I had found it just outside of Helovia’s borders—the precious egg, large and glistening and gold, bundled by itself in a careful nest of pine needles and leaves. I had known what it was right away: the way it called to me, pulled me. With hardly a second thought (as is my wont) I had snatched it from its cradle of underbrush, far too greedy for my own good, and claimed it as my own—I figure I would have been bombarded by some angry mother dragon by this point, had it not been meant to be.

It’s mine now.

The sky above is dark and ominous, but I’m blissfully unaware of the monster that has been haunting Helovia—last thing I knew was that this weird creature named Kis-something-or-other had come randomly popping out of the ocean. Still, even if I did know, even if I did realize the bloody doom that loomed ahead, I’m not sure that I would even care in this moment. In this moment, my eyes are only for the egg.

It moves—
My muscles seize with excitement, my breath is baited with anticipation, and my yellow eyes are wide as they reflect the royal egg. First one crack appears, a hairline fracture along the gleaming surface, and then it splinters—down the sides the lines run, creating a haphazard webbing of cracks. I feel myself leaning forward, getting impatient (come on, come on!)—and then, clink. With a nearly-soundless thrust from within, the gilded shell goes shattering to the cold ground, falling into a glittering pile around a little gold dragon.

I feel my breath catch in my throat and I hiccup gracelessly, my lips parted in a silent squeal of delight. Eagerly I thrust my head forward, inspecting the young reptile (my huntress) more closely. The golden queen is unimpressed with my intrusion of her space, but being barely a babe, she falls over her legs while licking her forked tongue out in a hiss. I bark a breath of gleeful laughter, barely recognizing the distant screams as hunger suddenly clutches my stomach.


I’m still on cloud nine when I trapeze ignorantly into the Spectral Marsh, riding the high of my new royal bond. It’s a shock, to say the least, when the scene opens up before me—a disarray of black shadows and bright lights, of death and the bone-curling screams of those left behind. For a long moment I just stare, watching as the crowd moves this way and that, everyone shoving each other, and everyone calling out for someone else. I’m disoriented, confused, and unable to think of anything much more than: “What the damn hell—?”

But I have never been a lady of words.
(Or a lady at all, really.)

With something of a warrior’s cry scraping from my lips, I charge forward. At what, I’m not even sure, but the buzz of battle is electric and contagious. Through my mane, I feel Cutlass dig into the flesh of my neck, trying to hold on as her little body is tossed roughly on my back. I snarl with the pain, gnashing my teeth towards the nearest spit of shadows.

And then I see him—
“Volterra?” I breathe, stopping suddenly (with a shriek of distaste from my reptilian rider) and focus my attention on the large mammoth of a stallion. He is rounding up others—who exactly, I don’t know (joke’s on me being part of the biggest damn family in the history of ever)—and with a sense of hollow loyalty for this man I hardly know (but still respect?), I follow him. I’m not ready to die—and I might not know much about this situation, but I know the end of the world when I see it. “Hold on!” I growl to my dragon as I feel the portal’s force, gritting my teeth for whatever lies ahead.

notes; Mentions @Volterra c:
“Speech.”

Light the fuse and burn it up

take the path that leads to nowhere.