Malphas

His form was so frail, so tiny and meek. The membranes of his wings had barely become opaque. Lanky legs shook as he took trembling steps forward to lap at the basin of water that had been provided to him. He collapsed in a heap as his tongue made contact with the cool liquid, sending his whole, far too large head straight into the shallow pool.

This was... okay, actually. The hatchling pushed all of his feeble strength into his legs to crawl further into the clay vessel, resting the tip of his snout on the rim to greedily suck in blessed air through his nostrils. There was no sensation that he could have desired more than reprieve from the searing heat beneath his scales.

He couldn't remember a time before the cramps and fog and agonizing pain.

But it was okay. For now, he could rest in the water's embrace.

Perhaps he was entitled to this.

---

Time had entirely lost its meaning. His four purple eyes hadn't been able to see through of pain for what felt like an eternity; day and night were foreign concepts to him. He wanted it to end. The Others did too. He had been able to vaguely make out words sometimes, back before his ears had been filled with the same blazing haze that had taken his sight.

"Poor thing. Wouldn't it just be kinder to give him Siltvine? He's suffered so much."

"...don't know if he'll have much of a mind left if he does recover."

"It could spread. We still don't know what it is."

But those voices had been nothing but a distant buzz for so long. If they were right, he'd never be able to hear again. It was just one more thing he'd lose before he stopped thinking altogether.

So it was a surprise when, through the suffocating heat and numbness, he heard a deep rumbling. A clear rumbling. A rumbling that spoke to him.

Have faith, Malphas, it groaned, for the light at the end of this dark, dark tunnel is drawing near.

He did not know what a Malphas was, but an end sounded nice. The rumble in his head turned into a gurgle that he somehow identified as laughter.

Malphas is the name that you have earned for your dedication to me. You have succeeded where many have failed. You will be feared by many for this feat, and you will leave them to their quivering without the enlightenment that you will have cultivated in your suffering.

But you are so young, yet. Understanding will come with time.

Open your eyes, Malphas, and learn to enact my will.

---

When Malphas awoke, it was to the sound of hacking outside of his den. Someone was coughing, wet and congested. He could smell blood on the air.

It was all too familiar.

Survive, her voice chided him. Your strength has granted you a chance to live. Use it.

Mother was right. Mother was always right.

When she had told him that he could reach out and touch his captors with his affliction, when she told him that he could control, quash, and extend his contagion beyond his mortal frame, she had spoken in utter honesty. He owed it to her to make it through this ordeal with the power that he had been so generously granted.

Malphas was not strong. He could barely manage to maneuver his feet into a loping trot, much less fly. But it would be enough. In the throes of their torment, his clan didn't notice his small, dark form slip out of his prison and into the surrounding brambles. The thorns that tugged at his flesh were barely noticeable when compared to the burn that had so recently held him in its grasp.

He left the clan behind. The only way forward was away.

It was only after many months had passed that he would stumble upon a bone-littered clearing while tracking his prey through the Tangled Woods. Seeing the remains caused something, dark and writhing and ugly, to rear its head within his chest. He had never questioned his actions before.

After all, wasn't questioning the gift that he had been given tantamount to sacrilege?