The Scavenged Remains Book One: The Wild Dragons

this is actually the longest thing ive written since like 5th grade and im extremely proud of myself
Set within the Scavenged Pyrrhia/Pantala AU.
TW: Violence, Gore
 
[ cover ]
The world we know is dead.
Ten thousand years after the events of the 'canon' timeline, dragons have been split into two distinct worlds: those domesticated by and kept as the pets and slaves of the now-dominant scavengers, and the wild dragons, pushed to the edges of the world or contained in one of a handful of sanctuary-like preserves scattered across the continents.
Within one of Pantala's dragon preserves, Selene National Dragon Sanctuary, a group of dragonets are coming of age. Darkling, a NightWing-HiveWing hybrid and the daughter of her pack's leader, has extra pressure on her to succeed. She'll have to brave several dangerous trials to prove her worth as a pack member, or risk being kicked out.
But not everything is as it seems. Her pack's rivals are growing restless, and the rare scavengers have been spotted around the territory's borders. Even with the help of her fellow adolescents, Darkling may be up against more than she can handle... will she and her pack survive the coming chaos?
Prologue
The queen stood high atop the ridge, watching with blazing eyes as the army of scavenger-beasts made landfall.
Shiny sheets of armor that flew with no assistance from dragons swarmed in the air, buzzing like the wings of her tribe. Great silvery creatures, vaguely similar in appearance to the great sea-snakes of myth, surfaced from the choppy gray waves.
Worst of all, however, were the dragons; those of tribes she recognized and those she had never seen before, caged and chained and muzzled, trapped under the scavengers' control.
"Tragic, isn't it, Locust?"
She jumped, turning to look at the approaching dragon. A HiveWing, much like her in appearance; dark scales speckled with yellow flecks, red eyes like smoothly polished garnets, and four sleek, dark wings. Who would it be but her brother, Polistes, one of her few tolerable family members.
"What's the tragedy, brother? The horde of scavengers, come to kill us all? The impending loss of our homeland and freedom? Or the enslaved dragons pinned beneath their paws?"
"All three, sister. All three." He snorted. "Look at them all; a mindless army, a swarming hive mind come to tear the trees from the earth and massacre scores of innocent dragons. Remind you of someone?"
Her spines rattled. "Do not remind me of our family's shameful history, Polistes. You share her disgusting blood, as I do. Were it not for her importance in the liberation of our continent, our mother would have seen fit to scrub her influence from our history entirely. She wasn't a HiveWing; she was a puppet."
Polistes shrugged, the red and orange freckles dashed across his snout glimmering in the dramatic sunset. "So? She hatched, she lived, and then she got killed. Seems like a dragon to me."
Queen Locust raised her tail, dangling it over her head like a scorpion. "Silence, or I shall throw you to the horde and see how you fare. You can be our decoy, while the rest of us--the sensible ones--escape into the tunnels, where we can wait out their attack."
He yawned, showing his long, black canines, loaded with a deadly venom.
"The tunnels? You'll all be killed. They aren't safe, they're a rabbit warren. They've got weapons beyond your wildest imagination, and means to drive us out. Those who don't die of asphyxiation will be crushed under layers of rubble. Why not evacuate the continent? There are plenty of fine islands out in the ocean."
"Idiot. They have serpent-machines, and enslaved SeaWings, and flying machines; it's better to be slain valiantly in our homeland than to die on some miserable island halfway across the Clearsight-damned planet."
She lifted her leg to examine her talons, staring into the amber rings that encircled them. "I tire of your arguing. Give me one reason not to break all four of your wings and throw you off of this cliff... and I am not one to give idle threats."
He tensed, mouth open to reply, before shutting it. "I'll go alert the troops. Get the army moving."
She gave a curt nod to dismiss him, and turned back to face the scavenger army, the sun setting behind her. She exhaled deeply, emotions rolling over her like clouds in an approaching storm, running until she felt nothing except for a grim determination. 
We'll either drive them out, or die trying.
PART ONE - THE FALSE WORLD
Chapter One
10,000 years later...
Darkling crept through the tall golden grass, plated belly skimming the earth. Only a faint rustle marked her movements; the swaying of dried stems in the faint, hot wind. Her talons dug into the earth, cutting short gashes into the dusty terrain.
The dry season had been long and harsh, and her pack needed to eat. Most of the prey had migrated elsewhere, leaving their territory behind; desperation had set in. They were lucky to have gotten so close to the gazelle herd; if any of her fellow hunters messed up, they pack would go hungry tonight.
Across the clearing from her, the hybrid caught a brief glimpse of one of her fellow hunters--a pure-blooded HiveWing named Arachnid. His peachy-yellow scales, striped with bands of black, hid him well among the swaying grasses. He was camouflaged much better than her, a dragon whose glossy dark blue scales that weren't suited for day hunting.
A sandy tail flicked above the grasses, brandishing a dark barb and jabbing it in the direction of a gazelle towards the edge of the herd. Another member of the hunting party, an irritable SandWing named Lioness, had given the signal. Any minute now, the hunt would begin for real.
With a buzz of his four shiny wings, Arachnid launched from the grass, landing in front of the gazelle with fangs bared. He snarled, showing off his sharp, venomous teeth, and charged at it. The creature panicked, turning to bolt away from him and running straight towards Darkling.
She pushed off of the ground with her powerful hind legs and launched out of her hiding spot, digging her sharp talons into the gazelle's hide. She roared loudly, unfurling her primary wings, shadow-black and speckled with silver freckles towards the abyss-hued edges.
"Arachnid! Lioness!"
The gazelle let out a fearful cry and the herd scattered. Lioness launched out of hiding, sandy-tan scales glinting in the bright sun, and charged after the rest of the herd. Now that they'd revealed themselves, the trio would need to each take down a gazelle if they were to feed the pack.
Darkling dug her claws deeper into the gazelle, sinking her tail stinger into its throat to send a mild shock of venom into the prey animal's body. Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed Arachnid charge after a gazelle, and Lioness stab her barb deep into another one's chest. Looks like we'll be headed home with a full load, she mused to herself.
The thin prey-creature in her claws shuddered weakly, going limp as her venom charged through its bloodstream. She gripped it tightly, so that none of the savanna creatures--lions, hyenas, wild dogs, vultures--would take it from her. Of course, the creatures naturally avoided dragons--they were the apex predators, after all.
Lioness landed beside her, a limp gazelle body tucked around her neck. "We should be getting back," she commented, briefly glancing up towards the sun, which was starting its arc back down to earth. "When the sun sets, they come out," she whispered. "The ones under its influence.
"You don't really still believe in the Othermind, do you?"
The poor SandWing jumped, curling up her barbed tail over her head, jabbing it towards the approaching HiveWing. "ARACHNID! Don't you DARE say its name. It hears everything..." She shuddered, her tan-colored frill flaring up on her back like a wild dog's hackles. "Its eyes, its ears... it knows all that happens on its continent."
Arachnid raised a brow, playful grin on his face. "Lioness, that's just a story to keep little dragonets from wandering too far away from camp. Don't tell me you really believe there's some malevolent parasite out there."
Her face flushed. "Well, n-no, but like, there's a lot of stuff out there we don't know abou- nevermind," she sighed, her frill drooping.
"Lioness is right about one thing; we should be getting back," Darkling commented. "Grab your catches and let's get out of here."
As the hot sun began to set over the savanna, Darkling's mind began to wander; what was life like outside of the world's edge, past the unseen barriers that held them in? She knew, from the silhouettes in the distance, that they weren't alone in the world, but the eternal, monolithic towers that stood high above the Pantalan savanna were as distant as the three moons in the sky above to dragons like her.
✧✧✧
Before too long, the camp faded into view; a roughly circular space where the grass had been pressed and cut down over the years by the talons of hundreds of dragons, bordered by the occasional shrub or thorn bush that one of the few LeafWings who spoke in the strange, willowy tongue of plants had grown there, dotted with a few acacias, which would provide shade to the dragonets and their mothers, as well as any not currently out on the hunt. Nests were arranged beneath them; simple, woven things, big enough to fit a dragon or two, which the dragons who made up the bulk of the pack would sleep in.
Towards the center of the camp was a pile of boulders, a few of which hid freshly-caught prey from vultures; Darkling's father and the pack's leader, an impressive NightWing named Stormrider, would perch up on the top of the highest one to give announcements or watch his pack.
He was perched up on there now, sitting as straight and attentive as a dragon could, wings tucked neatly up on his back like a bird instead of dragging down the smooth rocks, open to display the vast scattering of silver scales across his wings.
His gaze was aimed at nothing in particular, and his back faced the landing group; he heard them, all right, but couldn't see them from the angle at which he was perched.
Over to her left, Lioness tilted her wings slightly and made a fast, complex series of signals with her talons; packs that didn't mark their members needed to give landing signals, to identify them as members of that pack.
If they didn't give the signals, they would have been challenged by guards; Darkling's presence, however, made it quite obvious as to their allegiances.
The group spiraled down to land, dropping the gazelles they carried into the prey crevice; one by one, they thudded against whatever was in there already with an uncomfortable-sounding meaty crack. Darkling winced despite herself; she wished she could avoid it altogether someday. Perhaps she would; the dams didn't have to hunt, and neither did the caretakers; but she could hardly picture herself with dragonets. Not now, and maybe not ever.
She landed carefully, flapping her wings awkwardly; her secondary wings, useless in landing due to their shape, were nothing but a hindrance for her in this moment. Wiping the crust of dried gazelle blood out from between two of her neck scales, she trotted up to the shaded spot where her mother reclined, straight, flat wings resting protectively over the bodies of two small dragonets, deep in sleep; her little siblings, Chitin and Pinacate. They had hatched only recently, and were still vulnerable and soft-scaled.
"Hello, Mother," Darkling purred affectionately, nudging her snout into the gap between her mother's chin and neck, just like she had as a little dragonet. "How has your day been?"
"It has been well, dear," she smiled, gently resting her chin on Darkling's neck. "How has yours been? You've been preparing for your trials, correct?" Darkling nodded proudly, a little grin making its way across her snout. She would allow herself this one small pride, she decided; she had done well and expected to succeed in the trials that awaited her. "I think you'll do well," her mother murmured.
She wished that she could save this moment forever; the warmth of her family around her, the gently waving acacia branches, the pink-orange-blue-purple dusk sky with faint stars glimmering in the background; it was perfect, as life should be. Sadly for her, however, it ended much too soon.
Stormrider spread his wings and let out a roar; an echoing, terrifying sound summoning all of his pack for an audience. Darkling let out a slight huff and pulled herself up, limping on sore legs as the aches of her hunt kicked in. Of course Father summons a meeting as soon as I get comfortable, she thought to herself. Hopefully he'll announce the trial groups.
Darkling's father, an imposing and terrifying beast of a dragon, blue-black scales quickly blending with the soft, dark dusk settling down around them, waited for his pack to gather, gently fanning himself with his star-speckled wings.
"Loyal Stormriders," he boomed, starting his yearly speech, "the time has once again come for our young dragons to undertake a dangerous effort to prove their loyalty to us and, indeed, their very worth as dragons; the Trials. At the break of dawn tomorrow, we will show them off for the first Trial; our next generation are making their way towards adulthood."
"The rules are simple; they must survive to complete the specified goal of the trial; there is to be no interference from outside dragons, adult or dragonet; aside from those, there are no other restrictions or rules. The only goal is completion and survival: through the Trials, those who are strong will survive to become adults, and those who aren't will perish. There is no room for weakness in our ranks."
He lowered his wings, fixing the pack with his steely glare. "Now, you may sleep. When the sun breaks above the horizon, the Trials will begin."
Chapter Two
A faint beam of savanna sunlight crept its way through the acacia branches, illuminating the ground beneath in an odd yet pretty combination of gold and black. Darkling's eyes fluttered; she'd forgotten when she'd gone to sleep, and didn't know where she was for a brief moment. She raised her head, wincing as the stiffness of sleep untangled itself from her flexible bones.
Already, most of the dragonets her age were up and gathered around her father's throne of rocks; most were nearly strangers to her, but a few she recognized; the sturdy build and barbed tail of Deathstalker, the sleek form of Quetzal--one of the few RainWings in the pack--and the dark scales of her best friend.
"Cicada!" Darkling crowed. "You're doing the trials too?"
"Of course, beetle-brain," she giggled. "You're only a month older than me! Why wouldn't I be?"
Darkling had always thought her friend was prettier than her; her body was strong yet thin, and her orange-striped scales always perfectly polished. She stood taller and prouder, shoulders thrown back and chin held high; four wings always neatly folded, and her graceful flight was never as awkward as Darkling's. She was quite favored among the pack; many young male dragons--and even a few females--had their eyes on her.
"I don't know," she sighed. "I hope we're at least in the same trial group." Cicada nodded her agreement, before raising her head and squinting. "Hold on a moment. Is that... Rhinoceros?" Darkling stood on the tips of her talons, trying to see over the crowd. "Moons above, it is!"
Rhinoceros was absolutely enormous; he was built strong and heavily muscled, with broad shoulders and a thick neck. Oddly enough, his tail narrowed to a whip-thin end with a single stinger, like a HiveWing's, and his horns were straight. His four brown-orange wings seemed almost too thin to lift his massive, dark-scaled body, and his face wore an irritable expression.
"Didn't he..." Darkling whispered in a conspiratorial tone, head lifted towards Cicada's ear "... kill those dragonets?" Cicada nodded. "I'm surprised he's still in the pack, not to mention allowed in camp," she muttered back. The hulking dragonet strutted over to the rock and sat down, slapping a few smaller dragons out of the way with his flat wings.
Before they could finish their gossip, Stormrider leaped up the pile of boulders and summoned the pack. The crowd of dragons was even bigger than the night before; many dragons ignored the annual announcements, only taking interest to see who would be competing in the Trials each year. Darkling knew bets were placed by some of the shadier pack members on who would make it; many dragonets were killed during the trials.
"Loyal Stormriders, the time has come!"
Stormrider paused as the dragons of the pack bellowed with pride and joy, some sending blasts of fire into the air as an excess display. "After eight years of life, these dragonets are ready to take on Pantala's deadliest Trials and prove their worth as members of the pack. As is custom, they will be divided up into several groups with which they will either ally themselves or further compete."
"When you hear your name, please make your way towards the entrance of camp. Your first trial will be announced once you have all gathered and taken a moment to say your goodbyes."
"The first Trial group will consist of Alligator, Arachnid, Buzzard, Darkling, Fern, Lioness, and Quetzal. The second Trial group will consist of Cicada-killer, Deathstalker, Dragonfly, Rhinoceros, Thunder, and Yuzu. The third Trial group will consist of..."
Stormrider's voice faded off as Darkling's mind began to wander.
No. No, I can't not be with Cicada. I have to be with her. She's my best friend; I can't work against her. We were supposed to stay together forever! She didn't even notice her talons carrying her towards the camp's entrance, a pair of short acacias stripped of their leaves.
"Are you alright, Darkling?" A familiar voice cooed in a motherly tone.
"Mother, Father put me and Cicada in different groups. We were supposed to be together forever..."
"That's too bad," she said gently. "But you'll both finish the Trials and be fine. It's only for a few days, after all. And even though she's in the other group, there's no rule against you working together. You can stay by her side and won't be punished."
"I guess," Darkling sighed, squirming slightly in her mother's hug. "But..."
"No buts, dear," her mother whispered, holding her closer, before pulling back and placing her fine talons on her shoulders. "Look at you, all grown up! It feels like you hatched just yesterday. Eight years in the blink of an eye," she murmured. "How time flies."
Darkling smiled slightly, hugged her mother again, and then left to get a good look at the dragons in her group. She knew Lioness and Arachnid, of course; and everybody knew of Quetzal, one of the few RainWings in the pack. Alligator, Buzzard, and Fern were unfamiliar names; she could guess their tribes, but not much else about them.
The dragons in her group stood by the entrance, talking with their families; a lean LeafWing with shiny green scales, a greenish-brown MudWing, and a big, orangish-red SkyWing with a significant tear in one of his wing membranes. Quetzal, resplendent in teal and green, sat alone, tapping his tail impatiently.
An older dragon--one of her father's lieutenants, a dark-scaled SkyWing named Fang--stalked over, powerful wings dragging on the ground. The outer edges of the burgundy membrane were damaged from years of life; they had been pierced by thorns and slashed with claws, cut up by branches and torn in accidents. But still, the proud SkyWing was able to fly; even better, he retained a high rank and had many dragonets to carry on his bloodline.
"I take it you lot are the first Trial group," Fang snarled, a puff of smoke wafting up from his nostrils. "Well, we'd best get you started on the first Trial." Fang shifted his wings, pulling them up off of the ground and onto his muscled back, stretching his spine and joints with a faint pop.
"Your first trial is the easiest, but not necessarily the safest: the Trial of Flesh. You will be tasked with hunting down and killing a dangerous animal; whether it be crocodile, lion, hippopotamus, or something else does not matter to me. You'll have until sundown to bring it to camp; if you return with nothing, you will be disqualified, and if you do not return at all, it will be assumed you are dead." He surveyed the crowd, taking in their expressions; apparently unimpressed by what he saw, he folded his outstretched wings and huffed. "So, do you have any questions? No? Good." 
He lifted his head to look at Stormrider, who nodded and let out a loud roar. As he bellowed, groups of dragonets took to the air, wings waving in bright colors and scales shining in the sun. Their families, gathered on the ground below, waved them off with shouts of joy and sadness; for some, this would be the last time they'd see their dragonets alive.
Darkling took a deep breath, unfurling her great, dark wings. One stroke, two strokes, three; and she was up in the air, flying away with the crowd of youthful dragons, off to test her mettle in the wild.
The first Trial had begun.
Chapter Three
Darkling flew through the air, coasting over the dawn-washed savanna like an angel of death, looking for the perfect being from which to harvest a soul. She'd carefully studied the locations of the more dangerous animals located within Stormrider territory--straying too far from home would be a death sentence, for she only had a protected status within her father's domain--and knew just where to go.
By the river, there lived a large herd of hippos. As a young dragonet on her first flights outside of camp with her mother, she'd giggled at their silly appearance; their broad snouts, fat bodies, and tiny, round ears had certainly been comedic to a small dragonet. But her mother had warned her of their might; their four teeth and huge jaws were as strong as any dragon's.
She soared towards their location, unaccustomed to the ease with which she flew; the air here was different somehow. Lighter, with crossbreezes and currents keeping her aloft without the need to beat her wings. It was strange, but not unpleasant; was this what flight was like without two obnoxious extra wings?
At the edge of her vision, she could see dragons flying; searching or tracking their prey. Most would probably opt for lions; they posed the biggest threat to the pack, after all--many young dragonets had been claimed by their hunting parties--but they were nowhere near the most dangerous. Many would go after crocodiles, the fierce dragon-like beasts that dwelled in the marshes and rivers near the westernmost edge of Stormrider territory. Few would choose to brave creatures such as the elephant or rhinoceros; their horns were sharp and powerful, but they were otherwise peaceful creatures.
Darkling, however, had already made her decision; she'd hunt down a hippo, relying on her fast-acting venom and quick reflexes instead of directly engaging the creatures. She'd tried the method before on smaller animals like gazelles and zebras, and taken them down just fine; but you couldn't really practice on a hippo without getting your wings chewed off by an angry bull.
Somewhere from down below her, a young dragoness screamed in pure terror; a high-pitched, eardrum-shatteringly loud, animalistic sound, begging for mercy and death in equal parts.
Her instincts kicked in and she tucked her wings in, rocketing towards the ground like a falcon; she wanted to know the source of the scream, and what she could do to stop it. There were two reasons for doing so; one, that whatever was making the sound was either driving off or attracting prey, and two, that a dragon was in pain and she needed to help.
"HOLD ON! I'M COMING!" She shrieked, snapping her wings out to glide as the ground rapidly zoomed into view below her. She couldn't afford to crash and die, not now and probably not ever; this dragon needed her help, and without it, they'd quite honestly die.
Loud splashing noises echoed from the direction, as well as loud grunts and bellows. Hippos... oh moons, this dragon really is in danger. She flapped powerfully with all four wings, jolting up into the air to get a better view of the situation.
In the river before her, fighting for dear life, was the murk-colored MudWing assigned to her trial group; Alligator, if she recalled correctly. The MudWing had abandoned all pretenses of finesse or technique in exchange for brute-force struggling; she thrashed around like a terrified gazelle in a dragon's jaws.
One of the many hippos congregating around her opened its massive jaws, revealing wickedly sharp, knotted fangs that vaguely resembled pieces of wood whittled by the talons of bored dragonets who fancied themselves carvers, even though the concept of art was a thing of the past out here. The fat gray creature's beady black eyes gleamed with rage; no matter how stupid it had looked when Alligator intially attacked, the true extent of its lethality had been revealed with the opening of its maw.
It slammed into the dragoness's side like a battering ram, letting out a guttural bellow as its fangs dug into her side, piercing through her tough hide with ease. Darkling watched from above in absolute terror; she wanted so desperately to intervene, to save this dragon she never knew and yet felt so much for; torn between obligation to protect her pack and a feral, desperate instinct to stay alive, she was paralyzed, forced to watch the gruesome scene play out below her as if held in place by some sort of godly puppet strings.
The hippo tore a chunk from Alligator's side, resulting in a guttural scream from the MudWing; the hippo simply spat out the slab of dragon-meat and turned to charge again, jaws opened at a grotesque angle; Darkling, horrified, could only watch as it seized Alligator's head in its huge, powerful jaws and bit down, driving its teeth into her skull with little effort.
Darkling could only imagine the immense pain that Alligator must have felt in what had now obviously been her bloody final moments; she knew the horrifying scene she'd witnessed would haunt her nightmares for years after this, perhaps even until her death.
Water stained red from spilled blood and threat thoroughly taken care of, the herd dispersed, paddling through the river on their short, stubby legs, ears flicking and oval-shaped bodies floating serenely despite the carnage. She watched, dismayed, as her catch got away; she'd have to go for whatever was fastest now; a hyena, maybe; they were strong but small, and she'd be able to take care of one fairly quickly.
Perhaps in another time she would have survived; in the mythical days when dragons ruled like gods, living in cities in the sky, fearing nothing but one another, when there were no deadly challenges, no pack rivalries, no pointless bloodshed...
Sickening, fleshy noises still ricocheting inside the bounds her skull, Darkling flew off, wings pumping furiously in a feeble attempt to fly as far as she could, eyes blurred with unshed tears for the wasted life.
Chapter Four
Dusk was falling rapidly, and Darkling was racing against the clock to get back to camp; mere minutes remained.
In her bloodstained, tired talons hung a stolen kill; a heavily injured lioness, taken from beside the body of a dead dragonet who had likely been mauled by the very same cat; a stranger to her, who had probably lived on the outer edges of the camp, farther away from her father's throne of boulders, around which his family typically lounged.
When she finally touched down, she was dismayed to see that the Trial groups had been significantly thinned out; had she been stronger and a better leader, perhaps she could have prevented their needless deaths. 
No, Darkling, she snapped at herself. You don't need to feel guilty. They were weak anyway; they were claimed by the wild, as they inevitably would have been. 
You know how things work; only the best will survive to build the next generation. Your parents were the superior dragons of their time; now you must be the superior one of yours.
And yet, she had to wonder...
No, her inner voice snapped back. This is how things work. This is Pantala, these are the Stormriders; just accept it. If you become a mate to a pack leader, you'll have to deal with even more deaths.
I can't do this.  I won't send my own dragonets to death.
Don't show doubt. You are strong. You will be strong. Calm yourself; remove all emotions from your mind.
She exhaled deeply, picturing herself breathing out a firey torrent of all her feelings; fear, guilt, hesitation, empathy, weakness. If she'd been born any different, she would have accidentally torched the savanna; fortunately, the venom in her fangs overrode whatever allowed dragons to breathe fire, leaving her useless.
Well, not entirely.
She fluttered over to join the rest of her group, most of whom had arrived back before her. Unsurprisingly, they all carried prey; most who had failed this Trial would have probably run away already, too ashamed to admit their failings to Stormrider and face his wrath... or even worse, his disappointment.
"Hi Darkling!" Cicada crowed, buzzing her four wings. "What'd you get? I killed a lion!"
"I got a lion too," she admitted, slight shame creeping into her voice. "I wanted to go for a hippo, but after watching what happened with Alligator, I just couldn't..."
"Wait... what happened with Alli? Did she..."
"Yup."
"Hippo get her?"
"Mhm."
"Was there blood?"
"...lots."
"Oh. I see," Cicada frowned. "I'm sad to hear that, but not really surprised. We were friends, kind of. She never came off as being very strong; she was the kind who put the bugs back in their nests, you know?" Darkling nodded, well aware of the dragonet game of bug-hunt; before they got strong enough to fly a distance and big enough hunt for real, little dragons would spend their days scampering after big, iridescent beetles or colorful butterfiles.
Before they could finish their conversation, the sound of uneven, flappy wingbeats filled the air.
A LeafWing with a vaguely familiar face and a yellowish tint to her scales was coming in for a landing, though the elegant dive she'd clearly intended for was disrupted by one heavily damaged wing, and blood streaming down her ruined tail and hind legs. Just as she was about to hit the ground, her wings spread wide, slowing her rapid descent just enough to prevent her from snapping her neck as she landed.
She fell on the ground, collapsed in a heap; her chest rose and fell quickly and her eyes were widened as terror and adrenaline coursed through her. Fern knocked Darkling aside with a wing as she galloped towards the fallen LeafWing. As she neared, she figured out why the dragonet had seemed so familiar; she and Fern must be related.
"Yuzu! What happened?" Fern cried, her sail rattling in terror.
The fallen LeafWing, who must be Yuzu, raised her neck--a clearly painful effort--and looked directly at Fern. "Lions," she rasped weakly, before lowering her chin and shuddering with pain.
Darkling stepped closer to get a better look at her injuries, and immediately wished she hadn't.
Wide claw-wounds dragged down her tail, some still dripping crimson blood; there was heavy damage on her right hind leg and the thin membrane of her right wing was heavily damaged. She must have enraged an entire pride to get that many injuries...
"You know what this means, right?" Fern whispered.
Yuzu nodded reluctantly, wincing with the effort of it. "I cannot continue."
Suddenly, Fang landed in the clearing, causing little gusts of dust to whip across the ground. He planted his curved claws on the dirt and regarded each dragonet with a squint, cocking his head and turning his face like a bird.
"Well, well, well. Some of you made it back," he sneered. "But not all of us in one piece, it seems."
"It seems to me that the weakest of us have been stripped away by nature herself; now let's see if you can survive this next challenge. But before we tire ourselves with violence, we must sleep. When the sun rises to her zenith, we will begin our next trial.
He swung around to face Yuzu, still collapsed on the dirt. "LeafWing! You have been disqualified from the Trials by failing to return with a kill. Also, due to the fact that you are heavily injured, you will not be allowed to leave the pack; if you recover, you will spend the rest of your days serving our dragons. She dipped her head with understanding and disappointment; servitude was a fate worse than death to most of the headstrong Stormriders.
"Now," Fang snarled, "GET OUT!"
Chapter Five
The noonday sun stared down over the savanna like a disapproving elder's eye, blazing brightly Darkling's shadow-blue scales. Darkling squinted as she awoke; had many hours really passed in so short a timespan? It seemed impossible, but here she was, locked in a staring contest with the burning gaze of the sun. She quickly averted her eyes as the white hot glow became all-consuming, turning to stare at her talons instead.
Fang was already waiting, his scarred chin lifted high and amber eyes narrowed with annoyance.
"Your next Trial is the Trial of Blood, a spar to the near-death between you and an assigned partner. Your task is to outsmart them and knock them out of the circle. You will be judged upon your speed and effectiveness; nothing else will be taken into account, and dirty tricks are discouraged but not outright banned. If your partner dies of their wounds, so be it; they were weak anyway."
The dragonets glanced at one another. He couldn't be serious, right? This was just a spar; they weren't supposed to be killing their opponent.
Fang sneered, raising a scarred-up brow. "Too weak, eh? Just what I expected." His long tail lashed across the ground, leaving a shallow groove. "You will not be punished if you cause an accidental death."
She shivered at his words, and the cold, unfeeling tone in which they were delivered. How could he bear to do this? To send dragonets to their death, year after year, showing no emotion nor caring whatsoever when they die violently on the savanna? He either didn't have a soul, or was a master at hiding his emotions.
"Your partners will be assigned once we get to the ring. Now, follow me; and let's see if you can keep up."
He kicked off, his powerful wings pushing through the air with no effort, eyes glinting with amusement and tail whipping through the sapphire sky like a proud crimson war banner. Unsure of what else to do, most of the dragonets glanced at one another and vaulted into the air, following close behind, but careful not to exhaust themselves.
When they arrived at a small clearing in the elbow-high grasses a talonful of minutes later, the dread and anticipation that had been creeping through Darkling settled into a heaviness in her stomach, worming through her guts like some sort of foul parasite. Someone would die today; that was unavoidable. Blood would be shed, scars would be made, and they would shed what remained of their youthful innocence, like a butterfly emerging from its chrysalis, grown into a completely new form.
She took a deep breath, shaking out her wings in a feeble attempt to stop the chill that slid down them like icy rain; a completely foreign sensation to one who had never experienced a truly cold day. Her talons would be bloodied, and that was a fact of life; if she couldn't handle pack life, she might as well go and risk the flight across the ocean to the primeval land; in her opinion, she'd be more likely to survive that than life on the savanna.
"Now, whelps," Fang growled, starting off yet another monologue, "it is time for the Trial of Blood. To start us off, Quetzal will spar against Deathstalker."
The two prowled into the ring, circling each other slowly and deliberately, occasionally feinting at the other with his fangs or tail, trying to goad his opponent into attacking. As he moved, Quetzal's scales rippled from their typical teals and greens into a more hostile blood red, with hues of black and orange creeping at the tips of his wings and feet.
With a sudden surge of movement, Deathstalker flung himself forward, tail raised in an attack position, aiming straight for Quetzal. Using his smaller size and swift movements to his advantage, Quetzal flung himself out of Deathstalker's reach, snickering as he tried to jab his black tail towards him.
"Not enough reach, eh bud?" Quetzal sneered, flaring his ruff slightly in a teasing manner.
The hybrid flared his sail and charged, four wings buzzing angrily. "I'M GOING TO KILL YOU, RAINWING!" He bellowed, swinging his barbed tail towards him. Darkling winced back from the screech and covered her ears. He didn't have to shout, she thought resentfully, glaring at Deathstalker with irritation.
Seeing his chance and immediately taking it, Quetzal leaped forward and snapped open his jaws, two fangs curling forward to aim at Deathstalker's tail, surging forward with an uncanny, serpentine grace.
Before anyone could shout or step back, tar-colored acid was spilling freely from Quetzal's fangs, landing on Deathstalker's dark, glossy scales and the ground below. On the packed brown earth, it fizzled for a moment before sinking harmlessly into the ground, but the venom that landed on Deathstalker's tail reacted differently.
As it met organic matter, the ebony acid began to eat through his flesh, sinking into his tail and dissolving the soft skin underneath. The hybrid screamed, a hideous sound, eyes rolling back into his skull and body spasming on the ground from the pain. "No, no, no, no, no! I can't die now!" He wailed in terror, voice transformed from a fully grown bully's to that of a meek dragonet. "Mama! Mama!"
Darkling stepped back, her heart bursting with pity; this poor dragon, dying on the ground because of a foolish RainWing's mistake. "Can't you do something?" She snapped, turning to face Quetzal, who was staring at Deathstalker's thrashing figure, his scales white with shock and his frill folded back. "Can anyone do anything?"
"It should stop on its own," Fang grumbled dismissively. "It's not in his bloodstream. His scales are tough enough to slow it from getting to the inner flesh long enough for it to burn out."
"How do you know so much about this?" Cicada questioned, her eyes narrowed and her tail snaking through the grass.
"Because I've been monitoring the Trials for twenty damn years, that's why," he snarled. "Do you think this is the first time this has happened?" He stared at her, his glare accusatory. "Do you take me for a fool, Cicada-killer?"
"No."
"Good. Because if you did, we'd have a real problem." He took a moment to glance at the dragons in the circle. "Quetzal wins this round. Deathstalker has been disqualified from the Trials; he will be given the option to either serve the pack or be cast out into the wilderness."
"Wilderness," he whispered hoarsely. Deathstalker, no longer spasming on the floor, lay as still as a corpse. The hissing of the acid as it ate through his tail had mostly settled, though Darkling could only imagine how much pain he still felt. "Unleash me into the wilderness. I'll do okay."
The dragonets glanced at one another, knowing fully well that he probably wouldn't; even if he did manage to survive more than a few days, most packs wouldn't take in a crippled dragon, unfit to fight or hunt, and due to his injuries he would be unlikely to sire any dragonets; most females would only mate with a crippled dragon if they were truly desperate. "Alright then," Fang growled. "Go. Get out of here. You're not a Stormrider anymore."
He peeled himself up off of the ground, aerodynamic body trembling from the effort of standing and the energy wasted from his response to the attack. Cowed and humbled, Deathstalker ambled through the grass into the sunset, his broken tail dragging through the long grasses.
"Well, now that that's done, we'll move on. Thunder will fight against Fern. Should be easy for you," he grunted to Thunder. Everyone knew the fight was rigged intentionally; Thunder was Stormrider's only purebred son, mothered by his favorite mate, Windchaser, and his golden dragonet who could no wrong.
The two entered the ring; Fern with a look of deep concentration upon her face as she formulated a plan, and Thunder looking at her, calm and assured in his victory. The two began to circle one another, their scales flashing in the noonday sun; Darkling had to squint to even see them through the glare. Thunder's muscles rippled beneath blue-black scales, his wings held open to support him and fan his rapidly overheating body; he really was beautiful. Darkling, he's your brother, she told herself. You can't think those thoughts about him.
Fern closed her eyes, her talons still tracing a pathway through the dusty ground splattered with blood and excess venom; Darkling could almost watch as she sent her consciousness out along the roots, through the branches and stems, up into the crowns of acacias and baobabs, down into the pools of water deep below ground.
Something began to press in the earth like a hatchling emerging fron an egg, pushing through the dirt once, twice, three times; and then, with a small explosion of dirt chunks, it emerged.
A gnarled brown root, as twisted and knotted as the talons of an elder, jutted up from the ground, aimed straight and true towards Thunder's chin.
Sweat gleamed on Fern's scale-covered brow as she struggled to impose her will over the plant, rearing up onto her hind legs and digging her talons into her palms.
Darkling could guess her intentions from her vague knowledge of the methods fighters trained in the LeafWings' secret language were taught; to use grass, roots, and branches to ensnare and hold a target until stronger soldiers, such as SkyWings or HiveWings, could come and dispatch them.
But whatever plant had spawned the root was too strong, and broke free of Fern's imperfect control. All of a sudden, it began to move faster, more efficiently; instead of twisting around Thunder's snout to eliminate his devastating fire-breath, it speared right through the bottom of his head and exited the top of his skull, instantly killing him with a spurt of blood and gore-covered roots.
Fern dropped to all fours and let out a terrified scream, her big blue eyes full of fear.
"Stormrider's going to kill me!" She wailed, tears falling freely from her eyes.
The others looked at one another with dread in their gazes; she wasn't actually exaggerating; Stormrider had killed others for less. From the whispers and mutterings within the camp, Darkling knew that her father had been grooming Thunder into his perfect heir; now that he was dead, he would be heartbroken and outraged.
Fern was doomed.
Chapter Six
"SHE WHAT?!"
The rage-filled bellow thundered across the savanna; at least two packs in their proximity had heard her father's roar, Darkling thought.
Stormrider unfolded his massive wings, thrusting the dragons below him into shadow; Darkling winced, fear coursing through her. Even though she doubted Stormrider even knew her, he was not the kindest father; his large, curved claws and the scars on his weaker dragonets showed her how far he could truly take his rage. If he were to strike her...
No, she reprimanded herself. No thinking about that. He is your sire, whether you like him or not, and he's better than your average male. So shut up, mind, and let me think.
"My son is dead," he wailed, pressing his talons to his face. "Killed by some pathetic LeafWing; bah! I'll see to it personally she is banished and ravaged for her crimes. Bring her to me!"
Fang nodded and shouted orders at a pair of dragons standing nearby, who immediately kicked off and went to retrieve her. "My son... my perfect son, my little stormcloud... dead! At the talons of a female! I never thought I would live to see the day of his death..."
A black dragoness with hints of purple on her scales ran up to him, bounded up the pile of boulders, and wrapped her violet-tinged wings tightly around his chest. "Oh, my love, is it true?! My baby is dead?!"
"I'm afraid so, my beloved," he sighed, wrapping his wings around her. "But do not worry; he rests among the stars now, where no LeafWing harlots can harm him." He spat out the words like they were decaying bits of rot nipped off of a sun-spoiled carcass; his disgust for Fern was clear. "And you never know; perhaps he will soon be reborn." Windchaser gently brought her delicate talons to her belly, which had a slight swell that had been previously hidden by her folded wings. Darkling's brows arched up with surprise when she noticed it.
She was clearly with egg, though quite far off from laying; it seemed odd to Darkling that she was already pregnant. Normally, dragonesses would carry their eggs throughout the latter half of the rainy season, then lay them around when the rains stopped; the dragonets would hatch when the rainy season began again. But it was dry as a sun-bleached skeleton; even the river, ever faithful and flowing from the mountains into the distant endless lake known as "ocean", where the blue dragons lived, had begun to shrink from its banks.
Darkling shook her head to clear her thoughts; she couldn't afford to be distracted. Not now, and probably not ever, if she stayed out here on the savanna. Which she would, probably; she'd grow up, have dragonets, and die of natural causes, most likely starvation; or perhaps she'd go out with a hero's ending and die in battle.
She hated the thought.
She didn't even notice that Stormrider had begun to speak again, so entangled was she in her own mind. "...traitor will have her wings broken so she cannot fly and will be cast out into the wild. Even if she survives the beasts, she will not survive my warriors," he growled dangerously. "The murderer of my beloved son will not go unpunished."
The two soldiers returned, carrying a struggling, snarling LeafWing in their grip; she snapped at their talons, trying to get them to drop her, but one just slashed his claws over her snout to get her to stop. They roughly deposited her on the ground, looking to Stormrider with reverence. "The murderer, as you requested."
Stormrider raised his chin, directing the full fury of his gray eyes at her. "LeafWing," he snarled. "You have murdered my son. You will be punished for this crime." Fern hung her head; she knew trying to reason with the raging leader was completely pointless. "Now, listen carefully if you have any desire to live. ONE!" He trumpeted. "Your wings will be broken beyond repair, so you cannot fly. TWO! You will be given until the caw of the buzzard to run. THREE! You must leave the territory before nightfall, or you will be returned to camp and executed. FOUR! You may not defend yourself using any of your abilities. Do you understand?"
Fern nodded solemnly.
"I can't hear you," he growled.
"Yes, Stormrider. I understand."
"Good. Now get. Out. Of. My. Sight."
She turned tail and ran, only to be stopped by a pair of guards. "You forgot rule one," a guard sneered, opening his jaws to reveal his needle-sharp teeth and raising his long talons. Fern shuddered and took a step back, instinctually preparing a cry for help to the flora around her.
Sensing what she was about to do, the guards advanced quickly, charging at her. One leaped into the air and dropped, landing on her wings, grinding his heels into the thin membrane and snapping the fine green fingers. Fern screamed, an unbridled sound of pain and terror; more guards joined in, clawing at her wings and pulverizing the fine, hollow bones of her wings.
Darkling looked away.
"There," a voice growled. "Now you can run."
The sounds of running talons and dragging wings filled Darkling's ears, bouncing around in her skull and joining with the horrid noises she'd heard; the crushing of a skull between hippopotamus jaws, the hiss of acid melting scales and flesh, and the horrid screams that accompanied all.
She hated it, completely and absolutely; hated it more than anything at all.
Chapter Seven
Alligator is dead. Thunder is dead. Fern is dead.
Dragons I know are dead.
Thoughts swirled through Darkling's mind as she replayed the events of the past two days in her mind; if this was what adulthood was like, she wanted no piece of it. She wasn't ready.
Oh, how she wished she'd hatched in the myths instead; when dragons ruled the world, which was said to have been massive before the Great War, where the corrupted scavengers overwhelmed the dragons. It spanned from coast to coast, and even reached across the ocean into another continet (not that she knew what "continent" even meant). Then, she wouldn't be forced to kill to survive, to watch her packmates die around her; she could live happily, in peace.
She was just fooling herself now; everyone knew that the time of mythology wasn't possible, not with the way the world was now. It was such a fanciful story, so far removed from this regressed reality in which she was trapped; had she known that that past had been real, Darkling would have been different. Somehow. What would be changed, she did not know; but she knew that there would be differences.
For what felt like the millionth time that week, Stormrider's voice shook her from her thoughts; what was he going on about now?
"Due to recent events," he began slowly, voice thick with grief, "the second Trial will not count towards your completion of the Trials. Whether or not you succeed will depend solely on the outcome of the Trial of Bone." A ripple of confusion resounded through the pack, murmurs and whispers echoing into a cacophony of consipracy. This was an unprecedented event for the dragons; even the older members of the pack, those who had lived for all of Stormrider's reign, were confused by this change. There have always been three Trials, Darkling thought. So why is he doing this?
"The final Trial will begin in the morning. Now, all of you; leave us to grieve." He waved one of his massive blue-black wings dismissively, and turned to hold his mate.
Darkling followed the crowd as it dispersed, hoping to seek out one of her friends to talk to.
✧✧✧
"Can you believe it?"
Arachnid's incredulous whisper dug deep into her ears. "That LeafWing killed Thunder! Who knew those dragons could do something like that?! They're all so... so passive!"
Lioness wrinkled her snout. "They're better suited for serving under good dragons, like us! SandWings, HiveWings, NightWings, SkyWings..." She began to rattle off which tribes were better than LeafWings, tapping her talons on the ground with each tribe she named.
"They're not all bad," Darkling protested. "Like Sundew? From the stories? She freed her pack from evil spirits!"
"The HiveWing did most of the work," Arachnid sniffed. "And besides, that story's just what they tell young dragonets to toughen them up. And they weren't evil spirits; it was the Othermind."
"I told you, don't say its name!" The SandWing hissed, voice little more than an irritated whisper. "That's how it gets into your mind!"
"Don't be silly, Lioness," Arachnid snorted. "We already had this conversation. It's. Not. Real."
Darkling let out a dramatic sigh. "Can you two stop fighting for three seconds? We have work to do."
"What kind of work?" Lioness snapped. "Flying around the savanna until the sun goes down, sweating our scales off, making sure no intruders get in, even though three puny dragonets wouldn't stop them anyway? No. We are not. I don't care what your daddy says, we are not going to do that."
"Fine," Darkling retorted. "We don't have to listen to our leader. We can round up a couple other friends and strike out into the wild, where we would immediately get crushed like bugs because we aren't even adults able to fend for ourselves. That, or we get kidnapped by another pack, and taken as slaves because we're not any good for ransom. Does that sound better to you, Lio?"
The SandWing thought for a moment, then shook her head reluctantly.
"I thought so," she said smugly. "Now c'mon. We can just fly for fun if you want."
Lioness brightened immediately. "We can do that?"
"Yep! Let's get going. We only have a few hours until it's time to sleep, and the third Trial starts at dawn, so..."
"Shut up and fly!" Arachnid squawked, wings buzzing as he jumped off the ground and into the air, followed quickly by Lioness.
Darkling grinned and vaulted into the air, unfurling both pairs of wings and carrying herself into the great blue expanse of freedom called the sky.
Chapter Eight
Dawn.
It rises over the savanna, illuminating everything in high detail, lifting the suffocating death shroud of pre-morning gray; faint rays of gold peek through the cracks in a sky silver with clouds. The dull sky is a rarity reserved for early mornings, appearing as if some great creature had wiped away the blue to reveal an old layer of stone beneath the paint.
Darkling rose before the sun washed away the early morning mist, watching from the top of a tree as the clouds parted, rays of heavenly light hitting patches of otherwise dull grass and scrub. There was a strange beauty to the colorless world; a dreamlike haziness, a cloak of silence, and overwhelming sense of unreality.
Is this what a world without us is like? Silent, cold, undisturbed... nothing is nowhere. 
I'm all alone, when no one's awake.
I kind of like it.
She exhaled slowly, stretching the stiff muscles in her wings. She'd forgotten how painful that could get; after having spent three days running on pure adrenaline, it was a jarring change of pace to feel all the aches and pains of the Trials. And she wasn't even scarred; her infuriating, lovely blue scales were as shiny and unmarred as they had been in the past. Her wings weren't torn, her claws were sharp; she'd gotten this far unmarked, and hopefully she could keep it up.
The sun shifted its position; the clouds began to disperse. For many of the Stormriders, it was time to wake up; for others, they'd finally be slumping down into their nests after a long night of patrolling or hunting. With some reluctance, Darkling unfolded her wings and glided down, heart full of wary optimism that was immediately crushed upon landing.
There was a different dragon standing in the clearing; this one a female, with a prominent, jagged scar over her snout and mouth. Dark red-brown eyes glared out from a muddy yellow face and four wings folded tight to her black-freckled sides.
Her heart sunk and her messily folded wings trembled with hints of fear.
Oh no. Not her. Anyone but her.
Dauber was a good soldier, a loyal soldier; she'd proudly followed Stormrider, devoted as a dog, fighting and killing in his name. Rumor had it she'd singlehandedly destroyed an entire Redclaw patrol, driving the dreaded enemy pack away from Stormrider borders; while Darkling--and likely many others--knew it must be exaggerated, the dragoness had never confirmed or denied the rumor.
The HiveWing stood with military discipline as she watched the remaining dragonets land and crowd around her. She cleared her throat, glaring with jasper-red eyes at those she deemed too close to her. "As you know, Stormrider is grieving the death of his heir and our pack's most valuable member, Thunder. And while he's grieving, Fang's in charge, and thus too busy to watch over the dragonets participating in the Trials. So for today, I'm stuck with you brats," she growled, clearly as unhappy with the arrangement as the mob of dragonets around her.
"Whatever. Let's just get on with this," she growled, jerking her tail as a signal that she was to be followed.
✧✧✧
The sun, which had been so docile only moments earlier, now beat down hot and merciless. Darkling's back itched, her wings provided no shade, the dusty ground was hard on her talons and pebbles dug into the gaps between the scales; but her complains wouldn't be heard.
Not yet, anyway; they'll listen to me when I'm an adult, though. 
Hopefully.
Dauber stamped the ground with one hind talon. "Alright, listen up, brats. The third Trial--or, as you know it, the Trial of Bone--is simply a game of capture-wing, which you should know how to play by now-" She gave a pointed look to someone in the crowd Darkling couldn't see, "-but, in case you don't, the rules are simple. You'll be divided up into two teams, the Sun-kin and the Rain-kin, and will have to steal the opposing team's wing."
She lifted up a pair of sharp-toothed white skulls long picked clean by vultures--one some sort of big cat, the other a crocodile--and set them on sticks she had speared through the ground. "These will be the wings. Once you're divided up into teams, you'll have to pick where to put it, and guard it from the other team. The game ends when one team takes the other team's wing back to where theirs is located, and any casualties along the way will be necessary but a "great sacrifice" or something."
"Well, that doesn't matter. Just pick your teams and start fighting." She gave a quick dismissal and buzzed off to sit atop a baobab that served as a center of the playing field.
"Well, that wasn't very helpful of her," Arachnid grumbled.
Chapter Nine
Darkling dug her claws into the earth, hissing. Her tail was swung above her head like a scorpion's, the venomous stinger unsheathed and glittering like a malignant needle in the sunlight. While she was on watch, nobody would steal the wing. Nobody was getting past her.
Not even the giant, snarling wall of muscle that called himself a MudWing in front of her.
The brown dragon lunged, his huge fangs bared and amusingly short wings spread to their fullest extent in some attempt at a threatening display. Muscles rippled beneath each scale, and his long tail lashed, whipping up clouds of dust around his back and talons.
His huge claws swung up towards her face, and she seized her chance, leaping onto his charging body and jabbing her stinger towards him in a fluid, swift motion. With practiced ease, she slid the needle between the brown dragon's thick scales, stabbing deep into the flesh and letting the venom into his body. It traveled through his body, freezing him where he stood, and he crashed to the ground, pained and enraged.
The dark blue hybrid grinned, the thrill of battle pulsing through her body and making her talons tingle. "One down, Clearsight knows how many to go," she muttered harshly, shuffling her four wings back into place and resuming her guard stance. She didn't know how long the game had gone, or at which point it'd stop, or even if she'd survive to the end. But that was life; the Trials were just preparing one for it.
----
*aiming for about ~10 chapters per part, chapters ~25 paragraphs long
*some info on this series and upcoming books [contains spoilers]
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