Boreas

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Boreas (Βορέας), god of the north wind and of winter

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Boreas’ parents had always thought they’d deserved more. Or perhaps “deserved” wasn’t the right word—they felt they were entitled to it. So when their son was born with snowflakes falling from his eyes, they took it as proof that they were above all other dragons. “It’s a sign from the Icewarden,” they declared. “We’re blessed...No, we’re divine! The rest of you ought to give us the respect we deserve...”

But they were shunned by the rest of their clan, as they always had been, for their haughty, sneering attitude, their domineering ways. Relegated to a den on the edge of the clan’s territory, the Imperials raised Boreas largely on their own. There were other dragons, servants and such—

“—but do not bother to get to know them, Boreas. They’ll be gone eventually, those unfaithful wretches. And even if they stayed, they’re not worth talking to. How dare they even look at you!”

From his earliest days, Boreas heard this and other poisonous words: how he was special and favored, how everyone else was far beneath him. His parents frequently paraded him around, declaring to others that they were blessed by the gods. Other dragons did pause to look, more out of curiosity than anything else. But Boreas was not allowed to interact with them, even to play with other children. “They’re far beneath your notice,” his parents sneered, “just like everyone else....”

And so even at a tender age, he grew rotten from within, contemptuous and cruel, believing all the words his parents fed him about how he was always entitled to more, destined for greater things.

But his parents didn’t teach him about the world itself—the seasons, for example, or how to hunt or fish. About other lands, other dragons...Learning led to understanding, which in turn led to caring, and as far as Boreas’ parents were concerned, he didn’t need such garbage.

As a young hatchling, Boreas believed his parents without question. As he grew older, however, doubts inevitably arose.

“Your eyes are a sign of divine favor! We’ll be blessed even more...soon...”

But “soon” never came, leaving Boreas to wonder: Why weren’t they?

“We deserve a palace, with more servants to tend to us! We ought to have...”

But why didn’t they?

“These other dragons are nothing. They ought to respect us...”

But why wouldn’t they?

Other younglings might have realized that their parents were wrong. Perhaps Boreas did, but he just couldn’t accept it. To do so would be to reject the certainty that he was special. That he deserved more. And how dare the world deny him that! How dare they...!

He started to become rebellious. His parents kept him under tight supervision, but they had grown lax, and it was easy for their increasingly volatile son to slip out of the den and confront other dragons. The adults simply ignored him, but the other younglings of the clan were brash, as contemptuous of Boreas as he was of them.

When they were younger, their tussles were easy to ignore. But as they grew older, the other younglings’ interactions with the arrogant Imperial grew more acrimonious. Combat was yet another field Boreas’ parents had neglected, and so he was invariably the loser of these fights. He fled home, burning with rage, the other younglings’ taunts ringing in his ears.

There was no sympathy from his parents, either. “Disgraceful,” his father spat. “Consorting with riffraff...”

“It hurts,” Boreas whined. But his father only sneered scornfully at him, fangs gleaming. “And it serves you right. You’ll listen to us from now on, you stupid boy.”

Silent servants came to tend Boreas’ wounds. He endured their fussing for a few minutes, and then sent them scurrying with a flick of his tail. “You said they would make way for me! You said—”

“Soon,” Boreas’ mother snapped. He turned towards her, his eyes glinting silver. “Soon,” he repeated mockingly. “You always say that! You don’t even know what you—”

He broke off. He hardly noticed as his parents haughtily turned away, leaving him to contemplate what he’d just said. For a moment, he’d actually been about to admit that they’d been wrong....

“No,” he told himself fiercely, “they might be idiots, but they can’t be wrong about me. I am blessed, I am destined for greater things. They can be wrong about everything else, but not about me!”

He went along quietly when his parents summoned him some days later, but the doubt continued festering in his heart. In the main lair, they once again flaunted him before their clanmates. Boreas had let the words roll over him before, but he now noticed how the other dragons just passed them by. Those who did pause to look gazed upon him only with boredom, disdain, or apathy.

The snicker came from behind him: “Aww, look, he’s back—and he brought his mommy and daddy with him.”

Boreas turned, saw a cluster of younglings: the same dragons who’d taunted him some days before. White-hot rage coursed through his body, and he leaped, roaring, towards them—

—only for the Obelisk in the lead to knock him flat onto his belly with a single lazy blow. He lay, stunned, as she and the others laughed at him again.

Murmurs rose from the rest of the crowd: “What’s wrong with this kid?” — “He went absolutely ballistic.” — “He’s just like his parents!”

The rage arose in Boreas again. This time, it found a new target: As the rest of the clan watched in shock, he unleashed his fury against his parents, screaming accusations, insults, curses. How useless they were, how foolish. How he would never be like them, never should have let them parade him around like some exotic pet. He was special. He was divine. He was above everybody else, including them.

His parents’ faces went livid with rage, and they screamed back at their son, “You worthless whelp! We brought you into this world, boy; you owe us everything!” But Boreas shut out their words. He wouldn’t listen to them again. He wouldn’t listen to anybody....

He stormed out of the lair, pausing only to grab supplies from a stall. The clan didn’t argue against this. The loss of a few supplies was a small price to pay to finally be rid of this parasite.

~ ~ ~
Rage gave Boreas strength, and he flew farther than he normally would have. He didn’t notice fatigue setting in; he was too occupied with his inner turmoil. He was so angry: at his clan for humiliating him, his parents for disgracing him, himself for having been led along by them for all these years.

But mostly he was enraged at the world because how dare it be this way. Didn’t it know who he was? Didn’t it care? How dare the world continue turning as if he didn’t matter!

Whether he willed it or not, these darker thoughts dragged him down. He landed on the edge of a rough-looking lair and stormed forward, intent on demanding a place to stay.

But his footsteps slowed as he looked around. The lair wasn’t merely rough—it was damaged, destroyed. Snow clumped thickly on the ground in huge drifts, and Boreas staggered as an appalling stench washed over him. He stumbled against a drift, sending some of the snow tumbling to the ground. A patch of mottled flesh showed beneath—

A dead body.

Suddenly Boreas realized: Something vile had happened here. Not some mere battle, but something awful and dark that still contaminated the ground, the air. The miasma almost weighed him down. The snowdrifts—each one, he now knew, cloaking a bloated corpse—seemed to lean ominously towards him.

But he still staggered on, deeper into the desolation, because under the decay and destruction was something sweeter....

It had spurred the conflict on, and even when there were no more souls left to feed upon, it remained, for it was hungry, always hungry. It had sensed the darkness in Boreas’ heart and pulled him here, where it could feed upon him.

“Yes, you are destined for something more,” it murmured in his ear. He stumbled past broken homes and mutilated bodies with no horror now, only morbid fascination. Absently, he imagined his clanmates lying in the snow. His mother...his father...

And he smiled.

“They dared to make a fool out of you. They dared to anger you. Well, no more. You are indeed divine. All you have to do is embrace the power that is rightfully yours...

“All will make way for you. Respect you...even fear you.”

“When?” Boreas couldn’t help asking. And the voice responded, “Soon.”

The certainty wrapped around him like a blanket. And he believed it, as he had never before believed his parents, even himself.

He smiled as the air around him darkened and snow began falling more thickly, caking his scales. At the end of his journey, something gleamed like a promise of glory, something of scintillating gold...

Glorious purpose. And it would indeed be his...soon.

~ written by Disillusionist (254672)
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