Pagari

The night was cold and silent, like any other night on the icefields. It was stable then, all those years ago, the ice yet to be affected by the heat and pollution of fire and lightning. Gaolers across the fields huddled into their dens, whispering bedtime stories to hatchlings that would become the ancestors of the softer tundras. They squeezed together for warmth, for magic was weaker in those days and even the strongest of mages could not completely ward off the chill. Still, it was a good night. A normal night.

But a lone intruder glided through, a dragon with the body of wind, magic of shadow, and the curiosity of arcane. No one can quite remember what this dragon could have been like, whether they had looped like a spiral or beat massive wings like a skydancer. Regardless, it made its path to the largest structure it could find: The Fortress of Ends. It flew above the clouds, where the gaolers could not see it, and scouted out the area, watching for dens concealed by snow. The fortress itself was not the goal. Only a fool would try to break into the icy prison, and this dragon did not think itself a fool.

Instead, the dragon flew low over the ground, coated in an illusion of snow. It was a weak illusion, flickering periodically, but it would have to do. The dragon stopped near a cave and peaked inside.

The dragon had been lucky. Two gaolers, strong and proud and fierce, laid near a nest of three eggs. The eggs were still the smooth, soft shape of any newly "born" dragon egg: it would take about a week for the magic to completely influence them. (Today, eggs are influenced mere seconds after creation. Most dragons are unaware there is a time they are not elemental.) This was exactly what the dragon had been looking for.

Every dragon knew that gaolers were never hatched outside of the icefields. Their society was too strict to allow it. Other magics were too corruptible, they believed. Too susceptible to the dark tendrils of the shade. So as soon as a gaoler learned they were going to have hatchlings, they were made to move into homes closer to the heart of the flights magic. No expecting mother or stray egg left the icefields. And this fact had summoned a deep curiosity in the dragon. For their entire history, gaolers had been locked away. What, the dragon wondered, would happen to an egg hatched somewhere so far away from its homeland? Would it take on a new element? Would it waste away?

And that curiosity is what pushed the dragon to silently into the barren cave these gaolers had made their home. It carefully weaved over the sleeping parents, delicately stepping between their twined tails and slowly lifting its feet above their faces and antlers. The thief picked out the largest egg and gently placed it into its bag. Then, as silently as it entered, it left.

Prompt: was born before gaolers were allowed to leave the icefields. His egg was lost/stolen and lost again in Earth, where he hatched as an earth dragon. He returned to the icefields, and was frozen for being unnatural (hence the shardflanks). He was revived years later as a source of information for the gaolers, but escaped as soon as possible.