“Ow ow ow OW OW!”
It’s not every day you see a dragon being wrangled by the horns.
There are few who have ascended to the rank of True Dragon, and even fewer who would allow themselves to be held like some wild boar against their incredible strength. It makes the scene ahead of the pair all the more hilarious… and all the more scary. Elio spends a few seconds wondering whether his mother would do the same when he evolves, and immediately concludes that she would. He imagines coming home late some days or missing deadlines and having her maternal strength attempt to pluck the fixtures from his skull. Morrigan imagines waking up in the morning to one of his siblings sitting on his back and holding onto them like the oars of a rowboat, or his two younger sisters each holding onto one of his horns as if they wanted to split his skull in two. The pair wished to find joy in Willow's suffering after she tried to offload her work onto them. Instead, they both rub their temples as phantom pain shoots through their skulls.
“Now apologise to our guests. Properly!”
The old lady’s voice carries the maternal sternness you’d expect of a mother setting her child on the right path, with a slight hint of embarrassment. It’s expected of anyone who’s had to correct the mistake of someone they’ve raised themselves; even with two boys in front of her that understand the kind of woman she is, it’s natural to feel yourself judged for the upbringing of your kindred. Willow is forced into a slight bow as she follows her mother's orders, wincing in pain, her voice squeaking slightly as the ache shoots through her system.
“Sorry for making you do my work…”
Her horns are released, and she reels away, but not before a slap on the back of the head as a final message. She rubs her horns as if her mother were a few seconds from pulling them from her skull, though it’s probably just the tension of something equivalent to a bone being tugged on relentlessly. She’ll be fine in a few minutes - luckily, she has a yard to concentrate on to distract herself from the pain. How generous of her mother, who then turns towards the pair, her face of authority slowly melting into the gentleness that was expected. The pair’s backs were still instinctually straight, their expressions as serious as they could make them despite the old lady of the house having no reason to direct her gaze towards either of them.
Perhaps they’re feeling guilty for letting themselves in earlier without her permission.
“Now, how are my two favourite troublemakers?”
The pair move off their stools towards her, lowering their stances so they’re both at head height as she draws them both into a tight embrace. She kisses both on the cheek once, twice, three times each and then releases them to stand fully, allowing her to truly see the pair's growth. Morrigan is more than a full foot taller than her at this point, which she’d never have expected seeing him all those years ago, and with Elio not far behind in height, her eyes begin to water every so slightly.
“Oh, you two have grown so much! I’m starting to feel so old.”
“The other All-Mothers warned me of this but I didn’t realise it would fly by so fast.”
Draconic Society has existed for hundreds, if not thousands, of years; it may not have ever been as advanced or unified as it is now, but at most points in their history dragons have come together en masse for their mutual benefit. Whilst the island has a closed-off ecosystem, there are a few species that, if not for their social nature, the dragons could have been wiped out by - working together is the only way they’ve been able to keep sand-bears, berserk dragons, wild boar, and the like in check. In addition, much like humans, Dragons each began to specialize so they could become better at providing something specific for the people: fishers, carpenters, tailors, hunters, cooks, all focusing on filling the roles their society needed for the greater good.
The same way dragons will hunt, rest and provide as a group, their young are raised together.
Like many other cold-blooded reptiles, Dragons usually exhibit low energy during the winter months followed by a period of excitement in spring. Subsequently, eggs would be born around the end of summer and spend nine months growing externally before they hatch at the beginning of the next summer. The process is quite strenuous, at the bare minimum - eggs require constant warmth, moisture, and protection for three-quarters of a year before there’s even a chance of them hatching. Society made its benefits known at this stage: it made it easier to keep eggs safe, easier to find mates, easier to find good locations for eggs to be warm and damp as they developed… The issue then arose that safety and ease made it so every few years, dragon society would go dark. Dragons would give birth at the same time of year due to their biology, and in the same year due to society's seeming collective subconscious. Nine months would be spent doing nothing more than caring for the eggs individually, which made it feel like a second period of hibernation as a damp fog fell over them.
It didn’t take long for the species to realise it would be detrimental for things to continue on like this, so there was a proposition: The All-Mother.
A dragon would volunteer once it became obvious that the birth of a new set of young would occur in the year ahead. Their role is simple - watching over the eggs in place of the mothers so they could continue to work their usual duties, and it was a resounding success. There were issues in its first few iterations, but once those were ironed out, a system was created that’s been successful for over 500 years at this point. The current ‘Nest,’ as many call it, has been in the same spot for 300 years, meaning most, if not all, dragons currently alive were born in that one spot. At the same time, all dragons within a specific generation were born under one All-Mother.
Beyond watching their eggs, being an All-Mother began to come with the responsibility of being essentially a figurehead in the lives of those you once cared for. At times they’ll look to you for guidance, for wisdom, for hope. Their parents will scold them for something they don’t understand, and they’ll come to you in search of answers. They’ll reach a ranking within their class they’d never expect to actually achieve and come to you with smiles as radiant as a glowing flame. They’ll come to you to tell stories they learned from their teachers and come to hear stories from your own past. They’ll one day come to face you with horns on their head and abilities that can only be described as magical. You’ll witness someone you’ve held in the palm of your hand hold unimaginable power in theirs. One day they may come back to you as an Elder Dragon, the protector of the people, a living icon of strength and leadership.
You’ll see them grow from little lizards into true dragons. You’ll always be the same home to them.
She doesn’t remember why she chose to be an All-Mother. She does remember being warned by others of her ilk how it feels to see someone you cleaned as a baby become tall enough for you to have to look up at them. She never really understood until recently… Until now. A child so quiet they thought he was a stillborn and a child whose egg burned hotter than the sun. Proud is as much an understatement as calling the world large or the night sky pretty.
The pair smile back. Morrigan’s is melancholic. Elio’s is cheerful.
It’s the love you give that you receive back.
“So, what’s this I hear about you two being sent home? Is that the only reason you’ve come to visit?”
Of course, this is immediately followed up by the pair’s synchronized hiss of pain as they find their ears pinched between their All-Mother’s bony fingers. Just as they’d gotten comfortable with standing upright, the pair would be forced down, hunched and tilted by the pull of her surprising strength. They can’t help but feel like this is retribution for letting themselves in without her permission. It’s more to do with them being rowdy scoundrels than anything else. Elio speaks up first, his voice traveling up an octave as he tries to reason with her, his eyes watering slightly as the pain begins to sting; Morrigan knows she won’t be doing this forever, and thus is more content with riding out the pain until she’s satisfied. Even then, he’s grateful for his partner sticking his neck out for both of them.
“No- Ah! We were going to see you soon anyway, you kn- Ow! Festival soon and all!”
The pinching persists for a second or two more, the pain for quite a bit longer as they’re finally released. They rub their ears with all the fervor of people who assumed they’d be torn off. The strength of a mother can truly never be understated. It’s almost as if, without any training, they’re always strong enough to discipline their children. Morrigan can start to see why Elio said women specifically are scary. Her flame, however, further supports his viewpoint.
“Now then, I have a lot of catching up to do, or rather, you have to catch me up.”
“I’ll get us some snacks whilst you begin.”
The old woman walks past the pair, heading towards a door that opens up to a quaint little closet, its walls lined with all sorts of food. Most are those that can be dried and stored for a long time with little issue - bread, dried fruits, beans, salts and sugars, and jars of miscellaneous liquids that range from as dark as the night to completely transparent. Her finger traces the shelves as if scouting what was available until it lands on a small burlap sack that seems to put a smile on her face just by recognising what lies within. She grabs a thick wooden bowl from one of the shelves nearby and begins to scoop the treats inside. They’re a tempting brown that shines slightly under the fragments of light, and their smell matches this look of tantalising sweetness, if even sweeter, somehow. The pair behind her sit back upon their stools, speaking under the assumption she'd be able to hear their preamble.
“Well for starters, I’m still Number Three and Morrigan is still Number Two.”
“You don’t sound too happy about that.” Lady Clements responds to his tone, slightly muffled by the wooden walls of the cupboard she was just about leaving. Elio lets out the chuckle of someone who's been caught red-handed. “Is your greed stopping you from settling for top three?”
“I’d definitely prefer some movement after about two years.”
“I feel like I haven’t moved from behind this guy and Gala for all that time.”
Elio points towards Morrigan, whose gaze is affixed onto the bowl of sweet treats laid upon the table. Two rivers of drool descend from the corners of his mouth to his chin, which sounds like a dramatic overstatement, and that's only partially true. He only hesitates for a moment before reaching a hand into the bowl and gorging himself on the candied cocoa beans like the voracious beast he is… Or rather the voracious beast other people think he is. Luckily, Elio would be piloting the conversation from this point onwards.
“Ah, Gala… Is she still-”
“A piece of shit? Yeah.”
A hearty laugh rings out - it's obvious she didn’t have the highest hopes that any sort of change would’ve taken place over the years, but it didn’t hurt to be positive. Being the first of a batch to hatch usually means being a sort of role model, seeing as you’re the de facto oldest of the group. Most firstborns are serious, stern, natural born leaders that always had their hatchmates' best interests in heart. This led to scholars believing that firstborn souls had a natural affinity towards these traits and that the true desire of their soul was leadership and the prosperity of their people; for a long time, people used these beliefs to ease up on Gala, assuming she would mellow out eventually and become the leader she was destined to be… Only she didn’t. Nineteen years of age and she’s still hedonistic, self-centred, antisocial, sadistic and has no desire to recognise that her position is a privilege and a responsibility. In her own words, she’s not a role model, and she’s not a hero - anyone who looks up to her for anything other than her strength is wasting their time, and anyone that tries to force labels on her might as well drop dead.
If they really wanted a leader, they’d have to go pester Number Two.
The circumstances of Morrigan’s birth are shrouded in mystery - not because people are unsure what occurred, but because there’s contention over the validity of events. The simple story is that the entire batch had fully hatched with the exception of a vantablack egg that goes unnoticed within the nest’s shade, coated in a thick darkness, a stillness like death itself. Lady Clements took care of it all the same: it was warm at the touch, its scales smooth, its weight no different from its peers, utterly normal… and yet, as the golden hazelnut shell of Gala hatches, followed by the Carmine shell of Yelena, then both Delacroix twins at the same time, then Victor, then Quentin, then the rest of them slowly filtering into the world…
Stillness.
One month of stillness and silence falls upon the nest between the second-to-last hatch and that of Morrigan Abraxas Blackmore.
Every day she would check up on his egg. Some days with his parents, some days they would even bring his older sisters who were about 5 and 11 years old, respectively. They’d sit there with the cocoon of darkness, sacrificing their warmth as tribute to keep it in this world. It would stay dark. It would stay warm. It would still have the faint pulse that all life does, so they couldn’t judge it a stillbirth, yet the child hadn’t cracked its egg…
After a month they made a decision. They would have to help him into this world.
On that day, the group, alongside one of the elder dragons at the time, gathered within the humidity of the nest - Lady Clements remembers long being used to the warmth and yet still sweating as if the heat were truly unbearable. For moments, as she presses the weight of her strength against the shell's scales, she can feel all the air surrounding her being swept away as if chased by some sort of calamity as she presses and presses and pushes and pulls and fights and struggles… And then a crack… And then she breathes… And then she pulls once more to open the shell. She’d report that its scales were just so much tougher than the rest and once she opened it, she was greeted by eyes that stared straight at her own. She could understand now why the air had departed, and she struggled to breathe - his eyes, silver as they may have been, were darker than the shell that encased him, the shell that protected the world from what came forth…
…Or so the rumour says.
Most just come to the conclusion, and reasonably so, that Morrigan was a case of the shell being too strong for the baby’s weight to break through. There had been many cases in history of this happening; this one simply involved a child with a calm temperament that didn’t cry, didn’t shriek, and didn’t wail… just waiting. The only part that’s unusual and leads to some contention is the exact date of birth. Morrigan was officially born July 16th, Human Year 2006, but it was obvious to anyone he’d been alive within the darkness of his shell for quite a while longer. Some think he may actually have been the batch’s firstborn, supported by his natural born leadership, incredible power, and anomalous abilities; others don’t buy into this as much, seeing as he’s consistently below Gala. They’ve always seemed to be at odds from their birth until now.
Gala existed to spite the world; Morrigan existed as the counterbalance to her.
“Little Abraxas, you better hurry up and take that spot sooner or later.”
“Things will become a lot more unpredictable when you become true dragons.”
Realising he’d need to speak in a second, Morrigan furiously begins chomping on the caramel-covered beans that remained in his mouth, a singular gulp being enough to send the fragmented food down his gullet. He wipes the drool from his chin as he responds to her.
“I want us both to be evolved the next time we go head to head.”
“I think it’ll give us a more reliable judgement once we’ve both discovered our archetypes.”
“Plus, she’s fickle. I’m sure she’s bored of rerunning the same matchup all the time.”
“Ah, how exciting! Be sure to come and let me know when that happens.”
“The Golden Dragon and the Darkness Dragon going head to head, I can’t wait!”
Morrigan squints his eyes. He’s been called the darkness dragon for quite a while, and the idea just doesn’t sit well with him. The professor, and other scholars, love to hammer in the point that ‘your soul knows its draconic archetype already; it’s simply your job to develop and manifest it’. It’s probably something to do with that. He highly doubts he’s the darkness dragon, not that he’d be too opposed to it; at the end of the day, any draconic archetype has its uses, so his goal is to obtain one and utilise it to the best of his abilities.
If Morrigan were more like Elio, he’d be ecstatic at the prospect of being a dragon of darkness - he can just imagine him thinking, ‘that sounds cool as shit’.
“That sounds cool as shit.” Elio says.
“Lets hope you have the time to challenge her in those conditions before you graduate.”
“That’s still happening this year, if I’m not mistaken.”
“It’ll be this winter; should we collectively pass our exams,” Morrigan interjects once more, a piece of candy rolling between his fingers with practiced precision. After a while, he tosses the piece back in the bowl, understanding he’d have to do some talking now. As much as Elio, who was sitting further from the bowl on the table, wanted to take some pieces of his own, it felt like trying to take the fish out of a bear's mouth, as if Morrigan had already marked it as his own. He’d pass, for now.
“All you can do is hope that all eleven of you can overcome this…”
“I assume there’s still eleven of you remaining, since no-one’s run here to declare they’ve dropped out.”
“Yep, eleven stubborn bastards remain, though it does feel like motivation’s been shot for a while.”
“It’s probably because of a lack of evolution this close to our graduation.”
“Everyone’s a little on edge… Other than the usual suspects.”
He turns his whole head to look at his classmate. Elio, feeling his eyes on him for a second, slowly turns to match his gaze… It takes him a second to realise that the ‘usual suspect’ in question was him, well, him and a few others. It was slightly disingenuous for Morrigan to treat them like outsiders that didn’t care about their upcoming trials; the class was more so divided, if even that - some cared more for their exams, some cared more for their ranking, some cared more about evolving. It’s not that people didn’t care about some areas; it’s just that they cared more about others; even Gala cared about their exams and her ranking, as much as she was mostly apathetic towards them.
“How is everyone else? It was rude of me not to ask.”
“No, it’s only natural that Gala becomes the center of attention… Let’s see…”
“Yelena’s still hot on Elio’s tail but he’s not making it easy for her to get back into the big three.”
“Urien’s still doing fine. Him and Jonathan had a bit of a falling out but they’re over it.”
“Leonardo is still… In love with the ladies and everything they have to offer to say it kindly.”
“Kara is unreadable as always but still fine, as far as I’m concerned.”
“Sophia is fine other than having to carry the burden of being related to Leonardo.”
“Stephen’s still a little unhinged but he’s learnt to control his temper better.”
“And Viktor is… Actually taller than me now, but beyond that also overwhelmingly fine.”
“I’m happy to hear that… Now then…”
A slight grunt of effort resonates in her throat as she pushes herself to stand. Maybe she shouldn’t have picked the most comfortable seat in the house, seeing as she’d only be there for a bit, though it’s a possibility age had also caught up to her. She shifts towards the back door, sliding into her straw slippers and placing a hand on one of the tools nearby.
“... I’m sure my daughter will need my help outside. Feel free to leave whenever you need to.”
She leaves them with the sound of grass, dirt, and straw crunching beneath her feet… And caramel crunching in Morrigan's mouth as he starts to eat again.
An hour passes by with no resistance. Morrigan spends most of it doing the meditation he was missing out on due to his temporary suspension; Elio spends all of it doing literally anything but that - a mixture of reading random pieces of paper strung about, light exercise, and bothering Morrigan gets him through the hour with ease. As the sun passes its apex and settles into the second half of its daily journey, Elio taps Morrigan on the top of his head with just enough seriousness for him to understand they had to get a move on. His eyes slowly open, the Nature Energy that had been swimming around him eventually settling in place as he swiftly stands with a sharp exhale.
“Going somewhere?”
They’d begun to wordlessly move towards the front when the voice of Willow called out, standing at the door on the opposite side of the main room. Morrigan turns back, catching the glow of her tawny eyes fading as she looks at him with a softness that reminds him of her mother. He doesn’t return it in kind, though it’s not like she expects him to; there isn’t a day in her life where she can remember those eyes shining with anything but gravitas and hunger. She slowly closes the gap between them as he answers.
“Yeah. I enjoy spending time here but we have places to be.”
“You show up whenever you want and leave without even saying goodbye. That’s kinda harsh, ain’t it?”
She stops a few steps away from him. He turns his body to face her. It feels like she’s still looking straight at his back. She sighs and rests her hand against her own face. Her mother's connection to the young dragons was seeped in many more years and much more hardship than her own, but still she could never forget the most annoying juniors she ever had to deal with… Except Morrigan. He never annoyed her, not even once, and yet she remembered him more fondly than any of the others. It’s probably because she spent more time annoying him than the other way around - doing so really put into perspective why her underclassmen did it so much. It didn’t stop her from feeling vexed by their mere presence.
She spends one moment too many deciding what to say to him before she likely doesn’t see him for a while, at least not in private. He decides to lead the conversation instead.
“Soon I’ll become a true dragon. When I do, we’ll fight.”
…
The challenge leaves her shocked for a second; it doesn't even feel like a challenge, it sounds like a threat and is worded like an order. After a second, the shock fades, and she’s left laughing at his words even in the presence of his always solemn expression.
“You’re telling me when you finally awaken you’ll be coming for me first? How flattering.”
“Surely you’d want to humble that Gala girl first, or are you scared of that prospect?”
“She’ll awaken around the same time I do and I’ll need to spend more time analysing her abilities.”
“I already know what you do… and I have a good idea of how strong you are, if your classmates' testimonies are anything to go off of.”
Her laughter stops. They return to silence. It’s not that she assumed he was joking; it simply didn’t register in her mind that he genuinely had a reason to fight her. She assumed it was revenge for the times she’d messed around with him or given him shit for no reason, but this wasn’t something petty; this was… Intrigue.
A beast that gets its fangs and starts hunting everything, or trying to do so, to test just how bad his bite is.
She’d never think he was that kind of person; growing through combat always seemed like something Elio would do and Morrigan, being reasonable and rational, was in direct opposition to that style. As she searches his eyes, she seems to find it. The same way her mother held that egg of darkness and felt the heat within, she searches the silver abyss of his eyes and finds a flame that burns just as hot as her own, only as dark as a night sky devoid of even the moon…
“Hoho… I don’t know what my classmates have said but… I assure you I’m just a humble farmer."
Willow turns away from him, moving back towards the farmland exit. Morrigan simply stands there, his hands now resting on his hip as she watches her leave. He leaves a final message before she steps into the sunlight…
“I’m interested in seeing how I perform against your Seven Branched Sword.”
… And she’s left frozen where she stands, or it looks that way at first. The audacity for him, who hadn’t even awakened, to call for her to use her Draconic Weapon against him was enough to trigger the muscle memory of the warrior deep inside her. It was one thing to know she had one; it was another to act as if she’d need it for the likes of him. Verdant leaves began to sprout from her branch like horns as Morrigan begins to feel the very house they stood within become hostile territory, her domain in all its timbered glory. It sent a chill down his spine as she turned to face him for the last time.
“I only brandish the Seven Branched Sword when necessary.”
“You’ll need to perform well against me without it to even see me use it.”
“Don’t try to run when you haven’t even walked yet, Junior.”
Her tongue lashes with spiteful pride that was definitely a unique experience for the younger boy, from her specifically. It reminded him of Yelena, though it felt less like she had something to prove and more like she had a reputation to uphold. He lets out a fortifying breath as hostility settles and he too turns away, moving towards the exit and out of the house…
Where he finds Elio?
Yes, he was willing to stick his neck out for his classmate no matter how powerful the opposition was; that was certain. The only exception was this instance m which apparently was too charged with tension, causing the cockroach to skitter outside, crouching a few meters away from the entrance. He’d drawn something in the dirt - a mini dragon! He’d be doing the finishing touches on its wings when he finds Morrigan standing over him wearing an expression of slight confusion, if anything.
“What are you drawing?”
“This is gonna be me some day soon.”
“I’m not gonna go berserk, it's just… It looks cooler this way!”
Morrigan doesn’t even react, beginning down the path they’d taken to arrive here, and once Elio realises he’s being left behind, he too scurries to follow his classmate.
Silence washes over them as the river’s ambience fills the air in place of a conversation. The silence wasn’t created by a lack of social battery; it was contemplation that left them speechless. Morrigan, for the first time in a while, and completely against his will, was left thinking about Willow; he wondered about her strength as the previous generations' Rank Number Two, he wondered how much difference her Draconic Weapon would make, and most importantly, he wondered what the limits of her Draconic Archetype were. It was as if he was making a personal file on her already, preparing for their future feud - early preparation never hurt, though theorycrafting was just that: crafting theories. He wouldn’t know how truly strong she was without actually bearing witness, and that likely wouldn’t be any time soon since she was, as she said, a ‘humble farmer’ now. To say he was excited was a slight overstatement, but it was definitely not too far from the truth.
Being excited to fight was more so Elio’s domain.
Elio himself was more fixated on their collective future than he had been in a while. He hadn’t forgotten when their exams were. That would be irresponsible (he had forgotten), but he’d definitely been reminded of its immediate nature by their conversation… Five months. They had around five months to evolve and explore their archetypes to the best of their abilities before they’d be faced with a trial the likes of which they’d never seen before. All they knew about the exams was that the Elder Dragons specifically decided what their trial would be, and it would push them to the door of death to see if they truly have what it takes. The exam wasn’t scary; it was a reality in which they went in without their full strength that was scary, and whilst he left all the worrying about hypotheticals to Morrigan most of the time, this was one that’d crossed his mind and refused to leave…
SLAP!-
No, it wasn’t scary.
When faced with possibility, it can either be terrifying or exciting. You get to choose. Elio lets out a puff of hot air as he looks towards the shimmering afternoon sky. He makes a decision. They’d just have to work harder than ever.
Time to get excited! That’s what he does best.
