Honora

.:.

With a sharp snap of his teeth, the Raptorik screeched a final cry...and went still. The previously quiet crowd, who had watched this final showdown with bated breath, resumed their loud cheers and delighted cries. They were all a familiar sound to Honora, casting his gaze up to the sky- to the arena all around him- before doing an act he'd done hundreds of times before. (If not hundreds, it at least felt like it.)

Rearing back on his hind legs, wings spread open, he roared to the skies above, hands reaching up with his fingers splayed wide. It was a mighty sight, an Imperial displaying so proudly, and the other dragons lost it all the more as the canopy opened up, letting in the light. Watching it reflect off of his golden body. "A proud praise from the Lightweaver herself," many dragons had crooned before, admiring or even a little jealous. Not that Honora understood it much.

In the beginning, he had. Fresh into battle, eyes wide and eager to train. What greater honor could there be for a dragon, to fight against the beastclans and gain honor and notoriety? He once ached at the thought of marring his brilliant scales a little, but yet curled around another dragon so gorgeous that their beauty still rivaled anything anyone could create. When he had survived his battles, continuing to be their new pride and joy...that's when they gifted him the helmet. As golden as his scales and a protector to a lovely face.

The next gift came from fighting so many of the raptoriks, a necklace of bone and yellow feathers and beads. Doubt had begun festering then, unsure of where the skulls had originated from... His meals or his foes?
Honora dared not ask, in fear of the truth.

His banner was next. That was for joining in a battle to test the mettle of the current dragons fighting within the arena... Honora joined despite the warnings, facing off against a boss monster and getting far in over his head. However, where various dragons fell, he managed to be one of the handful that survived such a tense, legendary event. For what he went through... A golden pauldron with a dark banner attached. A matching set for his helmet, but unable to find any joy in receiving such a marker for his latest victory.

All it felt was empty and hollow. A victory he didn't revel in...much like this one.

By now, Honora knew how to put on a facade. Fight with glory in mind, but not in heart. So once he was out of the ring- out of sight- he sighed, drooping down as he slipped into the tunnels, leading underground. It was here he would stay with the others until the guests could be shooed out and away. Only then, would he and the other warriors be allowed to leave. At the least, it was comfortable and warm. Seats and bedding were provided for however one wanted to rest after battle, and most had their spots picked out. Honora, like most veterans (a title given only to those who survived a year of the boss monster battle), had already claimed his spot... A place in the corner of the room, far right and in the darkness. Just about the only place that gave him comfort, now.

He was given enough time to lay down, blinking blearily in exhaustion, before a Nocturne hurried over, eyes bright.

"Oh, Honora! That was a wonderful fight! Glorious, even! Congratulations!" He looked up at her, rather unimpressed by her chipper attitude, but nodded his thanks all the same. He wasn't into talking right now...not that she took the hint. "Heheh, you're welcome! Um, that reminds me! Your next gift is almost done. The higher ups really have been pressing us to make something new for you and once it's done..." She giggled, sounding flustered. "Well, I just hope you like it."

"I'll be forced to wear it all the same," he grumbled sourly, though winced internally when he saw the girl's excitement visibly crumble.

"Ah, yes... Um. I'll just...let you be, then." She hurried off, and Honora decided not to give her any further hope, nor entertain the other warriors who silently stared him down. Judging him for such rude treatment of a kind girl, by all means. Let them try to swoon her, then. Fighting was wearing him down, anyways.


It was later that night did Honora finally get time on his own. Staring up at the stars while the clicking of beads and the rustling of feathers joined the sounds of the wind. A wing piece for his troubles this time, with yellow feathers and light string and the same yellow beads as the necklace of skulls around his neck. He eyed the additional two on his wings warily, then moved his gaze back up to the stars. This life...had taken so much out of him. Naive dreams of being a warrior, and for what? To lose himself? His joy and innocence, lost among the harsh, cold truths? Colored forever in his vision and mind in a crimson red color? Rust reds?
....To feel sickened by what he's become?

Wings opened wide, beads gently clicking together as he did so. The wing piece was perfect; it didn't hinder him at all, despite his wingspan.

Honora took off into the night, where he was no longer golden. No longer chosen by the Earthshaker for his power, like the arena guards always said. Blessed by the Lightweaver herself. No more of it. No more hearing it, no more warriors, no more pain and emptiness... He would fly and be free.

And perhaps someday... Someone might notice how damaged he is. Not so much outside, but inside. That they might look upon it all, and still love him. Wouldn't that be a day to look forward to...?