Darkness cracked open as the shell of the egg shattered, revealing a creature barely larger than a hound, yet already brimming with lethal intent. Drakaryn, eyes gleaming with a molten gold hue, emerged from his jagged prison into a world of chaos and hunger. His damp scales, a deep emerald veined with golden streaks, glistened as he shook free the viscous remnants of his incubation. The scent of blood and sulfur clung to the air.
Instinct drove him before thought could form. His needle-sharp claws scraped against the hardened surface of his egg shards, and his maw snapped down hungrily. Crunch. The brittle fragments splintered under his teeth, each piece devoured with an urgency born of survival. This was no ritual, no tender moment of beginning—it was necessity. His body demanded the nutrients to grow stronger, faster. Weakness had no place here.
A low, guttural growl pulled his gaze to the clutch of eggs surrounding him. Half a dozen, still unbroken. Life pulsed faintly within them, but not for long. Drakaryn's nostrils flared, catching the coppery tang of vitality waiting to be claimed. He lunged at the nearest egg, his talons digging deep into its fragile surface. The wet snap of a breaking shell filled the cavern as the young dragon tore through the barrier, revealing the quivering form within.
There was no hesitation. His jaws closed around his sibling's neck, silencing it before it could even take its first breath. Warm fluid dripped from his fangs as he feasted, his instincts compelling him forward. Another egg, another sibling, another meal. The Cull had begun.
Around him, others stirred. A crimson hatchling emerged from her egg, her shrill screech echoing through the chamber. She locked eyes with Drakaryn and charged, fangs bared, a feral glint in her gaze. He met her head-on, their bodies colliding in a tangle of claws and teeth. She raked her talons across his flank, drawing thin lines of blood, but Drakaryn was faster. He twisted, sinking his teeth into her throat, crushing the fragile bones beneath.
She collapsed, twitching. He did not stop to savor his victory—there were more eggs to destroy, more siblings to eliminate. By the time the first adult arrived, the chamber was slick with blood and littered with the remnants of shattered shells.
---
A massive shadow loomed over the nest. The elder dragon, her scales the color of molten iron, surveyed the carnage with an expression of disinterest. Her nostrils flared as she inhaled deeply, her head tilting to assess the survivors. Three hatchlings remained, their bodies trembling but their eyes blazing with the fire of life.
"You," the elder rumbled, her voice a low growl that echoed through the cavern. She gestured toward a pale silver hatchling struggling to rise. "Too slow."
The elder's claws lashed out in a blur of motion. The youngling's head snapped back, its body crumpling to the floor in a heap of lifeless scales. The other two did not flinch. Drakaryn met her gaze, his muscles coiled, ready to strike or flee. His hunger burned, but so did his instincts—survival demanded he bide his time.
The elder's lips curled into a grim facsimile of a smile. "Good. The rest of you may live—for now."
She unceremoniously dropped a beast carcass into the stone nest, the two remaining hatchlings quickly dodging, then immediately beginning to devour the beast, paying no mind to the lifeless sibling buried beneath.
---
The next hours blurred into a haze of movement and pain. The surviving hatchlings were herded into a vast cavern among survivors of other nests where elders waited, their massive forms casting long shadows against the jagged walls. Lessons began immediately—lessons of survival, brutality, and submission.
A youngling stumbled during the first sprint across the chamber. The elder overseeing their trial lashed out with her tail, the sound of the impact echoing like a thunderclap. The hatchling's body flew across the room, striking the stone with a sickening crunch. No one moved to help. Weakness was not tolerated.
"Faster!" roared another elder, his voice shaking the very ground. Drakaryn pushed himself harder, his muscles screaming, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He dodged the sweeping tail of the elder, his reflexes sharpened by sheer desperation. A hatchling beside him was not so lucky—the elder's jaws closed around its neck, silencing its pitiful squeal.
Drakaryn didn't look back. To pause, to falter, was to die.
---
By the time the day ended, the surviving younglings were a battered, bloodied handful. Drakaryn lay curled against the cool stone, his chest rising and falling as he struggled to catch his breath. His body ached, his wounds oozing, but his eyes burned with a quiet determination. He had survived where others had fallen. He had earned the right to live another day.
In this world of violence and fire, survival was not just a matter of strength—it was a matter of will. Drakaryn clenched his claws against the stone, the first flickers of thought and purpose forming in his mind. He would not be weak. He would not be prey. If this was the way of the dragons, he would master it.
If one was born weak, was born un-awakened, or with a weak mind, they were immediately eliminated. Thus, while brutal, conserved resources, strengthening the gene pool, and the clan's standing among other families.