Simon

(Micahjaguar)

Simon didn't want the crystalline magics.

Maybe that's why they failed on him.

Done properly, the spell that gives a dragon wings and belly of finest stained glass only lends the appearance of those things, an illusion only skin-deep, hovering in the scales and feathers like the reflection of sun on water. There is a finial in the spell, terminating it before it grows too strong or too deep.

...but Simon's spell failed to curtail the formation of the crystal. It cannibalized his wingtips first, drawing down the primaries to the secondary vanes. It sucked up the underside of his tail, eating deep into his belly, all the way to his chin. And the longer the spell worked, the more glasslike Simon's body became, until his wingtips became brittle enough to shatter on impact.

In desperation he fled, seeking someone, anyone to solve his problem. He was on his way to the Arcanist to beg aid of that god--to exalt himself if necessary to reach that divine aid--when his wings failed: they had become too stiff to fly. Thelo and Aspasia found him on the windswept plains, dragging a broken pinion behind him: fretwork with missing panes like a shattered stained glass window.

And seeing the Pattern, Thelo simply stopped it.

Simon wept and wept into their sides, too far past his strength to care that others might witness his despair. And despair it is, for while Thelo halted the growth, he has not yet discovered how to reverse it, or even give Simon the suppleness of body and wing that others with the crystalline spell maintain when it's done properly, ended well. The rest of the clan has quietly helped as they could: they go out and collect the softest grasses to line Simon's wallow so his belly won't fracture on it; they've bought new panes of colored glass to fill in the inevitable slots where something's broken. Ptah even contrived a sling so that the larger Guardians and Imperials can take Simon soaring, and all this he accepts in miserable anxiety, grateful but eternally panicked that his frangible body will one day complete its horrible transformation and leave him a desperate thing trapped in shining glass.

*** [ A mysterious packages arrives from NeoGeen. ]

'This is for you,' Reina says, handing the parchment to Simon, and the satchel. She watches gravely as he unwraps it and reads the note--Reina has already read it, but she carefully sealed it again--and then the imperial stammers, 'B-b-but who would send me gifts? Who would even know of me? To care?'

'The note says everything, I think,' Reina says. She inclines her head and withdraws, leaving the astonished Imperial to his offerings. A new soft coat for his breast, to cushion him from the ground when he sleeps... silk to wrap his fragile waist. Food, and a little coin, and most important, very most importantly, the letter:

Your story has reached lands far beyond your borders. Some repeat it as a lesson to the youth that show interest in magic. Others tell it as a story of survival - fitting for the harshness of our own plague lands.

Collected from the lore-tellers and young dragons smitten by the tale, as thanks and as offerings - To The One that Survived.

When he falls asleep that night, he does so on soft fur, and with the letter beneath a hand, cautious, so cautious of the parchment with palms that have gone numb with shards of shining glass.

The One that Survived.

That's me.

--- (Pooksaur)

When Isetnofret approached Simon about leaving the clan was when he decided to leave. The clan had shown him much mercy and care while he was with them, but the possibility of fighting breaking out in the clan between factions terrified him. As much as they had tried to make him comfortable, the possibility of his fragile body being trapped in a fight was too much. If more of him broke, if he felt more pain... He was The One that Survived. He needed to continue that.

So he asked Reina to relocate him to an allied clan, and she understood. He left his belongings behind, it was enough that he relied on the clan members for the transportation, he could find new things to wear.
But he brought the letter.

It was good to return to the windy lands, more comfortable and grassy than the hard earth had been. And to him, this new clan seemed just as kind. They gifted him the new feather-and-wax wings to pad his fragile panes. The tundras would leave their shed fur for his bedding.

And once again, he survived.

---

Simon didn't want the crystalline magics. He surely didn't want them to fail. And, more than anything else, he didn't want the pain.

He has suffered for so long.

But then new magics arose.

He didn't expect the magics to be bought by such a poor clan, and he certainly hadn't expected Svana to sacrifice her geneing plans to help him.

The magic spread through his body, hardening the tender flesh into shining scales. It began at the tip of his nose and spread, slowly at first but gaining speed, through his face, down his neck, blossoming on his chest and racing down his long body.

Where the magic hit the pain vanished. Gone.

As the tip of his tail crystallized, Simon slumped forward, gasping. Deep, full breaths of air. No glass bit into his chest, his belly no longer bled.

"Simon? Are you alright?" The healer rushed forward, the scroll vanishing as its magic dissipated.

"I..." He didn't know how to answer. His wings ached terribly, a reminder of the part of him left untouched. "I don't hurt. I don't ache." The more he spoke the stronger his words became. "The pain's gone. It's gone! Mostly..."

He drew himself up to his full height, stretching out his neck and his body. The relief he felt was unimaginable.

"It will be a while, Simon, but we'll get the rest of the magic for you." Svana stood next to him, looking up. "If you're going to live here, we're going to heal you the best we can."

---

He touched the scroll with a hesitant claw, watching it bend under the pressure. It was real. It was finally happening.

"Are... Are you sure, Svana? There's others, ungened, who might appreciate the-"

"I made you a promise, Simon." The tundra gently picked up the scroll in front of him and handed it to Artemis. "If you will be so kind, dear."

The skydancer cleared her throat, unrolled the scroll, and began reciting the incantation.

It started at the bottom of his wingtips, where the Pattern had cannibalized his flesh already. He felt warmth and a rush as it crept upwards. There was a crack in one pane that mended back as the spell passed. Simon watched in awe as his wings changed, too happy to look away but too scared to move.

And then it was over, his wings completely taken over by the new magic. Onlookers were silent, having been drawn to the scene.

"Simon?" Svana prompted.

He didn't answer her. He spread his wings and took to the sky for the first time in generations.

Once again, he could fly.