’Do the bindings serve to honour his power? Or do they serve to spare us a might we could never hope to contain?’

Balthus was born a brilliant blue gem beneath a canopy of leaves dripping with sunlight in the suburbs of the Gladekeeper’s kingdom. He was a sweet hatchling; quite skilled with tone and mimicry of the lulling song of the trees, but otherwise no more or less extraordinary than his hatchmates.

And then, through nothing but his own misfortune, an unknown entity was sealed within his elemental core, trapped forever by brilliant gold chains that swung over his mouth and down his sides.

Just like that, his world changed.

No longer could Balthus use his voice, no longer could he sing without being pulled back by the restraints. He could whistle, he could eat and drink, but to open his mouth any more than was necessary was a task. Coupled with the biting at his throat from the entity locked in his soul, it was too much a challenge for him to happily undertake.

And so, he was silenced. And in silence, he hid.