We shouldn’t have done that.

Lilomiel’s mouth is smouldering from the heat of his expelled flame. Smoke wreaths his jawline, curling around his muzzle and slithering along the crown of his head; he beats his wings rapidly, pulling away from his bonded’s sibling. Despite their unique form of relationship, Lilomiel had never particularly cared for Volterra—there had always been a pathetic level of competition between them, a certain vying for Nymeria’s attention.

He was happy to try and burn Volterra’s balls off, but he knew it was wrong.

(He might even say he could’ve guessed the outcome.)

Nymeria hadn’t expected her twin to react so violently. As her magic wrenches at him, manifesting his rage in hot red lines that stream from his nostrils and his eyes, his wrath ignites in an impossible and volatile explosion. He is demonic: simmering, singed flesh (reeking like burnt hair), crimson dripping and unspooling across the hardened bones of his face, broad chest swelling in his fury. She did not see this through her own eyes—why would she look back?—but rather through her companion’s sharp and increasingly anxious gaze. Despite… despite his unfailing support for Nymeria, Lilomiel couldn’t help but think—couldn't help but agree—with Volterra’s reasoning.

(Siblings did not turn on siblings. Did Nymeria not deserve to be punished for her impunity?)

The earth groans, trembles and erupts. The wolf jerks, startled from her reverie, red eyes fastening to the wall of soil rapturously. She knew instantly who was the source of the obstruction, and she spent no time in trying to avoid what was coming for her. Without wasting emotion on fretting about what was to transpire, she rolled back on her haunches, whirling to face her brother. Her mind automatically began seeking out his weaknesses—but it was only moments later that she realized Volterra was her better.

Mentally? No. Physically? Yes.

She knew how he trained. She knew every roll and swell of his muscle. She knew he was stronger, faster, and more practiced.

Still. This is necessary, she told Lilomiel in delayed response. This… this will cleanse us.

(Whether or not she believed what she was telling her dragon was another matter entirely.)

When Volterra shifts to her right, she prepares herself to meet him. The sun is at his back, but obscured by the shape of the Rotunda. Colors glisten and gleam distractingly, but she ignores them. He thunders towards her like a god of war: a tiny and traitorous smile flickers across her mouth. This course of outcome had not been expected, but she’d calculated the possibility all the same. Now—now was her chance to knock some physical sense into him.

(If she could.)

Emotion is put aside in favor of discipline. She coils on her haunches, weight pressing through her hind legs into the ground, and then she unspools sinew and muscle like a striking wolf as he approaches. As his right shoulder plunges towards her, she thrusts herself into his embrace. They collide, colossus creatures, the force of Volterra reverberating through her entire body (originating from her ribs), through her bones, sending her stumbling to her left. Unbalanced and her weight thrown awkwardly, her left foreleg twists sharply as she lurches away; yet more pain quivered up through the delicate, strained tendons.

Nymeria had made a severe miscalculation.

Bruises, heavy, dark, and vast, begin to bloom all across her ribs on her right side.

In return she kicks out at her brother's right foreleg with her right hindleg, attempting to hit the fragile knee. She simultaneously pulled at his blood. This time she aimed to manipulate the blood already dripping from his eyes and nostrils, to use it to coat his eyeballs in a thin stream of red to block or obscure his vision (or unsettle him.)

Lilomiel, meanwhile, had his own problems to deal with. As Vadir chases after him, he makes for a swift retreat; he, smaller and more agile, flits just out of her grasp. Flame warms the tip of his tail as she exhales; he, in response, curls upwards and towards her, lashing at her neck with his jaws. He attempts to bite down over the crown of her head and assert his dominance.

(For a brief second Nymeria is startled and amazed at his audacity; he was typically so submissive with other dragons. Then she returned her attention to the problems at hand.