Opus

He was dying.

Erratic wingbeats, growing more uneven the more panic rose, struggled to keep the Skydancer airborne as he spiraled down, down, too fast, too far down towards the bleak, barren wastes of the Abiding Boneyard. The winds had carried him here – to this land of death and decay, of all places! And for what? Perhaps the universe, in its infinite mystery, had a sick sense of humor. Leading a solitary, doomed-to-death dragon to the land of the diseased and dying was certainly fitting. He would have laughed if not for the panic that seized his heart.

His wingtips felt horribly, dreadfully cold – with a sinking feeling, he tried once more to flap up and away from the approaching earth. This time, his wings – stubborn, stubborn wings! – were unresponsive. He could feel the telltale stiffness – the gut-wrenching crackle as flesh tried to bend and break the ice that had spontaneously formed upon such vital appendages. The chill, selfish as ever, was not content with inhibiting the small dragon’s wings, no—he felt the same, crystalline ice forcing its way through and over his scales – first upon his paws, then his tail, then his throat…

He couldn’t breathe. Wheezing in alarm as he began to plummet like a stone, Opus squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for impact.

A thud, a terrible, horrendous pain, and then blackness.

”He’s waking up,” a soft, suspicious voice roused the Skydancer from pain-wracked sleep – two pale eyes fluttered open, finding themselves looking into four, beady blue eyes. The mirror seemed just as startled as Opus was – as the Skydancer attempted to weakly scrabble away, the four-eyed dragon hissed suspiciously, backing up and revealing gleaming, deadly teeth. But there was more fear than hostility in the stranger’s energy – a wariness that Opus could feel, almost as powerful as his own.

This dragon was afraid of him.

Grimacing as he stood, Opus knew why – he was, for the most part, unharmed by his fall. An anomaly, to be certain, especially when one hit the ground at such a velocity. Cracks and shatters had formed upon the icy patches that had broken through his body – more than he had ever seen before. The ice had taken the brunt of the impact; already, he watched as some of the pieces began to crystallize and heal, leaving his frame the same as it once was.

The lightning mirror rumbled low in his throat – a suspicious, unnerved sound – and took a few more steps away. ”You’re colder than death, stranger,” he accused, a growl in his voice, crest ruffling uncertainly.

Opus recalled that Mirrors were able to read heat signatures with their smaller eyes; surely, he was an anomaly to that, even by Ice dragon standards. But how could he bring himself to explain? ”You aren’t wrong,” he murmured, gaze shifting to avoid the other dragon’s questioning look. ”I—it’s a long story. The ice – it’s a part of me now. I was trying to—I wanted to become the strongest mage any dragon had ever seen.”

The truth hurt to admit – but, in a way, he had succeeded. The spell he had cast upon himself had certainly… augmented his natural capacities. He simply hadn’t envisioned the consequences. Even now, he could feel the ice, creeping, constant, ever-expanding. One day, it would consume him entirely. It seemed to recede for now, perhaps encumbered by the sheer amount of effort its defense of him had taken. But it never remained idle for long.

Antennae flaring, he was aware of a new presence then – or perhaps she had always been there. Still as a statue, an obsidian Skydancer stood, face hidden behind a mask of skull and feather. Only a pair of gleaming red eyes expression unnervingly unreadable, showed through.

She was a Skydancer, but not one he had ever seen. As she prowled towards him, he took an uncertain step back, attempting to read her intentions. Nothing. Magic, or… something else? Even her body language seemed… wrong. Or perhaps it was the lack of body language. She seemed to do nothing but stare, occasionally tilting her head almost imperceptibly.

”A guest,” she breathed out softly, words oozing from her mouth. ”Dirge, must you be so… unwelcoming to dragons in need?” Briefly, she turned to regard the mirror, who, to Opus’ surprise, seemed a bit flustered, ducking his head and murmuring a sheepish apology.

A Mirror listening to a Skydancer. Curious.

”You’re in no state to be flying off like that, friend,” the Skydancer continued, in a soft, monotonous tone that didn’t really sound friendly at all. ”Come. Our healer will take a look at you – and I will hear the story you have to tell.”

Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t deny the request, encumbered by frost as he was. As the Skydancer and Mirror shifted to flank his sides, all Opus to do was nod nervously, dipping his head in accordance.