Reaper

. Two dragons huddling over a nest lined in skills and crested with a crown of ribs wait with breath held in anticipation. Three eggs within, trembling from the efforts of the small wyrms inside as they struggle against the tight, leathery barrier between them and the world.



. Their faces were alight with joy as the first soft honks and squeaks could be heard, little claws weakly pulling back the shell that sheltered their tiny developing bodies as they had grown. First one, then another, crawled free abd were scooped into loving claws to be looked over, cleaned, and then named.

. They anxiously waited for the last trembling egg, until finally a hatchling slid from the slimey, leathery sack like a drowned rat. Four bright beady eyes of brilliant crimson met those of his parents, initially, with fear. Fear of the world he was brought into, of stone and slime, bones and rot. He was lifted away from the nest, and as the mucus slid away, deep red and black scales were brought into the light, and markings like old bleached bones sparkled on the wet scales.

. He was settled beside the other two. One, shining black and green, four eyes a darker red than that of the new arrival; the other, arriving just after the first, black and red, with many red eyes lining his body, all blinking at him. Two brothers, and to them, one sister.



. He grew up always looking to his brothers in jealousy. The one of black and green, a mirror like he, yet always quicker, always stronger, always getting praised and going on hunts while he stayed behind. Little Reaper, named for an expectation he never lived up to, still training in the basics with dragonets half his size and age. And unlike the brother with many eyes, he wasnt a little fae, so he was always compared to his most successful brother, and he envied his multigaze sibling for that. Meanwhile, his parents tried to connect with their third child, who was becoming more distant by the day-



. I was always a humiliation to my family and my pack, from every angle. My instincts were strong and senses keen, as expected for my breed, but when it came to using them in shows of brute strength, I always came out the other side a failure.



. I soon realized that continuing my training was useless- I would never be what they wanted me to be, and I looked inside myself and found so many things that they would be even more ashamed of me for if I uttered a word to them about it. I knew they would. So instead, I focused on sharpening my mind, and not my claws. My tongue, not my fangs. I would be strong in a way they would never expect.



. The rebel pirates from the light flight were willing enough to aide in my escape, and the disguise fit perfectly. The location was perfect as well, a place my pack dares not go for fear of supposedly maren-infested waters. Maybe once, but if they had been clever enough to check sooner, they would have noticed how thickly the rot had grown to contaminate even the water over time, and how only the most slimey and primitive forms of life could bear the poisoned bay now.



. My blood was practically indiscernable from the shining red of my scales that night. My plan was simple, as all good plans are, and whether they didnt care to look for me or if my escape was just that good I can only guess at. Either way, by dawn, I was setting sail to travel around the great continent. I was no longer just running away like a coward.