Preston

May it never be said that growing up is easy.

Every since he was a young hatchling, Preston never knew what became of the others of his clan. It was a cool, misty morning when he'd hatched out of his egg, and while there were two others in the nest, he was alone. For days he stayed, no parents coming by to feed him, and the two other eggs never hatched, never moved, and remained cold. It was hunger that finally drove the young dragon onward, the will to live far outweighing the despair of being alone since his most moment of life.

With no one to teach Preston how to hunt, he was a mockery of what a true wildclaw hunter should be, instead scavenging on anything possibly edible he could find. If he saw another creature eating it (and failed to catch said creature) then he tried to eat it too.

That was how he grew up.

It wasn't until his first feather molt that Preston gained both a name and goal. He'd stopped to drink on the outskirts of Arcane territory, on the first night of the Starfall Ceremony. The lights and smells that came from deeper in the territory compelled the young dragon, and he moved his wickedly clawed feet forward, snapping up a grouse on his way in.

Magic.

The lights and abilities dazzled the wildclaw, and he found himself enamored with the dragons performing. “Presto!” they said, as they did a trick. “Alakazam!” “Abrakadabra!” And so it went on. It was the first voice he'd heard that he sought out, a spiral male who specialized in card tricks. This spiral was small enough to be prey... but he had an age and wisdom about him that made Preston, yet unnamed at the time, look up to him all the same.

Apprenticeship under the spiral was something else entirely. For such a small dragon, he had a demanding bark about him. Everything had to be perfect. He'd given Preston his name, given him his first deck of cards, and taught him to tap into his magical potential. Preston may not have been an Arcane dragon by hatchright, but he eventually mastered the arts as well as any natural born. The wise old magenta eyes would look fondly upon his progeny when he thought Preston's back was turned, and all was well with the pair.

Eventually, though, Preston knew it was time to move on. He couldn't stay with the old spiral forever. He wanted to go out and see the world. He had a name now. He wanted to know who his parents were, why he was abandoned as just an egg, where he had come from, but had no interest in joining the clan that had abandoned him. He just wanted to know. And now? He could defend himself. The cards he coveted, that he loved using in tricks? They worked wonderfully as explosive weaponry if charmed just right.

Preston was on the move.
~~
bio by xLittleOne based on my idea