The fall to rock bottom. That is truly the best way to describe Meredith Glessher’s life. She had started out as the firstborn daughter of the man who owned commerce within The Mistress of Tranquil Waters’ lands. Her family dates back to the early days of the draconic conquest; somehow her ancestor gained enough favor that the beast allowed him and him alone to leave and return as needed, taking only a small tithe in exchange. Then later his kin received the same blessing, as did any who worked under the now rich man. From a simple farmer with a scrapped together carriage to a titleless noble with enough influence to be on par with town lords…
And then she was married off. It was expected. She could not properly inherit the business, that was for her younger brother, but that is the point where things started going wrong. At first it all seemed fine, her husband was the firstborn son of a baron, and not just any baron, but Lord Fastulfr Cyneburg, ruler of the only fortified town around these parts, save for Tranquil River. While only a small part of the Dragon’s magical water reached this town, it was an outskirts fortress before she came in, and it maintained a relatively high military prowess since they never dared attack the conqueror.
The town remained as a relatively rich one, using the military infrastructure to focus on hunting the witchbeasts created by the influx of mana, thus getting rare goods on a daily basis and becoming good trade partners with the Glesshers. Her husband was the leader of one of the hunting groups, a decently strong sorcerer, as is any noble worth their name, and he was at least charming and respectful enough to not have her dread his company. It was a pity he could not keep up in terms of wit, but a smart, charming and powerful man is rarer than a flower made of solid gold, or so her mother used to say.
And then the poor sod got trampled by a bear. Or a very large wolf, accounts are inconsistent. This sadly happened two years after she became Meredith Cyneburg, and many lays into their marriage, so she suddenly became a used widow that had little value to bring for a second husband. Law dictates that the unwed man closest in blood to her deceased husband would be the one to take her, and the only unwed one from that family was a somewhat distant cousin, without title. Her husband’s cousin, the Lord’s brother’s bastard son. He was not only a bastard, but a failure too, one who knew not how to hunt, work a trade, or even wield magic comparable to a peasant witch.
He was also an alcoholic gambler that only survived because his father was too weak to cut him loose.
She did all she could to live in this new situation, still receiving some gifts from her father whenever he came by, but both she and her father knew that her future was bleak. Alcohol made her second husband angry, and anger made him violent. She could not even read with him around, for if he saw a book he would take it, sell it for cheap booze, and then beat her for “daring to think she’s too smart for him”. All she treasured was hidden under their bed, where he never looked since he left the cleaning of the house to her.
At least until he did look.
And he took everything, even things that were priceless.
Meredith shudders, looking at the strangely apt flame witch as she accidentally sets herself aflame. It was a weird thing, being surrounded by all these wretched people…
Then again, she was a wretched thing too, now.
Where was she? That night… yes, that night.
She got angry. Admittedly, not her best moment. She threw an empty bottle at his head, screaming about the necklace he took… her mother’s heirloom… but he did not like that and did not care for her wails. He was inept, but he was still of noble blood, so the bottle did little more than shatter on the thin barrier of stone he had made above his head. Then he gave her her worst beating yet.
So there she lay, broken, bloodied, splayed out on the floor while feeling nothing but pain… And that vile man went back to his bottle, mumbling words she did not care for.
He was drinking some aged spirit of some kind…
He was drinking poison. Just not strong enough of a poison. So she made it strong enough. She did not even need to say a spell, just willed forward the idea that he wasn’t drinking some backwater brandy, but rather pure alcohol. She could see it, the way the bottle bubbled, the way the stink got so sharp it started hurting her open wounds, but the drunkard did not notice, too lost in the drink. And then he dropped.
Only in the morning did someone come to find his body and her bloodied self. She was healed and then asked about who did this. She tried to frame it as the fool drinking himself into the grave after beating her, and it might have worked if not for the priest. Witty bastard… knew the drink was touched by mana… And noticed that she had changed.
She frowns as the storm becomes stronger and louder. It draws her back and she looks down at her reflection in the stew, piercing green eyes staring back at her. She hated seeing that glow they held, the telltale sign of losing a piece of herself.. The sign of…
She was branded a witch by that priest. The guards stripped off any standing she might have kept despite it all, and threw her in a cold prison, chained with nullifying cuffs and prepared to be executed for murder.
Only for the damned dragon to come in, demanding tribute, and for her to be thrown in its cage. She tried, damned be all, she tried. She did all she could to escape, but it led nowhere. She realizes now that she did not even try to escape with the goal of actually escaping, she had just hoped that the dragon would kill her swiftly instead of whatever torture it had prepared…
And torture it would have been. Eaten alive by the dragon’s spawn… not a fate any would envy. But she wasn’t eaten. She was turned into a pet. A pet for a winged lizard, barely a few months old if the legends are true of how fast these things grow. Worse yet, she became dependent on its wit. Food, water, tools, commodities… That hatchling brought them all, and if he did not think of something, they would suffer the lack of it. They lived over a month on one set of clothes after all because of that.
It was a strange being. Sometimes it would come multiple times in a day, sometimes it would forget about them for days on end… They made do. And wasn’t that even more humiliating? She had to work together with witches, slaves, and half a child in order to survive. This, she thought, was her lowest point.
She thought things couldn't get any worse than this… And for a time she was right, since things got slightly better. She freed herself with that enchanted sword, but then that eastern slave stopped her from escaping. No, she was right. The dragon knew the second they got rid of the bindings, she would have followed and trampled her if she tried running. And even so, things still got better as they could now leave their jail every so often. The food also became better and better since the beast went out to hunt with the young dragon.
And then the boy, the child, that weak little thing that had just barely enough mana to be even considered a witch… He got sick. And that hag couldn’t do anything. She knows, of course, of diseases that could resist healing magic. She also knew that they were more often than not deadly. She tried as much as she could to help, having gotten too used to being surrounded by people that would normally be lesser than her… But she could just watch the poor boy wither.
Until the dragon came and used her own element to fix him. The months old dragon knew her own art better than she did. She’s been thinking about it ever since, about that cloud, about the intricate way the poison acted, about the fact that it somehow enabled healing magic to cure the boy…
That dragon showed her that her decades of training, of following that one old book to the letter, even when things got harsh… were worthless. An animalic infant was better than herself. And one who didn’t even seem to have a particular inclination to poisons… He just did that because he could.
That was her actual lowest point. Seeing that a child that knew nothing more than a cave and a forest knew more about her own inborn talent than she ever did.
It stung even worse when that bright eyed girl tried to learn from her, only to be unable to guide her properly… She barely understood her own powers despite wasting so much time on them, how could she help someone so different..?
The roaring became deafening, pulling Meredith out of her own head once more. She looked as people started leaving the room, following the sounds of destruction. A deep fear grasped her heart. A child was more skillful than herself… More powerful too… Then what would two adult dragons truly be like?
It seemed, as they got to the exit of the tunnel, that they would all see the power of these beasts.
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Alek was bored. He was happy to be just bored, it was better than being bored, hungry and sick, but he was still bored. He didn’t get to do much here, there were too many adults and they were too busy to play most of the time. It wasn’t all bad, though! Granny would tell him stories at night, the scary cat lady helped him with eating, lady Dith sometimes made shadow puppets to go along with granny’s stories, and big sis Edith kept him company when everyone else was busy and he really needed it…
But he could still not do much of anything here… He couldn’t help with food, he was just too clumsy with only one arm. He couldn’t play since there was nothing to play with, and even if there was, there was nobody else he could play with most of the time. At least he still had the gift from that nice dragon. A few large shiny crystals, the most beautiful things he had ever seen, and something that helped him make his parents proud. After all, after the accident, they told him that he gets to learn magic and that he has to work hard to be the best witch around!
He was worried when the big dragon came in and took him, he thought he would die… and the dragon saying he was supposed to didn’t help his fear… but he’s been living better than he did back home. He does miss his brother… he was the only one that always played with him after all. Maybe when the nice dragon comes back he will ask him!
It has been a while… Is the nice dragon alright?
He would love to ask that, but nobody here knew. He knows that the cat lady liked the nice dragon a lot, and she’s been very tense, so maybe she is worried too?
A cold pain stabs his chest. It has been a while since it did that. He wonders, then, did the nice dragon get hurt because he saved him? He was weak and slow when he left… Did the dragon get hurt because of him… like his brother did so often?
He can feel tears coming, but he manages to stop them from flowing.
Mommy doesn’t like crybabies… He thinks to himself, the cold spreading a bit further. He needed to be strong or else his parents would be mad, so he couldn’t cry even if he was terrified that someone else got hurt because he is so useless. That is why he holds the first crystal the nice dragon gave him, doing as Edith told him, pulling in the cold so that he’d be a strong witch and no longer having people hurting because of him.
Then he loses focus and drops the stone. A rough storm started a while ago… but now it’s scary how much the thunder roars. Roars… Looking at the women that have been taking care of him for over a month now, his eyes widen. They’re scared. This isn’t a normal storm… adults are never scared of them no matter how scary they are…
So when they got up, he reached for the cat lady, and with her help he made it all the way to the exit of the cave…
And it was dragons.
Fire and lightning, torrents of water and plants, everything crashed in the skies and thunder boomed with each clash…
And then they fell to the ground, a huge snake dragon fighting the big scary dragon that took him…. They were fighting and the snake was winning…
And it won.
And it got to them.
And in that moment he thought, for who knows how many times now, that he died.
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“I HAVE RETURNED!”
Screamed the heavens as a living cataclysm fell upon the earth. The Mistress of Tranquil Waters raised her head, eyes focusing on the flaming arrow as it hit her side, pulling her out of her lake and dragging her all the way to the treeline. The clearing ignited as scorching heat emanated from her mate. She could see his prideful smile and the way he was expecting her affection, he maybe even expected for her to swoon over him and ask about his exploits in the past moons, about all the riches he found and what sort of treasure he hides in his false stomach at this moment.
Instead he received a flurry of tails over the face, throwing him off, leveling trees into ash. The Outstretched Thunderous Scorching Hand looked baffled at the welcome, narrowed the many small eyes dotting its mouth and even spread open the eyes in the palms of his many hands, trying to see if something ailed his beloved. She answered in a rough, cold tone that made him realize she was serious.
“You are late. Very. Very. Late.”
His smile faded, turning to worry. He tried to think back to his last visit and slowly realized that he was, in fact, quite late. He shifted his long body, curling into himself, his heat lessening as he tried to find the words. He spoke in a more quiet voice, putting only intent and no power into his speech.
“I… may have lost track of the days… I wanted to find a nice present for when the children hatch! It took a while to find a nice crystal for them, but I did! A big pillar of stone mana crystal, the heart of a developing elemental! it should help them toughen out when they arrive!”
He seemed hopeful that his reasoning was sufficient to calm down his mate, he even spat out the large crystal, hoping it would be valuable enough for her to consider forgiveness, yet all he saw was a building rage as she roared out, water being ripped from the plants and the air and turned into torrent aimed squarely at the serpentine dragon. A flash of light dispersed the attack, pushing it back and destroying the spellwork. As he shook his head and looked over at her, a chill stopped him from speaking out.
“When they arrive? FOUR MOONS HAVE COME AND GONE SINCE THEY HATCHED!”
Now that was a slap that actually hurt. He blinked and became mortified. He was late late. However a different feeling dispelled the cold fear, a burning desire to meet the younglings. His children, however many may have survived to the end, were now alive and have been living well for entire moons. How big could they be? The excitement was clear in his tone.
“The children are here!? Where are they? How many? Do they hunt yet? Are they nice and big?! I MUST SEE THEM!”
Seeing the male turn to fly up into the sky only angered The Mistress more, causing her to grab her mate by the tail, biting hard on it and wrapping her tendrils around it for better grip, then she pulled hard and brought him down. She roared and he roared back, now more concerned with seeing his offspring than with solving this dispute.
“OH NO YOU WILL NOT!” Screamed The Mistress as The Outstretched Hand lit up his body and slipped away from the grasp, taking to the air. She gathered water and shot forth a crystal clear pillar of water, slowing down her partner. “YOU DO NOT GET TO CRASH INTO MY FOREST AFTER MISSING THEIR BIRTH ONLY TO RUSH OFF AND SEE THEM, ESPECIALLY WHILE SETTING EVERYTHING AFLAME! THEY ARE STILL YOUNG AND YOU WILL BURN THEM!”
He protested, but not in words. Instead he let loose flames and lightning. He would not delay meeting his children any more than he already did, or at least that was the plan. However no matter what he tried, his mate was insistent on stopping him. He narrowed his many eyes at her as they both flew in the sky. There was something she wasn’t telling him.
“I know how to control my aura! I will cool off my flame, but I want to see them now!” He shouted as he saw her reaching for the forest below.
“You impatient little…”
And so the fight devolved. Tooth and claw, flame and water, lightning and nature, a chaotic clash that killed countless creatures and destroyed entire habitats.
“It’ll take me weeks to fix this forest!” Roared The Mistress as she sent him crashing down into a desolate ashland.
“Why are you hiding them from me!?” Roared The Outstretched Hand as he grasped her body and threw her to the side.
The battle raged, leading so high into the sky it may have been seen by the nearby towns and villages, then so deep into the ground that a new lake may soon form. It was an even fight, one that devolved into simple shouts and combat. When words failed, a stronger claw prevailed.
It took close to an hour for a change to be made. The Mistress was tiring, for while she has been resting well in her nest, The Outstretched Hand was cheating, holding a good chunk of his hoard within himself. Finally, at a crucial moment, after rolling through the now muddy ashland, he managed to throw her farther away than normal, and he knew where to go. He went to the nest his mate no doubt made by herself after he last left.
“NO!” The Mistress Shouted as she was getting back up, but she faltered, feeling her scales dry after the onslaught. “Do not harm them!”
The Outstretched Thunderous Scorching Hand was confused by that, for why would he ever harm his own offspring? He thought that they may have been slow in growth, so he made sure to extinguish his flames, his aura alone should not be enough to hurt even infants. However he came to learn what she had meant quite quickly.
“Back to your old habits? Keeping pests as pets?” He spat out the words, sending all his loathing for the tiny things that should be nothing but food for his children… Yet there they were. A hideous group of mismatched, misshapen humans, collapsed, terrified, sitting right next to three beautiful hatchlings. One was the spitting image of his mate, one reminded him of his youth, and the other was simply different. A little bit of him, a little bit of her, a little bit of common dragon traits. They seemed to just be starting to develop in their own unique ways and shapes, maybe they will soon be forming their first affinity.
Still, anger bubbled, seeing his children having to live so close to food without being able to eat. He was just about to scorch the damnable things when a powerful dragon roar stopped him. It came not from his mate, but rather from a fourth child that came from somewhere else. His rows of eyes focused on his form… and he was confused to know that this one was also his offspring.
Larger, stronger, with wings that might just be enough for flight and a roar of possession that tickled his instincts ever so slightly from the might behind it. He opened arms and mouth, revealing many more hidden eyes of all kinds, using them to study this one in as much detail as possible.
This was his child, same age as the others yet much more grown.
He was tired, spent, The Hand could see just how much mana this boy held recently, yet his body was now mostly empty. He wasn’t in the nest, he rushed home from somewhere else…
Most importantly however, it was not his mate who kept the pets. It was his son.
That he might need to rectify.