I Am My Own

“If I had to guess, based on your disposition…you’d be an Earth Rider.” The Tsotska was busy explaining as many basics as he could. What had seemed large from the outside was surprisingly small. They sat at its center, with the walls of the cavern visible like a large room. It stretched taller than the dimensions outside could allow, but it was still just a forested cavern. The only entrance and exit was the door they went through, and presently, the waves were pressing halfway up, churning backwards as if they were stopped by glass. In the safety of his den, Iapetus was more than happy to blabber on.

“What do you mean, disposition? What does an Earth Rider act like?” Several of the Rider’s dragons meandered around, watching the scene unfold. They all resembled horses, and they all acted their role as grand steeds to the Tsotska.

It disgusted him, but the hatchling was intrigued in meeting and speaking with other dragons for more than a few sentences. The dragon also eagerly ate up the words, and was quick to answer his own Rider’s question. “I know this one! You’re strong. That’s why I chose you.”

“Yes. Strong,” agreed the Tsotska with a sneer. “It’s difficult to tell with just one dragon, but they know their Rider best. Based on the appearance of the hatchling, I’d guess you also had a bit of fire in you. You’re mean enough.”

“Who would want a mean Rider?” the hatchling shot back.

“You’d be surprised,” he chuckled. At his side, Menoetius shook his neck and gave a snort of laughter.

“I don’t really care what element I am, and I definitely won’t be getting another dragon. A single one is too many. Why would you bond so nonchalantly with whatever creature suits you?” His question was broad and aimed at everyone else in the instance.

“Don’t take the bond between a Rider and dragon so lightly. You should know by now that your emotions are linked—don’t you feel it?” Iapetus seemed frustrated. A black steed trotted up and nuzzled him close to the neck. “Yes, yes, I know. I’ll be patient.”

Part of Marshasp wanted to shift and show him just how mean he could be, but another part knew it would be wasted energy. He was hardly the strong person that dragon had seen the day he arrived. He needed to conserve as much of his energy as possible.

When Marshasp was slow to respond, Iapetus quickly leapt back into his explanations. “Without a Rider, a dragon can never hatch. The ones that do are mutated. Maybe you don’t believe me, but it’s true. I have no way of proving it to you, but I can verify that some of the eggs in Aurelia’s hatchery have been there for decades. Some of the ones that were there for decades ended up hatching. Dragons will only hatch for a suitable Rider. If anything, you’re the one who needs to work for it.”

“And if I don’t want to?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Iapetus growled. “It’s a blessing to be chosen by creatures like these. You call these bonds ‘nonchalant’? You’re the one treating them like casual connections.” The black dragon nudged at him again.

“What element are you, Iapetus? Which element goes on rants and gets angry when they force someone to listen?”

Based on his expression, the lizard had plenty to say about that, but now even Menoetius and the black dragon were trying to keep him calm. “Dark and light. Dark, because I can see into the shadows. Light, because I despise the people who cast them. Your shadow is full of spirits. How many dead people did you piss off, I wonder? Did you personally kill them?”

Marshasp knew there was magic outside the Quetzalcoatl disciplines, but communicating with the dead seemed absurd. Any of the people he killed were spent—every ounce of their spirit used up. There’s no way they could follow him around.

“Each element has its strengths and weaknesses. Dragons look at them equally—they are part of their Rider, and thus, part of themselves. Think of your dragon as a second self, because that’s how he thinks of you. Every scratch you get, he feels. Every thought you make, he hears. You might think you’re doing the best thing by trying to sever the bond, but you’re only making things horrible for that hatchling.”

“But it isn’t mine, it never should have been mine. I already have a bond.”

Iapetus leaned forward, staring straight into his eyes as if looking for something. “You’re a Quetzalcoatl after all. I won’t question why you’re here, but I need you to listen. A dragon Rider has more duties to fulfill than using their dragon. If you fail to live up to his expectations, he’s going to kill you one day—and he has all the strength to do it. Then you’ll both die. Is that what you want?”

The Quetzalcoatl huffed and looked at the exit. The water had fully submerged the entrance at this point. The tides were surprisingly fast here—or was it a trick of the space? Either way, taking a swim to get out of this place was looking more appealing by the second.  “If that’s the only way for it to end, then I expect that to happen. I’ll defend myself, though. I have something left to do, and it doesn’t involve riding any sort of dragon.”

Iapetus threw up his hands in exasperation. “You’re an earth Rider, without a doubt.”

Marshasp left as soon as the waves pulled back. Iapetus pressed him for details on his residence, but he refused. The last thing he needed was for the Tsotska to ‘invite’ him to share a den when he found out the quetzal had nowhere to stay. It had been years since he left the city, and the thought of a real home seemed like a distant memory. He found a cot in the hatchery when it was time to rest; otherwise, he spent his time in the wild.

They both flew through the night sky, searching for a nice place on the stony shore to watch the stars go by. Even as they left the Tsotska and his tales behind them, the hatchling was eager and sent a flurry of excitement to Marshasp every now and then. “So I can turn into fire one day. Or grow crystals. Wouldn’t that be amazing? I’ll be the strongest of them all, with the strongest Rider next to me!”

“You’ll sooner eat me.”

“I would never. I think he was lying about that.”

“And you believe everything else he said?”

It was a moonless night, but light was not an issue for a red-feathered serpent. He would land just find in the darkness, and the hatchling would watch through his eyes and land safely behind them. They reached a small chersonese and chose that as their resting place. A canal stretched out before them, with one large island marking a hunting zone, and a smaller island marking its halfway point. He had never seen the island before—perhaps it only revealed itself in the low tides.

He sat at the edge to listen to the churning waves and think. His dragon laid nearby and set his head in his lap. “Do you hate me?” it asked him quietly.

“Of course not. You deserve to be something other than mine.”

“Then I am my own. I don’t belong to anyone.”

“Talk like a normal person, please.”

The dragon sighed, shut his eyes, and curled his tail closer. Marshasp let his hand stroke the snout, eliciting a hum from the dragon. It wasn’t his fault that they got into this mess. He might have initiated the bond, but that was only because he knew no other way to hatch. Marshasp was told that Tsotska d’la Mer was the home of Riders—that he would learn what it meant to care for one—but in the end it seemed he only hated them more.

The water lapped in the spaces between the stones as he thought. He still tasted the poison that affected Prospero; he turned it over in his mind and searched for its antidote. He might have green feathers, but so did his opponent. The venom of a serpent was far harder to dissect than a brush with a plant or an infection. Many of these ingredients were new; They required new things to counter them. His years in the Chronoscape yielded nothing, and nothing in this place looked out of the ordinary. The more time passed, the more hopeless it seemed. The dragon nuzzled him as it sensed the distress coming on.

He could return to Prospero at any point. The stillness of the glade still stuck with him—the soft, dappled light—and the black and white dragon that guarded his body. It was a tomb trapped in time. The hatchling nuzzled him again. The moment he returned, that time would move forward again. He would have mere moments to save him. If he failed, then that dragon which guarded him would also die. Did Prospero have other dragons? How many would be killed because of his foolishness? Was it a foolishness at all? Had he been stuck with a dragon, just like him? The hatchling grunted and nudged harder this time. Marshasp batted him away. “What is it?”

The dragon stood and stared into the sea, growling at whatever had bothered him. Marshasp followed his gaze, watched as the island in the channel shuddered and moved towards them. A familiar feeling flowed from it—something he felt once before, and had never stopped feeling, when his dragon hatched. The presence of a dragon’s mind flooded his senses, and it quickly became apparent that this was nothing like his hatchling. It was older, stronger, more complex. It was like a quake that rippled through his memories as if they were mere moments.

His hatchling growled, spurting bits of flame from his nostrils and cracking the boulders under his feet. “I will kill it.”

The island which had once been halfway into the channel now lifted itself from the sea. It was a dragon made of stone and rock. Gems clung to its undersides, sand poured away from all of its crevices, and a grinding noise churned from within it. It was closer than ever before, even though its feet still sunk into the waters. It was mountain-like—larger than anything Marshasp had ever witnessed, and it was casually shuffling through his mind like a picture book.

The hatchling gave a feeble roar, which would have seemed intimidating had it happened an hour ago, but now fell flat against the creature before them. It rumbled—Marshasp felt it as laughter in his mind—then gave a roar of its own. The ground beneath their feet shook, the boulders they had chosen to perch on tumbled in place, and the ocean waves moved to and fro as something stronger than the tide disturbed them. The hatchling clung to the stones now, frantically trying to keep his balance as the ground beneath him rocked back and forth.

“Come on, fly!” Marshasp shouted to it, taking off in a flurry of feathers. The hatchling stayed grounded, its thoughts switching between fighting the creature in front of it and holding on for dear life. “Fly!” Marshasp called again. It was no use. That dragon had no wings, so the hatchling would meet it on the ground. It made sense to its young mind. Even as the creature stopped its roar, the ocean foamed and sloshed beneath it. The hatchling slipped on the stones, yelping as its foot caught between two crashing boulders. It lost focus on the creature entirely as it struggled to stand.

Marshasp swooped towards it, trying to take its attention elsewhere. It watched him in amusement, refusing to follow his movements. Its hide was made of stone, and its body contained no drop of blood—there would be no way to poison it. Just what was it?

I AM A DRAGON. The words resounded in both of their minds, just as loud as its roar had been. Marshasp felt his wings give beneath him. He landed hastily between his hatchling and the creature. It was young, after all. It wasn’t strong or smart enough to defend itself. And him? He might not be strong enough, but he could try. I AM A CREATURE OF THE EARTH. THE STRONGEST CREATURE TO EVER LIVE. YOU WOULD BOTH DARE TO FACE ME?

Iapetus never said anything about this. But the connection was there, just as it was for his hatchling. Maybe he could use it? “What do you want with us? Hunting? You’ll regret ever angering a Quetzalcoatl.” Perhaps his species would deflect its interest. There was no way a Quetzalcoatl could take something of this magnitude, but how would it know that?

Instead, it laughed again, its silent roars tearing at their minds. I HAVE NO INTEREST IN THE FLESH YOU FEAST ON, BLOOD SERPENT. I SENSED MALICE IN YOU, EVEN AS YOU SAT BESIDE MY KIN.

“This dragon is from your brood?” Even as their minds were tumbling, the area around them finally settled back in place. The hatchling still clung to the ground, a primal fear freezing his limbs. He looked expectantly at his Rider; He knew what to do, didn’t he?

ALL EARTH DRAGONS ARE OF MY BROOD. EVERY STONE IS MINE, EVERY GRAIN OF SAND. I SEE EVERYTHING THAT WALKS THE EARTH, EVERYTHING THAT TILLS THE GROUND. I SEE WHAT YOU LEFT BEHIND.

Marshasp shuddered, feeling fear trickle through him for the first time in years. Adrenaline flooded through his blood even without his prompting. “And you…do you have a Rider?”

The creature pondered this; the rocks in its mind tumbled as it struggled to answer. ALL DRAGONS ARE ONLY AS STRONG AS THEIR RIDERS. BUT YOU—THE ONE WHO DARES TO RAISE MY OWN KIN WHILE HE BURNS WITH HATRED—ARE STRONG.

Asking the earth dragon to sever the connection seemed like a death wish, customs or not. Instead, he pulled at every explanation he could. “I don’t hate this dragon at all. I love it. It was born into a situation it doesn’t deserve, and I’m trying to save it. That’s all it is.” It was the truth, down to its core. He dared not lie.

YOU HATE YOURSELF. YOU SAY YOU ARE WEAK, EVEN AS YOUR DRAGON GROWS STRONGER. The dragon hissed at them both, its body starting to crumble from the weight of the water and the resonance of its howl.

The hatchling finally caught his composure and roared back. “He isn’t weak. He’s the strongest I’ve ever seen, the strongest I’ll ever know! He’ll become even stronger, and we’ll both do something impossible. Something you could never dream of.” Marshasp’s adrenaline was shared with the hatchling; Or, perhaps, the little one granted it to him in the first place.

The elemental slunk back into the water with a thud. Its gemstone eyes still gleamed through the waves. QUETZALCOATL DO NOT HAVE THE MAGIC YOU REQUIRE. THEY ARE WEAK CREATURES, FORSAKEN BY THE ELEMENTS. YOU ARE LOSING THAT OLD MAGIC, BUT YOU ARE GAINING SOMETHING NEW.

The hatchling sent its agreement towards Marshasp. The serpent was still reeling from the encounter, wanting to back away from the sea, but unable to leave the dragon behind. Even now, its presence still swamped his mind. Did he hate himself? Yes. It wasn’t something he could deny. Because of him, Prospero ended up in this situation. Did he expect that to upset some random, giant dragon made of rock? No. Not at all.

YOU PREVAIL WHERE MANY DO NOT. YOU CLING TO THOSE MEMORIES, YOU USE IT TO FUEL YOUR FIRE, YOU WILL NEVER STOP WORKING FOR THAT IMPOSSIBILITY. THAT IS YOUR STRENGTH, AND IT IS NOT TO BE TAKEN LIGHTLY. THE EARTH RECOGNIZES THAT—THE DRAGON BESIDE YOU RECOGNIZES THAT. IT IS WHY YOU BECAME A RIDER.

And just like that, the presence flickered out. The sands and stones returned to the bottom of the sea, the waves returned to their rhythmic movements, and the stars were the only thing that accompanied them again. The only evidence of the visit was the strewn appearance of the cape and the throbbing in the hatchlings wrist. He collapsed back down, making a silent pact to never return to the beach again.

The dragon stumbled over the loose stones to join him. He curled up just as he had before the creature appeared. There was a bit of pride that coursed from him, muddled with a newfound exhaustion. “When you came to Bestia d’la Mer, I sensed you. I could hear your feelings, and your desire, and knew you would work for what you needed. I called you, and you heard me. I don’t need any other proof that you are meant to be my Rider.” He snuggled closer, pushing up Marshasp’s hand with his snout. Marshasp scratched him idly. “I don’t hate you, either. I could never hate you. You never thought to ask, did you?”

He scratched at the brow ridge until the dragon crooned. “I didn’t. I’ve done a lot of things wrong, haven’t I?”

The dragon’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “Then let’s begin anew. You’re new to Bestia d’la Mer, aren’t you? I’ve never seen your face before.”

“If we’re really going to start over, then please talk normally.” Marshasp could humor the dragon, but the telepathy was still strange with someone other than Prospero.

“Alright,” he obliged. “You’re new here, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“And you have something you need, don’t you? Something you are not strong enough to do on your own?”

“That’s right,” he sighed.

“Then I’ll make a pact with you. I’ll form a bond with you, and give you my power in return. My blood will turn into fire, and my scales into stone, and no Quetzalcoatl will be able to harm me. While I protect you, you will have all the time in the world to figure out a magic that actually works for Prospero.”

It was his first time hearing the name for years. The dragon looked at him knowingly. It was a memory they shared, now. “What would you get out of the bond?”

“Well, for one, I get to go wherever a Quetzalcoatl would. What better Rider to have than one who can obliterate their enemies in a second?”

“It…it’s not a second. Quetzalcoatl don’t become Riders—that’s against the way of the world.”

“Close enough to a second,” the hatchling replied. “Quetzalcoatl also don’t fall in love with humans. And certainly don’t form a second bond with them.”

For some reason, Marshasp felt himself blushing. It was embarrassing to talk about Prospero with anyone else, yet here he was. The hatchling hissed his amusement, compounding the emotion. “Listen, that fills up my sacrilege quota for…oh, I don’t know, a lifetime. I don’t want a dragon on top of that.”

“Then I won’t be your dragon,” the hatchling replied simply. “I’ve told you before, how many times now?” Between Iapetus, Menoetius, the hatchling, and that elemental creature, there was no doubting that the bond was there to stay. But they both strained to create an illusion—even a temporary one—that such a thing did not exist. That they would be working as companions, rather than a Rider and a dragon. That was acceptable to him; It would undoubtedly be acceptable to Prospero. “You never introduced yourself to me. What is your name?”

“Marshasp, of the Quetzalcoatl. And...you?"

The dragon gave an exasperated sigh. “I already told you. I am my own. I am Firefall.”