Chapter 1 – Hatched

I inhabit a planet similar to Earth, populated by not just humans and elf-like humanoids, but also dragons, gryphons and other creatures you would find in a fantasy book on Earth. The society, architecture and technological advances resembles Earth’s Dark Ages. A big difference is the use of magicka, an energy-based form of magic that will demand an equal exchange of energy as you ask of it. It’s common enough that most know about it, but it needs to be studied in order to learn and control it. Magicka has various purposes, from creating light orbs that illuminate city streets at night, or a wealthy person’s home, to more mundane tasks like heating, cooling, and even telekinesis. This dependency on magicka has stalled technological development, and most of the humanoids on my planet are of opinion that its advanced use makes investing in technology a waste of resources.
The land where my memories come from is vast, with diverse geography and dotted with small villages and bustling cities. The western border features a mountain range that begins as coastal cliffs and rises steadily, forming a natural barrier. The northern region transitions from plains to a barren wasteland, with active volcanoes far beyond. The eastern side is dominated by a sprawling desert, isolated by a massive mountain range that divides the land. These mountains are dry and barren on the desert side but covered in snow and ice on the opposite side. This mountain range is my home.

Journeying East the grounds slowly turn from green to white. The temperature drops and the path turns from sand to permafrost. In the distance you spot a village. Its wooden gate stands as a humble barrier, revealing a small community of humans who have adapted to live in harmony with the harsh environment. These villagers pose no threat as long as one respects their way of life. They engage in trade, exchanging tanned hides and other resources for protection against the formidable threats that lurk in the wild and occasional help. The village is a testament to resilience, a haven where cooperation ensures survival.
Beyond the village, the landscape transforms into a vast frozen lake, a stark contrast to the warmth of human habitation. This lake serves as a vital resource, providing water for drinking, bathing, and fishing. Its thick ice makes crossing effortless, but the journey ahead is far from easy. The mountains loom in the distance, their peaks shrouded in an eternal blanket of snow and ice. The trees disappear, leaving one exposed to the relentless wind that howls across the barren expanse. The snow’s glare is blinding, and the cold seeps into one’s bones, a constant reminder of nature’s unyielding power.
Nightfall brings an even greater chill, accompanied by blizzards that sweep across the frozen fields. Survival in this desolate landscape requires strength and cunning. The mountain range stretches from west to east, a formidable barrier that seems to defy the passage of time. In the far west, the mountains bend southward, their snow-covered peaks a stark contrast to the barren wasteland below.
As one reaches the foot of the mountain, the sheer scale of the peaks is awe-inspiring. Thousands of feet they rise, a silent testament to the power of nature. Above, creatures soar through the sky and among the mountain tops, their bright white and blue forms reflecting the sunlight. These are arctic dragons, the guardians of this frozen realm and rulers in this land of ice and snow.
And that is where this story begins.

My first memories are foggy, but there are a few distinct moments that pop in my mind when asked about them. Our home is a cave carved into the mountainside and despite the desolation around us during the long winters, it was a place of warmth and safety. One of the earliest things I can recall is when my father came into the cave with food. Me and my siblings (two brothers and one sister) weren’t allowed to go outside because the harsh weather conditions would be a death sentence. We are relaxing inside the cave, our small bodies huddled up against our mother for warmth. Her body was a protective barrier from the gales that would sometimes enter the cave. The salty scent of fresh fish and the rustle of wings announced the arrival of our father. His hunt had been successful and the smell got us excited. As he landed, we ran out to the edge of the cave as far as our mother allowed us before her tail blocked our path, our tiny claws scrambling for grip on the icy rock. We hungrily attacked the fish he dropped, our instincts already driving us to claim our share of the meal.

The next memory is my first attempt at flight inside the cave, which ended with a bloody snout. The cave was vast for a hatchling, its every surface glistening with ice as winter raged on outside. I started running and spread my wings, who were still small and underdeveloped, leaping into the air. The sudden rush of wind beneath my wings was exhilarating, but my lack of control and ability to keep me in the air sent me crashing into the cave floor. The pain was sharp, but the taste of blood in my maw was a tasteful reminder of what I had just achieved. I spend the rest of the day gliding and crashing with my siblings.

As winter ended, we were able to go outside and that first time outside the cave is my best memory. My father went outside first, blocking the entrance as he surveyed the landscape for any threats. Me and my siblings followed soon after, running after him with excitement over the prospect of what we are about to see. Our mother stayed behind at the opening of the cave, her eyes watching us with a mix of pride and protectiveness. We carefully explored the edge of the now melting snow, our claws sinking into the slush as we ventured further from the safety of the cave. The cave opened into a large patch before a steep cliff, the drop below a dizzying expanse of whites, grays and blue. On the left side, there was a path down, a winding trail that led to into the mountains and connected the tribe on talon.
Looking out over the cliff I could see the slope of the mountain beneath us as it turned into a pinewood forest, the trees a dark green contrast to the white snow. Above and to the sides, the mountain stretched out into a mountain range as far as any eye could see. There were glaciers, their surfaces shimmering like diamonds in the sunlight, and lakes so clear you could see the stones at the bottom. Waterfalls cascaded down the mountainsides, their roar a constant background noise to our lives. Huge lakes lay at the foot of the mountains, their surfaces smooth as glass. The wind was cold, despite the sun. Our parents took their place besides us as we looked out over this breathtaking view. Along the mountain ridges, there were more caves, dark openings in the rock where other members of our tribe lived. We saw many members of the tribe flying around, their forms almost invisible against the bright sky. All we could do was look in silence, awed by the sight of our kin moving so freely through the air. As we sat there, we got taught about our ways.
The tribe’s way of life is ancient and has been unchanged for hundreds, if not a thousand of season cycles. The old ways are revered, with the idea that those who passed, our Ancestors, are still watching over us. The tribe is led by a group of old dragons known as ‘Elders’ that offer guidance for the tribe. Most Elders reside on the lower slopes of the mountains, where the winds make gliding effortless. My species has large wings, allowing us to use the power of the wind, conserving energy as we soar through the sky. The wind caressed us on that ledge and although we couldn’t fly, we got instructed about the wind and how it moves between the mountains and ravines.
Nature itself is a big part of our belief, for we are aware that we have evolved as a species, yet we are still part of Her and should always strive to stay in touch with Her. Between the slopes and within the mountains, several lakes provide a bountiful source of fish. For most of the year, the lakes are frozen, requiring us to create ice holes to dive in. Using our wings to accelerate swimming, combined with our ability to stay underwater for extended periods makes us formidable hunters both in the water and on land.

It is now summer and I’m outside our home with my siblings. We are play-fighting, our young bodies tumbling over each other in a chaotic dance of wings and tails. The crisp mountain air fills my lungs, and the scent of pine is strong. The wind is silent today and all we hear are the distant waterfalls of melting snow and ice. My siblings’ scales glint in the sunlight, a mix of whites and blues that blend seamlessly with the icy landscape around us. Completely lost in our game we do not notice a draconic shape appearing on the horizon until it has gained details. Our mother returns, her elegant form cutting through the sky with effortless grace. The wind from her wings rustles our scales as she lands. My father walks out of the cave, his watchful eyes having been on us since the start, and they greet each other, nuzzling gently. Their scales and horns meet, making a soft, rasping sound. Then, our mother greets me and my siblings, her snout warm and familiar, her voice a gentle rumble that vibrates through my very being. Everything about this is home.
My kin mates for life, meaning they choose one partner and stay with them for the rest of their life. On average, a couple will get new hatchlings every 10 season cycles. The eggs get laid deep inside the caves to shield them from the cold outside, covered with vegetation from the trees at the foot of the mountains, dirt and the body heat of the parent’s bodies. Both switch between duties that arise when raising hatchlings.

We are naturally born with the ability to communicate telepathically and we use it for most of our communication. Our vocal speech is just as encompassing, albeit more crude. Telepathy is also used for interactions with other species, such as the occasional and accidental meet with the humans living in the nearest village, or a stray dragon that stumbles upon our territories.
Maybe the most impressive tool of my species is our frost breath. Mastering it takes a few years but once developed enough we can spew a cone that freezes whatever is in front of us. It also gets used for hunting or to win over a mate by, for example, making figures in the ground with it or spewing into the air to show our strength. Other dragons in this world have other breaths like acid and fire and seem to align with the climate they live in, but I will come back to that at a later time.

A couple of cycles have passed since my last memory and I have grown slightly. My wings are developed enough to sustain flight and my instinct strong enough to know how, yet we stay around our parents, learning more about the ways of our tribe and contributing to its existence. The bond between parent and hatchling remains strong, but the nature of our relationship evolves over time. Parents nurture their hatchlings for seven cycles before parting ways with them and as hatchlings turn into whelplings, they undergo a naming ceremony held every full moon in a cave atop one of the tallest mountains. The treacherous journey to the cave is a rite of passage, requiring both flight and climbing skill as a test of our strength and determination. Those who succeed are named in a ceremony that reflects their unique journey. Those who do not succeed can try again, but every whelpling wants to make it in their first try.
After naming, we gain the title of dragon and are considered adult. From that moment on we are free to stay or explore the world, returning to the tribe when we feel ready to settle down.
I however, never had the chance to do this ritual. For my life chose a different path.

One day, out of seemingly nowhere and with almost no warning, my tribe was ambushed by humanoids riding on dragons. I did not know this at that moment, but these dragons were once like me. Humans and Elves alike kidnap many of the young dragons to use as pets, sell for gold, or train for war. By cutting down enough of the parents and taking the young ones, they ensure that the tribe would not pursue and be left broken, in turmoil over the loss of multiple generations.
The sound of the attack was led by a warning roar from those that lived at the edge of our territory, but by then it was already too late. The beat of their wings rolled across the mountains as a shadow. Their combined power with the humans on their back proved too much for my tribe. They killed many of the adults, their fire and steel melting and cutting through scale and wing with brutal efficiency. They did not care about the bigger ones and were clearly after the young ones, including myself. I don’t remember much of the actual kidnapping, the memories a blur of fear and confusion. My mother was with us, shielding us from the attackers, but the dragons were much bigger, stronger and their number higher. Their scent was a mix of fear and anger, their mind hidden behind feral instinct. They knocked her aside, spear, magicka and tooth digging into her. She fought back as much as she could, leading the dragons away from us and among the chaos we got separated from her. Flying away was something I considered, but the sky was filled with dragons, so we ran off. Rounding the mountain we got cut off by a dragon landing in front of us, their size big enough to swallow me whole. The dragon had a bunch of leather straps and chains tied to and around them, all leading to a saddle between their wings. Reins were attached to their horns for directing them. In the saddle sat a humanoid figure, clad in leather and dragon scales. Their helmet only had a thin slice to look through and at their side was a variety of weapons like a sword and a long spear that seemed secured to the saddle.
The humanoid slid down from the saddle and hold up a hand as they spoke. Their palm started to glow and the path behind us got consumed by rock, smooth and tall. We backed into it, unsure of what to do and aware that our growls did not intimidate the human or dragon.
Mother’s cry of pain in the distance made me and my siblings look away, which was the only chance the attackers needed. The humanoid closed the distance as they spoke more words, their palms glowing and I started to feel sleepy. Fear and panic over the wellbeing of my parents tormenting my head, I dropped to the ground in agony, the cries of my mother in the distance the last thing I heard before everything went black.