Forsaken

Lore

---

Glasis was a relatively remote clan, tucked away among the ice crags of the Reclaimer’s Glacier. Visitors did not often come here, and were not always welcome: The residents had learned that not all travelers were trustworthy.

Still, when the small stranger came padding out of the snow, they regarded him with curiosity rather than suspicion. He did not seem immediately threatening, and Musubi drifted over to talk with them—though it must be said that this was largely due to boredom rather than concern.

“They said they saw us from a distance. They thought we looked interesting, and they wanted to see what we were up to.”

Wave’s spines stiffened. “They’ve been spying on us?”

Musubi blinked. “That wasn’t the impression I got. It was more like they were passing through and got curious. Erian’s been talking about needing another guard, and it looks like this little one’s got what it takes. Let me know if he doesn’t work out.” His grin was wolfish, humorless. “I know you’re pretty good at turfing out bad weeds.”

Wave evinced no particular pleasure at this. It was just another job, but one that she would attend to carefully, for at times, clanmates’ loyalty did waver and they became dangers to the lair. The threat of violence from her was usually enough to send these traitors packing, however.

She ordered the pale Aberration to patrol near the lair. They accepted this role calmly, and when time permitted, Wave observed them. The Ridgeback had already decided not to dismiss them simply because of their size and apparent youthfulness, and she noted how the Aberration left footprints of glittering ice behind—ones that did not visibly melt, even in the daytime glare.

“It looks as though they’re doing their job well,” Tempero remarked one day. Wave had been rather more reserved in her assessment: “They do their rounds, certainly. But is it enough?”

They soon discovered that it was in fact more than enough.

Nighttime—and a ghastly shape swirled down out of the clouds, landing upon the glacier with a great groaning and cracking of ice. In the dim light of the auroras, it was amorphous, indistinct, and cut from blackness deeper than the night. Strange, soft howls floated from it, and the sentries of Glasis shivered as they realized they were staring at a fiend.

What sort of spirit? It didn’t matter—what was important now was the defense of the lair.

As the auroras danced, the clan’s warriors emerged to do battle. Wave led the charge, and as she did, she glimpsed the Aberration hatchling sitting off to one side. Watching, his eyes weeping flakes of silvery snow.

“C’mon, Wave! What do we do with this thing?” Davoris demanded. The Ridgeback snapped back to attention and began bellowing orders to the guards.

Their shadowy opponent began stretching apart, splitting into smaller, more elusive shapes. These slipped behind snowdrifts and coiled around crags of ice, seemingly as insubstantial as smoke. But the dragons weren’t fooled: Too often the frailest-looking spirits were the ones with the sharpest fangs.

And this one was no exception. As the battle raged on, dragons began to fall back, blood trickling from savage scratches upon their flanks. Soon it was just Wave, Tempero, Davoris, and Musubi.

“It won’t quit....It just keeps regrowing!”

“Hah! We can kick this thing’s tails until sunrise,” Davoris shot back, but even he was beginning to flag.

And then his cocky grin slipped. The others risked following his gaze and saw the young Aberration padding across the ice towards them. “What are they doing?!” Tempero gasped in horror.

The shadows turned. They clearly sensed what was wrong, and when they saw the small and seemingly defenseless hatchling, they burst out from behind cover.

And they flowed, like a terrible, ravenous tide, across the snow. Straight for the hatchling, clearly intending to swamp them in a wave of darkness.

Wave and the others wheeled about. They prepared to leap to the defense of their newest clanmate—

But even as they charged forward, they saw the ice glow beneath the hatchling, saw the sky above pulse in response. The auroras flickered, as though in uncertainty.

And then the temperature plummeted, so sharply that the dragons thought they’d faint from the shock of it. They found themselves pressing close together as the ice beneath the Aberration’s claws shone silver, and the light wreathed up through the mass of shadows.

Piercing through the darkness, carving it, slicing it. Freezing it, inexorably, from within.

And then, in a great blast of force, the fiend blew apart.

The warriors stared. There was nothing left of their opponent now, save for a rapidly melting shower of ice. Even before the next gust of wind blew, it was gone — and with a nonchalant flick of their tails, the Aberration turned away and trotted back to the lair.

~ ~ ~
The battle had been fierce, and Glasis counted several injured in the lair—but none dead, thankfully, because of the young Aberration’s assistance.

They’d saved the clan from devastation, and so it only seemed right that they be promoted to Patrol Leader. The news spread swiftly through the lair, and within hours, all knew about it. Even before the actual ceremony, the Aberration received plenty of thanks and congratulations, but they didn’t bat an eyelid at this. In fact, they seemed hardly affected by the victory they’d achieved. They remained as detached and sphinxlike as before.

“Well, we can’t just keep on referring to you as...well, ‘you’,” Musubi told them later on. The hatchling had not responded to earlier queries regarding their name, and the clan had accepted this—newcomers weren’t always comfortable with revealing their identities. Musubi now thought, “If they refuse to divulge one, I suppose we could just go with ‘Patrol Leader’. Or maybe—”

“Forsaken,” the hatchling’s heads chorused. They smiled as they spoke, though it was impossible to tell what was behind their eyes...

Memories lurked there—further back than anybody in the clan could have expected. The child had had many names, though the one that had endured longest was Hero.

And a hero, indeed, they were. They’d been born to another Ice clan, and their magic had not so much grown as exploded, sending out waves of razor-sharp ice and dagger-sharp hailstones. They’d defended their clan, too, utterly destroying whatever creatures and marauders had threatened them. The clan had been appropriately grateful, and they’d always been feted, showered with praise and the finest gifts those ancient times could offer.

Long years passed, and the child never aged, always appearing to be no more than a few moons old. Their power waxed as they grew, however, and none could stand against them. It seemed that they’d endure forever, and that his clan would, too. After all, who would dare stand against them, with this godlike child to defend them?

Yet the clan fell. The lair was pulled apart, its population scattered to the winds. Within weeks, the snow had covered up all traces of them. And within years, there was no one left to remember them.

No one except...

Musubi had not been expecting that reply. He couldn’t help commenting, “That sounds...ominous.”

“We chose it ourselves,” both heads said, each one taking turns in speaking the words. Their smile remained in place, sharp teeth gleaming, as snowflakes continued drifting from their eyes.

The Skydancer’s answering smile was wry. “Good name for a Patrol Leader, I should say. I’m sure you’ll do a fantastic job...”

It had been a long, cruel winter. The yetis, mad with hunger, had thundered out of the forest. They broke down the palisade around the clan, intent on destroying—or devouring—all that stood in their way.

The dragons rallied—but to their consternation, their hero was nowhere to be seen. “Where is he?” they asked each other, growing increasingly fearful. “Where is the Hero?!”

Dawn soon broke. And there the child was, on a knoll overlooking the village, calmly grooming their mane. His clanmates cried out in relief, calling for him to join them. He looked down at the besieged village...

And to the clan’s horror, they turned away. They had looked, and they had seen the danger; they surely understood their clan’s plight, for they had destroyed several such threats before.

But they refused to destroy this one now, and the clan could not even begin to guess why. Though their cries grew increasingly desperate, the child did not relent. He did not even look back. They disappeared over the crest of the knoll, and the dragons knew in that moment that they were forsaken—and doomed.

Here and now, though, the child looked up. They met Musubi’s gaze with steady, guileless eyes.

And the twin voices spoke again, woven together like warp and weft: “Yes. We will see...what happens next.”

---