Romero

When the little cavern was discovered, it was a shock that any were alive at all - two Gaolers curled around a next of Banescale eggs. Even for the Icewarden's children, it had simply been too cold, and where they once had vivid scales and bright fur, now only a sickly rot remained.

But they remained, even in this strange unlife, and so did their charges.

When the eggs hatched, however, it was clear that despite the best efforts of their guards, the hatchlings too had suffered from the cold. The same rot, the same wounds never quite healing. But worse was their dull eyes, their blank stares. The cold had driven the song from their minds and the fire from their hearts.

These are not the monsters we were meant to destroy, not any longer.

And so the Gaolers took pity on these lost children - for while their broken bodies would never truly heal, their spirits could.

---

The first thing he remembers is the cold, seeping in - and then warmth. Not enough of it, not nearly enough, but it was better than the numbness. Better than nothing at all.

When he wakes, the world is too warm, and too bright for him. The cold stayed with him, stayed inside him? He doesn't know. He curls tight around the other hatchlings to share their coolness, hides from the sun. And as he grows, he learns to dig, to bury himself in the cool earth, to explore the deep caverns where the light and heat never reach, and where he can feel at home.