventually, a young blue Fae approached him; she swooped around, face peculiar and unreadable, and flared her wings right in front of his face. Nerokai fought the urge to flinch, and subsequently, the urge to claw her right out of the air and underneath his crushing talons.

"Hello," she said. Nerokai thought she was enthusiastic, but could not be sure. "You're Nerokai. I mean, you're Nerokai, right? My father knew you. He was a Boneclaw, I think. He always said you were very scary. You don't belong here, do you? Why are you here, then? Do you think-"

Nerokai cut her off with a stiff snarl. He had nothing but hatred for meaningless chatter. "I'm looking for a dragon. I don't know who or what he is, but he works for a dragon who tried to kill me."

His ominous words seemed to have the oddest effect on the little Fae- her green eyes sparkled in awe. "Oh, wow! An assassination plot, huh? I mean, obviously they didn't succeed, but-"

"Do you know where to find a dragon like that?" he hissed, words dripping with venom, and eyes glittering with contempt. "It's urgent."

"Oh, yes, I'm sure," the Fae babbled in response. "Really you should stay a while, but if you insist on going, most low-end dragons, or the criminals, or- well, anyway, you should probably go to the Shrieking Wilds. But make sure you-"

He didn't want to stand around and hear any more of this nonsense. With a bitter hiss, he shoved her out of the way and broke into a lope, aligning his stride with the path opposite the sun. He knew northwest to be where the Shrieking Wilds prevailed, and silently, he thanked the Plaguebringer for the maps he had studied during his time with the Boneclaws. Though he was harsh and unforgiving and cruel, yes, Nerokai knew to respect his deity. He'd heard stories of torture and suffering specially reserved for those who disobeyed the great Plague Mother, and he did not wish to be among their ranks.

He made it there by sundown; though the sunlight gilded the tops of the trees and painted the horizon in a hundred golden hues, one would not have known it, for in the Shrieking Wilds the leaf canopy left the land in a permanent state of twilight. Here and there, peculiar bugs floated through the air, tail ends glowing and providing the only light aside from the stars. Unlike when he had first entered the Viridian Labyrinth, no one moved to greet him. In fact, Nerokai was fairly certain no one knew he was there at all.

As he wound deeper into the thick jungle, Nerokai spotted plants gently glowing in shades of green and blue; the faint bioluminescence was mainly what lit his path, as the moonlight could not reach him. In places, the footing got far too slippery to walk on- mossy plants with leaves like fae wings coated the rocks, and Nerokai was certain he had never hated a place more. He much preferred the sandy heat and gloomy death of the Abiding Boneyard to this slimy life, and all the noise that came with it. The Shrieking Wilds had been more than aptly named. Monkeys howled, tree branches rubbed against one another, wind from the Zephyr Steppes whistled down- the only respite from the oppressive heat- and insects screamed from every corner. Realizing that his only choices were to walk until dawn or pick one of these abysmal patches to sleep in, Nerokai headed for a mossy patch that seemed slightly drier than the rest and simply dropped into it. He still stewed over the events of the day; skirting the Tangled Wood, arriving in the Viridian Labyrinth, that awful rotten-clawed Fae, and the journey here. Nerokai nursed his bitterness and resentment as a mother does her young, biding his rage for a time when he would need it. With any luck, that time would come soon.

For now, though, it was simply time to sleep.

Morning found Nerokai grumpy from lack of sleep, but he pushed his weary body into motion regardless, determined to find his quarry before sundown. The night had seemed as incessantly loud as the day, and without anything to protect his back and wings, mosquito bites had laid his scales raw. He had never encountered such vicious insects in the Abiding Boneyard, and the itch was enough to drive him half-mad, which only served to augment his anger. As he made his way through the treacherous terrain, he stirred to life, and by midmorning he had found a small cluster of dens and shady-looking buildings full of equally shady dragons. Perfect.

With swagger in his stride, Nerokai thrust into the nearest building, a tavern-like hovel full of dragons in every dark hue imaginable. A few looked his way, a few glared, but most paid him no heed.

He went directly to the bartender, a Skydancer who shuffled and muttered something about an internship opportunity. Baffled, Nerokai ignored him and instead went to the back corner, locating the dragon he thought most likely to provide information. He was correct.

The other dragon, a Guardian with a rather impressive beard, spoke first, in a gravelly, slightly hostile voice. "Look't you. Pretty lil'un. Whatsa one like you doin' in a place like this?"

Nerokai flared his crest slightly, a response he had found typical with time. "If I'm pretty, then I'd hate to see your mate. Besides, sandscum, I need information that's far too advanced to be bouncing around in your thick skull. I need to know where someone is- someone who talks too much. Someone I want dead."

The Guardian broke out into rusty laughter. "Look't you," he said again. "Got a temper on ya, ya do. Tell ya wh't." He smirked, but over the lopsided smile, scorn lurked in his deep blue eyes. "I don't belong here. Neither d'you. I know who ye're talkin' about, a'right. Right good informant, 'e is. Used him m'self a time or two." The Guardian nodded to himself. "'E's 'ere, a'right. Right down th'pathway, in fact. Follow the gravel 'til ya reach the green hut. 'T's camouflaged right good, but ya'd spot it. Betcha'd spot anythin', what with those four eyes." The dragons around him snickered, and like a flame being lit, rage sparked in Nerokai's eyes.

He crouched, fully prepared to spring at the Guardian and slash his throat, but the dragon opposite him suddenly drew himself up to his full, towering height, and his snarky manner disappeared at once. "I'm warnin' ya, kid," he muttered, deadly serious and still as stone. "Don't kill th' messenger."

The Guardian shouldered past Nerokai and ducked out of the tavern; though Nerokai attempted to track him with all four eyes, the large dragon had seemingly melted into the trees, and was nowhere to be seen or sensed. Nerokai knew it was highly unlikely he'd be able to fight his way out of this tavern of assassins and thieves, so he stored his bloodlust away and left silently, lashing his tail. The horrible insects, the sleepless nights, and now the Guardian's words and warning had left Nerokai's jaws aching for blood. The cacophonous jungle held no meat worth eating, and raw hunger if nothing else would drive him to kill.
This was no longer a search. It was a hunt.

Nerokai broke into a run, searching for the hut, but circled past it twice before he finally located the entrance. A sloping stone pathway seemed to lead him underground, but before long he encountered what appeared to be a stone wall. Confused, he took a step back, preparing to leave, but suddenly a slit opened in the stone.

"State your identity and purpose," called a monotone voice.

Nerokai rolled all four bloodred eyes. Although he loathed the idea of giving such personal information away, he knew it was necessary if he wanted to reach the informant. Swallowing a hiss, he growled, "Nerokai of the Abiding Boneyard." He deliberately avoided mentioning his intentions here.

"Nerokai!" The voice suddenly seemed very, very interested. "Well, well, well. Come on in, then."

Perhaps it should not have surprised him that the other dragon was a Mirror. What did surprise him was that she was a female. He reflected on her oddly masculine voice as she led him to a hollowed-out circle in the stone that he soon realized was essentially someone's living quarters. "I'll bring him right in," promised the Mirror, and off she went, chuckling to herself and shaking her head.

Within moments a commotion was heard in the passageway, and then the sound of scales scraping stone...a lot of scales scraping stone. Nerokai thought he heard the other Mirror's laughter before the informant burst into the room.

Nerokai immediately burst out laughing. Uncontrollably. It was several minutes before he could control himself again, still with intermittent bursts of laughter, and the sight of the informant sent him doubling over again.

"A Spiral?" he sputtered out at last, pressing a talon to his stomach. "You? The informant is a plague-damned Spiral?"

Nerokai had never met one, but he'd heard the stories. They twisted themselves into intricate loops and knots, and suddenly fell to the ground. They would ramble for hours and then pass out midsentence. They were either in a constant state of overdrive or out cold. He could not see even the most remote appeal of using one as an informant.

Very suddenly, Nerokai found himself amidst a sea of pale green scales. Was the informant trying to constrict him to death?

"In the name of the Windsinger," hissed a breathy, exasperated voice. "You were supposed to be dead. Twisters and tails. You really beat the Ridgeback?"

"Let me go," snarled Nerokai, wriggling furiously and refusing to answer him.

"So you came back for me to play informant to you," guessed the Spiral, amusement glittering in his eyes. He completely ignored Nerokai's demands, and seemed to much prefer gloating before his eyes. "You want me to tell you where he is. I'll make this simple, hmm? He paid quite well, and he won't be happy I'm telling you this, but I know your business." The Spiral wore a smarmy smile, and Nerokai realized at last why he was an informant. He was sly, slick as an eel, and seemed more than capable of persuading information out of anyone- for a price. "Oh yes, I know your business indeed. You'll kill me if I don't. Treasure makes the dragon, but I'd rather keep my life than my gold, don't you think?" He eyed Nerokai with a sly, cunning gaze, then continued, "Look, your best bet is to try the Shifting Expanse. Close to home," he added with an ominous cackle. "You'll like it plenty. My master isn't there, but I'll tell you what, someone who knows him is. Kill them, and you're on your way to the one who wanted you dead, all right."

Nerokai had no idea whether he could trust this dragon. "Tell me one thing," he snarled at last, twisting viciously in the Spiral's grasp. "Why did he want me dead?"

"Dead?" The Spiral posed it as a question, though both knew it was anything but. "Oh, no no no. Giving that information away wouldn't do at all. But let's just say..." The Spiral's eyes glittered coldly. "That your constant victory has gotten you into a fair bit of trouble. Dragons of every kind want you dead. Oh yes, you're a wanted dragon, Nerokai, but I'll let you go, because I can sell your information for so much more than your body."

Nerokai had had enough of this. Enough of the Viridian Labyrinth, of the dragons here, of the atmosphere and the dragons, oh, great Plague, the dragons. He unleashed his bloodlust at last, and sank his fangs into the Spirals' flesh; though unsure of where he had struck, it caused the informant enough pain to recoil, and Nerokai took the advantage. He could not even tell which end of the informant was tail and which was head, so he instead took to shredding every scale he could lay his talons on. The Spiral whipped around instantly, green eyes blooming with fury, and once again tightened his body around Nerokai. This time the Mirror was sure he was attempting to strangle him, and realized the second advantage of Spirals. But by now a red haze had descended over his red eyes, a veil of bloodlust that would not lift until he had gotten the kill.

This was not the first time Nerokai had experienced this. He could win this fight, but suddenly realized he did not want to. This Spiral did seem to be a potential source of information for him. He didn't want that information out of his reach just yet. Instead, he sank his bloodstained fangs into the sea-green scales one more time, accomplishing exactly that which he had wanted; the Spiral turned his head yet again, and Nerokai did not hesitate, slashing a deep scar across one eye. He did not mar his jaw as he had the Joker, nor rip out the eye as he had the Ridgeback, but left him with a mark that he would remember.

The informant's head snapped back, and Nerokai fought his way free, sprinting down the hall. He found that the stone passageway could be opened easily from the inside, and pushed through it. Screeches that sounded far too loud to be from just one dragon echoed down the passage into his ears, and Nerokai guessed that his work had been discovered. He could not dare to linger. He raced down the rest of the way, his heart pounding and yet the call for blood only half-fulfilled, and tore out into the Shrieking Wilds. He did not look back.

Nerokai had much better luck in the Shifting Expanse. This was slightly surprising- although it took him longer to get there, four hard days of travel and an extra day for rest, he had the good fortune of being in the right place at the right time. Surprisingly, food seemed easier to catch here than in that rotten jungle, and better yet, he was free of the mosquitoes that had plagued him and the sounds that had assaulted his ears. He longed to remain in the Carrion Canyon for as long as possible- the sandy mesas reminded him of the baking earth of Plague- but moved on towards the Lightning Farm, and was well rewarded for his troubles.

Unfortunately, the reward was a distinctly unpleasant surprise. Nerokai had spent much of one morning hunting, ravenous after nearly a straight day of travel without food, and by pure accident had managed to stumble upon the very same Mirror who had been with the informant in the Shrieking Wilds. There was no need for words- as soon as their eyes met, the two recognized each other, and Nerokai bit back a hiss of loathing.

She turned an even, almost amused gaze on him; he immediately hated it- the look sent a cascade of memories crashing down, barraging his mind like a waterfall. He saw her eyes, for the first time, and realized they were a stark pink, the mark of an Arcane, and her scales rippled in lavender hues.

Nerokai opened his mouth; he wasn't quite sure why. He had nothing left to say to her. In all truthfulness, he should have turned and left the moment he spotted her. But he did not, and therein was his mistake. She gave him no warning. She launched herself at him, slashing at his throat; he pulled in his neck, flared his crest, and snapped his long tail around. Though he did not hit her, the whiplike noise caused her head to turn, and he seized the moment, dragging her down into the sand.

Lightning crackled across the sky. Raindrops mixed with their blood as the two Mirrors battled, and Nerokai was faintly reminded of his battle with the Joker years ago, although it had been summer then. He knew now, like then, he would win. And he did, much faster than before.

Nerokai had held dragons down like this before. They always struggled, but for some reason, this Mirror did not. He dug his claws in for good measure, but she did not make an attempt to escape. At last, he felt that he had secured her well enough to speak.

"Where is he?" he snarled, washing fetid breath over her face. She flinched back, clearly repulsed, then choked out, "I can't tell you. I- I can't."

"Of course you can!" he hissed, furious, and slashed at her face. He had maimed. He had blinded. And he'd certainly killed. Nerokai would certainly not hesitate to take the life before him.

"No, I can't," she responded, desperate, panicked, "because I don't know where he is. Your best bet is the Tangled Woods. Other than that, I-"

Nerokai would hear no more. "You are a coward," he said bitterly. "You would do well to remember that."

He raised one talon, ready to kill her, then lowered it, thinking. "One thing," he snapped, and suddenly that odd moment of compassion with the Ridgeback had returned. "Do not return to your master. I will take care of him. Go to the family of the Ridgeback who tried to assassinate me. Do not lie- I know you know the one. Go to his family and pass on a message. Tell them he is sorry. Do it, and I will let you live."

"I swear it," she whispered, and gasped in air as soon as he released her.

She was unsure whether or not she would have thanked him, but by the time it occurred to her, Nerokai was long, long gone.

Nerokai had been traveling for months. Summer was now nearing its end, and no matter where in the Shadow domain he went, no matter how far he traipsed, his journey was fruitless. He met dragons who knew who he spoke of, dragons who knew rumors, told tales, shared secrets about this mysterious dragon- but no one knew his whereabouts. And Nerokai was furious.

He loathed this situation. He loathed the fact that he had almost been assassinated on his own turf, he loathed that it had torn him from him home, he loathed the Viridian Labyrinth, he loathed that stupid infuriating rotten-clawed Mirror, he loathed the fact that it had all been for naught.

Already Nerokai had wrought a path of blood in the Tangled Wood, but he was angry, and he needed somewhere to vent.

It started with a simple bramble. He tore it out, ignoring the tiny sting in his talon, and dumped it somewhere beyond him. And once he started, he couldn't stop. Nerokai went into a frenzy, ripping up glowshrooms, scoring clawmarks down tree trunks, and causing an enormous racket of screeches and wails and roars of fury. It was less a temper tantrum and and more a release of pent-up fury over the past months. He carried on like that for hours, until he had trashed the entire section he'd been nesting in since his arrival, and then moved on to a slightly different location and repeated the process. Nerokai continued until he felt it was about nightfall, and then he gave up and slept.

Just slept.

And slept more.

He slept until he no longer felt the bloodred fury, until the hazy red veil no longer draped over his eyes whenever he so much as thought about the past. He slept until his mind was free of the dark tendrils that had taken root for so long.

Nerokai refused to admit he'd given up. He hadn't, really. This was just impossible. He'd traversed Sornieth for the better part of a year, searching for a murderer who would not be found. Why bother anymore? It wouldn't pay off. It was pointless to keep going. Nerokai had not submitted. He merely hadn't won.

He gets his bragging rights now, the Mirror thought, bitterly thinking of his would-be-assassin's satisfaction. He'd beaten Nerokai, all right. And Nerokai was angry, but he would let it go. Just this once.

He could let his anger go, but where would he go? The Scarred Wasteland was no longer his home. The Boneclaws would most likely not even accept him into their ranks again. They would have found another leader- perhaps the Joker would even have reclaimed his rule- and he would have been long forgotten. The dragons of the Abiding Boneyard were not sentimental. They would have moved on, and he was now only another rogue to them. No, he could not return. It was likely best to stay where he was. Though Nerokai was not incredibly fond of the Tangled Wood, it was the place he wanted to be most- the Shifting Expanse meant that damned Mirror, the Scarred Wasteland was too dangerous and too unfamiliar now, and he would have to be mad to return to the Viridian Labyrinth. The Tangled Wood would have to do for the battle-hardened, world-weary, cold-hearted traveling Mirror. And, oddly, it fit.

At least he wasn't dead.