Schattenfeuer's dragon Chahin

Personal Style

Apparel

Skin

Scene

Physical Attributes

Battle Stats

Measurements

Length

3.48 m

Wingspan

2.32 m

Weight

72.59 kg

Genetics

Sky
Piebald

Cornflower
Bee

Abyss
Glowtail

Hatchday

Dec 12, 2020
(3 years)

Breed

Adult
Spiral

Eye Type

Water
Innocent

Level 25 Spiral

Max Level

STR

AGI

DEF

QCK

INT

100

VIT

MND

Lineage

Parents

Phiarus
Rona

Offspring

none

Biography

__._

Chahin Miccaelis.
↠ Crybaby, Crybaby, won't you cry some more?

"And now was acknowledged the presence of the Red Death. He had come like a thief in the night. And one by one dropped the revellers in the blood-bedewed halls of their revel, and died each in the despairing posture of his fall..."

How often had he been told to stop crying? In the last months alone, far too many times. But it wasn’t something he could control, the tears came because there was no more room inside himself, he could not swallow anymore. This was too much, from the loveless home to the absent, cold father to the whiplash between total isolation and his brother’s company. Father couldn’t look at him because he had her eyes.

Who was she, that elusive being that could uplift and shatter lives like they meant nothing? Were nothing but written words on a letter destined to be torn asunder by a scorned lover. There was very little he could learn about her, not anymore. Father made sure of this, he took everything she loved and burnt it, buried it like she was. Put to rest between the earth and the grass, hidden underneath a blanket of white roses, her favorites.

He remembers only vaguely, happier times, when the home wasn't grey and cold, when the hallways didn’t echo with ghosts past but rather the laughter of a living family. When it was a home rather than a mausoleum. Not that Father had ever been the most expressive, always somewhat hindered by stunted emotions and trapped under a layer of ice. But she had been the sun to melt him out, piece by piece, layer by layer she thawed this icy heart out. Or so the story was told.

The one thing that resonated the most within him, the most vivid memory of her must have been her touch. A kiss on the forehead after tugging him into bed, a smile that glittered of stardust and eyes bright blue. She wasn’t a beauty that stood out among the Empire’s finest, maybe a little above average, simple in her likes and her desires. But that didn’t make her any less valid, any less existent. And yet, now it seemed like his brother and him appeared out of nowhere, stemming from their father but no sign or proof of the womb that bore them.

An empty room was all that remained, empty and at the same time covered in too many memories. Father couldn’t take it, he even tore down the wallpapers, shattered the window’s glass and boarded it all up, locked and covered in cobwebs, dust and rust. Ismael had been so, so, so angry. Ismael remembered, he did not. So his brother made it his duty to make them remember - him and Father - with the help of Father’s little brother. To no use. The ice was back and it had overtaken with a vengeance all that she had managed to thaw out.

There was screaming, arguing. Nasty, hurtful things were said and never taken back, apologies were bitter and false, spat out like poison darts. Never to make up, only to enrage furthermore. And at some point, Ismael no longer returned home. Buried underneath a flood of papers, he claimed Open Secrets needed every single one of the few scholars and diplomats it possessed. Nothing he could do, nothing he wanted to do against it, because it took him away from the home that was no longer a home.

But at the same time, Ismael abandoned him. Left him to fend for himself with a cold Father that couldn’t bear to look at him and an uncle that didn’t stay too long either. At least said Uncle brought him into the folds of the Temple of Respite. Hidden underneath the crystalline dome of Obsidian Tower highest, the priests worked and healed. Fever, wounds and sickness, nothing could not be healed by them, there was something for everyone. So why not join? He bore the gift of magicka, from Father, one of the few good things.

They, however, forgot to mention that even Priest Apprentices had to join in the joint attempts with the Empire’s war. That they were sent, together with the Knight-Enchanters to support the Undying Army, work just behind the raging front lines to heal and prevent sepsis from killing more men than the actual fighting. The Knights were frightening, black armor and dead eyes wherever he looked, they lived and breathed violence with the same thoughtless ease he used mana to mend a bleeding wound.

The General was the worst of all, infamously known within the Empire and beyond, they called him the Demon of the Red Haze. For wherever he went, fire and smoke and blood would redden the sky and soil the earth, distort reality into a hellish version of itself. Surely, the General’s son must be just as bad then. He entered the camp with the expectations of meeting a cruel leader and a ruthless spawn of hell.

He was met with gentle eyes and kind smiles as he tended to the son’s wound. He witnessed less of a Demon’s roaring and more the fussing of a worried father, General and son joking and bantering, no sign of fire and fury. It was so normal, so simple and peaceful, contradicting everything he had been taught and told. And as Arsene reached out once again, he thought maybe, just maybe, he could finally understand a quarter of Father’s hurting.

This time around, the tears he cried were those of disbelieving happiness. Maybe he was fooling himself, as Arsene dried them with his sleeve, cradled his head against his chest, but those tears of happiness?

They felt warmer.

Arsene
When they first met, he was so
frightened of him, the General's son.
Too easily he could have snuffed out
their future by mere accident. In the
end he was grateful he didn't. That
he was reached and reached out
himself.

___

code & assets by archaic #19153

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