Chapter Text
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Chapter 11: Why?
Through the dark of night, Cobalt marched. The inky gloom, chill and unsettling, had swallowed the last remaining vestiges of sunlight. The looming impression of mountain peaks clung to the horizon, breaking it apart between their jagged ridges. Trees swayed in the wind, each bristling needle scratching against its neighbors. The prattle of midnight creatures touched the air, signaling that he was not alone. That of bugs in the dirt and trees, but others as well. Larger beasts, stalking through the underbrush. Their attention set on the man brazenly forging his way through undisputed wilderness.
Imaginary or no, nothing dared approach Cobalt as he made his way closer and closer to home. The very terrain seemed to give way, deferring and warping to his path as he trod across it with a determination and focus he had not carried so openly before. He seethed, in forbearing silence, and walked without judgment of his thoughts. The only alternative would see him crumble. Late into the night he went, the moons rising far overhead.
Until he at last arrived. The meadow, entrenched within its crater, and the caverns at its back. Moonlight filled the basin of earth, obstructed by neither branch nor peak. He stood, glaring at the heavy curtains before him. There was so much power, hidden within that unassuming canvas. The ability to turn an otherwise natural cavern into someplace resembling a home, merely with the addition of a boundary. Now, it spoke only of secrets. Greedily hiding the interior of the cavity behind them, forbidding any from knowing what existed past their rough yarn.
Hiding the dragons’ lair within.
A shiver ran down Cobalt’s spine. They were Dragons, not ‘wyrms.’ Monsters of myth and of fable, reputed forces of nature with only the barest of instincts to burn, kill, and devour.
But they had proved that wrong each moment he’d spent with them. They were people, hardly different from himself except in shape. The idea had come and gone numerous times before, but it had been impossible to place that title upon the three who had taken him in. The monsters of his childhood had remained a fiction.
Until today.
Cobalt shoved the curtains out of his way, casting aside the heavy drapes as he passed. They barely fluttered as they returned to rest in his wake. The scent of smoke hung heavily in the air, and the repeated ringing of metal on metal carried from another room. The entry hallway into the first room ended swiftly, and the simple braziers burned low as their fuel slowly petered out.
Across the room, rattling and heavy breathing echoed across the walls. Tan and dry brown scales reflected firelight, glinting dimly. As Cobalt approached and began to turn towards the other room, Hognose’s ears and tongue flicked the air as he noticed the man’s presence. The chimeric dragon’s lithe neck snaked about as he turned to investigate, the shifting of scales and reptilian skin whispering sharp hisses. Immediately, Hognose caught sight of Cobalt. His menacingly dark eyes, with pupils like a knife’s edge, widened. A faint glow pulsed through his iris like fire, dimly illuminating them against the gloom and causing them to stand out unnaturally within the current lighting. He twisted, and abruptly stood. Hognose bounded towards Cobalt, stomping across the stone and causing the ground to slightly quake beneath Cobalt’s feet. Cobalt pivoted, stepping just so to ensure he wouldn’t be caught in Hognose’s path. As he always did.
“Cobhaim–” Hognose’s grumbling and archaic language escaped his lips swiftly, “Tah in n!?” Cobalt continued on, paying him no heed as he paced towards the table in the other room. Hognose followed closely behind him, and he felt each breath the dragon took. Warm arm blowing across his back and slightly pushing him forwards, demanding he adjust his balance. He considered Hognose’s worried exclamation, and translated it slowly. ‘Cobalt–where have you been,’ he’d asked. Hognose muttered something behind him again, but Cobalt did not care enough to translate or even to listen.
He hopped up and onto the table, and spun about to face Hognose at eye level. The pinkish–red smith, Oriole, stopped his hammering as he noticed the commotion. The broader, muddy red dragon, Shale, beside Oriole looked over as well. The room went silent, and Oriole’s neutral expression turned grim as Cobalt’s grip tightened on the decayed strap of leather in his palm. The two slowly began to make their way over to the table as the air grew yet thicker with tension.
“Ahs tah nais?” Hognose uttered the phrase nervously, his voice warbling with concern. ‘Is something wrong?’ Cobalt forced his grip on the bracelet to relax, while his other fist took on the unreleased energy, his nails digging into skin and biting deep. With great effort, Cobalt stepped back so that he could see the others fully.
They surrounded him, scales and wings and fangs around the table. Dwarfing him. Their eyes glowed dully in the dim light, announcing their gazes boring into him with rapt attention. Rattling breaths, rumbles, and soft hisses escaped each of them and yet they seemed not to notice the sounds. Their heavy bodies blocked the fire burning in the pit behind them, framing their heads in shadow as firelight wreathed their horns. Their fangs and claws glinting, casting them as silhouettes of primal might and leaving Cobalt in their shadows.
He lifted up his right arm, and slowly unfurled his fist from the disintegrating leather in his hand. The four were silent, and the distant crackle of fire drowned in the heartbeat ringing in each of their ears.
“Explain, ” his small voice cried with disbelief, faith, sorrow, anger, frustration, panic, confusion, fear, and desperation.
The dragons’ reactions were immediate and varied. Oriole was briefly shocked, but soon hung his head shamefully and closed his eyes. Shale slowly lowered their head below the table’s edge, holding one talon to their eyes and another firmly on their bandana as they escaped Cobalt’s sight. And Hognose, slower on the uptake than the rest from the sheer impact, let his mouth fall agape. His eyes, like molten and fiery amber, flew wide.
“Huh…?” Hognose strained his voice in a pitiful squeak, still processing the moment.
“Explain!” Cobalt lashed out, repeating the simple question. It was all he could say, limited by the alien and cumbersome language. The full weight and demand of his meaning carried on the tone of his voice and emotion instead. The dragons, however, were silent. Grim nothingness, as the scent of smoke tinged the air.
“...This is my fault,” Oriole eventually offered up solemnly. Cobalt turned on him suddenly, to which Oriole replied by holding up his talons to clarify.
“No, Oriole wait–” Hognose tried to protest, perhaps attempting to salvage what peace there had been just the previous day. But it was in vain.
“I lied to you, but only partially. I’d think that makes it worse, actually.” Oriole looked down upon Cobalt regretfully, his bright golden eyes dimmed by his expression. Motes of smoke floated out from his nostrils, a sign of agitation. “So…where do I begin?” Hognose reached a talon out towards Oriole, then to Cobalt, and back again, unable to act decisively as his eyes moistened and tears began to pool in the corners of his eyes.
“How many,” Cobalt eventually enquired, “how many dens?” Shale remained low to the ground, hiding from the conversation. Hognose visibly winced with each word from Cobalt’s mouth, while Oriole continued to bear it silently.
“...I…need clarification,” Oriole stated heavily. Cobalt’s heart dropped somehow further. Had he heard him correctly? He stood there in further shocked silence, unable to proffer even the barest of hints for Oriole to continue.
“The beginning, or the closest we have to it, then–”
“Can I!?” Hognose had finally found his voice, barreling into the conversation to try and wrestle some control over the situation. Oriole deferred to him with a wave of his wing, the movement pushing Cobalt’s hair about for a moment. Hognose lowered his head onto the table deliberately, forcing himself to keep constant eye contact with Cobalt the whole time. The scavenger stayed far away from the dragons at the other end of the table, however, keeping cautionary distance.
“U–um,” Hognose began to force his way through welling tears, “did you know that we–dragons, I mean– were at war recently? Twenty years of fighting, and all of Pyrrhia got dragged into it. Three Sandwing princesses all wanted one throne after their mother died, but not in the typical way that would result in someone being crowned. She died because…because,” Hognose stuttered, finding the words stuck in his throat. Cobalt stood attentive, never moving. His unnerving, blank expression remained unflagging.
“Because a scavenger killed her. A–and, no one really cared about scavengers before then, but after…” He stared at Cobalt, and Cobalt stared right back unflinchingly. The dragon’s warm breaths washed over him even from this distance, dry and unrhythmic. His breathing was unsettled and irregular, exaggerated by his distress. “Afterwards, a lot of Sandwings hated scavengers. The tribe was torn into pieces because of Oasis’ death, and t–there were maps and plans and organized attacks and– ”
“How,” Cobalt interrupted decisively, “ many. ” Hognose could not bear it any longer, and withdrew from the table, casting his eyes away as the strain of the admission ripped his gentle heart to shreds.
“E–every scavenger den publicly known of was destroyed, except for one…” He fully turned away from Cobalt then, biting back his own sobs to remain coherent as the world and life that had been built in this place over the last two years crumbled, the keystone lies and half-truths of its foundations being pulled away one by one.
“S–so… fifteen, and almost definitely more we don’t know about aswellaswhateverdensthereusedtobetoo–” his babbling devolved, as he failed to contain his tears any longer. Hognose propped up his elbows on the table, trying in vain to stem the flow by wiping the tears from his snout. “ Please don’t hate us, ” he begged. Cobalt, though, kept the entirety of his reaction internal. Whatever he felt, it remained mostly dormant within him.
Cobalt turned his gaze towards Shale’s form on the floor, and coldly sharpened his eyes. It hadn’t been only an innocent joke when they’d admitted to imagining eating him, had it? Their ordinarily gentle talons and jaws could have easily turned to visceral tools, as they were intended to be. Oriole seemed to have caught onto his thought process, and prepared to bear whatever retaliation Cobalt offered. He leveled with Cobalt as well, resting his chin onto the table and sitting honestly before him.
“I…was telling the truth when I said most dragons considered scavengers pests or animals. But that definition also extends into prey, and that has never once changed as far as I know. I’m sure Hognose has told you that it’s 5011 A.S., but do you know how we set that date? There’s a story, one we call The Scorching, that serves as the supposed start of our history.’
‘Dragons, for the first time, united in what we’d call 0 A.S., and together burned out all scavengers from Pyrrhia. What used to be masses of dens and creatures, turned to uncontained fires that burned on and on for days. Some even claim that the desert in which the Sand Kingdom rests is all that remains of those dens, the land burned until all that remained was sand. So for all five thousand years of our history, scavengers have been…a footnote. No one cares about them–about you. So dragons did whatever we wanted. Because we are dragons, social and intelligent, and you are a scavenger. Just another prey animal.” Oriole finished painfully, the wispy smoke dissipating at last as he gave in to solemn resignation. As if he were awaiting judgment. “It’s always been that way, and…we haven’t done a thing about it, even while knowing you.”
Cobalt stared blankly forwards. The crackling of the fires and the dragons’ breathing had faded out into the droning hum in his ears. With numb and stiff movements, Cobalt wandered over to the edge of the table and hopped off. His feet hitting the ground imperceptibly were it not for the impact that jolted up his legs. Step by plodding step, he blankly walked away towards the entrance hall, and then into the archway to his living space within the caverns. The others did not pursue him.
Looking over the interior of the room, he slowly began to gather his things. Only that which he could carry, and could not afford to leave behind. His fingers ran over the textiles and the stone as if he were saying goodbye. It hadn’t been the worst place to rest his head. Cobalt looked up to the ceiling, and turned his attention inwards. With blank eyes, he focused and felt…
Nothing. A yawning abyss where there ought to have been some more visceral emotion. Fury, despair, anything. Certainly not a complete absence of reaction. Shock? It had to be. Yes, it just hadn’t hit yet. Surely he was not so broken inside as to feel nothing . Not already.
As he picked up and stashed away the last few things he’d thought to take with him, Cobalt’s finger brushed against the leather wrapped around the handle of Shrike’s sword. Like a spark, an itch spread through his fingertips, along his arm, and into his heart. A call spurred on by a desire he’d thought long gone. As Cobalt grasped the sword by its scabbard and turned to leave, the sensation only grew stronger. His fingers twitched, begging to tighten his grip around the hilt. Each beat of his heart reverberated within his chest, quickening in anticipation.
Retribution! His body almost seemed to cry, Blood For Blood!
Against whom? For who? And what would be accomplished? Cobalt made his way back into the entrance hall, and began to make his way towards the chill air of the mountainside. Low, stifled sobs echoed out from somewhere else within the cavern.
It Matters Not, the drum of his blood continued to zealously answer, For You Are The Claws And Fangs Of The Defenseless. It Matters Not How Many Deaths Have Come Before, When Yet More Can Be Prevented. It Matters Not, For Rabid And Bloodthirsty Beasts Are Only To Be Struck Down. Cobalt paused before the curtain, feeling the heavy weight of the keepsake in his hands. Certain of its lethality, but unsure of its purpose when divested from its rightful owner.
…
The sensation left Cobalt, and he finally found it within himself to push onward. Despite the immensely late hour, there was no exhaustion, no tiredness. He simply was, and as such he was on his way. Out and into the woods once more, with no specific destination in mind. The moons and their jeering glow lit the way only dimly, though Cobalt had long since learned to navigate by only the meagerest hints of light.
Before he could get very far, there was a heavy thudding and shaking of the earth from behind him. Bursting out from the curtains came Hognose, desperate and wild as the scales around his eyes glistened wetly in the moonlight. He bounded over to Cobalt in a mere moment, and almost threw himself onto the ground as if prostrating himself.
“Cobalt please, ” he threw the words with desperate abandon, “ please don’t go, I can fix this! I can–” Cobalt ignored Hognose’s tears, the coals of fury once cold stirred to ember within him.
“Then give them their homes back, ” Cobalt demanded coldly, uncaring for the particulars in his translation. All that mattered was the meaning.
“H–huh…?” Hognose continued to blink through tearing eyes, his fruitless pleas cut short.
“Their families. ” The words cut through the night like lightning on a clear day. Hognose’s jaw quivered, and weight after weight settled upon him. Folly and naive hopes fell to pieces before Cobalt’s feet. For once, the man was truly animated, and it rendered Hognose speechless. One breath. Two.
Cobalt stepped away from Hognose, but continued to face him. He purposefully relaxed his posture and expression, adjusting them consciously as opposed to the natural expressions they’d been in. In a moment, Cobalt assessed his own thoughts and mind.
“I…am not being angry with you ,” he reassured Hognose, “leave me. Please.” A faint bit of hope returned to Hognose’s eye, and he pounced upon it.
“...Will you come back,” he forced out through choking sobs, “or is this…?” Cobalt turned away, and after a brief pause, began to walk.
He had no answer. Not now.
Whatever Hognose’s response was, he did not see. Did not hear. There was only the path before him, long and winding, and wherever it took him. Perhaps returning to Bramble would be the best choice. Thus, onward Cobalt went. Along the same route he’d taken many a time before, now under the stars above. Twinkling lights shining faintly through the canopy of branches, though overpowered by the brilliance of the three moons. The rattle and shifting of his bag, slung over his shoulder, echoed through the night. Twigs broke beneath his feet, and the path eventually gave way to the untamed wilderness. With time to take in everything that had occurred in rapid succession that evening, the void of emotion had begun to fill more rapidly.
How many, Cobalt found himself wondering grimly, how many people? Families? Mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers? Did they ever have a chance? Cobalt’s fist tightened, and he stopped. The forest watched him silently, lost within its depths. Is that why their first choice was to hide, and not to evacuate? Because to be known at all is to die?
Slowly, deliberately, he removed the bag from his shoulder and gently set Shrike’s sword down atop it. He stood at attention, his gaze boring into the dirt before his feet. The dark stretched around him, an infinite maze of bark and ebony inkiness, leading only to open air and exposure to the skies. He deliberately breathed in, and out. Once. Twice. His lungs expanding and contracting slowly as air moved through him, cold and biting. It was not enough to hold back the waters behind a breaking dam.
“You DUMBASS… !” Cobalt rounded on a tree with sudden fervor, and drove his clenched fist into its bark. He ducked and cut, swung and jabbed uncaringly into the hard target as he forced himself to cathartic action.
You really thought everything was as great as they promised. Cobalt swayed to the left, planting his feet firmly into the soil.
Accepted that their awkward answers and stuttering cut-ins for one another was the full truth. He struck one jab, swiftly followed by another, and wound his fist back for a heftier blow.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this . His knuckles were bit into the tree, skin breaking upon its harsh exterior.
It was supposed to be barren –empty!– in the world across the ocean. He kicked at the trunk, bone still rattling from the impact before setting upon it again.
Shrike and Kea were going to be free, and life was going to be easier! Cobalt’s expression turned to wild fury, a break in the mask finally showing itself as he hit the tree square on, blood dripping down the oak’s surface before reeling his fist back once again.
So why has nothing f*ckING CHANGED!? With a feral, depraved cry, Cobalt swung into the tree with his full weight. The sickening impact jolted his arm and shoulder, and he stopped. His fists had gone numb in the first few strikes, but the dull ache in his bones persisted despite that.
Why is it the same, everywhere I go…? He panted heavily, the adrenaline beginning to peter out. Cobalt slumped into the tree, bumping his head against the rock-like bark.
…It should have been them, not me. They were going to be free. Free . Cobalt dragged his head lower against the tree, and lifted up his hands to rest his forearms against the top of his head. I should’ve stayed and fought. Then they’d still be here.
But no. You promised, and because of that you’re the one still breathing.
“Coward…” He fell onto his knees, forehead scraping against the rough bark of the tree as he went down. Blood dropped from his knuckles onto the forest floor, staining the dirt and moss. Yet not a single tear welled in his eyes, not from his pain nor his distress. Cobalt breathed, the earthy scent of the surrounding space, tinged by coppery blood, filling his lungs. He planted one foot beneath himself, then his other, and rose somewhat collectedly. He briefly gathered his things, and got his bearings again. His outburst was over, but the turmoil and doubts remained, dragging him down as he walked.
The road to Bramble would be long indeed.
*
Hognose sat despondently outside the entry to the den, waiting. The moons were dim, averting their gaze away this night.
He’ll come back, won’t he? Hognose twisted his talons together, wringing them impatiently. Won’t he? Right? He just walked off to breathe for a little while, right? We can talk this out, can’t we? The thoughts played on repeat, just as they had many times over already. A broken record, snatching at any strands that could lead to repair or normalcy once again.
But normalcy had been what caused this in the first place. Normalcy without consideration for Cobalt, forcing him into their lifestyle and view, incompatible though it now was. How it always was. No, no he isn’t coming back, Hognose realized again, I need to go. Go and make it right, bring him back and– Hognose had begun to rise to his feet, ready to leap off at a moment’s notice. However, a talon clamped down on top of his to remind him yet again to stay.
Hognose looked down at Shale’s talon, resting on top of his own as they laid down beside him. They hadn’t even bothered to turn his way this time, idly stopping him from making another rash decision for the umpteenth time since Cobalt had left.
“It’s not fair…!” Hognose fell down, splaying out as he wiped his drenched snout again. “What if we never see him again?” Shale squeezed his talon, a silent reassurance. From within the Den behind them, Oriole’s hammer rang against the anvil with a furor of tension and frustration. Iron and steel yielding to applied emotion.
Whose fault had it been, in the end? Oriole’s, for urging them on to lie for the sake of preserving their way of life? Had it truly been safer for them and Cobalt, or had it just been easier than this?
Was it his own, for failing to defy Oriole’s commands when he knew he should have? Perhaps Hognose had been afraid of losing Cobalt and the pleasant life they’d all built after all.
Or was it some other dragon’s, an untold amount of years ago? One who would never see the consequences of their actions?
It was all a collective horror that had been created in one moment thousands of years ago, and perpetuated for all of time. Perhaps all dragons were to blame, both for the pains they’d inflicted and for doing nothing about it. But what now? What next?
“I…I’ll go inside,” he coughed softly. Shale glanced over now, a long frown and shuddering breaths carving their expression into distant depression. Hognose stood more gently than before, and Shale followed him inside the Den. Oriole’s incessant hammering broke up the solemn quietude, but it did nothing to dispel the hanging sense of dread. Hognose and Shale slowly trotted towards the sleeping cave, turning their eyes down as they passed by the alcove in the hallway. The incredibly late hour had finally begun to weigh upon them, and the two curled into their respective places immediately upon entering. Softer and steadier breaths slowly started to whisper through the chamber, Shale having fallen asleep.
But Hognose remained awake, eyes wide open. Now, in the earliest hours of the morning, his mind raced. Thoughts and ideas of what could be done both for Cobalt and for other scavengers. One by one, he recalled each and every minute attempt dragons had made in the past, though he knew very little. Not many were interested in documenting the ignorable protests of individuals standing for scavengers or other prey animals. Hognose winced, ashamed of himself.
Why are you still calling them that…? You know better.
Still, he ran through the list. Where and when, what had been tried and failed, who, and why. His lungs shuddered, and head ached. He eventually realized that Oriole had come to rest as well, though he’d missed him entering the room.
It had either been minutes or hours, but Hognose finally fell to exhaustion with nothing to show for his anguished deliberation. With scales and amber eyes stained with tears, he passed out where he lie. Into sleep without dreams or comfort.
*
The dreary ambience of Briar’s bar washed over Cobalt as a wave. Quiet and completely empty, dust filtering through the air. The door, thankfully unlocked, shut softly behind him. With a few stumbling movements, Cobalt placed his back against the wall next to the hearth, and roughly sat down. Gingerly, he ran his fingers over his torn knuckles, making sure that the bleeding had stopped.
A haze, unlike any other, had fallen over his mind. Like being unmoored, divorced from any and all connection to the ground beneath his feet. Like floating, only his body was somewhere far away.
A horrid sensation. The one thing he truly controlled, refusing to fully listen. It was all in his head, of course, but that knowledge offered neither comfort nor control.
Cobalt wrapped his arms around the sword, cradling it tightly against his chest. Bit by bit, he pulled closer in on himself, drawing his knees up to his chin. He forced his eyes closed, shutting out the world as much as possible. Holding close all that gave him comfort, as if it could fix anything. The only thing a sword could do, regrettably, was spill yet more blood. Turn fear into anger, and anger into hatred.
Useless, Cobalt cursed himself again and again, utterly worthless. What can you do? Nothing. Help no one. Spirits preserve, you didn’t even try to understand them. To listen, after all they’ve done for you. He caught his spiraling thoughts, the quickening of his breaths and the tightening of his chest. Tried to pull himself out of the vicious judgment. …I’m having very harsh thoughts about myself, he observed futilely, because they are confusing. Why?
…He found no answer. Rather, he found too many within his mind. A swirling whirlwind with no rhyme or reason that obfuscated all and tore through his heart with reckless abandon, throwing everything he’d known into disarray. Or thought he had known. There was no order, and thus nothing upon which to fixate other than his own self-loathing. No matter how much he tried.
A gentle knocking from within the building saw Cobalt pull his head off of his knees and opening his eyes. Heron, pulling her hand away from the open door next to her, looked down at him with confusion and sympathy. She placed a set of keys down onto a table as she walked towards him, no doubt the ones for the cupboards and doors throughout the rest of the bar that were more secure than the front door.
“Hunter?” She stopped a short distance to his left. Leaning back against the wall as well as she sat down beside him with one leg kicked out. “You look like sh*t.” Cobalt stared off into space, and distantly noticed how disheveled he must have appeared. Perhaps a second perspective would be helpful, he realized. He gripped the air more tightly, preparing himself for a first-hand account of the worst his imagination had conjured.
“Heron,” Cobalt began to croak softly, “what are dragons?” A bewildered expression was her initial reaction, of course, so Cobalt opened up just a slight bit further, barely turning his body towards her. He lifted up the sword an inch, indicating it through movement. “I…come from rather far away, and I truly know nothing. I’ve always been told that dragons don’t exist, but…” Heron’s face darkened, and she crossed her arms. A dour mood lurked in her frame as she blew out air whilst thinking.
“...Rhea was right, that does explain why you’re such an odd fella. But to answer your question…am I right in guessing you don’t want a literal description?” Cobalt nodded, prompting Heron to take off her outer, heavier shirt. She packed it into a ball and tossed it aside, then rolled up what little sleever there was of her undershirt to highlight the scars across the backs of her arms. Grotesque and lumpy, they indicated severe burns.
“Then, I’d tell you this: they’re monsters, through and through. Nothing I’ve ever heard of or seen are even half as savage as the things. Maybe once, I’d’ve agreed with some of the folks around who’d tell you they were just dangerous animals. But not after seeing one in the flesh.” Through Heron’s recollection, her fists tightened. Her knuckles turning as red as the raw and beaten gashes on Cobalt’s own hand. “Are y’ sensitive at all? I won’t make it prettier than I remember just to tell you.” Cobalt replied with a slight shake of his head, and Heron continued, her voice picking up further notes of wrath and dread. Terrified awe, even.
“We didn’t even see it coming. One moment, it was a quiet and lazy evening. The next, splinters flying and flame roaring as it crashed down on top of a house, and the building was just gone . I don’t remember where I was or what I was doing, just that I was far enough away to escape its notice at first as it got to tearing–and I mean literally tearing– homes to shreds with its claws. The fire made everything glow, like it was the middle of the day during summer.’
‘I can still remember its howling. Screaming, more like. The loudest thing I’ve ever heard, even at a distance. And it wasn’t like it was hunting, like an animal does. Or because it was just hungry. At some point, I’d gone for cover and found Rhea, trapped by burning logs and beams or something like that. Trying to free her, I watched it chase people down. Darting this way and that, blocking folks from escaping. Catching them in its jaws and throwing the bodies aside. It just ignored all of the livestock, lumbering straight past them…” She shuddered, both unnerved and furious from the recollection. She let out a shuddering sigh, and then continued on.
“So that’s what dragons are, if you’ve never had an encounter with one. Whatever stories you’ve heard, I promise you, the real thing is infinitely worse.” Cobalt curled tighter in on himself, and turned his eyes over towards Heron. Her fists, knuckles now white, had lost all sense of fury or rage.
All that was left inside them was terror, fiercely contained so that it did not escape to the rest of her body.
“...Hm.” A terrifying account, there was no doubt about it. The scars only served to prove her honesty. “Rhea brought me to Oxbow. Because I didn’t believe her. I’m sorry.” But something didn’t quite sit right with Heron’s description. It was a blanketing judgment, undiscriminating. No matter how he imagined it, putting any of the three dragons into the place of the one in Heron’s story seemed impossible. Through everything he knew of them, they would never do such a thing. Could never.
“Sorry?” Heron lifted herself up, pushing herself to sit straight and proud in the face of the topic. “Don’t be. ‘Sides, I take it that you’re here to stay this time. If that’s the case, there’s plenty to be doing instead of being sorry.” Heron pushed off of the ground and stood high. Cobalt unconsciously gravitated towards her, as Heron mounted determination and drive in spite of her own anxieties in a strikingly familiar fashion.
“I’m not about to die cowering in some hole just because there’s dragons out there,” Heron stretched out her hand, inviting Cobalt up, “and I’m taking as many folks as I can with me. ‘S why Briar built this place and takes in everyone who wanders in. So consider this a formal invitation, yeah?” Cobalt looked into the calloused palm of her hand, and towards her brave eyes. He clutched the sword more loosely, and relaxed his hands.
“...What is to be done, then?” Cobalt tightly grasped Heron’s arm, and was pulled to his feet by a brawny tug. Heron shrugged honestly through an aloof grin.
“Our best, I’d call it. But before we can get to ‘thriving out of spite,’ as Briar would say I do, you need some fixin’ up. It’s almost sunrise, y’know?” Heron began to pull him away, though casting a brief glance towards the sword still clutched in his hand. He adjusted it slightly, moving it behind his back and out of her view.
This is it, then, he dejectedly resigned himself. All this time, and you can’t even keep one promise. But what other choice do you have?
His blood simmered in self-loathing, frustration mounting with himself and the world. And the dragons, he realized with a smoldering mote of bitterness as Heron dragged him along. As kind as they were, they still chose to hide away from frightening truths, and for what? Did they have any good reason at all? Or had it just been to preserve his favor? His gratitude?
Cobalt mourned the passing of his own ignorance, as the dreams of his companions and his promise to live their lives for them slipped further and further away.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered inaudibly, “peace and quiet will have to wait. I’ll find it one day, I promise. It’s just been…delayed. I can’t leave them to struggle alone, and I know you’d do the same.” Cobalt whispered his prayer, and looked ahead grimly. This would be breaking the promise. Thrusting himself back into service. But there was no other option, other than to abandon the people of this bleak village. And that would be unacceptable.
Damnit. Your dreams mean nothing, not in the face of this. Running away has never worked, so stop trying. You swore an oath.
…Maybe one day, you’ll earn your rest. But not before you do all that you can for these people, whatever that may be. Hah, how foolish I sound… Cobalt laughed, a pained and tortured expression brought about by how singularly hilarious the world was in its cruelty.
Though, everyone is a fool at some point or another in their lives. This one clung to the hope that, one day, there truly would come a time when he could rest. When the world became a gentler place. When he could wash his hands of blood and scars. But not yet. Not while he still lived on borrowed breaths.
And not while others stifled their own for fear of simply existing in a land of Dragons.
