Here Be Dragons: Book 1 of the Emergence Series

“This still itches,” Celeste grumbled, flicking her spines as she tried to shake off the earpiece that Pryce had attached to her. At least it wasn’t falling off this time, unlike prior attempts.

A crystal-set receiver was a simple and fairly compact device, so it wasn’t hard to attach one onto a dragon’s head, even if it did look rather strange. The problem was that he couldn’t figure out how to hold the earpiece near their webbed spines without irritating them.

In the end he simply looped the earpiece under a strap, held close but not touching sensitive spines.

“How’s that?” Pryce asked.

Celeste tossed her head around, testing the setup. “Weird, but not bad. With this I can hear the ship, right?”

“That’s right." Pryce made another adjustment. "How's that?"

“Better. Do I fly now?”

“Yes, give me the signal if you can hear me through the earpiece.” Pryce had made no modifications to the receivers themselves, but field tests were done for a reason.

Half an hour later and Celeste was a faintly dragon-shaped dot in the sky. At this distance she might have passed for a strange bird if he hadn’t known she was a dragon.

“That's as high as she can go,” Fathom said, having seen her give the signal.

“Testing, testing, 1, 2, 3. Flap if you can hear me,” Pryce said into the microphone, and the dot in the sky winked.

“It works,” Fathom said after several more repetitions. “What are you doing?” he asked, seeing Pryce pull out the sextant.

“I know her real length, so I can calculate her altitude if I just measure her length in degrees,” Pryce said, frowning. “Rather, I could if the ship wasn’t moving around so much. I can’t get a good reading.”

Fathom hummed for a moment and cocked his head thoughtfully. “Is the shirt you are wearing very valuable?”

“What?” Pryce asked, bemused by the non-sequitur. He glanced down at his well-worn short-sleeved shirt. “Well, no, it’s a rather unremarkable shirt. Why do you-”

Pryce barely failed to suppress a yelp as Fathom bit the back of his collar and hoisted him a full meter off the ground.

“Now you can use the sextant,” Fathom said, his voice was somewhat muffled by the fact that his jaws were almost completely closed, though his words remained completely discernible.

«Strange hatching you have there,» Devotion joked, chuffing in amusement along with her partner.

Pryce bit back a protest as he realized what Fathom was getting at; the dragon's head (and by extension Pryce’s body) bobbed in counter to the minute movements of the ship, perfectly stabilizing him. “You could have warned me,” he grumbled, bringing up sextant.

“That wouldn't have been as funny,” Fathom said unapologetically. “......you almost done? I can't see what you're doing like this.”

(Art by Rackiera)

“Give me a minute, my shirt’s pulling on my arms……0.17 degrees, or about 5 kilometers up,” he read outloud, ignoring how his legs awkwardly dangled beneath him.

“Did you do that math in your head?” Fathom asked as he let Pryce down, sounding somewhat impressed.

“Nope, I did it earlier,” Pryce said, holding the calculations scrawled upon a notebook. “If she were 4 kilometers up then Celeste would take up 0.215 degrees of the sky. 5 kilometers means 0.172 degrees, and 6 kilometers means 0.143 degrees. You can come down now, Celeste,” he said, speaking into the microphone.

The dragon in the sky immediately entered a dive, her wings flaring open with less than a kilometer left between her and the ocean. She had timed her descent well, and when she reached the ship she'd bled off enough momentum to land on the deck – though not before pulling off a graceful loop-de-loop.

"Show off," Devotion grumbled.

“It is very strange to be hearing voices when no one is around,” Celeste noted, ignoring the older dragon. “I could understand you very well,” she said once Pryce pressed her about the quality of the sound. “I noticed that the sound was stronger when I looked at your ship."

“Yes, the antenna on your head is pointing forwards, so it can hear better when you're looking at the source of the radio waves. You'll be able to find the rescue ship just by looking around and flying in the direction where the signal is the strongest.”

"Hmm…" Celeste hummed. "That makes sense. Antennas are like eyes."

"Exactly," Pryce nodded. He looked at the chronometer: ten o’clock. “Half an hour left until we arrive. Or at least until we're almost there."

There was no way for him to find his latitude without the stars, so Pryce couldn’t rush that no matter how badly he wanted to do so. There was still a good amount of time before the solstice, but each day they saved was another day they could be looking for Callan.

"Let's go over the plan one more time. Fly as far and as high as you can. Listen to the radio, and don't forget to inspect landmarks for messages-"

“You forgot to teach her how to read English,” Fathom commented.

"...Yeah," Pryce admitted. "I assumed the message would've been written on something they could carry back, but that might not be possible."

Fathom shrugged. “You just need to teach her the alphabet, then she can just memorize the message,” he said, with not unjustified confidence in his daughter's memory.

They spent a quarter of an hour covering the alphabet, and another quarter covering the spelling of words related to direction and distance. The dragons expressed discontentment at how each letter could have multiple sounds, but that didn’t stop them from just memorizing them anyway.

“Alright, we should be pretty close to our destination,” Pryce said, killing the engines. “One of you will go north while the other goes south, and when you come back I’ll move the ship to its final location at night.”

“The closest landmark is north of us; it is a pile of rocks called the Sleeping Dragon," Fathom said, partially extending a wing to sense the air currents. "I can read the best, so I'll go north, where the message is most likely to be." He paused for a moment, then added to his daughter: "Don’t forget to check the Egg; we passed it less than an hour ago.”

"Yes, yes," Celeste said absently. "The Twisted Tree is worth visiting too, since it is so close to the Egg." She cocked her head, seeming to realize something. "How do you think Callan would have left a message? What should I be looking for?"

"She'd probably try leaving a message written on leaves," Pryce guessed. "It shouldn't be very hidden, since dragons can't read it anyways."

"Do not forget to avoid other dragons," Devotion cautioned. "Especially you, Celeste. They might see your receiver, and it will be hard for you to catch them if they are male."

“That…makes sense," Celeste admitted, albeit reluctantly. "But what do I do if they notice my receiver? I can't stop them from following me back here."

"You could lead them away," Devotion suggested. "We will know you have met another if you have not returned by sunset."

"What if I hid the receiver?" Celeste asked. It took over a minute of her fumbling with the velcro strap, but she was eventually able to hide the device within her hand.

"Can you put it back on by yourself?" Pryce asked doubtfully.

Another few minutes proved that she could, though the earpiece was completely misplaced. Tests showed that she could still hear transmitted audio, albeit not quite as well.

"Try not to do that unless you have to," Pryce said. "And don't forget, Trespasser's probably seen you, so he'll still recognize you even if you hide the receiver."

“Mmm…Annoying problem,” Celeste grumbled.

“Maybe it’s best to just…tell him everything?” Pryce proposed; a suggestion that was met with incredulous stares. “I know it sounds stupid, but if we can get him to join us then he won't be a threat. Am I wrong?”

"You can't just invite him," Fathom snorted. "A dragon who sneaks around like him can't be trusted."

“...Pryce is not wrong,” Devotion said, surprising them both. “It is strange to invite an enemy, but it does make some sense.” Pryce was pleased by the unexpected support, at least until she added, «This also makes it easier to deal with the trespasser in the event that we fail to convince him with words.»

"Let's hope we don't have to do that," Pryce said upon receiving the concerning translation from Fathom. The dragon had seemed uncertain about how to translate "deal with", so he doubted that proposal boded well for the green dragon's health.

“It feels wrong to fight him when there are four of us," Celeste grumbled.

"It does," Fathom agreed. "I would rather fight him properly."

Devotion snorted and tossed her head. “He will not do that unless he is very stupid. Do not rely upon an enemy to make mistakes – it never ends well,” she chided austerely.

"Fighting and talking will both be easier if we invite him," Fortitude placatingly interrupted. "But it seems unlikely that any of you will find him, so I think it is better to plan for other things."

"Fair enough," Pryce conceded. "Fathom will go north and Celeste will go south, do you plan on doing anything today, Devotion?”

"I wish to go to the Plateau," Devotion answered. "But it is too late today. I would not be able to return by sunset, so I will go tomorrow. Today I will try to find dragons who will want to be allies with you."

"I've been waiting for you to bring that up," Pryce said, excited at the prospect of meeting other dragons. "Have you decided on who we can trust?"

"Yes, some, but I do not know how many I will find," Devotion warned. "Some of them maybe not home."

"We have a few dragons we want to find,” Fortitude explained. “The first two are Kharno and Helsha. The first was our neighbor a long time ago, and she has good relationships with many other dragons. She will be helpful in convincing everyone to trust humans."

"And she is also not bad at fighting," Devotion added – a lukewarm compliment, but Pryce doubted she was the type to give any sort of praise easily.

"She sounds like a great choice, but why didn't we try finding her earlier if you know her so well?"

Devotion snorted with something between amusement and disdain. "She likes talking too much. Keeping you a secret would be painful for her."

Ah. A blabbermouth. "Fair enough. What about the second dragon?"

"In a way, Helsha is almost the opposite of Kharno," Fortitude began. "Both are old and strong, but he likes to live alone. We want him to join us because he is the only dragon who knows how to make…medicine? That can make our patterns stronger."

Well, that was interesting. Other than the usage of herbs, he hadn't heard much mention of dragons making medicine before.

"Medicine is the right word," Pryce confirmed, catching onto their intentions. They wanted to gather allies with the power to sway others, while also being strong enough to deter any opposition they would face.

Now that he thought about it, strength was probably a requirement to become influential in the first place. A secret wouldn't be valuable if it could be extracted with force, after all. It was a good strategy, and he could see how the knowledge to make such "medicine" would earn Helsha significant standing among creatures as vain as dragons. Still, one particular detail worried him more than the others.

"Is it safe to try and invite him if he doesn't like dealing with other dragons?"

Devotion tilted her head, acknowledging his concern. "Helsha hurts challengers very much, but he is very honorable and he almost never begins a fight," she said, before candidly stating: "You are very weak, so he will not hurt you."

"He hates fighting people weaker than him more than anyone else," Celeste elaborated. "He hates it so much that he refuses to hunt, because he thinks prey is too weak."

Pryce stared, uncertain if he had heard her correctly. "He doesn't hunt? What does he eat then?" He asked incredulously.

"Plants, fruits, nuts, and mushrooms," Fathom answered succinctly. "At least that is what he says. I don't think anyone can survive without eating any meat," he said, rumbling skeptically.

A dragon who was a vegetarian wasn't something Pryce had ever expected, but he seemed like an interesting character – if a little paradoxical in his behavior.

"There are others we would like to talk to," Fortitude said, seeming to mistake his silence for skepticism. "I can tell you about them later when the others are gone."

"That is everything we wanted to talk about," Devotion said, fanning out her wings. "I will be back by sunset," was all she said before she leapt into the sky, forcing Pryce to brace himself lest he be knocked over by the powerful gusts of wind.

When she was gone he straightened himself and beckoned Fathom over. "Let's get you outfitted with the receiver, then the two of you can head on out."

Celeste shifted impatiently as Pryce worked, and the moment he was done she blurted, "It seems like you're the last to leave," and abruptly launched herself into the sky.

"We were not having a competition!" Fathom cried, immediately following suit despite his protest.

"Looks like we're alone," Pryce said to Fortitude. "Are you going to tell me about the other dragons now?"

"Maybe? Talking is a lot of work," Fortitude said, tilting her head coyly. "I might feel like telling you about them, if you show me more human things."

“Why have you not shown me this before?!” Fortitude demanded even as her eyes remained locked upon the mirror.

“I had important things to think about, like enemy dragons,” Pryce said drily.

“I do not see how that is more important than this.” She spoke with her mouth open, inspecting the rows of teeth she had never clearly seen before. Come to think of it, how were all her teeth in pristine condition? They couldn’t possibly be as old as she was, so that meant…

“Wait a minute, do dragon teeth grow back?”

Fortitude paused her inspection. “What?” She asked, glancing at his reflection.

“If you lose a tooth, does it grow back?”

She stared blankly at him. “...do your teeth not do that?”

“No. Human children replace their teeth once, but after that they’re gone forever.”

“Then how do you eat?” Fortitude demanded incredulously, her head snapping around to stare at him instead of his reflection. “Do you have any missing teeth?”

“We make fake teeth out of metals like gold, and no, I’m lucky; I haven’t lost any yet,” he said, opening his mouth for her to see. Few people his age could say that they had a full set of teeth, and it was something he was forever thankful for.

“Human bodies are stupid,” Fortitude huffed, turning her attention back to the mirror. “Do you get sick often?”

“Depends on what you mean by ‘often’. Most people will get a little sick a few times a year.”

“Yes,” Fortitude said, sounding faintly uncertain. “Your friend says you can cure infections.”

“If it’s the right type of infection, yes.”

Fortitude cocked her head, a skeptical glint in her eyes. “Can you prove it?”

“I cured Fathom. Isn’t that enough?”

“That could have been luck.”

“True, true,” Pryce said, sitting down to rest his chin on his fist. “I guess I can’t really prove it to you, not without a bunch of sick people lying around.”

The elder dragon lowered her head and fixed him with a contemplative eye. “Strange. You believe you can do this, but you are not insulted that I think you cannot?”

“Not really. Dragons think infection is caused by…dead things, right?”

Slowly, Fortitude nodded. “It makes sense for dead things make living things sick. It is…boring to think that sickness is caused by many small creatures.”

“Maybe,” Pryce shrugged. “But this does remind me, I wanted to ask if you could tell me everything you know about a certain dragon.”

“You already said you wanted to know about the dragons we want to invite.”

“Not those,” Pryce said, shaking his head. “A different one. Fathom told you about the dragon I call Pathogen, right? I wanted to ask about him.”

“Oh, him. Why? You are not thinking of inviting him, are you?” She asked with surprising harshness.

“No, of course not,” Pryce said, shaking his head emphatically. “Fathom doesn’t seem to know why Pathogen wants him dead, so I wanted to see if you could help me figure that out.”

“I do not see why that is important,” Fortitude chuffed. “The one you call Pathogen is not just a coward, he is…” she paused, apparently trying to find a word. “Do you have a word to describe a person who makes bad things happen?”

Pryce frowned, uncertain of how to answer that vague and troubling description. “You mean…a person who does bad things? That would make them a bad person, or evil.”

“No, I mean a person who makes bad things happen.”

“The closest word would be…cursed,” Pryce said slowly.

“He is weak, a coward, and a cursed individual who makes others sick,” Fortitude said, tallying off each sin with a raised talon. “I suppose if you are right then he is only unclean, but why do you want to learn about someone like that?”

“It’s just…” Pryce sighed, running his fingers through his hair. “When I first came to this island, I could have met anyone. What if I became friends with Pathogen? What if I trusted him without learning about Fathom? What if I let him kill Fathom, or worse, helped him?”

“Hrnn…” Fortitude rumbled. “I think I understand a little, but what would you do if you decide Pathogen does not deserve to die? Even if you could convince your friend, you could not convince Pathogen.”

“I’ve…thought about that. I know there’s nothing I can do. Maybe I’m just being stupid, but I still want to know.” Pryce looked up to see the old dragon watching him, an unreadable expression on her face.

“Very well,” Fortitude said, clicking a talon against the deck with an air of decision, “I will tell you about Pathogen; I am curious to see what decision you will make.” The elder sat down upon her haunches, tilting her head as she organized her thoughts. “Pathogen was born 74 years ago. His mother and father were strong – almost as strong as Devotion – but he was weak and disappointing. When he was young, he challenged many strong dragons, and almost always lost. 16 years ago he challenged your friend – you know what happened next, yes?”

“I do,” Pryce nodded. “Fathom lost, his mate stopped their fight, and she died from infection.”

“Yes. After that, Pathogen has almost only challenged Fathom for the last 16 years. In that time he has not won a single fight.” She snorted disdainfully. “I am surprised your friend has not killed him earlier.”

“But Fathom said Pathogen wouldn’t agree to a death fight,” Pryce said, confused. “I thought dragons who kill outside of a death fight get killed?”

“Only if the one they kill is…one who acts right,” the elder corrected. “Pathogen is cursed because he has killed someone by making them sick. That is almost as bad as killing them himself – he does not deserve this respect.”

Pryce frowned as the pieces began to fall into place. “So…if Fathom wanted to, he could have killed him and not be punished for it?”

“No, of course not,” Fortitude said, shifting a wing dismissively. “Are you not listening? No one would care if someone like him died.”

Ighnahr gently descended upon the familiar outcropping. Old, once-fond memories bubbled to the surface of his mind as he laid eyes upon the elder before him.

A dragon’s scales lightened with age, but the wings were free of any such protection, and thus their coloration remained unaffected by the passage of time.

It was for this reason that a dual-tone coloration could only be found in dragons who had lived for 250 years or more - the older the dragon, the more striking the contrast between body and wing. As for this dragon…

Scales, glossy and white with age covered his deep purple hide. Scars from battles centuries past littered his body, the old wounds light and pale even against his frosted scales. The old dragon fixed Ighnahr with a hard look, his grey eyes sharp and critical.

«It has been a long time, cursed brat,» Anzath rumbled, the note of disdain in his voice not at all hidden.

«Father,» Ighnahr said, bowing his head. «I come bearing news.»

«If it is about the human, then you are too late. I heard the news from Kharno-ǂ yesterday,» Anzath said, his tone cold and clearly unwelcoming.

Such a response was precisely what Ighnahr had expected, and yet it stung no less when heard. «I know something Kharno-ǂ does not,» he said, something that elicited a faint glimmer of interest in his father’s eyes.

«...Go on,» he rumbled, though his eyes lost none of their skepticism.

«Sharnha noticed Huroumh flying with Ghorrah-ǂ and his daughter,» Ighnahr began. His father's eyes narrowed at the mention of the unsavory green dragon, but otherwise made no objections. «He followed them, and found a great shell of iron four times longer than the entire length of his body and just as wide – it must be what this human used to cross the ocean.»

His father snorted dismissively. «And you believed him? A dragon like Sharnha?»

«He had proof, of course,» Ighnahr bristled. «He broke off a piece of metal from this great shell, and it was like nothing I had ever seen. No dragon has ever created anything so smooth and reflective, it was like a metal with the texture of a calm lake.»

Anzath chuffed, clearly doubtful of such a claim. «And I assume Sharnha has very conveniently kept this piece of metal?»

«Yes, he refused to part with it,» Ighnahr growled. «He led me back to where he found the great metal shell, but by the time we arrived it was gone, and so was everything of value in the territory of Huroumh.»

The two dragons stood in silence, and Anzath stared at Ighnahr with that piercing gaze that always made him feel as if he were completely transparent before his father.

«I…see…» he rumbled, slowly and deliberately. «Assuming this is true, then the four of them – including Jooral – are…allied with these beings, at least to some extent.» He paused, and his eyes slitted further. «When Qnaoro was discovered with the human, perhaps he and that one human were only separated from their group? No, no,» he said, lowering his head in thought. «Neither Qnaoro nor Huroumh had any business dealing with Ghorrah and Jooral – unless the latter was visiting his daughter? That means among the two of them, the first to have discovered that human is likely to be that cloudchaser* Qnaoro, but that does not explain why he was found by Xhorhw so far away from the territory of Huroumh, unless –»

«It is possible that there are more than one of these creatures, and Qnaoro found one just as Huroumh did.»

«Possible, but not very likely,» his father said, dismissing the idea. «I believe Qnaoro and that human may have been quietly gathering allies when he was caught. That would explain why Huroumh is with them, as his daughter likely invited him to join their group. I must go and see Ghorrah-»

«That will not be possible,» Ighnahr said. «The two elders have left their territory; I have seen that for myself-»

«What?!» Anzath cried, almost making Ighnahr jump in surprise. «Both of them? Are you certain?»

«Y-Yes,» Ighnahr stammered, surprised at his father’s vehemence. «Their valuables have mostly been removed, though there are some that were left behind. I did not take any, of course,» he added. Even Sharnha had refused to disturb their belongings, and if an opportunistic dragon like him decided a risk was too great, then it definitely wasn’t worth taking.

«You should have started with that!» Anzath spat, his wings mantling in agitation. «Those two have occupied their territory for the last two hundred years. What under the sun could have caused them to leave?» he mumbled before abruptly rounding upon his son. «What else do you know?» he demanded.

«Nothing. They disappeared, and we were unable to determine where they went,» Ighnahr said, his response stiff and measured. Sharnha had been baffled beyond belief that something so large could disappear and leave behind nothing but an oddly disturbed patch of sand upon the beach.

«I see,» Anzath huffed, deflating in disappointment. «This complicates things. I must talk to your mother about this.»

«Yes, of course,» Ighnahr said, bowing his head before turning to leave. «Farewell, father.»

«...Wait,” Anzath said, just as Ighnahr flared out his wings. «Let us talk a little while longer. Why did you come to see me?»

Ighnahr paused, not having expected to be stopped. «...I thought you would want to know the news I brought.»

«Please,» Anzath snorted. «We both know that is not the whole truth. There is something else you wanted to tell me, is there not?»

Slowly, Ighnahr folded his wings, but could not quite bring himself to face his father. Even his throat refused to work, as if it were constricted by coils of shame.

Seeing as he wasn't getting a response, Anzath continued. «If this is about Huroumh, I have some advice: give up.»

Ighnahr froze, the red dragon’s jaw falling agape. «Give up…what, exactly?»

«You know what,» Anzath said, flicking his nictitating membranes dismissively. «I know I once taught you to never give up, but something needs to be said. You have lived for 76 years now, and what have you really accomplished? Forget eggs, you cannot even win against a has-been with a broken wing!» His father waved a splayed foreclaw in Ighnahr’s direction, and he could not help but suddenly feel conscious of his sorry state. «And look at you: your hide is barely even red and your scales are a mess. How have you managed to let yourself fall into such an embarrassing state?»

«...I have been busy training,» Ighnahr defended weakly.

«Exactly!» Anzath cried, pouncing upon the point. «You train and train, but anyone can see that you will never win, so why do you fight?»

Perhaps it was because of recent events, or perhaps it was simply the gust that felled the tree*, but at that moment, Ighnahr snapped.

«How can you understand, when all you have done is win?!» He roared, decades of frustration and anger forced into every word. «Do you know what it was like, for every person I met to know what a disappointment I am? Do you know what it was like, for your life to be ruined by the first true victory you experienced in over a decade? You cannot, can you?!» Ighnahr ranted, his chest heaving with each sentence.

«... My understanding has no bearing upon your choices,» Anzath said, as if Ighnahr had not roared in his face. «Answer my question: why do you fight?»

The rust-red dragon did not immediately respond, as he had no answer to give. For several moments he only panted as the wind whistled throughout the mountainside.

«I want to win,» he said, answering the question as simply as he could.

Anzath only stared, and gave no indication of whether or not he approved of this answer. «And how will you do this? You have never won before.»

«The last time we fought, Huroumh broke his wing. I do not know where he is, but I am certain he will be at the Plateau. There I will challenge him to a death-fight that he will surely accept. With hundreds of witnesses, no one will be able to doubt my strength.» Ighnahr raised a foreclaw, his eyes settling on the tips of his talons. «A cursed person like me will never earn the respect of others…I have known that for a long time. Even still, I need to do this. No matter what else happens, I must win against the one who I could never defeat.»

«I see,» Anzath said, and faster than Ighnahr could react, struck him in the face.

Ighnahr hissed in pain from the blow, though it caused no real injury. «Hssk…! What are you…?»

«Pathetic,” Anzath snorted. «To think a son of mine would come to say farewell before challenging a twice-weakened foe.» His father paused for a moment, then slid his nictitating membranes over his eyes. «Fight me,» he demanded.

«What?» Ighnahr stammered, his mind still recovering from the blow. «But my curse-»

«Will not matter so long as we do not draw blood. Besides, I am stronger than Huroumh. If your curse could not kill him, then it cannot kill me,» his father chuffed. «Do not worry. I will not leave you with any injuries that will not heal in the six days before the solstice.»

Ighnahr hesitated. He didn't see the point of this sparring match, but the look in his father's eyes told him that he wasn't going to take no for an answer.

He nodded.

«Is this the best you can do?» Anzath roared as Ighnahr reeled away. «What happened to all that training you did? How can you hope to beat anyone like that?»

Ighnahr tossed his head and shook off the pain. In a dozen strenuous flaps he managed to regain his lost altitude to face his father once again.

They had exchanged blows three times already, and Ighnahr had come off the worse every single time. Neither of them used their talons or teeth, but a hit was still a hit, and he knew it was going to take a few days to heal the bruises he already accumulated.

Once more his father lunged at him, feinting again – but this time Ighnahr was ready, and managed to counter with a blow of his own while blocking the one he received.

«Good!» Anzath barked, even as he was knocked away. «Again! Fight like defeat means death!»

They completed another exchange, with this result the same as the first three.

«I see why you never win,» Anzath father roared over the winds. «You flinch at the slightest possibility of pain! In a battle, such hesitation leads to defeat! I know I taught you this before, so why do this now? What are you so afraid of?»

Ighnahr snarled, anger flaring up within his core. The next exchange he took a risk, twisting his body as he overextended himself, and managed to land a solid hit upon his father.

But it wasn't without cost – Anzath grabbed onto his foreclaws and twisted about. In the blink of an eye he had somehow flipped Ighnahr around and dug his talons into his neck.

«You lose,» Anzath said, and Ighnahr could only grunt an agreement before they had to separate, lest they fall too far from the sky.

«It seems all those defeats have changed you; you were not so skittish the last time we sparred,» Anzath stated as they returned to the ground. «When you landed a hit upon me, what did you do differently? How did you feel?»

Ighnahr frowned, confused by his father's odd line of questioning. «I was…angry,» he admitted.

«The last time you fought Huroumh, you said you almost won. Why?»

«I was more aggressive than before,» Ighnahr answered confidently. He had pondered that question himself for many days as he recovered, and was confident that was the answer.

«Yes, you were aggressive because you were angry, were you not? Anger makes you reckless and unpredictable, but it also makes you sloppy – easy to counter,» he said, pointedly bringing up the talons that had just been pressed against his son's throat. He turned to fix his son with a hard expression and said, «I was not always so strong. Either overcome your fear or control your anger. If you can do that, you might be able to win.»

«What are you…?»

«Listen well, brat: There are many paths to victory, but mastery of the self is what separates the strong from weak – something you have clearly yet to learn.» His father paused, as if unsure of what to say next. «Ighnahr. If you truly wish for victory, then I will not stop you, but ask yourself this; what are you so afraid of?»

Ighnahr could only watch as Anzath flew away, his father's last question echoing within his mind. He looked down upon his raised foreclaw, clenched tightly so that it could not be seen to shake.

«You are too soft,» Igansa scolded as Anzath landed upon the mountainside. «Why did you even bother with that one?»

«Pathetic though he may be, he still seeks victory,» Anzath explained as he folded his wings upon his back. «I cannot deny his tenacity, and failure or not, he is still our son.»

«Unfortunately,» Igansa snorted as she tossed her head. «If you wanted to truly help him then you should not have gone easy on him – coddling never helped anyone spread their wings.»

Anzath rumbled as he tilted his head, his spines flattening. «It is surprising, but…I barely held back at all,» he admitted.

«What? You have to be joking!» Igansa exclaimed.

«He still has a long way to go before he can beat me, of course,» Anzath said, scoffing pridefully. “But he was much stronger than I expected. He must have grown throughout the years while fighting Huroumh, even if he does not realize it.»

Igansa frowned as her partner explained himself. «If you say so…how did he react when you told him that?»

«I did not. If he cannot find his resolve without my approval then he should not be fighting death-fights in the first place,» Anzath sighed, and looked up at the vanishing dot that was his son. «I have done what I can. Whether he wins or loses now is entirely up to him.»

«Well, at least you are right about something,» Igansa said, teasing. “I was worried you lost your edge for a moment.»

«Yes, very funny,» Anzath snorted. «By the way, he did not come to ask for help like you thought.»

«No?» Igansa asked, blinking in surprise.

«No, instead he brought us some very interesting information – I might have to tell Vosae-ǂ about this…»