Rassvet

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Rassvet has very few memories of his birth clan; he thinks he had parents who loved him, but aside from a vague memory of a scent that he associated with calm and safety, he can recall nothing except for years and years of constant, unrelenting terror. The Scarred Wasteland is not kind to a young dragon alone.

Rassvet ran—for years. He avoided any other dragons like…well, the plague, for want of a better term. He learned very quickly that strange clans meant death and pain, not help. Viciousness and paranoia were all that kept him alive. His hard, glittering coat was equal parts curse and blessing; it protected him from some of the perils of the Wasteland, but sometimes enemy beastclan and particularly cruel dragonkind would view the wary interloper as fair game and his pelt as a coveted prize.

He would have lived the rest of his life that way if he hadn’t eventually been driven to the edge of Dragonhome. By sheer luck—or perhaps misfortune, had things gone slightly differently—the Reach’s Liakada and two of her foster sisters were travelling right past the pile of rocks under which Rassvet was hiding. They were on their way home from dropping their brother Breton off at his new home in the Viridian Labyrinth, and all three of them were missing him already; in an attempt to keep their spirits up, Liakada was leading them in some lighthearted songs, and telling them one of her works-in-progress; the tale of Brighteyes the Magnificent, a hero of the Reach, and his ascent to the side of the Windsinger.

At first he thought nothing of it except to hold still and let them pass; in Rassvet's experience a pair of mirrors leaping about a lone Snapper meant that they had isolated her, and were harrassing the unlucky creature until she dropped. As they drew closer, he became more curious. Here was a Snapper who had more innocent pluck and energy than he’d ever seen, and a pair of Mirrors who were just as happy, playing with her and treating each other with gentle care. He was curious enough that he crept a little closer to see what was going on… and in the process quite forgot that his bright, shimmering wings would hardly go unnoticed among the dust of Dragonhome.

He expected to be attacked and driven off. What he did not expect was immediate concern and kindness. He did not expect genuine worry for his well-being, or how truly sad it seemed to make these strange dragons to learn that he was alone in the world. Liakada spoke to him quietly, sensing that the newcomer would be easily startled; she offered him her name and her sisters' names, and invited him to travel with them; four would travel safer than one.

Awestruck and confused by an act of generosity, he agreed.

Many dragons have fallen in love with the Reach. Rassvet was simply frightened; nothing, he thought, could possibly be this simple. People weren't like this. A place like this couldn't exist in the world; it would be destroyed, it would be preyed upon, it would dissolve into infighting or betrayal... and yet here it was, and after following her for only a few days Rassvet had quickly redefined his definition of a goddess from the Plaguebringer alone to include both the force of ultimate destruction and Liakada.

She promised him that he was safe here. And, very slowly, he began to believe it.