Time slipped by unnoticed in the world of the waking, but within Drakaryn's slumber, it stretched endlessly. He remained tethered to the fragile creature, drifting in and out of her vision, observing her life as though trapped behind a glass wall. There was no urgency here—no predators lurking in shadows, no challenges to overcome, only the slow, meandering passage of existence that left Drakaryn both bemused and faintly irritated.
At first, he dismissed it all. What significance could such weakness hold? She did nothing but sleep, squirm, and feed, utterly dependent on the two larger creatures—the "instructors," as he'd decided to call them. They hovered constantly, tending to her needs with a patience that defied logic. Dragons culled weakness from the clutch at birth; it was nature's way. Yet here this tiny, soft thing lingered, incapable of so much as standing on its own.
Drakaryn marveled at it in silent judgment, his thoughts dripping with dry commentary. She must be crippled. That's the only explanation. She should have taken her first steps long ago. Dragons emerged from their eggs not just with purpose, but with instinct—culling the weak and proving themselves from the very first breath. To see such… helplessness linger was an affront to the natural order he understood.
And yet, it persisted.
The days bled together in the haze of her simple existence, filled with soft cooing sounds, clumsy swats of her limbs, and endless hours of those strange tones—the melodic speech of the "instructors." Drakaryn listened idly at first, half-curious about the bird-like sounds that flowed in delicate rhythms. It wasn't Dragontongue—far from it—but there was a structure there, something deliberate and… beautiful? He wouldn't admit it to himself, but even as the weeks passed, his ears attuned to their sounds.
Their voices would change with the day's cycle, he noticed. Under the sun's golden light, their tones were musical, a fluttering rise and fall that mimicked the chirp of birds. When darkness shrouded the world, it was quieter, slower—more deliberate, like whispers carried on the wind. There was something to it, Drakaryn realized. A pattern, perhaps? These creatures communicated on a level he had not yet deciphered, one that shifted as naturally as day turned to night.
He filed the thought away, though his frustration grew. For all the time spent observing, he still didn't understand what had happened or why. There was no Dragontongue to untangle, no predator to slay, no treasure to claim—just this… waiting.
It wasn't until the creature began to change that Drakaryn's attention sharpened. Her strength, as meager as it was, grew with agonizing slowness. At first, her limbs no longer flailed uselessly; they began to push against the ground. She rolled from her back to her stomach with great effort, her face scrunched with determination, her movements unsteady but purposeful.
Drakaryn watched in reluctant fascination, his thoughts darkly amused. Is this it? This is their version of development? She fights to roll over and these 'instructors' celebrate it as though she's slain a wyvern.
But the girl didn't stop. Day by day, her motions grew stronger. She dragged herself across the smooth floor of her nest—though even that seemed pitiful compared to the fledglings of his kind who clawed their way out of eggshells and consumed their siblings within moments.
Still, her perseverance—though laughable—was undeniable. Her "instructors" cheered her on with their melodic voices, their faces split into strange, tooth-baring expressions that Drakaryn had come to recognize as approval.
Soon, her attempts evolved. She began to push herself upward, balancing unsteadily on her stubby limbs, swaying like a reed in the wind before collapsing again. Her cries of frustration echoed in the small space, and her instructors would rush forward, offering comforting sounds and touches.
Drakaryn scoffed in his mind, though a flicker of something unfamiliar churned in his chest. Why do they not leave her to figure it out? This weakness should be punished, not coddled. Yet, he could not tear his focus away.
The breakthrough came on a day when the sun hung high in the sky, spilling pale light through what Drakaryn now realized were windows—transparent openings that let in the world beyond.
The girl was determined, her tiny hands pressed flat against the ground as she lifted herself up. Her face contorted into something fierce and desperate as she rocked back and forth, testing the balance of her limbs. The two instructors watched closely—one crouched low with arms outstretched, the other standing nearby with an expression Drakaryn could only describe as awe.
Then, with a trembling push, she rose.
Her legs wobbled dangerously, knees locked in a way that made Drakaryn cringe inwardly. She swayed once, twice, as though the wind itself might topple her. But she held. And then, with the tiniest step—a hesitant shuffle forward—she moved.
Drakaryn felt something unnameable flicker through his mind, a strange pulse of acknowledgment. She did it, he thought, caught off guard by the observation. The crippled creature… stood.
The instructors erupted into jubilant noises, their melodic voices rising into a crescendo that filled the room. They scooped the girl into their arms, spinning her in circles as though she'd conquered a great beast. Drakaryn, still hovering as the silent voyeur, felt the moment in a way he hadn't expected—this tiny, fragile thing had taken her first steps.
And for reasons he couldn't yet understand, it mattered.
In the days that followed, Drakaryn noticed another change. The girl's eyes—once dull and unfocused—began to sharpen. The world she had perceived only as vague shapes and shifting blurs started to take form. Drakaryn could feel her vision clarifying, colors becoming richer, shapes solidifying into details. For the first time, she could see the faces of her instructors clearly.
The first was the female—the smaller of the two, with softer features and flowing dark hair that framed her face. Her eyes were large and bright, her expressions endlessly animated. She moved with a lightness that fascinated Drakaryn, her voice lilting with tones he found almost melodic. There was warmth in her every action, every glance she gave the fledgling.
The other, the male, was taller and sturdier, his presence somehow heavier in the girl's perception. His face was harder, his features sharper, but his eyes softened whenever they rested on her. His voice was deeper, more resonant, a calming counterpoint to the female's lilting speech.
Together, they were… protectors. Caretakers. Instructors, yes—but there was something more. Drakaryn still couldn't fathom it. Dragons had no such bonds; they ruled through dominance and strength, relationships forged through necessity rather than sentiment. But these creatures… cared. It was alien, and it unsettled him more than he cared to admit.
Drakaryn's ears began to attune further to the instructors' speech. At first, the sounds had been meaningless—a jumble of melodies and hisses. But now, as the girl's awareness sharpened, so too did his ability to hear and process. Certain sounds repeated often, words layered with intent.
And then he heard it.
The instructors leaned close to the girl, their faces bright with smiles as they repeated a soft, musical word. The girl babbled back at them, her attempts clumsy, but the instructors persisted.
"Aria," they said.
Drakaryn stilled. He listened again, focusing on the word that carried so much weight in their tones. Aria. It was her name—he was certain of it. Names were important among dragons, symbols of identity and power. And though this creature was weak, soft, and fragile, hearing her name resonated within Drakaryn in a way he couldn't explain.
He let the sound roll through his mind, testing its edges like a predator circling new prey. Aria.
For the first time since this strange connection began, Drakaryn felt the faint stirrings of understanding. This girl, this fledgling—Aria—was not merely a curiosity to observe. She was a thread in something larger, something he had yet to see clearly.
The thought gnawed at him as he lay upon his basking rock, his physical form still absorbing the sun's endless mana. His body slumbered in safety, but his mind remained tethered, watching through her eyes as she stumbled forward into a world she could barely comprehend.
She was weak, yes. But she was growing. Learning. And as much as Drakaryn wanted to dismiss it, he could not deny the quiet curiosity unfurling within him.
What are you, Aria? he thought, his gaze following her as she took another shaky step across the nest, her instructors beaming with pride. And what have I stumbled into?