Winter's Omen: A Winterwatcher Story

==Preface==
This story takes place after Darkness of Dragons. Pantala does not exist and has no role. This story was planned before the author read the third arc. There will be spoilers for the entire series. The purpose of this story is to show the mental toll of Winter before his life begins to change with an odd event- his omen- towards a light. Please inform wolfburrito95 of changes you might add to the page, other than grammar- or category-related.
==Prologue ==
It was many moons ago, wasn't it? You used to spend your time in the Jade Winglet hating her, and yet you turned yourself around, risking and losing everything to abandon your wrongful ways and move closer to her. But then he came in and took her- bitter and hatred, and now you wait, as though you expect her to show up at your lonely home.
And who would want to live, better yet love, a dragon who keeps his sanity by speaking to scavengers? Look at all you lost, and yet you stare at the news with hesitance. Is it a surprise that Queen Thorn had died? You are all bound to die. Nothing you ever do will change that, not even if you're cursed with immortality like Darkstalker. He's gone now, reincarnated, isn't he?
What do SandWing politics matter to you, Winter? They remind you of him, don't they? Of course they do. Why don't you settle down and get rid of those thoughts. Perhaps those news-giving dragons were plain wrong. You can't undo what's been done, and now he's with her, and you're all... alone.
==Chapter 1==
Winter stood at the edge of his icy home, a mix of wood and sand from a previous owner. Had anyone entered it before he? The answer wouldn't matter, as years had gone by and not a claim was laid. The house was anything but good, a mere shack of frost, but it lay in the area between the IceWing Kingdom and ground of tolerable temperature. If it weren't for the scavengers he saw, Winter would have flown past this place.
He didn't know scavengers could survive out here. Granted, he was an IceWing. What was cold to him would be death to anyone else, for sure. He sculpted out a hole and tidied it up, building a suitable enclosure to keep scavengers. There was still dirt, though any wood source was a good flight away. He'd added that later, and the scavengers, though suspicious when he neared, had acquainted themselves to their new home. A family, if he had guessed. Lucky, if he was honest.
Out here, dragons were a rare sight. It was as though this part of Pyrrhia was cursed by Darkstalker- but he is gone now, wasn't he? Who cared? He snorted, releasing a puff of freezing mist. Everything he did reminded him of the Jade Winglet and their adventures. Everything reminded him of what life could have been. Was it jealousy? No. Winter had already admitted it to himself: It was all his fault. He wasn't good enough for Moonwatcher. He wasn't good enough for anyone. His family was awful to him, but maybe that's because he deserved it. What IceWing could be as stupid as he, leaving behind a kingdom to chase a NightWing who didn't see his love back?
Each day blurred into the other, so when a shadow overhead neared, Winter had no real idea how to act. Like the prince he was, to gain some form of respect he once had? Like a dragon who had no bother in this life? Maybe if it was an attacker, Winter could be done and over with this. It's about time. The dragon shone in the dying sunlight, a brilliant array of flax scales, with a ridge the color of corn. Hungry, he was at this time, his thoughts an incoherent jumble as the SandWing landed before him, black eyes staring back. When was the last time he had seen another dragon? Too many days, too many moons.
The SandWing bowed, though the cold was clearly leaving an impression on her. The dragon's tail shook so hard that the deadly stinger was tossed like a leaf on the wind. "P-P-Prince Winter," she stuttered, "I-I-I have a message f-f-from the SandWings."
Winter was surprised he could muster a word. It was a mumble, a yawn, if he added. Sleep was another thing he missed, but his dreams were always full of his faults. "What?"
There was an arrogance as he said that. Could there still be a prince in him? Of course there could, but you've been suffering for far too long to see the light. That was a nonsensical thought. The sun was bright outside. The SandWing stood up, nearly skidding on her toes. "Q-Q-Qibli invites you to the r-r-royal ceremony. The S-S-SandWings will have a new..."
Her pause was a fade-out into the numbing winds outside. Why should he bother to accept such a request? He'd tried to avoid Qibli, and yet the SandWing entered his dreams like he tried to force himself into his life. Winter's stare was like a dead dragon, blank and out of words. His mind screamed at the husk it rustled in, trapped to hear his thoughts as it decayed. Yet, he managed to speak again, unable to care about his former friend. Could Winter even call Qibli a friend, after all that he had done? No, it was Winter who had messed things up for the both of them. No, it was Winter who messed things up for himself.
"Tell Qibli to eat his tail," Winter said, devoid of anything, before turning his own tail to trudge away, his spikes clanking though he walked slow. The SandWing seemed to have stayed, as he heard more words. It meant nothing.
"The p-p-palace this coming full moon," the SandWing went on, "when the n-n-night is at its brightest."
If he had to guess, she flew away right then. Ah well, what was it to him? He didn't want to see Moon's face, even if he longed for it; he didn't want to see Qibli's face, even if he flew out here; he wanted to be alone. Or did you want to speak to others? It was a battle in his head, as even he wasn't sure. What was anything he thought of, aside from useless?
Winter fed his scavengers and returned to the ledge, staring up. Were it a bird or that SandWing who flew in the distance, a mere speck against the sky, he didn't know, nor care. His stomach ached as the day progressed, the hues shifting into a dark indigo painted with striking light. And there Winter stood, his head at the same angle, his breaths almost nonexistent. Time was an idea, and who was he to follow it? What matter was it to eat, or to drink? Or sleep?
The sky flashed its colors, which faded as the night progressed, though the dim moons remained a stable light. And look at the middle moon, getting brighter when the others are dim. Wouldn't it be nice if that was you? But the voice in his head was right, from a dim glow to an eye-sore of a light, so sudden it was that Winter lifted his stiff joints to put his claws above his eyes. Squinting, the light fell below the moons, which were, in fact, still dim. What is that, Winter? Why don't you find out?
He remained on the ledge, watching as the glow came closer, bursting into pieces that sparked before fading, never to be seen again. Chunks broke off as the object flew across, so low now that Winter could identify it as a meteor, and yet it kept going. Past his shack, it left his view, the meteor disappearing over the horizon. The horizon where the Sand Kingdom lay, his nagging voice added. The Great Ice Dragon seemed to sear the land with his frostbreath, and now a meteor falls towards the Sand Kingdom. What more should be said for this to be an Omen, Winter? The Dragon had finally taken notice of you, after all your frustration under His name.
Winter locked his eyes onto the horizon, as though considering the idea.
He turned his tail around and never looked back.
==Chapter 2==
Not a wink of sleep was earned last night, though it was unlikely to lift Winter's spirits. He trudged around, checking his scavengers several times throughout the day and feeding them appropriately; he stared across from his entrance, seemingly lifeless; and when Winter noticed the carcass of a bird, he moved down to eat it. Presumably, it was what caused the sickness in his stomach when evening rolled around.
Dawn broke on a day that could have been tomorrow or the day after. Winter watched the hues of the horizon, his stare once again on the Sand Kingdom. How unfortunate it was, to see such a place on one side, but Winter couldn't ignore it. Everywhere he looked, there would be a kingdom somewhere in the distance. Why should he care about this one? Because of Qibli.
That SandWing had flown off, and Winter had expected her message to vanish with her. What use was it, to remember an event he wouldn't go to? The meteor rung in his head, its shower fresh in his mind. An omen, that was, wasn't it? Sent by the Great Ice Dragon, ignored by the ignorant. You should see him. Repair your relationship with her. You can still be friends.
How the voice hurt. He had never truly gotten over the heartbreak, wandering in the same icy sludge for years of isolation. Weeping in the future he never had, and the past that called him back. He lost everything and is still lost to this day. There's no purpose to complain if you don't bother. Moon was having her time with Qibli. He shouldn't interrupt. He shouldn't bother. He shouldn't ruin their moment. He shouldn't echo...
Winter had scavengers to protect. Were he to disappear, they would starve in agony. A dragon could see his miserable hut and eat them. They were the last friends he had in this world; his last flame. When they were gone, his life would be meaningless. The next few days would be spent in thought, always ending with the topic that began: the meteor. It seared his scales, breaking into tinier pieces to pelt him away, leaving scaleless patches as his horrified screams dulled with acceptance.
He had to go there. He had to. To make it all stop. To do everything. And I thought you were worried, Winter? Did your mind change again? He didn't care to answer the tiny voice in him. Winter was tossing around his bed, scratching it away. They were terrors he saw at night, worse than anything Moon or Qibli could have thought of. That morning was spent collecting as much food as he could; only fruits. Scavengers only ate cooked meat. One of the many things he'd learned from her... One of the points that changed him, slowly, against his twisted morals.
But those morals let him stay with his family, who gave him a place to live. He threw it all and suffered for it, so why would it matter if she'd changed him? Ping-pong, Winter. You'll never stop it. His head moved between the food and the scavengers. They could take it and ration it for themselves. He'd be back before the next moon turned full. A few days' flight to the palace, would it be? Perhaps it was all he needed to stop those nightmares, to eradicate her from his mind, and he'll be content in his own life once more. We can wait and see.
He eyed the scorching sand in the distance, where the sun let all its light fall, where Winter could die with ease and burn into a miserable skeleton. Who would remember him then? Who remembers you now? Moonwatcher. And Qibli. Winter returned to the open ledge where the moonlight scratched his silvery scales, etching a deathly white into their reflection. A wonder that you're still alive with how miserable you've become. Why don't you go, alright? She is waiting. He might be waiting, too, but he doesn't matter. Only her. Only her.
Winter partially unfolded a wing. He lifted it, as slow as the moving of the moons themselves, and stared at the horizon line. Sand. Sand Kingdom. Royal ceremony. Thorn dead. There was nothing said about a duel, but he'd never heard any news from his tiny, tiny spot. Winter stood in that pose, his wings hanging, his eyes unblinking at the stars. He had to go to the kingdom, to follow that meteor, to listen to the Great Ice Dragon's Omen. All he wanted, since his isolation, was a reason to live.
His wings were clumsy, the first few beats. They had their own mind, refusing the idea of returning to that awful place, to the scorching face of Qibli, and to the broken face of Moon. Why not? Just go! Winter pressed on, flying past the barren tundra standing between the Ice Kingdom and the Desert Kingdom. He'd have to make a stop at Possibility if he were to live; the heat would kill him. Winter felt his bones and dry throat; they didn't need to worsen. Would you like to bother? Is it good to stop at Possibility? Do you plan on keeping quiet, or will your misery ruin the other dragons?
Winter only thought back, I don't care, as he flew on. His travel whirred by, his wings soon aching from their severe lack of use for such long distances. He didn't think about it once. White noise covered his worries: they were his way of thinking. Of being sane. Of not missing what he lost. Of not missing her. How could he not see the change he was making? Leaving his shack behind and all that he had left in life, just to dispose of the memories that haunt him? It's worth it, Winter, regardless if it's the last thing you will ever do.
The town of Possibility had caught the corner of his eye. He'd assumed it was, but the portion he saw looked nothing like the town he had remembered. How much had it changed? How much have you changed? Eyes focused, Winter fell into a glide without thinking, as his mind calculated if the town was worth a visit. He wished to say no and leave right then, but his wings were angling themselves, and the wind had pushed him towards it. Another move by the Great Ice Dragon, was that? Changing the wind so you glide towards the village?
Shut your snout, Winter snapped at the voice through narrowed eyes. He had rarely spoken since his isolation, always stiff in his movement. He didn't need to enter the town at all, not as if any dragon roamed the dark streets. The moons were sinking by now; a few days remained before one of them would become full. Enough time to go back, Winter. Grass overtook the sand as trees crowded the space, an impressive amount this close to the desert. There was a river nearby. Stop, drink, eat whatever was close, and go. Don't talk. Don't make eye contact. Just go. Get out.
The river echoed into the night, drawing Winter closer. There was a terrible itch across his body from how warm it was down there, surrounded by calming air without the harsh frost on his scales. Unfit for an IceWing. He shot frostbreath at a camel, a creature he'd thought would be long gone from the transforming town. A few years and it will all be grassy, not a speck of sand to follow. Unrecognizable, would you not agree? Winter tore it to pieces, eating to quell one of the pains from his body. A hasty drink of water removed all the blood.
Shameful for a prince to act in such a way. He wasn't a prince. He didn't belong to any throne. He didn't deserve a throne. His parents were right to throw him out of the kingdom. Their only wrongdoing was sparing him. Winter raised his wings as he walked to a clear spot, intending on a quiet flight away. An approaching dragon took that idea away, and past his screaming mind, Winter found his wings stiff. His head locked on contact with the one who approached. Winter couldn't explain why his body had frozen at the sight of the brown MudWing who saw him.
The name of the dragon snapped into his mind as the scar across his snout caught his attention. Umber. A dragon with a scar like Qibli's. Umber looked ready to speak, perhaps to ask about the shabby state Winter had shown up in, but now his mind had cleared itself of the fog. He fled with his wings dragging on the soil, beating until he was high in the sky, and still he flew, picking up speed. For once, he could think. Energy had fueled his muscles. His scales felt like they could shine, though they were caked in dirt.
Winter didn't turn back once. He refused, even if that dragon followed him, even if he had recognized him. He had fled to Possibility all this time... Recognition meant nothing. Winter had only seen Qibli by looking at Umber. The scar across the muzzle, the loss of trust. Wingbeats echoed after Winter's as Umber began following Winter, like he was concerned. Go, Winter thought, his breathing too heavy to shout. His chest tightened; he lost control of his wings. In the moments that passed, Winter collapsed mid-flight, blacking out when the sand struck. You press yourself too hard...
==Chapter 3==
Bugs scattered across Winter's limp body as though they were the forest's vultures. Like Qibli's grandfather... He never stops following me, that smug face... His eyes scanned the surroundings for signs of Umber. Not a sign of life was around, outside of the forest buzzing as the night twisted into evening. The sky was gifted an array of colors wishing to mimic the beauty of the tundra sky, the beauty of the meteor as it fell... You will never escape it, Winter.
There was a blip in his mind to turn around, to fly into the dawn before he could be seen. The aching of his wings spoke otherwise; the pain made him desire the trip more. Winter needed stress, he needed the punishment of failing so soon in his trip. To tear his wings, to lay in agony, it was what he needed. The pain was what he deserved. They taught that to him, back at the palace. His heart opened and it clamped shut; he saved the seals and fell behind. Here he lay, opened to the idea, and now in the presence of the dragon who was once and still is a stranger.
Umber emerged from the reeds near the river. His scales were clean and reflective, far from what Winter thought a MudWing would look like. Why couldn't they sink into the mud, their scales so caked that they would die and let him flee? Umber was joined by another MudWing, a female. Her horns seemed peculiar, bending down and curving into a point like she were a ram. The MudWings approached Winter, and he backed, tail scratching the mud and spikes clinking.
"You can go inside Glade. He might be confused. I'll let you know when he's calmed down," Umber told the female, reassuring her in soft, friendly words. Nice, stomach-twisting words. Painful. Winter twisted himself away.
He'd last seen Umber running away as a fugitive. What charges had he faced? His memories at Jade Mountain were a blur; all he knew were those of Moon... of Qibli... the claws... Winter flinched back, his wing pushing him towards a tree. Bark rubbed his scales; pain shot up his other half. Each step felt like he would melt and be stepped on by the MudWings, eager to have new mud to dirty themselves in. He didn't want to see anything. He wanted to get out. Yet, what stayed back were his words.
Umber waited for the other MudWing to disappear before using his soft voice on Winter. "It's okay. Your wing isn't that damaged, but you should rest it for another day to be safe."
The words within Winter's mind spun around like his heart in his chest; the vision split and merged and blurred. To speak proved impossible; the sounds around him chirped in an orchestrated mockery. Winter's limbs were stiff the more he tried to move them, the seconds passing as his claws were shaking, shifting, silent. Umber's soft words were gone in his mind. Winter focused on just how kind he tried to sound; soft, soft, soft. It was the only word Winter could think of among the horde. It was a trick. He would be deceived. He had to flee; his survival needed it.
He couldn't leave. He had to die. He couldn't die. He had to find Moon. He had to make sure she was safe. He had to keep Qibli away from her. He had to find out what was going on. He had to. Winter's body twitched all over as he remained planted, his bones poking through as he stood, almost rabid, his face contorted in fear. In uncertainty. Umber would kill him. He had to strike first. He had to strike back.
Umber remained where he was. He spoke again, in his irritating kindness. He was bluffing. They were lies Winter tried to ignore. Not all of them were blocked. "Winter, everything's going to be alright. You're safe. You're surrounded by kind dragons."
He was lying. Winter shrunk back, the sounds around him growing as they clawed his ears. Umber's voice faded underneath the canopy of chaos; upon stepping forward, Winter's mouth began to turn cold. The next things Umber said were more vague in his pleading reassurance. "You remember me, right? I was your clawmate at Jade Mountain. I was a little anxious there, but please, there's nothing to fear. Please, look around you."
Acting on instinct rather than desire, Winter's eyes shot around, naming in his mind the things he saw. Insects. Birds. Small furry creatures. That stupid MudWing. Those awful houses. That terrible town before him where Qibli flew by his side and complimented him and tried to make him feel all fuzzy inside for his STUPID jokes and nice things to say and-
Winter's legs gave a sharp jolt. His right side, already aching from his first encounter, gave way as the pressure increased. His head struck the tree; his eyes went black once more. The sounds finally quieted as his heart eased; the thumping in his head went away. Umber was gone... at last.
When his eyes opened once more, the scenery had changed. He was laying on a soft pile of something. Moss? Grass? Hay? The material must've done something, as there was not the slightest pain in his head. Well, until he moved, causing a sharp headache to start. Ice, encased in a piece of cloth, was attached to his head. It felt like a rock sat underneath his scales, forever waiting to break through but never quite leaving.
Two dragons were talking just out of sight, their appearance faint silhouettes against the curtain of the door. Both were in the shape of MudWings; both Winter knew before they talked.
"He was moving earlier. I think he's waking up," Umber said. Winter never took note of his voice. The tone had changed; all of his fear of the past seemed to be replaced with hope for the future.
"But he tried to attack you last time, so wouldn't it be better if we could get him to Nightrider's?" Glade asked. Her voice was as icky as Umber's, yet there was a hint of caution. Winter's breathing slowed.
"Why should we risk putting him near unfamiliar faces? If he had a breakdown in front of me, who knows what a bunch of strangers would cause," Umber tried to reason, but the shadows slithered to the curtain.
"You stay behind this time. I'll try talking to him," Glade's face poked through the curtains. The small clouds of frost stopped leaving his nostrils; his sense of panic remained. She had scales that were lighter than Umber's, but the colors appeared confused. The darker colors were on the bottom and gradually lightened as they moved up. Her horns were decorated with flowers this time. It was a method to lure him into a false sense of security, one he would twist away from as she came forward. "Hi. My name is Glade. I'm one of the healers here. How are you feeling?"
Winter kept his silence; he closed his eyes. Glade shifted as he maintained quietness; she could be heard moving away, possibly. She tried to speak words to encourage him, to reassure him of something. He couldn't understand why. It was because of his actions that he had failed so badly, and it was him who passed out in front of Umber. Why couldn't she leave him in the wild and move on?
"I want to make sure nothing hurts. Your wings should still be sore from the crash. It was pushed farther than any dragon would handle without training. Do you need anything?" Glade persisted. She sat by his side, her stare desperately locked onto him, or so he guessed. His eyes were shut; they had no reason to stay open. He had to escape. Somehow. Someway. He would find it. He always found his way into trouble.
"If you need me, then you can call. I will be here or tending to other injured dragons. But please be quiet; there are other patients who need their rest," her steps faded; the curtain could be heard moving. It closed and only left the sound of footsteps as the MudWings continued on. Now, drowning in the silence, Winter could hear the murmurs of other dragons; none of it was clear to his ears. As the moments passed, his thoughts spoke loud to fill in the gaps.
Didn't she remind you of someone? You were supposed to go there, once. And yet you are here. You have failed. Winter curled himself, eyes shut. He had thought about it, but blocked it out; he knew he had failed. He had to leave. His legs wouldn't let him; they remained as frozen as the home he threw away. Time passed by the time his eyes flung open, now surrounded in a dark room. The objects were in the same place as before, the curtains were closed, and the room had no noticeable adjustments.
His claws flexed as he tested his weight on them. They felt good. Next were his wings, which ached but could move. Perhaps they would last long enough to get away from Possibility. That was all he wanted, to get away from the memories which lay at every corner of that dreaded place. He moved his head just beyond the curtain, where the halls connected his room to several others. Other doorways with similar curtains were evenly spaced to his left and right.
Moving left and turning up, Winter pushed himself into another open room with floors of wood and walls of carefully-placed stone. His claws felt it; the cool sensation lingered as he moved his claws down, a feeling evoked inside him. It was as though he was back in his hut at the tundra... the walls he'd seen for so many moons...
"Winter?" a voice called out. His head snapped away from the stone and towards a figure in the entrance to the hut. Umber stood there. He loved Qibli. Don't you remember? How can anyone be trusted if they love Qibli? He turned away, slinking somewhere Umber was not. Clawsteps followed. "I know things aren't going well, but it'll get better. I always thought the Great War would never end, but-"
"I don't want to see you!" Winter heard his snout snap with each word; his voice came out raspy and dry. When had he last spoken? When that SandWing came to his shack? Down to the inflections, they spoke from the mouth of a stranger. Where have you gone, Winter? You lost so many years.
Umber's eyes shot wide; his movements were in shock and continued as Winter left. The hall had so many rooms on either side of him, and it seemed they served no purpose. The hall turned into an exit, letting Winter through just in time for Umber to arrive by his side. "Hang on, don't flee. Not yet. Please, just listen-"
Every word got tuned out. Winter focused solely on the noise around him: dragonets sneaked around while dragons flew overhead. Birds perched on the branches above, singing a sickening melody. Umber's words were lost on his mind, drowned in the sea of sounds around. At last, a moment of calm swept his wings- and, the wave of reality crashed back down.
The MudWing moved to the front of Winter, a concern deep in his eyes. It mocked Winter; it laughed at his efforts, moving his wings to a tense state. "Please, Winter, we were friends, remember?"
His desperation rang out, sticking out among the emotions in his voice. Umber's amber eyes were stuck to Winter's frosted scales. Of course you remember, Winter. You never forget anything with him in it. Winter backed up, frost floating from his nostrils. His voice struck a chord; he spoke in a way he hadn't heard in so, so, long...
"If you're going through something hard, then you don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but I promise you; you'll be okay. We all fall into our own pits."
Why couldn't he be the coward he was? So many years have changed him... In ways that worsened your plans... You could have left Possibility and gotten to the palace by now. Umber seemed to move in his favor, continuing to the side and allowing Winter a way through. He trudged onward, taking the opportunity with a dignified grunt. The MudWing watched, a hint of emotion in his eyes. A lack of remorse. Guilt that he failed to ruin me. He never left Qibli's side. He never became good.
"I'm sorry for the troubles you've faced. But that wing really can't fly, Winter," Umber's voice hissed out Winter's name. It sounded the faintest bit different. "Please, just stay another day. I'll let you leave then, but Stormwatcher is predicting a storm. Even if you leave now, you might be caught in a current and be blown into a worse state. I know you'll make the right choice. I believe in you."
You believed in Qibli. I'd rather die than face you again. Yet, his scales were frozen before the MudWing; there was something stirring along his scales with the storm he spoke of. You know why. It isn't her. You lost her long ago, and she cut her claws for him. Umber stared once more at Winter, that hopeful stare bringing his memory back to Jade Mountain. Moon felt the pain of the separation from them. You didn't think of it then. You didn't know. How does that change what you thought was nothing? You don't deserve his compassion.
Was he compassionate? Winter had to speak to the voices in his head. The argument passed the time and made his dull expression and stiff movements seem lively, a little. Umber turned around to go inside, and Winter remained planted, his claws spread as they dug into the soil. There were choices before. They were clear choices- stay with the idolizer or leave. You know you don't want to, Winter. You just want to see her. She's the first light in so many years.
He stood there, losing time. He listened to the dragons speak. They were... happy? A touch sad. Concerned, at times. But they had life to them. Their voices carried in the halls and reached Winter's ears so clearly. When was the last time you could hear the emotion? The option to enter enticed him, nearly as much as leaving with hopes to die in the storm. If the storm were so dangerous, then to stay in Possibility might be better. The storm would tear him apart; he would have the final goodbye to Moon, a conversation in his dreams, before the Great Ice Dragon swept him under his wing. To die that way would be a fate better than seeing Qibli, in any life.
He entered the building.
== Chapter 4 ==
The rest of the day was a blur. Winter was hesitant to return to his spot, after causing such a scene, but his mind urged him on. A pitiful voice. Glade noticed his return and talked with Umber. He didn't listen. He didn't want to listen. They were talking about how he was improving, weren't they? He needed no mind reader to understand. But it would be nice to have her around...
When dawn arrived, Winter hardly noticed. His eyes were shut; his buzzing mind was the only sign of life. To the dragons outside, he was nothing more than a living corpse. You are one, Winter. Don't act like you aren't shambling around, hardly a word in your snout. Your fierceness is hidden. Your honor was lost. They all see that, Winter. You have nothing to hide. His head rose, a sharp movement which retaliated with a blistering headache. Claws touched his scales as he felt for the pain, only to release it in moments.
He deserved the pain. He was the reason the journey was delayed. Do you know how many days you have left? Were you ever right on your estimates? You were never good at telling the time. Winter took in the sights around. They were unchanged, holding an assortment of items to presumably ease a dragon. Soft objects, entertaining objects. Padded floors for rest.
Umber and Glade were nowhere nearby; their voices had died down. The outside light crawled into his room as Winter paced around, his body sore. All pain on his wings were minimal, if not gone entirely, when he moved them. Still, he kept them folded. Were he to slip out right now, the dragons wouldn't notice, and he would escape Possibility undetected. You want to learn more about his life, don't you, Winter? Of course he did. Umber earned a peaceful, happy life. Perhaps your mistakes are the ones he avoided.
Winter knew those mistakes. Moonwatcher. Qibli. Abandoning his tribe. That was all; his visit to Jade Mountain was where everything changed. She helped you through your past. And he sacrificed it all for her. Not everyone has a happy ending. So why should he?
A shadow crossed the curtains. The door was peered into by Glade. Winter's scales fell stiff, as though they were deep in snow. There was a bright expression on her snout, where a sense of solemness wandered before. She approached him, causing him to back, the thin spines on his tail clinking as they moved. Glade only took a few paces into the room before stopping, allowing most of her body to be inside. "How are you feeling?"
Winter remained silent. He felt an answer in his tongue, the words swallowed by the reply in his mind. A sense of hopelessness. A sense of dread. You don't know, Winter. Admit it. The silence moved Glade to continue as Winter stood, lost in thought, unable to let his words out. "Umber told me a bit about you. I heard you didn't have the best relation with the academy, and I get that... The world can be scary sometimes. You don't know where to go or who to talk to. You don't know who you can trust. But the first step is to speak up."
She paused, like she expected Winter to say something. He remained quiet. She continued. "I'm here to check your wings. If they are healed. I'll clear you to leave. Is is alright for me to look or would you like me to get Umber?"
His wings shuffled. The last dragon he wanted to see in the room was Qibli... But Umber was a close second. Like lover, like crush... Glade saw his expression ease from a weary defense to a confused dragon. She went up and checked his wings, running her claws across the top of his wing skeleton, only going from the shoulder half-way up the first bend. Along the way, she asked if any of it hurt, to which Winter answered in his head. No. That's not where it hurts. He hated her touch, yet he couldn't move himself to push her away. You saw what happened last time, Winter. You can never push anyone away.
Glade finished her examination. She gave Winter a nod, remarking, "You should be good to fly. You can take more stops than normal for the next few days if you want to be safe, but other than that, you are good."
Her presence faded behind the curtain. Another dragon gone... When will you see her again? He was cleared. There was no need to see her. What about later? There was no later. Winter turned around, the sound of his spikes filling the emptiness of the room. He could leave. Why wouldn't he leave? You don't want to go. Weren't you harsh on him? Umber needed no apologies. He does. What did he do to you? Was it his fault he didn't see Qibli's flaws?
The curtain lifted like leaves as Winter pushed through, the calm atmosphere of the hut relaxing his muscles. An IceWing should be tense at all times, Winter. He traced his steps outside, glancing not once at any dragon he passed. They will all forget you, Winter. He wasted enough time in Possibility. What purpose did it have? He should have left days ago, not spending a moment. You have one chance to see her again. His wings beat slow as he lifted himself into the sky. Possibility was but a speck in his mind as he continued onward.
Turn towards the Kingdom and fly on. Possibility had confirmed his direction, at the very least. Winter recalled the maps of Phyrria strewn in Jade Mountain. He is a few days' flight away, Winter. You will see her soon. His mind was dulled by the repetitive thoughts, so much so that as the heat rolled in with the desert, he failed to notice his growing dehydration. Go on, Winter. A few days are left. When will the moon be full? A few days, at most. He had lost track of time. So much time, that he could no longer return. Were the celebration to pass, he would gift his life to the sun.
The encounter with Umber lit a fire deep in Winter's mind. He recalled the moments shared between him and Qibli; they kept returning, as though he wished to return to it. Remember the disgust. Remember the pain. Small moments guided Winter to abandoning his fake love towards Qibli. You were never in love with him, Winter. He made you believe otherwise. Smiles here and there. Calling him appealing names. He stepped on you. He wanted you. He would kill for you. He would kill Moon for you, Winter. Fly on. Don't look back.
Think of Moon. He couldn't. He simply couldn't. Qibli's scales were everywhere in the desert. Not a dragon flew by, yet the sand reeked of the gold of his scales. He hurt you. He would hurt Moon, too. Hurry up, Winter. He twisted his head up, eyes locked on the sky. Night will arrive before you. Where will you hide? Winter was a dragon. He didn't need to hide. He only needed to fly.
The day drew to a close and Winter gave way to his aching wings. You can't go up once you've landed. They will need to rest. His head burned as much as his wings; every scale on his body felt like melting. Another reason you should leave him behind. Winter folded his wings, staring down the dune he rested on. Water flowed beneath, allowing a few small huts to thrive nearby. Plants other than cacti or dense bushes were encircling the small beam of lights. A sip won't hurt.
Winter waited on the dune, pondering the idea. With a firm turn around, he refused. Would you stop breathing because he breathed in the desert? It was Umber's fault. Seeing him brought back the locked away memories repeat so often in his mind that they became dull. Of course you fell for him. Any dragon would. But you can't give in to him. It wasn't his own words which spoke back. It was Glade's. All Winter desired was the sight of Moon's scales- a sign that she was okay, that she was surviving... That she lived her life?
The lights beneath the dunes were becoming brighter as the desert darkened. Winter let himself fall to the ground, his breaths going in and out. The wings of the world opened as the Great Ice Dragon seemed to stare down at him, his eyes reflecting in the sliver of the moon. Winter returned the stare, locking with the thin shape as clouds pushed past. You will follow me, Ice Dragon, won't you? He communicated to the dragon without the interference of the tiny voice in his mind. It left me, for how long?
The desert seemed empty without it. An owl hooted, the sand shifted. His spines chattered in the gentle breeze. At last, temperatures fell. Stars lit up the sky. Winter listened to the empty night, hearing faint voices from the dragons who were still awake in the small village below. Their words were obscured by the distance. In the silence, Winter had a moment to reconcile; a moment to speak to himself. The memories he recalled of Umber and Glade were free of hostilities; his rage to Qibli had diminished, and his hopeless chasing for Moon quelled.
Winter lowered one of his wings, bringing it as far towards him as he could. It pushed sand out of the way, crafting a gentle noise which rose above the ambiance. Reaching his claws out, he felt the top of his wing frame. Nothing was out of the ordinary as he brushed his claws across, yet they left something inside him. He thought about the strange sensation, but his mind had left its answers long ago.
Perhaps he was the dragon to save himself.
== Chapter 5 ==
The night drew on. Winter slept until dawn began to break, at which he turned his eyes back on the small village below. His stomach pleaded to eat; his throat remained dry. He had kept his inner voice away throughout the night, yet it found its way back into his mind. You know you can't push me away, Winter. I will always be with you. She cannot see the dead, did you think about that? He shook the sand off his spines and focused on the town. He was aware of it, far too aware. And what if someone else is there? Winter argued against his mind, then I have to speak with them. I'll find a relic of the past and you know it.
What are the odds? His voice reasoned. So many dragons are in the world... And how many SandWings do you know? Still, his claws were seated in the sand, his tail lashing with his indecisiveness. There are so many out there and yet you always see his face. And yet he could recall no other SandWing; those he met in the desert with Qibli were blotted from his mind. It happened years ago... So many years ago... Winter stepped forward, past the height of the dune, eyes focused on the distance. You will be so close, Winter.
His scales were melting. They felt like it, at least. His bones were protruding more than before. You never ate much. Hunger pains were delightful. He moved on, approaching the desert village at a slow pace. Consider it a miracle you made it so far. You might be the luckiest IceWing alive. As if. The sky was still above; cold air allowed his scales to rest, though an ache remained. He couldn't feel half of them.
The village itself was free of conflict, giving a calm feel. Each step Winter took produced most of the nearby sounds. One sip, Winter. Reasoning with the voice was futile; he would be out-fought either way. There are good SandWings out there. And the first one he met brought this onto him. Winter closed in on the village with each step, the grains of sand scratching his scales as his claws dug down. Beneath the hot sand, Winter could feel the start of something cold; a feeling which drew his scales towards it. Yet, he pushed himself past that, and the dim lights of the village were a few strides away.
They were everywhere.
He knew it would be so, in a desert designed for them, but seeing the golden scales flicked a hatred inside. You will never forget as much as you will never step past. The village center held so little water but so much relief. Winter dipped his snout into the pool, relishing the cool liquid as it trickled from the source and down his throat. His scales' burning eased; the pain had stopped. One moment was all it took to be whisked out of his mind, turning him dull but freed of his own torment.
Winter heard wood creak from his side and a weak door crack open. The near-silence was filled by his spines once more as Winter spun around, eyes darting, tail thrashing. His wings folded out and in, unable to decide. A SandWing stood at the entrance of a sand-based hut. His scales were a tad brighter than the average SandWings he'd seen, perhaps pale. He seemed to freeze when meeting Winter's cold, dead stare, but the emotions running through his mind were more than his face let on.
They were in war once, Winter. You couldn't have forgotten, could you? Have you tossed everything to leech what they gave you? Enemies to two sides, allies to the remainder. If only war was precise. The SandWing reentered the den and shouted, but Winter had already opened his wings and began fleeing. MudWings are complacent. SandWings are hostile. As if he didn't know.
Someone burst from the sand. The spear thrust up, slicing part of Winter's icy scales as he twisted away. Pale blue blood spilled onto the faint sand, yet Winter kept his wings open. They spread above him, leaving little for the SandWing to tear, but defending the front meant his back was unguarded. Pain flared up around his back, pulsating as he swung around to shoot frostbreath as his attackers. His mouth hung open, blue flames itching to release, until the nagging voice in his head urged otherwise.
You are proving them right, Winter.
He shut his snout, wincing from the sting of his frostbreath at full blast. It ran back down his throat for another use, eventually. The SandWings were pilling around him, armed in both protection and armor. Winter folded his wings and brought his tail in, his head tipped low whilst his eyes held contact. His voice was hoarse even though it was at a normal volume. "Enough."
The SandWings held their weapons in anticipation, but ceased moved. One tried to go ahead towards him, but Winter shot it a glare, and it stopped. A larger SandWing stepped forward, aware that Winter had halted any threatening gestures. Suspicion racked each word the SandWing said. "What do you want?"
Winter took in the scene. The SandWings had in surrounded, and could throw him down in moments. Whatever place he had stumbled into, it was one plagued by the aftermath of the Great War. They were open to negotiations, but were far too suspicious to remove all doubt. The larger SandWing had narrowed eyes imitated by the others. Breathing in and out, Winter fought with his mind for the right words to say. You're here to flee now. Some water and food, but now you're only here for the water. Get out, Winter.
"I was passing by," he rasped, "I came here for water, and now I'll be leaving your sorry tails behind."
The SandWings shared a glance with one another, almost as though they couldn't believe his words. The large one, who by now gave Winter the impression that he was a general, spoke out. "You're not going anywhere until we know your timeline. You will be following us to Saguaro, and we'll get all this figured out."
Winter stood stiff, his breaths slow. "I don't have to follow any of you," he snorted.
The guard came closer, spear pointed at Winter's icy neck. "And we don't have to spare you. You're an IceWing in SandWing territory. Don't you consider yourself lost?"
Winter swung around, feeling the spear draw blue blood from his scales. He broke into a run, wings open for a moment until a SandWing whipped his legs, pulling them underneath him and dragging his snout against the sand. From all angles, the small, unprepared army surrounded him. A snout guard was fitted to his snout, its foreign material crushing his jaw. He thrashed, throwing sand all around before a conversation stopped him dead.
"He's resisting. Permission to kill?" a SandWing asked.
You are losing time, Winter. Time and opportunities. The lead guard stared Winter down, taking mental notes of his sudden compliance. "His movements eased. Take him in; you may kill him the next time he resists."
Tell them you are going to Qibli, Winter. They would kill him for that statement. Qibli was the child Queen Thorn never had, but loved anyway. More love than you ever got; time is running out. The dragons wore armor which hid their skinny figures, the wide gaps in the armor revealing their true size. Winter figured that, were they unarmed, he could swipe them away in a spin and run off, but their spears forced his reconsideration. Were a single tear to cut his wings, it would leave him grounded. You will miss her.
He was brought into a well-smoothed home, every surface an edge except for the eroded corners. A balcony made of both wood and sandstone divided the porch from the yard, and hanging from the lined ceiling was a lit lamp. A SandWing knocked on the door, pausing enough for clawsteps to echo inside. By the next moment, a SandWing had opened it and welcomed the soldiers in. He paid no attention to the IceWing scowling at them, instead motioning Winter towards a well-lit table in the center of the expansive room.
"Is it safe to take his muzzle off?" the SandWing asked a soldier. Winter folded his wings as he sat beside the table, preferring to stare at the fine patterns edged on its edges than face his captors.
"I say you work your magic first. He gave us trouble in town," the SandWing soldier snarled.
"Either way, you all can leave. I can very well defend myself."
"Saguaro, I insist we stay," she added, a curl in her voice. "MudWings and NightWings are one thing. Didn't you know about IceWings' frostbreath? A shot is all you need to lose a limb."
As they spoke, Winter raised his tail towards the muzzle, prying at it with his spines. The latches came loose in seconds. The worn bands flopped to the muzzle's sides, falling in all directions as it struck the ground with a faint thud. "I don't need to be looked after."
Almost all the SandWings were at his side, weapons pointed from every possibility of escape. Winter held his body still, a task easier done than said from how the heat drained him. Saguaro placed a wing over Winter, gently suggesting, "I see you're overheating. The basement is colder."
He turned to give the other SandWings a stare, signaling their departure. Most left, and only a few stayed. Saguaro added, "If you're staying anyways, keep yourselves upstairs!"
They headed into the basement with no issue. Winter took in the change of scenery and temperature, his scales' screaming silenced by the change. Though still hot, he could survive. He would have to survive. His attention shifted to Saguaro. "What do you want?"
Saguaro led Winter to the farthest spot from the door. A series of shelves held assorted SandWing goods behind Winter's spot, and Saguaro placed a small stool between them. "I'm only here to see why you're here."
"None of your business," Winter snapped, the harsh inflections lacking the rasp he'd long heard when he spoke. His words regained their original tone, to a degree.
"It is," Saguaro added nonchalantly. "Why would an IceWing go through the desert? You would have to be determined for such a suicidal task."
Winter clamped both his mouth and his internal voice. Saguaro pressed him. "You're a royal. Your crown is a dead giveaway. Were you sent by Queen Snowfall?"
His silence left a ting of irritation as Saguaro asked more questions. "The palace would take a few days' flight. What is your reason? If you answer, we can let you go."
Wisps of frostbreath rose from Winter's nostrils. Saguaro let the moment pass, speaking in a calmer voice. "Perhaps we are starting too harsh. I'm terribly sorry," he did a small bow with his head, a gesture only adding to Winter's annoyance. "I should introduce myself. My name, as you might already know, is Saguaro. I live here in Windstorm with my mate and our dragonets," he paused again. "I would also like to make sure, you're a he, correct?"
Winter snorted.
"I want to ensure that every dragon under my watch is comfortable, that's all. My mate fluctuates between he and they."
Winter waited for Saguaro to carry on, but the pause was large, almost as though he wanted Winter to say something. Once Saguaro got it through his head, he changed the conversation. "I see you were passing Windstorm, and got in a mess with the SandWings. Our village was allied against the IceWings during the Great War, and a bit of a stigma was left on your kind. I apologize for any unintentional fights caused by misunderstandings."
Something about his elegant speech brought distaste to Winter's mind, but it also left a hint of trust. He considered a response but shunned it, only to hear the dragon nag in his head. He can get you out of this mess. You can get out of here. Before he knew it, words left his mouth, sparking Saguaro's interest. "I was flying by."
"And why were you flying by? An IceWing has no place in the desert," Saguaro inquired.
Winter narrowed his eyes, any further responses held in his throat. Tell him the truth, Winter. When did it hurt you? It was always his true self that caused the problems.
"Do you want anything to eat or drink?" Saguaro offered.
"Any seals?" Winter asked.
== Trivia ==
* The story is over 8,500 words long.
** It was added to the fanon wiki in an attempt to be the longest work on the site. At the moment, it's 292nd place.
* The prose is inspired by the Reckless / Mirrorworld series by Cornelia Funke, which features the inner monologue voice that Winter has here.
* The fanfiction is a slow-burner, and is intended to take its time to build everything up.
* Originally, the ending would have had everyone die at the end. This was changed because the story is depressing as-is. Can we at least have a bitter-sweet ending? Y'know, something that won't traumatize the kids who read this?
Category:Fanfictions (Incomplete)
Category:Fanfictions (Semi-Canon)
Category:Genre (Adventure)
Category:Fanfictions
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