Mickylee

Happy as a melon in a watermelon patch, Mickylee soared happily through the sky. He had only recently grown into his wings enough to fly, and was talking full advantage of the breezes coming off the Windswept Plateau of his home patch. Catching a particularly strong breeze, he set off to explore a bit, gliding out over the waters of the Sea of A Thousand Currents, the only known breeding ground of the fruit he knew was part of him. Alas, he was not to stop there today, his wings carrying him out over the purple trees and glowing mushrooms of the Tangled Wood.
He had not, unfortunately, anticipated flying straight into Talonok territory. Which is of course exactly what he did. He was, generations removed or not, a melon, and still carried the sugary sweet flesh and scent of his heritage. And for this reason alone, he was struck out of the sky by a flock of hungry Talonok.
He fell to the ground with a cry, too young and too weak to fight them off as they ripped into him. This was it. This was surely the end. As his insides were ripped out and he bled out onto the soil, everything faded to black, his consciousness being ripped from him as he could no longer withstand the pain. Briefly, a blinding green light hit his vision through his eyelids. The last thing he heard as his hearing went to static was the battle cries of the Talonok.

Mickylee slowly woke, a groan escaping him as pain ripped through him again. He could hear a voice, but the figure who spoke was out of his sight.
“Nono, little one. Let your body rest…”
The speech was draconic, and though it was imperfect, he didn’t bother to second guess it, promptly allowing himself to go back to sleep. Sweet sleep, the only thing that dulled the pain, even if only for a moment.

When he finally woke once more, he was able to better get his bearings. Though they were bleeding through, his wounds were wrapped up in cloth bandages. He was in a dry cave that was dimly lit by a cozy fire. Pelts were laid out beneath him so that he wouldn’t be on the cold floor. There was some decoration, just enough to make it a little more homey. And right by the fire, cooking some kind of delicious smelling meat, was a Serthis mage, the hood that would normally be shrouding his face resting down around his shoulders.
He gasped softly when he saw the mage. Had this Serthis saved him, or was he still in danger. Pain rung through him, making his head spin. Slowly, he put his head back down, trying to calm the ringing in his skull. By this point though, he had caught the Serthis’s attention.
“Ah, you’re awake.”
That was the same voice from before. The Draconic was far from perfect, but it was understandable.
“Those Raptorik did quite the number on you. I must admit… I’m not sure if you’ll be able to pull through, but the fact that you’re awake is a far better sign than I had expected. Are you hungry at all? Do you have an appetite?”
Mickylee took a moment before speaking.
“…why did you save me?”
His voice came out weak and strained as he had to resist every ounce of pain that tried to shut him up.
The Serthis blinked a bit.
“Is there some reason I shouldn’t have saved you?”
“I… no? But you’re-“
“I’m a Serthis? That doesn’t make me horrible.”
“No… I know that… I mean… Beastclans have been targeting my family due to our heritage so… why did you save me?”
“Ahh, yes. Your blood is sickeningly sappy and sweet. I can certainly see how some creatures would find that alluring. However, I do not eat a lot of meat. Once in a while I will, but it’s not my cup of tea. Therefore, I have no interest in partaking in your flesh myself. As for saving you from the Raptorik… I have a grievance against the Talonok in this region, and once I dealt with them, I couldn’t very well just leave you there. So I brought you back here and fixed you up as good as I could.”
He looked at the young dragon once again.
“So I repeat. Are you hungry?”
The Imperial watermelon shook his head lightly.
“I hurt too much to eat… thanks though…”
The Serthis nodded softly and put the skewer of meat down before going to the watermelon’s side.
“What is your name, little one?”
“…Mickylee.”
“I am Dezarul. You should try to get some more rest. I’m going to take you to a nearby dragon settlement tomorrow, where you can get more treatment than I can offer here. Then hopefully you can be back on your merry way, doing whatever it was you were doing.”
Mickylee nodded softly. He didn’t have to be told to rest twice, sleep already overtook his senses, dragging him back down into its depths.
“Thank you…” he managed to murmur before passing out once more.
“I’ll do everything I can to make sure you’re okay, little one. I promise.”

As soon as morning hit again, Mickylee was gently awoken by the Serthis tapping on his snout. As he yawned, slowly awaking, Dezarul moved back a bit, eyes locked on the imperial's fangs and, for a moment, Micky could have sworn that he saw a moment of fear flicker behind his savior's eyes.
"...are you alright?" he asked softly, head tilting a bit.
The fear was gone before Micky even got the words out.
"I'm fine," the Serthis answered. "You're just... incredibly large. That is all. Even with your size, you aren't exactly a formidable threat."
"Well obviously... I'm just a kid... It's not like I have any training..."
"Hmph. You should look into getting some. When you get better, that is."
"Heh... you mean if I get better."
The Serthis stared him down, adeptly making Micky feel like the smaller of the two creatures.
"I said what I meant, Mickylee. When you get better. You will get better, do you understand me?"
He squeaked out a rather pitiful "Yes, Sir," before putting his head back down.
Dezarul watched him for a moment, quietly thinking. However the moment was far too brief for Micky to try to read his expressions. The Serthis broke the silence once more.
"It's going to be a long day, so unless you have an appetite... we need to get moving. I imagine you still can't walk, which means I'll be dragging you again."
Dezarul pulled his hood over his head, shrouding his face once again. Bright green magic sprung to life in his hands, and he grabbed hold of the corner of the pelts that the injured melon was laying up. His force, now magically amplified, was barely enough to drag the several thousand kilo dragon along. Due to the Serthis's size, the strain on his face, and exactly how incredibly bright his magic was glowing, it was pretty obvious to Micky that nearly all the strength was coming from the magic itself.
“…is there any way I can help..?”
“Can you walk?”
“Well… no…”
“Then There’s your answer. If you aren’t confident in being able to walk, we don’t want to exacerbate your situation even more.”
Silence settled upon them for most of the day going forward. Occasionally, Dezarul would stop for a break or to eat something. He’d always offer food to Micky, but the melon was quick to turn it down, still not having any appetite at all.
Just as day was fading to dusk, the duo could see a small Dragon camp. Not too many members, but maybe someone who could help all the same. Dezarul dragged the imperial close to the camp, but not quite close enough to alert them of anything.
Dezarul let out a soft sigh.
“And this is where we part ways. Just… get their attention. They’ll be able to help you better than I can. I hope things start looking up for you, kiddo.”
Before Micky had the chance to respond, the Serthis was gone, slipping off into the darkness of the night and the brambles, leaving the poor, injured melon alone in the woods once more.

It only took a couple whimpering calls for help to gain the attention of the dragons in the camp. He was rushed into the center of the well lit outcrop, and, of course, questioned. How did you get out here, what happened to you, who did this to you, who are you. You know, the usual. As for Micky, he had nothing to say in response. Even though he hadn't done much moving, he was still gravely injured and hadn't gotten much rest all day. He was exhausted.
The dragons eventually ceased bothering him so much, turning to instead question amongst themselves on who would be able to fix him up. Eventually eyes settled on a steampunk wearing, and seemingly clockwork, coatl. He took a couple steps back and put is claws up.
"Hey now, I may be a doctor, but I'm not a medical doctor! I'm a bioengineer!"
An Obelisk was quick to answer the coatl's defenses.
"So put some technology in him or something! I don't know! Make him better!!"
At this point, Mickylee was starting to doze off. He was exhausted. He just wanted to sleep. Only sleep. Nothing more.
He was still losing blood, and there was no doubt of infection. Even if the doctor wasn’t a medical one, it was clear that he needed to do something quickly. With the help of a few larger colleagues, Mickylee was brought to a small, yet surprisingly complex workshop.
In the workshop itself, under the watchful eye of Paracress, Biology and Technology came together to fix up the poor melon. Torn organs gained electric sleeves to keep everything together and re-simulate the function of each individual organ. Skin was stitched back up, but not before circuitry was run through him. Have to make sure things work properly, replace the damaged nerves with something that can comprehend electrical pulses just as well. After he was sufficiently patched up, he was left to rest and heal.
It was a few weeks until he had the energy to get around by himself. The circuitry lightly glowed under his skin, he found that it was just enough to keep off the darkness of the cold nights.
One late evening he was sitting at the edge of the camp, watching the woods around them. He was tired, but watching the soft glow of various flora and insects was something he found relaxing. While soft blues and purples were what he had become accustomed to while in this camp, this particular night he was taken aback by a pair of green eyes watching him in turn.
When he noticed, he immediately bristled, quickly turning to go get someone from this clan, but a soft, familiar voice stopped him in his tracks.
“Wait just a moment, kiddo.”
He froze for a moment before spinning back around. He could just back out the outline of the Serthis.
“It’s you!!”
“Shh, keep your voice down, Mickylee. Yes it’s me. I couldn’t very well just hand you off and leave. That would be irresponsible and rude of me. Especially considering the fact that I don’t know and cannot trust these dragons.”
“I bet you just missed me,” the melon teased.
When Dezarul didn’t automatically counteract, Micky couldn’t help but grin a bit.
“…I’ll admit, having company was pleasant. However, I really did just want to make sure that you were alright.”
“I think you just want me to come back with you.”
“What if I do?”
“Then I'd be happy to… I wouldn’t be here right now if not for you.”
“Then let’s go home, Hmm? If that is indeed what you want. After all, you don’t owe me anything, little one.”
“…It is what I want.”
“Then let’s be off. It’s safest to travel in the night.”
One step after another, Mickylee followed the Serthis away from the dragon camp. Certainly this wouldn’t be a trap. He felt safe, harboring absolutely no fear towards the sorcerer. It certainly wasn’t any melon patch, but what really makes home home is being with those you care about, and those that care about you in return. This, he felt, could certainly be a home.
“Hey kid?”
“Yeah?”
“We’re still going to have to get you some training though.”
Mickylee chuckled a bit.
“Yeah, okay.”