The white glint of Nastia’s golden claw-covers in the sunlight should have gave her away instantly - but the day was white-hot, and her decorated figure was all but hidden in the air’s mirage.



“Now,” Said Catacomb, squinting out into the midday light, “Forgive me if I’m wrong, but that sky doesn’t look like all mirage to me.” Shading his head with his wings, Catacomb perched on a rock just above the sand, his tail curled around his long claws.
“What do you know, Catacomb? You’re hardly ever here!” Quinton barked from beside him.
“Alright, alright.” Catacomb smiled, “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He attempted to lay smugly down onto the ground, but he burned himself in the process, making him scramble up comically and kick up plumes of sand.
“Nice one, Catacomb. If there is something over there, you can count on them thinking you’re an idiot.” Quinton said humorously.

The lights twinkling in the mirage grew, getting brighter and more painful to look at, until colour broke through, grand and dark, rust-red spiny wings framing a green figure, the whole shape gilded with gold. Quinton and Catacomb looked at each other. Quinton scrambled off.
“What?!” Catacomb cried. “You had better be calling for help!” If Quinton heard, he didn’t reply. Catacomb was left standing alone, as proudly as he could muster, as the shadow of this enormous gilded dragon enveloped him.

“My name is Nastia.” The figure announced. “I am a warrior, come from High Arcane Court.”
“High Arcane Court,” Catacomb repeated, half-trembling. Nastia relaxed, taking her towering shape closer to eye level with the dragon she greeted.
“And you are..?”
“Oh! Me. I’m Catacomb,” He began smoothly, recovering his wits, “A traveller come from this very clan.”
“And you represent these dragons, no?”
“...No. But I can help you. What do you seek?”
“Why, glory! Justice! Respect! Does not everyone seek the same things? Let me tell you a story, Catacomb.”

In an hour of sitting and chatting, Nastia painted an image to Catacomb of her life so far: Arcane smoke curling out of brewing-pots, armour forged in fire and magic, battles leaving blood and destruction, decorated chieftains offering poisoned wine, all the gold and gems one could imagine, piled, twisted into jewellery, set in cursed amulets, and worn on rich warriors.

“Nastia, your life is far too grandiose for you to seek glory from our clan.”
“Whyever not? I will elevate your friends to a position of power and respect!”
“Well, I can’t speak for my clan; I’m not often here, being a traveller. But I’m sure we’d be happy to have you. You seem unmatched in strength and talent to my peers.”

At this, Nastia stood to her full height again, tall and proud, and a magical smoke twisted around her spines. She looked out at the clan, its storefronts and medic dens colourful in the bright sunlight. Finally, the toil of hundreds of battles were behind her. Here, perhaps she could be safe, if only until she was found by her comrades once again.
Written by @ghostpath