The Little Wyvern

The screams from the village did not die until long into the early hours of the morning. The beg of each man, woman, and child consolidating into a cacophony of desperation until they all faded out, one by choked and strangled one.

He did not set out until morning—not until he knew that the fire had died out and life no longer inhabited the once prosperous village.

It was silent, save the thundering of his own heavy steps and the swish of his tail on the leaves. Not even the birds called out from their perches.

As he expected, the melancholic sight of the smoldering ruins greeted him as he approached the village. Bodies crowded the streets—doors were broken down in houses and windows smashed through. Fire still burned. He knew that the heat would be overwhelming, but he was conceived when fire covered the world. Heat was nothing to him.

It was simpler in the beginning, when his father still walked on land instead of slumbering among the stars. He was the first to be born of his kind, of great beasts with massive wings and glistening scales. The humans called him Dragon. His father called him Apep.

It only took him a few minutes to reach the center of the village. The wooden carvings that once decorated the town’s center were nothing but ashes on the ground. The top of the well had been smashed in, the bucket long gone.

There was truly no life left in this village, not even a breath. There was creation here once. The gods once walked upon this land. There was joy and laughter, sadness and anger. Now, there was nothing but grief.

Thousands of years ago, this was a prosperous place. There used to be flowers—crocuses and marigolds and birds of paradise—as far as the eye could see. Nature would come with her children to bring about the change of the seasons. Apep’s brothers and sisters would join with their hatchlings and they would celebrate, dancing until the early rays of dawn graced the meadow.

But the gods have long since abandoned this land.

Apep continued his stroll away from the ruins of the town. Breaking the first trees of the forest felt almost final. The village was the past and the forest the future; he was leaving the village that would become another relic from a time lost.

No one but him would see the village until long after the last fire had died out.

The birds were chirping when he entered the forest. Soft and unsure, but with an underlying tone of curiosity. He stopped at that and lifted his snout into the branches to gaze upon the small bird. She was black with a red chest, and when she was sure she had Apep’s full attention she tilted her head before shaking out her wings. He snorted at her, giving her permission to continue. She was in the air instantly, chirping at him once to make sure he followed her.

He tromped after her. A comical sight, he was sure—the large, beastly creature being led by the small little bird. She did not lead him far, only to one of the first clearings.

He had smelt the blood before he saw the body.

It was a human woman. She had very pale blonde hair lying around her head. She was on her stomach, legs and arms outstretched in an unnatural position. A large arrow protruded from her back. The once light tan top was now covered in the deep red liquid. It pooled around her, staining her hair and the grass below her.

It wasn’t the corpse that drew his attention however—it was the smaller body that sat next to it. The boy sat, uncaring of the blood that had clearly soaked and stained his clothes and hands. His arms were tossed over the corpse, his head clearly having been resting on his arms from the mark on his forehead—but now the tear streaked young face was trained on Apep.

He wasn’t crying anymore, but from the occasional hiccups that Apep observed in the silence he had only stopped spilling the tears recently. A sad sight—to see the small child who had run out of tears.

Apep was guessing the woman was a mother, or at least a guardian of some sort. She must have been hunted down trying to escape with the boy.

He was almost unsettled by the curious but untrusting glare of the human child—no, not human.

Black spiral horns protruded from within his pure white hair. The abnormal shade was already enough of a clue in itself—humans with unnatural hair colors always had a hint of creature ancestry. And if the hair and horns were not enough, two small and thin black wings could be seen over the boy’s shoulders.

Apep felt his chest rumble. Those wings were simply a miniature version of his own.

The boy had dragon blood.

Apep slowly stepped towards him, and the hatchling’s wings flared behind him as his soft gray eyes widened in panic.

Apep shifted back a step, turning his head away from the trembling hatchling to find his small flying friend.

The bird was sitting on a nearby branch, tilting her head as she looked between Apep and the Little Wyvern.

He huffed in annoyance at the lack of instruction before he turned back to the hatchling.

He couldn’t abandon the young one there, alone and desolate, and his father would no doubt curse him for abandoning his kin. So he stepped forward, comforting rumbles leaving his chest.

The Little Wyvern shifted so his feet were flat on the ground. He was still crouched down, but Apep recognized the fight-or-flight instincts.

Apep continued to let his chest rumble. Most hatchlings rely on their instincts for years after they are born—hopefully the instincts were merely buried deep within the Little Wyvern.

As long as the young Wyvern had enough connection to his ancestors, Apep should have been able to communicate through mind links with the small hatchling. As much as Apep simply wanted to start talking and take the hatchling away, he knew that it would be a mistake to overwhelm the little one.

The closer he got the more the Little Wyvern seemed to panic, but instead of fleeing or fighting, it seemed as though the hatchling was merely frozen, unable to move save for the wings that slowly cocooned his body.

Apep felt his blood turn cold.

The hatchling’s wings were beautiful, but there were gashes in them, and scars from old wounds that did not appear to heal correctly.

The hatchling’s wings tightened and his shoulders shrugged up as he curled in on himself.

Apep had not realized how vicious his growl was until that moment. He hadn’t even recognized the change or the tightened coil in his chest.

His only consolation was that none of the gashes severed anything important. The hatchling should still be able to fly.

Apep took a moment to move behind the hatchling, wrapping his larger body around the Little Wyvern in what he hoped would be a sympathetic embrace.

The Little Wyvern was trembling now.

Apep leaned his neck down so that his head could brush the back of the hatchling’s head. He continued to give off the comforting rumble as he sniffed at the Little Wyvern’s hair, waiting patiently for the hatchling to relax.

Apep could not blame him, the poor thing had been through a great ordeal today. If the hatchling was Apep’s child, the young one would not have left the nest for quite some time. Dragons have always been known to be possessive and protective of their young.

Worry bubbled in him as the hatchling continued to sit caved in on himself. His shoulders were shaking and his entire body quivered. He had hoped his instincts would have made an appearance to calm him and convey that Apep was not a threat.

So they sat there.

Even as the hatchling’s tears began again.

Even as the sobs shook his body.

Even as the morning sun turned to an afternoon sun.

Even as the hatchling’s stomach began to growl ferociously.

Even as the birds began to chirp once again.

Even as the afternoon sun turned into a setting sun.

Even after the small bird flew back to her nest.

Even as the temperature dropped and darkness rose.

Even as the sobs subsided.

It was then, as the blue of the sky faded to a soft orange and the white clouds turned to pink, that the hatchling finally leaned back into Apep’s body.

Apep purred at the hatchling, and the hatchling let out a meager rumble back. He seemed to have not realized his actions initially because almost instantly his body tensed entirely.

But Apep continued to purr, waiting patiently for the small body to relax again. The hatchling’s repressed instincts had finally kicked in, allowing them to form a bond.

The hatchling jolted as the mental bond snapped into existence. Apep had made bonds with his kin before, but he could not deny the strange feeling of the mental pressure that came with an active bond. He could still feel the broken ones in the deep recesses of his mind, but this one pushed to the front and claimed all of his attention. The mental bonds—Nexus Animus, meaning “bound souls” in the Ancient Tongue—were oftentimes overwhelming, but Apep would not be able to communicate with the hatchling without it. The Nexus Animus opened up paths for emotions to be felt by those connected, words to be shared. Apep would need to teach the hatchling how to control it soon.

He could feel the confusion—the pain and despair.

Apep shook his head slightly in an effort to push away the emotions threatening to bombard him.

An uncertainty seeped into his bones. It had been a long time since he had bonded with a hatchling, he wasn’t even sure where to begin—this was already such a delicate matter.

So he continued to let out comforting rumbles, and then he spoke.

“Hello, young one.”

The hatchling jolted again and scrambled back to face him.

Confusion painted the Little Wyvern’s face. For a moment, Apep wondered if the hatchling even knew the Common Language.

He waited another moment before speaking again, “Do you understand me, Little Wyvern?”

The Little Wyvern paused before slowly nodding. “Why do I hear you in my head?” His voice was soft and quiet yet slightly raspy, no doubt sore from crying.

The question was innocent, and Apep should have expected it. “I do not possess the ability to speak in the way you would understand. So I speak through our bond.”

“Bond?”

Apep suppressed the urge to coo at the hatchling. “Yes. Dragons form bonds with hatchlings. Because of this bond you can hear me, and we can share emotions if we want, but most importantly we can feel where the other is.”

The hatchling was still visibly confused, but he nodded along. Apep did not expect him to speak much anyway.

“How about we find you something to eat, and you can come stay with me?”

The hatchling almost seemed interested for a moment before he stopped and turned back to the body of his caretaker.

“What about Mama?”

Mother, then. Apep paused for a moment before trying to figure out the best course of action.

“Would you like to collect flowers for her?”

The hatchling hesitated before standing on shaky legs. He was probably tall for his age, but his height made him seem even smaller with his skinny legs and arms that only outlined his bones. Apep had to guess that the hatchling couldn’t be older than three or four.

Anger curled in Apep’s chest once again, but he made sure not to make it known. Based on the slight uptake of the hatchling’s shoulders, he felt the anger—not towards him, never towards him—through the bond.

Nevertheless, the Little Wyvern squared his shoulders and continued on. Apep could feel the anxiety wafting off the hatchling in waves—but he still continued on. Apep had to admire that.

It didn’t take long for the hatchling to gather enough flowers to fill his heart’s desire, making his way back to the body of his mother.

Apep followed him, staying silent as the hatchling stared at his mother.

Apep stepped forward once they reached the body. He stretched his arm forward in order to break the arrow with a talon. He then turned the body over, allowing the hatchling to place the flowers on her chest. The woman’s eyes were thankfully closed, and her face seemed serene.

She laid there, blood covering the entirety of her clothes like a blanket. The white flowers were such a contrast—innocence amongst the darkness of death .

The small cries of the hatchling began again, but Apep gave him a moment, even though he had to fight all instinct to grab the hatchling and fly away. But he could not, this needed to be done.

He waited until the cries died out and the moon rose over their heads. Apep raised his gaze to the sky and the moon seemed to shine brighter for a moment. Like an old friend gifting his condolences.

“It is time for us to go, Little Wyvern.”

The hatchling simply nodded, his wings stretching as he yawned.

“Climb on.”

Apep leaned down until his stomach sat uncomfortably on the ground. He stretched his right wing out, allowing the hatchling to clamber onto his back.

The hatchling’s small fingers gripped at Apep’s scales, holding himself in place the best he could as Apep’s body moved under him.

They stayed silent for a while before the hatchling spoke.

“Where are we going?”

“My home.”

“Oh.” A pause. “Why do you call me that?”

“Little Wyvern?”

“Yeah.”

Apep paused for a moment.

“A wyvern is a dragon with only two legs. Just like you.”

“Oh.” He still sounded confused but a light shade of red bloomed on his cheeks, which caused Apep to let out a huff of laughter. “My mama called me Zephyrus.”

Apep almost stopped in his tracks; it was rare these days to reference the ancient creatures. Creatures themselves were already hunted without mercy and the hatchling’s mother took a grave risk in naming her child after one the old gods. The original Zephyrus was one of the few gods that humans named accurately, and all those who knew the history would know its connotations—it would be considered rebellion against the usurper who sat on the throne in this current age.

A part of Apep wondered if this was the reason for the destruction of the village.

“Zephyrus, is it? Do you know of your namesake?”

The Little Wyvern shook his head no, so Apep continued.

“Zephyrus was one of the four wind gods, specifically of the west wind. But he was also considered the god of spring. He is a great god to have been named after, you should be honored to carry his name.”

The hatchling had no response as they walked, but Apep could feel the small amount of pride that dwindled from the bond.

But silence dwelled in the air as the walk continued. If it weren’t for the hatchling’s inability to shield the bond, Apep would have thought he went to sleep.

“Why are you nice?”

Apep almost paused at the whisper, the hatchling sounded so confused. The answer would have to be considered carefully.

“You and I are of shared ancestry. All dragons have descended from my father. You do not deserve to be left alone, I will take care of you as I have cared for the others of our kind.”

While the hatchling still seemed to be confused, he accepted the answer.

Nothing else was spoken as they continued on through the night, leaving behind the life and destruction of the village in their wake.

It wasn’t until they arrived in the middle of the forest that Apep spoke again.

“We are almost at my home, Little Wyvern.”

The hatchling startled, his body shook for a moment before he settled back into his original position.

“Where?”

“Right here.”

Apep lowered himself, allowing the hatchling to slide down. The Wyvern landed softly on the ground, his wings flaring out to help with his balance. But the hatchling could not hide the wince at the movement. Those injuries needed to be looked at soon.

Zephyrus’ confusion increased. “There’s nothing here.”

Apep let out a huff of laughter. “Look closely.”

The hatchling finally looked up, and his eyes widened as he took in the sight around him.

By this point in the forest, so deep that no being with human blood had ever stepped before, the world was different. The trees more vibrant, the grass softer, and the creatures more alive.

Zephyrus could not contain his awe as it passed through the bond, and Apep let out a soft snort.

The Little Wyvern turned to glare at him, but his attention was immediately caught by the glowing shapes that appeared from within the trees.

Small creatures of orange and red and all the shades in between drifted towards them, and when they reached the hatchling, they began to dance.

“They’re small dragons!”

“Not exactly, young one.”

Zephyrus turned to look at him, “Then what are they?”

“These are called rutilantēs.”

“Rutilantēs?” Zephyrus attempted to repeat, but his vowels slurred as he added a couple syllables.

“Rutilantēs. They are named for their warm glow, and their red color. They are relatives of dragons, so that is why they seem like us, but they are more serpent than dragon.”

“They have wings.”

Zephyrus was correct in his observation, the rutilantēs had the long and thin body of a serpent, with the wings and claws of a dragon. But they were tiny, probably no longer than one on his talons when they were full grown. Rutilantēs were curious and affectionate creatures. Apep could tell by the small chirps they released that they were spreading word of the hatchling. One had already come to rest on Zephyrus white locks, another had entwined itself around his neck after twisting around his arms.

He laughed as they did, a giggle that was so different from the boy he had met only hours prior. The glow of the creatures illuminated his hair and eyes, giving the white hair a red tinge and highlighting the soft gray surrounding his irises.

“Yes, they do.”

“I love them!” Zephyrus squeaked.

Apep let his laughter ring, the snorts and chuffs falling from his snout and the joy running through the bond causing the Little Wyvern to smile wider.

The rutilantēs latch onto his clothes, trying to pull him towards the small swarm so that they all could examine him. While the creatures were small, they were also mighty. They quickly took notice of the injuries on his wings, and two of them began to blow on the gashes.

Zephyrus looks back to him with panic on his features and flowing through the bond. But Apep merely rumbled while pushing thoughts of comfort and content through the Nexus Animus.

Slowly, the gashes began to disappear as a red salve began to form above the injuries. The breath of the rutilantēs, at the same time similar and completely different from the fire that smoldered in Apep’s stomach, holds a healing property. And there is nothing better than a rutilantēs healing.

When they were satisfied with their care for the hatchling, they continued with their previous mission: Making the young one their new friend.

Apep watched on as the hatchling was drawn into the swarm, laughing and giggling as they flew around him. Zephyrus let out uncontrollable giggles, forgetting for a moment the horror that happened only a few hours earlier.

How innocent and pure the mind of this small creature is.

But Apep could not forget.

Not as he could still hear Zephyrus’ cries in his ears and feel the pain that still persisted in the back of his mind.

Not as he watched the Little Wyvern enjoy his last moments before the nightmares begin.

And definitely not as he watched the young hatchling that was still covered in the blood of his mother who was slain with her back turned.

He made a vow—then and there—that this hatchling would be protected as long as Apep was around. He was unsure of what Zephyrus truly was, the white hair being different from any dragon hybrid he had seen before, but if Zephyrus wished to know, then Apep would assist however he could.

This was the first dragonborn in hundreds of years, he would be the future of their kind. And maybe, in the far future, he would be the one to lead to the downfall of the Corrupt King. He might free this land from the cruel overlord that had built a throne from the bones of the people he murdered to claim his power. A small part of Apep wished his hatchling would go nowhere near the Corrupt King.

But that was not a problem for today, or tomorrow, or even the next day. Maybe it would never be a problem for Zephyrus.

For now, all that mattered was to raise this hatchling, to care and provide for him.

And Apep would do that—he would raise his new son until the day a father was no longer needed.