His earliest memories were of the scent of warm sand, stale air and old leather. The depths of the lair always smelled that way, save for when food was brought.. But the food was scarce, and he had three other siblings. Being blind, and the smallest and weakest amongst them all, his parents barely acknowledged him, perhaps simply waiting for him to die. He remembered, in those early days, being hungry. He was almost always hungry in the gnawing, desperate sort of way where every morsel of food would count.

He never knew a time when he was not in pain of some sort. If it was not the ache of hunger, it was the low, dull throb of his joints, his very bones.. He was ill formed, of poor conformation, to such a degree that even a kinder dragon might say it would be better if he simply died peacefully.

His condition made it that much harder for him to get his fair share of food, and it was all too easy for his stronger siblings to simply shove him to the side. Two of them did just that, snapping, kicking or swiping with claws, all but snatching the scraps of food from his mouth.. That is, until Serva intervened.

Two of his siblings had adopted the cold apathy toward him of his parents. He was blind, weak, and therefore.. less. But not his sister, Serva.

She too, was ill-formed and there was a wrongness in her from the start. But she was larger and stronger than him, and there was a fire to her spirit that he simply did not have. She snarled and slashed back with claws when the other two siblings tried to take from him. She would forage for him even when there was no food brought to the lair, sneaking him bits of wilted plants, or beetles she had snatched up from beneath overturned stones. There was never quite enough food, but he lived.

He thought that perhaps, should he manage to survive long enough.. that maybe, just maybe his parents apathy for him would change, but it never did. In fact, they only seemed to grow more distant toward him, and in time, almost hateful. His mother would snarl if she found him accidentally underfoot. His father would snap at him for simply being in the same part of the lair. His two other siblings learned from them, and they too became more aggressive.

Serva, continued to defend him. When he was no longer allowed in the sleeping chamber of the lair, she too, stopped sleeping there. Then, the parents began treating her in a similar manner. "Go then, choose the cursed one over the rest of your family. You disgust me." He flinched when he heard his mother speak to her in such a way.

Why? He would lay in darkness, night after night, and ask himself that. But it was not until some months later that he got his answer.

He overheard something, and almost wished he had not.

His father and mother spoke in hushed tones. They were arguing, fiercely amongst themselves.

"You know what the prophet said. One of our children will be cursed, and they will only bring misfortune and death."

"You were always so sure it was him.. But what if it is another?"

"Of course it's him, useless, blind, hideous thing. I told you we should smother him in his sleep."

Despair twisted like a living thing with teeth and claws inside of him. He almost wished they would have smothered him. He wanted to get away, far away, but he knew he could not survive alone. And he would not ask Serva to leave the lair. If he were gone, then she would perhaps be treated well again.. That much he could do for her. Then she would never have to look out for him again. But he was still a very young and very small dragon, and his heart and soul was heavy with pain and grief. He curled up, making himself as small as possible and tucked himself away in some small crevice of the lair. He would leave the next morning. He had decided.

He awoke in the middle of the night, startling awake as Serva nudged him.

"Come. We must leave, now." she said, tugging at him. He could smell smoke. He could already feel the heat of the flames.. And there was another smell. Blood? Why did she smell of blood? Was she hurt?

Frightened, he willed his frail legs to move. Leaning against her for support, she guided him out of the lair, which was soon engulfed by the flames. He heard a low, keening, mournful sound, and he realized he was the one making it.

"They did not make it." Serva said, with cold certainty. "We are the only survivors."

He wanted to ask what had happened. If a fire had consumed their lair, why did she smell so strongly of blood? It also dawned on him that she did not seem injured. He felt cold inside, and did not ask questions. It would not be the first time he did not ask, far from it.


That night was a night filled with raw terror. He had never been outside of the lair at night. There were strange scents and sounds at night that were not there during the day. Serva was relentless, guiding him through the dark. He was not sure how far they traveled, but it felt like miles. Sometimes they were forced to hide, she drug him, quite forcefully into thick underbrush, or behind some rocks, putting her claws over his muzzle to keep him from making a sound.

When he could go no further, she found them a place to sleep. He tucked himself down in the long abandoned den of some animal. Serva brought him something to eat.

For the next week, every day and night was more or less the same. They traveled, resting when they had to, eating what Serva could scrounge up. Galileo forgot what it was like to not be afraid, and to not be hungry and exhausted. He had long since given up. Despair had consumed him, and he was simply waiting for the end. Again and again, he wondered why Serva had not simply left him behind. She would fare better without him, would she not?

The first monster attack they endured happened on the seventh night.

Galileo was terrified. He turned one way and then another, not knowing where to run. Serva snarled at him to stay put. He heard the sounds of a scuffle, the cries of some creature he had never heard before. The air smelled of blood. Then, silence fell. Serva, now limping, moved to his side.

"Come. We must keep moving."

She barely spoke for the next few days.

He felt a twinge of relief when a familiar scent reached him. There were other dragons nearby. He realized, this must have been Serva's intent all along. They could not survive on their own, they had to find another clan that would accept them.

It was a small clan, a fairly new one. This one had less than a dozen dragons, and most of those dragons were fairly young in age, and many of them were small. But they clearly had food and shelter, they were better off than two young dragons alone.

Serva asked for shelter, for a place for herself and her brother to rest. The dragons scoffed at them for their haggard, blood stained appearance, and for their obvious mutations.

"Be gone from this place, vagabonds." One of them sneered. "You are no use to our clan. Leave at once or regret it."

What could be done? It would be ten dragons against Serva. She was fierce for her size and age.. But she was injured and exhausted. They turned away. Galileo began to cry quietly. So long on the road, so many hardships... He had a single scrap of thin hope that they would be able to rest in safety and fill their bellies, and it was just as quickly stripped away. She dug them a den this time. Just a place to tuck away from sight, and just far enough away from the small clan that their scents would not carry, and the sounds made by digging the den would not be heard.

"Wait here. I will return shortly." There was something familiar in her tone. The cold, detached apathy. There was no emotion to her voice whatsoever, but her scent was laced with rage. He cowered. He was too tired, and too afraid.

He did not ask what she meant to do. Part of him at least, already suspected. Thus, he was not all that surprised when he smelled smoke on the wind, less than an hour later. He could hear the frantic, panicked calls of dragons in the distance.

When Serva returned with a fire scorched basket of food, he did not ask any questions. He whispered his thanks and ate. He ate despite the dread and horror in his heart. He ate because he was half mad with hunger, and despite feeling ill over what he knew had happened.. Serva had killed for him.. again.

"They deserved it." She said after they had eaten. "They are just like our parents and siblings. They deserved to burn."

The next part, she said almost to herself. He did not think she meant for him to hear, but his hearing was keen.

"They will all burn."


They found another clan, a few days later. This was the first time Serva had asked anything of him. Or, well.. demanded. He would pretend to be a prophet, foretelling their doom. Serva would claim that they had come to warn them, and to prevent the catastrophe. It was enough to get them inside at least, and not be instantly driven away. Galileo thought, this meant they would have a home at last.

He was wrong. She had simply been waiting for them to let down their guard.

And that became the way of things. She led him from one tiny, isolated clan to the next. Sometimes, she wished to be the prophet. She would tie a scrap of cloth over her eyes, staggering and pretending to be as helpless and blind as her brother. They would beg sanctuary, and bring warnings. Regardless of how they were received, in the end, the result would be the same.

They would all burn.

Galileo would often return to what was left of the clans in the aftermath. No matter what Serva believed, he did not feel all these dragons deserved what she unleashed upon them. She merely wanted a count of the death toll. Galileo, would sometimes try to help those that survived, in whatever way he could. He found himself lying too easily, for her sake. Empathizing and comforting the often injured, surviving dragons... He knew his sister was a monster, and he was one himself, for how he simply played along with her schemes. But now, a new fear had taken hold of him. He had seen how effortlessly and without a scrap of remorse, that she had taken lives.

One wrong step, and the next life she took would have been his. She may have begun killing for his sake, but now it seemed, killing and burning had become the point of it all, not simply an act of revenge, or a way to survive.

But then, she made a mistake.

They arrived at a larger clan, far larger. A clan of fire that he heard was called Amnesty. They did not even get a chance to begin their usual act. Dragons surrounded them, more than a dozen. These were larger than the dragons in the tiny outlying clans. Their voices were deep and strong. He heard things like "That's the one" and "Grab her, quickly!" He cried out in fear as a dragon several times his size pinned him at the neck with powerful claws. He kicked out in a panic, but quite uselessly. He could hear Serva snarl in rage.

A prison cell. That was the next place he found himself. It was damp, cold and deep underground. He was given food. Not much, but just enough to keep him from going hungry. He was not sure how many days and nights past. He slept, he ate the food that was left for him. He found himself wondering if at last, this was the end. Would they kill him? Would it be a quick death? He did not even know if Serva was still alive.


He was normally able to tell the difference between night and day without too much trouble. The air smelled different. He could feel the warmth of the sun. He could hear the sounds of birds, or insects. He could often even roughly guess at the time of day or night. Within the cell, it was different. There was nothing to tell him how much time had passed.

He missed her terribly, he realized. He feared her, yes. He suspected that one day she would turn her cruelty and violence upon him, and yet she was all he had. She had defended him, protected him, and provided for him. Yet at the same time, he knew deep down that something was terribly wrong with Serva. Perhaps there had always been a wrongness to her, and circumstance had only served as a catalyst for what she had become.

How could he both love and hate her in equal measure? He hated the violence she unleashed on others. He hated the smell of smoke, and the cries of burning, dying dragons that would forever echo inside his mind. And.. he loved her. He loved her because she was his sister and she was everything to him.

He had a lot of time to think in that stretch of time without measure, down in the damp and dark. He knew the poor air was doing him no favors. He felt weaker, and developed a cough. Perhaps he would die that way, rather than being dispatched by one of the dragons of Amnesty.

He would occasionally hear sounds down in the dungeon, sounds that were not the scurry of a rat, or the drip of water from somewhere. He would hear shuffling movement and claws scraping on stone. Sometimes, it was someone bringing his food. Other times, in the distance he would hear what sounded like voices. And then, one day those voices sounded heated, as though in argument, and he realized he could hear Serva. He did not wish her dead, of course, but the surge of relief he felt, the vastness of it, was even a surprise to him.

He lurched to his feet and moved to the cell door. He listened, holding his breath as he strained to catch what was being said. He could only make out a word here and there. 'Patsy' 'Deal' 'Freedom' And he heard his name as well at some point. What were those other dragons talking to her about?

He did not have long to ponder, for within moments he heard the heavier footfalls of two larger dragons, and they were drawing closer. He shrank back from the cell door. The rusted iron screeched terribly as the cell door opened.

"This way. You are to be escorted to our borders." A gruff voice said. "Although I do not know why you were part of the deal." The dragon sounded annoyed.

"Where is Serva?" he managed to ask, and half muffled the cough that followed. His voice sounded weak and unsteady, and almost strange to him. He had not spoken the entire time he had been in the cell. He followed, however. What else was he going to do?

"The two of them are quite the pair, eh?" The other dragon said. "Couldn't get her to stop screeching about her damn brother, and then the first thing out of his mouth.." The dragon trailed off.

"Your sister is being released as well, but only because she agreed to the deal."

It was harder to navigate without Serva at his side. She was more accustomed to guiding him; the two guards however, did not know how to direct him, and he found himself bumping into walls a few times, and stumbling when he reached the stairs.

"What.. deal..?"

One of the dragons chuckled. "I suppose you will find out."

A rush of fresh air reached him when he was finally outside. Nothing had ever smelled sweeter. He could feel the sun, and a breeze. He had taken those things for granted before. And then, Serva was there, at his side as though she had never left. He leaned against her as much as he dared.

"Are you all right? What happened?" he asked, with a bit of hesitation and caution lacing his tone.

"Come. There is work to be done." She said simply, in that flat tone of hers. Her voice was often lacking in emotion, save for when she was angry, but he recognized that particular icy apathy. He knew more burning and killing were to come. His stomach turned. There was no choice but to go with her. He would not sway her in any way, instinctively, he had known to never try and question her actions, or ask her to stop. Not going with her would not change anything. He would be left behind to die, and she would continue to burn and maim, and slay without an ounce of remorse.

Yet the guilt still ate at him. Guilt for continuing to simply go along with her, for not trying harder to save the lives of those whose clans were doomed. Guilt for loving her, despite her being a monster.

"Will you tell me where we are going?" he asked, after they had spent a long time in silence. He worried that she would grow angry with him for asking, but he could not help himself.

"A clan called Patsy. The enemy of Amnesty."

From that alone, he realized what was going to happen. The deal she had made, destroy their enemies in exchange for freedom. A great loss of life, so much destruction and suffering, so the two of them could walk free. How could that be a fair exchange? The lives and freedom of two dragons, traded for the destruction of an entire clan? He thought that perhaps he should be numb to it by now, but he was not. Every clan that burned, every cry of despair, etched itself into him, and made his heart all the more heavy.

When he could smell the scent of multiple dragons again, after a lengthy journey, he asked if they were approaching Pasty.

"No, but we are close. This is a small clan, but it is on the way. Now, you will play your part here, and then once again when we reach our destination." That was the most she had said to him since they had left Amnesty. She did not have to explain to him what his part would be.

He sometimes wondered why she had to include him every time. He supposed it was helpful to already be inside the clan, and to lower the guard of the other dragons first, but he was convinced she could have unleashed the same amount of destruction without his help. Why force him to take part, even indirectly? Why keep him with her, when he was all but useless? Why care for him, protect and feed him, when nearly every other dragon in her path would be struck down?

He had also asked himself time and time again, why Serva had such hatred in her heart. He asked himself why she burned and killed. He never had the courage to ask her. Of course he didn't. He did not have the courage to stand against her actions, despite how they made him feel, and he did not have it in him to question her and risk her wrath, or worse, risk her abandoning him.

It did not matter that it pained him to deceive those dragons. It did not matter that he nearly vomited up the meager amount of plants and insects he had eaten that evening for his dinner. He played his role, just as Serva wished. He turned away when he knew the destruction was about to begin.

Coward, through and through.

He was silent the rest of the way to Patsy. He had gone through the motions, and knew he had to do so at least one more time. A lie he told himself, that perhaps once the deal was complete, she would be done. Perhaps this would be the last time. Another lie he told himself, was that if she did try to continue, he would beg her to stop. He told himself one more lie, for good measure. If she did not stop after this time, he would try to stop her himself. He did not know how to do that, however. Poison? Killing her in her sleep somehow? The thoughts came to him, although just as soon as they came, he knew he would never go through with it. He could not do that to her, and he feared the suffering he would endure if he failed.

But would he not deserve it?


They reached Patsy and were greeted with caution, and some mild suspicion. That was of course expected, and more than fair, he felt. There was no hostility, as there had been in some of the other clans. He walked among them, playing the role he had played so many times before. The only time he did not play it, was when Serva herself wished to be the blind prophet. This time, something happened that had never happened before. He was stopped, just as he began his act.

"We already have a prophet." A dragon said. She was young and not much larger than himself, from what he could tell. "He speaks of doom and destruction all the time. He's even blind, like you." Another dragon laughed.

"He's been going on about the whole clan being burned for weeks now. Is this just a blind dragon thing? Pretending you can tell the future?" Another dragon scoffed.

"Maybe it makes them feel important."

Galileo froze. "Could you take me to him?" He felt a strange surge of feelings. There was a nervous near-panic, along side the near desperate desire to meet this other dragon. Was someone else playing the same terrible game as he and Serva? Or was it possible this dragon really was a prophet?

He was lead to a patch of tall grass that was quite soft. The top of his head brushed against something. He sniffed and raised his head slightly, realizing it was the overhanging branch of a tree. This 'Prophet' was curled near the trunk, tucked away in a small nest of sorts.

"The harbinger comes." He spoke in a thin voice, that was heavy with sorrow. Galileo's pulse sped up.

"...What do you mean?" He asked.

"Harbinger. One who fortells the arrival of another. In your case, you come to warn us of the very destruction you bring." Again, the small voice simply seemed sad, and quite resigned. "I knew you were coming. Just as I know what comes with you will destroy us. There is no changing it."

"No.. I did not need the definition of.." he began, before realization sunk in. He shrank back, and cold fear sank into him.

"You.. really are.." He began.

"I know that which will come to pass. I do not always know all things, but I have seen the death of this clan in dreams and visions. I have seen it now for several moons. I have felt it draw closer. And I warned those of this clan, although I knew they would not listen. I cannot convince any of them to leave, and I will not leave, for I will not survive alone. I chose to die here, rather than alone and lost."

Galileo understood that much. He too, knew the same helplessness. This dragon was so much like him, but also, so much more than he was.

"I will get you away from here.. before.."

"No." The Prophet said sadly. "You will not."

The flames came. Galileo reacted purely on instinct. He threw himself over the Prophet, spreading his otherwise useless wings, and trying to curl them around the other blind dragon's body. Serva, would see him. He thought to himself. She would not burn him.

Although he was blind and it made little difference, he still squeezed his eyes shut. He wished he could block out the sounds, and the thick, choking smell of burning flesh, fur and feathers.

It felt like hours, but at last it seemed to be over. He finally rose and crawled off of the Prophet, who had simply laid there, numbly accepting. Did his intervention mean the Prophet would survive? Did he change the seer's fate? He had never so directly intervened before, but this had been different. He'd never felt that kind of instant kinship with another dragon. Admittedly, there was also a small twinge of jealousy as well. This dragon, was what he pretended to be, after all.

"It's .. over now, and you still live.. Please, leave with me!" he begged. "I can lead you away, and you can find another clan.." He knew deep down, he was not being logical, but also, desperation had gripped him.

"Your sister will not allow such a thing. In every place she has ever departed from, only death and destruction are left behind in her wake. I have lost my clan and my home, and I have known for quite some time that I will not survive this day."

Galileo shook his head, and started toward him once more, but then froze when he heard familiar steps, and the scrape of talons on stone. Serva.

"You know too much." She said, from directly behind the Prophet. Galileo cried out in horror, for he knew what was coming.

There was a strangled cry, and a wet crunching sound.. a few weak gasps, frantic shuffling kicks... then silence.

"The fire will spread, come." That was all she said to him. Defeated, he trailed slowly after her.

He had never even known the Prophet's name.

They did not speak for the whole journey back to Amnesty. He could not stop himself from running what the Prophet had said through his mind again and again.

'Every place she has ever departed from...' But that was not completely true, was it? She had not burned Amnesty, although he wondered if that was her intention upon returning, for that icy silence lingered, and she pressed their journey onward with a relentless focus.

When they stopped to rest, he found he could not sleep, despite his exhaustion. Serva. She would never stop, until she herself fell. He could hear the sound of her breathing, slow and steady, and knew that she, herself now slept. He crept away from her side, and it was some time before he found something of use. On the ground, near the smell of old blood, he came across a broken spear. It had clearly once belonged to one of the beastclan creatures. He seized it, and crept back to where his sister lay sleeping.

For perhaps half an hour, he stood there in the dark. His unseeing eyes filled with tears. Half a dozen times or more, he raised the spear, pointing it toward where he knew her throat would be. But he trembled, faltered, and lowered it again. He knew he should and at the same time, knew he could not. At last, with a strangled sob, he tossed the spear aside, and crawled a short distance away. At last exhaustion won, and he felt into a restless sleep, filled with memories of death, flames, and acrid smoke.

He was numb for the rest of the journey to Amnesty, numb even to the heat and horror of Amnesty's destruction. It burned, and not by Serva's doing, and he understood what the Prophet had meant.

He wondered if it would ever be over.




Serva watched as Amnesty burned. There was no horror in it for her, but neither was there any sort of joy. It simply was. She felt perhaps a vague annoyance and regret that she had not done it herself. After all, when she made the deal, she had vowed to herself that she would return to destroy them. She sneered as the few survivors fled, crawling away from the ruins of their once great clan. She watched them go, and after a while, she followed with her brother in tow.

Every moment was suffering. Her mutations brought pain. With every waking moment she was burning, and thus, they all deserved to burn. She had realized this as a youngster, when she had overheard her parents considering ending the life of her brother. It had begun then, her thirst for death, to inflict the suffering she felt every moment upon everything around her... All but one. One who she was sure hated her now.. But she could never hate him. He understood suffering. She was baffled by him, for he never wanted others to feel his pain the way she did. Even when he held a spear and considered killing her, while he thought she was asleep, she had never hated him.

The rest of the world could burn and die, so long as her brother remained.

But perhaps, for a time, the killing could cease. Her brother needed a long rest after all. The survivors had to be going somewhere, and Galileo deserved some peace.

How many times had she considered leaving him somewhere? Letting him live out his life in a quiet little clan, tucked away from the horrors of the world? But she did not want to leave him. She had no one else. She could not be one of them, and she did not want to be alone.

There was no way to win, and there was only one way this would finally end.

But for now, her brother needed to rest.