Athexreh's dragon Hydrogen

Personal Style

Apparel

Skin

Scene

Physical Attributes

Battle Stats

Measurements

Length

5.09 m

Wingspan

5.6 m

Weight

672.13 kg

Genetics

Obsidian
Basic

Orchid
Morph

Splash
Capsule

Hatchday

Sep 01, 2017
(6 years)

Breed

Adult
Wildclaw

Eye Type

Ice
Glowing

Level 25 Wildclaw

Max Level

STR

AGI

DEF

QCK

INT

VIT

MND

Lineage

Parents

Piu
Duncan

Offspring

Biography

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Quote:

Hydrogen:

smallest chemical element

most abundant chemical substance, especially in stars and gas giant planets

monoatomic hydrogen is rare due to its propensity to form covalent bonds with most elements

At standard temperature and pressure, hydrogen is a nontoxic, nonmetallic, odorless, tasteless, colorless, and highly combustible diatomic gas with the molecular formula H2

Trammel was never cut out to be a father. And, as he stared at the tiny hatchlings cuddled together, he was painfully aware of that fact.

"What do I do with these?" he asked, claws clicking together in a nervous pattern. But there was no response. The other wildclaw, a loud, demanding creature he couldn't remember ever meeting was long gone.

He stared around the empty lab, waiting for someone to jump out and say it was all a joke. There was nothing but the low hum of electricity and the gentle gurgle of ruminating chemicals. He sighed, the feathers along his crest drooping. "What do I do with you?" he asked softly as he peered at the small dragons. He didn't know anything about hatchlings. Were they cold? Hungry? How would he know?

Did they have names?

He would never remember their names; he could barely keep his own staff’s names in mind. And the small dragons all looked so similar. They’d been there all of five minutes and he was already falling them. Failing as a… parent. Looking around the empty lab, the darker dragon sighed.

He didn't know much about names, but he would give them what he did know. Gingerly picking up the largest of them, he inspected the hatchling, taking note of its defining features. Storing away the information in his mind. It was no different than any other observation, he thought. Another experiment. He could do this.

"Are you the oldest? Hmm... it seems likely based on relative size. You'll be Hydrogen, then. That's the first element on the periodic table. That’ll work for names, I suppose..."

The hatchling cooed- in agreement or protest or a desire to be fed, Trammel couldn't tell. The hatchling’s tiny wings flapped and bright eyes fixed him in a blurry gaze. It stirred something... warm in his chest. Something entirely unfamiliar.

A frown crossed Trammel's face. He wasn't ready for this.

And he only hoped he wouldn’t fail them in the same way he’d failed everyone else.

The years passed quickly.

Hydrogen hadn’t exactly been taught to read. She gathered her siblings, bundled together with them in their nest of threadbare blankets and patched toys, and started reading to them. She just knew how to.

With wide eyes they watched her. Snuggled closer. Peered over her shoulder as she read. They didn’t interrupt.

And that was how Trammel found them hours later. Half asleep and curled around the centrifuge’s user manual. It was too quickly become a common occurrence.

She didn’t stop reading, either. And she never forgot what she’d read. She perched on the top of Trammel’s head, tiny claws wrapped around his horns, and recited procedures and protocols and instructions, much to his chagrin. Her pronunciations were off, but Trammel couldn’t be bothered to correct her. Not when she puffed up like an angry bird each time she spoke.

“No,” she whined, patting his face, “Not that one. The blue one.”

“Hmm?” he hummed, shaken out of his thoughts. He inspected the beakers in his hands and glanced back to his notes on the table. “Oh yes. My mistake. What would I do without you?”

“You’re silly,” Hydrogen giggled, shimmying down his back. Tiny claws found purchases in the gaps along his scales and soon she plopped to the ground, wings flaring to slow her descent. “Don’t blow up anything,” she chided, waggling a finger in his direction.

With a fond smile, Trammel watched as she picked her way across the lab. “Don’t get into too much trouble, you hear?”

She tossed a grin and a thumbs up over her shoulder as she left. The muffled yelp and sounds of a scuffle a few moments later said she’d found her siblings without too much trouble.

...And yet trouble seemed to find them at the most inopportune of moments.

He had known she was sick. The rattling cough that settled in their lungs seemed to linger the longest in Hydrogen’s chest. For the first time in years the children clung to his side, shivers wracking their frames.

For the first time in years he ignored the looming pressures of his work and turned his attention exclusively to them. With their meager supplies and rations- and quite a few days of missed sleep and worried pacing- they all seemed to perk up and return to their rambunctious antics.

Yet Hydrogen was more prone to sitting on the unused table shoved into the corner of the workstation than she’d ever been before. She watched him flit about with hazy eyes, her head not bothering to move.

Her fever, while not high enough to cause concern, had yet to abate.

And then things took a turn for the worse.

Hydrogen was completely unresponsive. Ragged breaths pulled at her chest. No matter what he did, nothing changed.

For a long while he sat there, hands running over the clammy scales along her forehead. He knew he shouldn’t have taken them in. He was woefully unprepared to take care of anyone. Himself. His staff. The tiny dragons that weren’t old enough to know not to place their existence in his hands. And he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, there was nothing to be done. Supplies were dwindling. Food was dwindling and medicine had become nonexistent. All that was left was scrap metal and the dilapidated skeleton of machines that had never worked.

He glanced at the small hatchling, expression hardening. He’d never been good at holding onto hope. He knew there wasn’t much stock in waiting for the gods or fate or whatever the others called it. He couldn’t give her hope, but he would give her what he could. A fighting chance.

He only hoped it would be enough.

Trammel would never be able to wash the blood out of his scales. The crimson liquid, bright and sticky and a seemingly permanent addition to his scales, was everywhere. It coated the twisting bits of metal that weaved into the small dragon’s frame. It seeped into the grating joints of welded scales. It hung in the air like a fine mist. A shroud of desperation and unspeakable action.

She woke two days later, bleary and confused and whimpering in a voice that was not her own. A voice that grated the same way her heavy limbs did. A voice that was metal and static and whirring gears.

She learned quickly. Magic and electricity coiled in her belly, shimmering in a morbid display of her fragility. Of her essence. Of the careful precipice she stood upon. She learned how much magic was needed to power the reactors in her chest and how much raw electricity burned the delicate remnants of her flesh. She learned.

And she adapted.

And, when she grew- they weren’t sure how that would work at first- the machine grew with her. It was soft and pliable and warm to the touch. It yielded like flesh and moved like scale and, had it not been for the unmistakably harsh gleam of metal and light, it could have been mistaken as such.

She tilted her head when Trammel approached her, claws fiddling in front of him the way they did when he was nervous. It took him a while to ask what he was going to ask. Nothing she wasn’t used to. And she’d agreed. Of course she had. It was the least she could do.

The wires that dug into the metal-flesh of her sides didn’t hurt. They weren’t particularly comfortable, but they were what they were. And, as the gleaming sparks of her not-magic and not-electricity sparked into the wiring of the machines, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief in her chest.

She’d been a burden for as long as she could remember. Diverting much needed supplies. Taking up time no one really had. Not being able to stray far from the lab.

As the overhead lights flickered back to life and the thrum of power beat through the veins of the lab’s wiring, Hydrogen was entirely unperturbed. She’d found her place in the grand machine. She’d found where her gear fit. And she wasn’t going to let anyone down ever again.

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0/1000

Click or tap a food type to individually feed this dragon only. The other dragons in your lair will not have their energy replenished.

Exalting Hydrogen to the service of the Icewarden will remove them from your lair forever. They will leave behind a small sum of riches that they have accumulated. This action is irreversible.

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