A world perpetually in dusk, no sunlight or moonlight to adorn it, instead it produced its own light – a bloody light, that stank with pain and endless suffering.

This was a world driven mad with blood.

“Tis not enough, ‘tis never enough for them"

A raspy voice that caused great irritation for any listener came from a hunched figure, covered in bloody robes.

“Old shrimeck toils and crawl.. howls and drag. But what do I get for my everlasting service"

It twitched fan like ears, and cocked his head as if listening “Naught!.. but more needs for slaughter"

Yellow crooked teeth inset in a shrunken mouth with puckered lips, that opened surprisingly wide when he talks, deep seated dirty green eyes that glinted with cunning, and a long nose that has been bent crooked. This was a gnome. He shivered as he strained to push something along with him, for he was climbing the steps of a great pyramid.

He dragged a chain along, and the entire pyramid shook with each step he took, “ the injustice of my summon”. He paused and massaged his back with his free hand. “ I can’t do this anymore, I can’t, but if Nana Baluku gives me milk from that delightful globe". A perverted grin split his face “ then I may as well labour till my blood stop flowing.... until the angels stop crying.”

He was nearly at the top of the pyramid, when a hulking figure came into view. From waist up he was in the shape of a muscular man, with two thick horn that tapered into sharp points, below was a scaly dragons body with four thick and clawed limbs supporting his massive weight, but he moved with deceptive fluidity.

“ Trials draw near Shrimeck, hasten your footsteps!, our Lords bid us haste.”

Shrimeck bared his teeth at the half dragon, “ Rishan? Your presence is as welcomed as it is unneeded”. “perchance you lend me a hand, to ease this burden?, No?. Then flee my sights and go suck on the droppings of dung leviathan, my goal is being covered by your putrescence, and your absence shall finally bring silence to the screaming choir I bear!”.

Rishan frowned at him, observing he had few steps left to climb, drew out a massive butcher knife, bloody with bits and pieces of flesh hanging from the blade. “ be quick, I tire of your tirades”

With a grunt, Shrimeck climbed the top of the pyramid, he dropped the chain he held with a single hand all this while, and it landed on the ground with a tremendous bang. It must have weighed an inestimable amount.

“This are all for you, Rishan. Now let me sleep death. I tire for long, a moment respite will keep my mind ablaze a little while longer".

Rishan looked down the edge of the chains that went for miles down the pyramid, it was like a coiled python, and from it single length sprung many smaller chains that bound many captives. From hulking monstrosities with body that scrapped the skies, to diminutive pixies.

Rishan brandished his blade, he had work to do.

I patiently waited for my seventh shedding, its won't be long now I guessed, the flow of time seemingly meaningless. Is that how the long lived view time? As inconsequential as a light breeze. Acknowledged but having no bearing on their daily lives. A single nap could be ten thousand memories for a mortal man.

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The old dragon as I now fondly call him walked towards my essence pool, apparently satisfied he turned towards me and perceived my state . Ha, fondness what a strange word to use for this cold hunk of metal. But I guess I got attached to him, seeing as the cat was barred from coming close to me, it always find ways to munch on the essence crystals.

“why do you call me Hatchling?”

I needed something to distract me from my growing pains, literally as I have grown another inch or so.

“And what is your name?” Zarathul paused and smiled “hatchling"

What was my name? Did he even bother asking? I huffed in disdain. Wait... hold up. What was my name?.

The moment stretched as I slowly realised I had been losing myself, when did I began to bleed memories?. How could I forget something as vital as my identity.

I took in deep slow breath, the ever constant pain in my body pushed aside for more deeper introspection.

Why had I never questioned my memories, it seemed a trivial question to ask, for who else sits down and reviews the validity and sustainability of their life’s experience.. it was not a skill taught or learned. I had always assumed my memories was what made me.. me.

But am I who I am if I was losing what I was?.

My ever changing form I could handle, I could keep a lid on the fear and madness. For I had a foundation to keep my mind straight. It was my memories. And for a while I was blessed with perfect memory. Striking moments of past interactions that gave me warmth, that rooted my soul in sanity.

In a way all I had lost were not gone, they were still with me, for I remembered all of it. I remembered the air, the taste of cool water after a long day work, the voice of my baba when he sang obeisance to the gods. But I have slowly lost that in a haze.

“The dragon blood is absolute" Zarathul voiced pierced through the clouds in my head, “ and my golden blood is very... jealous”

“I don’t want this, I want none of it!. Take your damn blood away from my body. Give me back! You all have taken enough from me, that damn snake, the fucking Herald, and Miranda who denied my pleas. You all can have it all, but don’t take my memories of me!”

My tirades was like the sorrowful howling of a wolf, and for a while i mastered the pain, and stood up, my spine arching like a bent bow.

Zarathul laid a hand on my shoulders, and pressed me down into the essence gems.

“you have been given a gift, few in all of creation can ever have.”

My eyes were fury, “ I did not ask for these gifts, and I do not want them”

“what you want is meaningless, you are a puppet, moving by the will of the puppeteer. My blood honours you. Your strings has been cut, you can start anew, and the only payment was your inconsequential life before now. I say the scales have tipped so much in your favour. You should be embracing the freedom and power granted to you.”

I Laughed at him deprecatingly “ what freedom? What power? I only escaped one leash for another tighter one. What use is freedom to a rock, for that is what I am becoming. What use is power to a husk, everything dear to me is gone, even the solace of memories are taken!”

I realised when younger I spoke like my baba when I was upset and angry – eloquent and mildly poetic, you don’t read the literary works of the old gods, without their songs being woven into your tongue.

My anger and despair didn’t seem to shake him, and I turned to something I hated, I pleaded to him “ Surely you understand losing a family member. Then you would know what losing your family and your entire world means, I beg you, stop these shedding let me hold on to the last of my memories.”

It did not seem like such a leap of conclusion looking back now to arrive at the truth of my fading memories. As I shed my skin I also shed all of who I was before, like tides eating away at a reef, layer by layer of who I was, being stripped from me, and I dimly realise that was where part of the pains of the process comes from. Even though I was not consciously aware of it, my memories was being mined as fuel for my transformation.

His slitted eyes showed no emotion, like an ice berg, he spoke words that chilled me to the core.

“The struggles of mortals has as much meaning to me as the labour’s of an ant.” He turned away “you shall finish your shedding and become who you were meant to be.”

Mist covered my eyes and I rested my head down on the gems. Defeated.