The Narratives of Dragons

::: center Penned, Tenebrous Knight ::: Foreword I am called the Chronicler, and I have no name; or rather, I cannot have a name. I have had several, and the curse of the Chronicler is that none have the pleasure of sticking; rather, they dissolve, just as I did so many years prior, just as you shall too, when your body returns to the earth and your mind returns to the zeitgeist, just as we all must, for the sake of balance, for the sake of the cycle, for us. I am called the Chronicler, and I have died; or rather, I cannot die. My existence has thus become so much more magical than physical. Corporeality, for all its caveats, has a way of grounding your thinking. Without it there is so much sprawl, so much meandering, so much dissolution. There is so much to be said, so much ground to cover; I feel the pull of so many ideas from so many directions, and in my haste to share---for the curse of the Chronicler is a phatic need to share---I resultingly said nothing at all. I am called the Chronicler, and I have a story to share with you all; or rather, several stories, tightly and not so tightly connected. I cannot call any of this a history, so tinged with sentiment it is, for the curse of the Chronicler is to never know the verity of any truth, only the plurality of many perspectives. Though it cannot be a history, perhaps it shall be a memoir of an age. There are many beginnings to this tale, and the curse of the chronicle is that it must start only once. Nonetheless, I believe my own birth is a fitting prelude. This is not narcissism, for my curse is to have no ego. I am now called the Chronicler, but I once had a brother; I find it fitting to tell his story and not my own, for he always had a knack of overshadowing me. He is know by many names in the true histories, so few of them pleasant, but once he was known as Lilan, and I shall forever know him as brother. Chapter i The inviting shade, nestled under that lonely tree on the hill, was a study in green. Under the calm (if darkling) blue sky above, the tree rose, branches sheathed in leaves the color of blooming life and adorned in pink flowers. These branches shielded the ground below, where the rolling carpet of spring flowers gave way to mushrooms hidden by the tree roots. Yet, the tree flowers were pink, the bark was brown, and the mushrooms grew in all manner of ugly earth shades, but the green was the color of this scene, and the other shades complemented it, if they weren't swallowed completely. That was why the purple dragon scowling at its base stood out so much. The fledgling lay prone, the dirt and crushed mushrooms rubbing against scales which were the shade of an embarrassed lilac trying its hardest to be a white rose. He sighed. This spot by the tree sucked, it did, but at least he wasn't dealing with crooning voices giving him reassurance instead of answers, or the smiles that just didn't understand. It was evening time, and yet the hill was empty of animal life. Mosquitoes didn't bother him, the fields were filled with fireflies except here. No hares or racoons darted across the ground. Even the winds left Lilan alone. A silly little bird, a mess of blues and reds, lighted down on the hill, paces away from the young dragon. Familiar annoyance like pinpricks flooded him, as if it came from elsewhere, and it flew out from his throat as a piercing scream, the same magical scream that had sent his brother running. And like Lilan's brother, the bird gave a squawk of unnatural fear, and flickered away so fast it was just gone. Once again, the hill was alone, inhabited only by the brooding purple dragon, whose mother was green, whose father was red, whose brother had abandoned him in fear. "Why do I have to be different?" The magic had left his throat, and his voice came loud and carried; why whisper? He was alone. He truncated the question. "Why, why, why?" "Well, if you weren't, could you ask that question?" "Ames, what are you doing here? Leave me alone." Amethyst --- Ames --- slinked around the tree, head lowered and glancing up at his brother. "You looked like you needed someone to talk to." Lilan jerked his head away and glared at a bird in the distant sky. "I don't want to talk unless someone is going to tell me who I am." Amethyst smiled, but Lilan wasn't looking, didn't care. He jerked his head again to prove it. The new dragon sat down, his scales---purple like the sunset---catching the light. "You're Lilan, my big brother and the coolest dragon in the village." "And the only purple dragon in the village. That's the part I want answers about." "Hey, I'm purple too! I'm purpler than you!" "And we are the only ones. Why? All of the other hatchlings look like their parents. But we don't. Why?" "We could ask someone, they---" "I already tried that. They said they still love me, I'm still a handsome young drake, blah blah blah. But I don't care about that! I want to know what it means." Amethyst followed his brother's gaze, murmuring, "Maybe it just means everyone is different. Like snowflakes." "So what? Does that mean we're the biggest, coolest snowflakes?" Ames laughed. "Yeah!" Lilan reached out with a wing to where Amethyst sat. His brother flinched back. And Lilan widened his eyes, finally understanding Amethyst's hesitation. "You're still scared! Why are you scared of me, Amethyst?" Amethyst dropped his gaze, staring at the ground. "You did that thing with your scream and it just... you don't know what it was like. All I could think was fear and running away." Amethyst shivered. "You ran away from me. You all did." "Amethyst nodded exaggeratedly. "Mother explained it to me after you left. All dragons have a unique kind of magic, like her earth breath, or father's fire breath, or teacher's---" "I get it." "Yeah. She said what you have is called fear. You can use it to inflict fear on creatures." "That's all? That sucks. Everyone else can do so much with their magic." "Mother said you could use it to protect the village. Be a guard, like you always wanted!" Lilan blew air through his nose, and felt annoyance building in pinpricks. He clamped down on the feeling, peering at his brother. "So are you going to get fear magic too?" "I asked mother about this a long time ago. She doesn't know what magic purple dragons get. She said maybe we get unique breaths, or maybe we can get any kind of breath. I heard the first king was a purple dragon. Remember him?" "Or maybe we can get every kind of magic." Amethyst laughed, and Lilan laughed with him. The older brother looked up at the stars, and said, "Because I want all of the magic." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The sun went down, and the night that crawled up was cool. Owls and stranger things called out, and in the distance, the warm glow of their farm home beckoned from the windows. It had taken time, but Amethyst did slide up next to his brother, and nestled under his wing. The brothers sat like that, smiling and staring up at the stars. "This is nice, Lil." Lilan nodded. Staring up at the brightest guiding stars, he softly asked, "Will you never run away from me again? I---it hurts." Amethyst let his gaze fall and he looked at the light purple dragon. "I won't ever. I'm---I'm certain of it." The word seemed to resonate, and at that, his body cooled, and he hugged closer to Lilan. The older dragon hold him tighter, and yawned. "I love you, Ames." "I love you, too." Amethyst yawned too, but what came out wasn't a sleepy breath. Amethyst opened his mouth, and the air in front of him froze. The moisture in the air became ice, and it was joined by solidifying magic. When the dark purple dragon finished yawning, there was a little snowstorm in the air in front of the two dragons. "Look, brother. Snowflakes, just like us." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ That morning, his father stepped away from the table to bring in the breakfast; when he returned, his tea was frozen. Father Flare stared at his suddenly frozen drink for a good minute before he chuckled, and looked up at Amethyst. The guilty dragon couldn't hide his smile. "You had me there for a trice, my boy. Ice magic! You two are a wonder." He reached over and rubbed his son on the head. The way the square table was arranged the two purple dragons each sat beside both their parents and across from each other. He pulled his wing back, his scales the shade of an apologetic campfire just after it singed you, and the wing knocked over his teacup; but only the block of ice spilled out. "Haha, good thing it was frozen, huh?" he said. "How did you pull this off, so quick? I swear it, just yesterday you're asking if you'd ever get your own breath." Lilan puffed out his chest. "I showed him!" "Yeah. We spent like, half the night practicing. It was really really boring! In have to stay really calm and be real certain of something, in order to use my ice breath." "And he kept getting excited, ruining everything." Amethyst pouted. "Weren't you excited when you got your breath?" "No," he said with a scowl. "I was annoyed. I'm still annoyed. Why did it have to be fear? The lamest possible." Harvest, his mother with scales like fresh moss hugging a rock, tracked the exchange, her head swiveling between her sons. She cleared her throat. "Yes, Ames dear, it's just that way in the beginning. But it's gotten easier, hasn't it? In the beginning, your connection with the element is weakest, you can only access it in the same mindset which had awakened it." Flare was nodding. "For you, that's calmness and certainty, and for your brother, it's being annoyed. Very fitting, I say." "What does that mean?" Lilan demanded while Ames laughed. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Seeing how well the teacup gambit had turned out, Amethyst's immediate next move was obvious. Well, c