Verdant

Verdant had perfected his camouflage. There wasn’t a single creature in the Viridian Labyrinth, Save for maybe the Gladekeeper herself that could distinguish him from between the emerald leaves. Many a day would go by as he enjoyed watching the dryads from his hidden perches, them completely oblivious to their audience.

This wore on Verdant. Being a master at something is an incredible achievement; that day in which you surpass your teacher and know that you’ve reached every goal there for you. It was terribly lonely. The downside of having such good camouflage in such a densely forested area is that even when you want to be found, nobody can see you. At that point you’re no better than a lost spirit, fluttering through the trees searching for someone who can see you. A voice through the trees with no body to accompany it.

He left. To the only place he knew for a fact that he’d stand out. The Wastelands can be harsh, but Verdant could feel insanity growing every time someone passed him without even noticing. Even a plagued waste is better than the creeping existential dread making you question whether you exist at all.

The transition was difficult to say the least. It’s hard to explain to another dragon that you forgot that they could see you, especially when you’ve lost much of your voice from not properly speaking with anyone in years. Funnily enough one of his closest friends was found in a blind dragon named Cirolanides. Ciro didn’t need to see Verdant to make him feel like he existed. Despite his ailment, or maybe because of his ailment, Ciro helped him overcome much of the hurt of feeling unseen by proving that he didn’t have to be seen to be understood.