The Serpent Sign

Long past the Age of Dragons, well into the Era of Man, two souls were born into a royal family on a moonless night. In the nation they were born, the coastal state of Aqentis, there was a superstition regarding twin births; a superstition hailing back to the nation’s genesis and its twin dragon rulers. It was said that the birth of twins was called the Serpent Sign. Once thought to be an augur of good fortune, it is now considered an ill omen, heralding a disaster to that bloodline. On that moonless night, the princess of Aqentis, Niolandi, gave birth to twins: a girl and a boy.

Cries bounced off the walls of the small room, giving the illusion of multiple women screaming. Multiple women in childbirth. The intimate room held only three: Niolandi giving birth, the midwife, and the queen, towering over them both like a hawk.

The midwife dabbed the princess’s forehead with a damp cloth, all the while softly encouraging her. They’d been at this for hours. Her body sprawled out on the floor in agony, she screamed for relief; for death; for salvation. But most of all, she screamed for it to simply be over.

As Niolandi’s screams reached a crescendo, a new voice cried out. The midwife pulled away from the princess, a baby in her hands, baptized in blood and placental juices.

“A girl, Your Radiance,” she said, gazing up at the towering queen. She simply nodded, her seaglass-colored eyes staring on dispassionately. Her ordeal now over, Niolandi fell back onto her pillow, whimpering. The midwife swaddled up the newborn, carrying it over to a small crib.

Niolandi howled again, bucking her hips and begging for death once more. The midwife spun around, still occupied with the newborn. The queen shuddered in surprise as well.

“What’s going on?” She demanded.

“I don’t know!” The midwife replied. She rushed to the princess’s side. “What’s wrong, my lady?!” But the question was useless. All that ushered from Niolandi’s lips were more screams.

Frantic, she inspected the princess’s loins. Another hunched bundle of flesh, even bloodier than the last, was pushing its way out of Niolandi’s birth canal. The midwife’s eyes widened.

“The Serpent Sign!” she gasped in horror. The queen’s stony façade fell away for a moment, raw fear in her eyes, but she regained it quickly. The midwife lowered her head and whispered a prayer, then pulled the second infant out and into swaddling clothes. It remained silent as a corpse; for a moment the midwife believed it was stillborn. But then its lips parted and uttered a gasping cry. As Niolandi’s screams devolved into heaving sobs of pain, the midwife inspected the child. Her face went pale. She looked over to the queen again.

“A… a boy, Your Radiance.” Her voice faltered as the words left her mouth. The queen gave no reaction. Niolandi, having recovered herself, reached out to hold her newborns. The midwife handed them both over.

“This will not do,” the queen finally spoke. She focused her predator’s gaze upon the swaddled boy in his mother’s arms. “No ruler of Aqentis has given birth to twins in generations. And a male, at that.” She reached down to pick the boy up. Niolandi shrank back, protective instinct driving her. But her eyes widened. She knew she had made a mistake.

“You will give that child to me.” The queen tutted. “If you claim it, the other families will slander our name. They will say that we’ve invited a curse upon our nation.” She held out her hands again. “Always remember, you stupid girl: our image is everything.”

Niolandi hesitated, looking down one final time at her boy’s face. His eyes opened a fraction: amber, like hers. She looked away, and handed the child over to the queen.

“Good girl,” she said, handing the boy off to the midwife. She held her lips close to the servant’s ear.

“Get rid of it.”

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The midwife went into the forest wilderness beyond the capital’s walls, intent on ending the infant’s life there. She found a dark, secluded hollow and knelt there, in fallen pine needles and cold moss, looking into the face of the innocent child. He cried weakly, already hungry and cold. With shaking hands, she unsheathed a knife; it was unwieldy in her grasp. She lowered it to the child’s chest, tip hovering just above his heart. He continued to cry out. She hesitated: once, twice, three times. Finally, she turned away: she couldn’t do it. Rising to her feet, she cast glances in every direction, then fled into the darkness, pulling a hood over her head. The cold or an animal will do what I cannot, she thought. And that would have been the end of the child’s life, were it not for a silent spectator hidden by the oaks and pines.

Meruna had watched the entire exchange. The old dragon was out on her hunt when she heard the baby’s cries, and investigated out of curiosity. Now, she lumbered forward until she stood towering over the newborn. Her legs were as thick as tree trunks, ending in long, sharp claws. A mosaic of blue scales covered nearly every inch of her massive body, in every shade; from the lightest eggshell blue to the deepest indigo. Her eyes were black like midnight, with thousands of microscopic stars glittering in that inky darkness.

She raised a talon above his heart, the tip just grazing his chest. A poor, fragile thing, she thought. If that human was too weak to take its life, I will do so. A child does not deserve to suffer.

The boy reached out with tiny hands and grasped Meruna’s talon, a smile on his lips. She reeled back, surprised, and he began crying again.

Ever more curious, she brought her talon close again, letting the child reach out and touch it. He gurgled and cooed, no longer the cries of hunger or cold. She lowered her head to his, wanting a better look. She saw his eyes – molten amber, and the nascent feelings behind them. Warmth. Innocence. Love. She thought of her nest in the mountains, of the child she had lost– the unmoving egg. My own hatchling might have looked at me with those eyes.

Breaking into soft tears, Meruna pulled back, gingerly scooping up the child with her claw. His tiny body barely filled her palm. I cannot leave this child to die here. I will take him and raise him as my own.

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Niolandi, who ascended the throne to queendom several years after forsaking her son, grew quite attached to her remaining child, her daughter Niamani. She played with her in the halls and canals of the oceanside palace, their peals of laughter echoing throughout. When Niamani was old enough to read, she began devouring books nonstop, surprising her mother with her boundless hunger for knowledge. Her nose would constantly be shoved between books far beyond her years. Niolandi took this as a good sign to begin educating her daughter.

The queen glided quickly across the pearlescent stone floor, the tresses of her dress flaring in the breeze. Rays of summer sunlight reflected on her forehead and spiral shell crown. Black coils of hair, like tentacles, fell down her back. She jabbed her stick at Niamani, catching her off guard; the pole shuddered as it struck her shoulder.

“Ow!” Niamani gasped.

“Focus, Nia,” Niolandi chided. “You can’t just be smart to be a queen.” She resumed her stance and swung her polearm hard. “You must be strong as well!”

The blow swept Nia’s legs out from under her. Frustrated, Nia stood up and rushed at Niolandi, but the queen bent backwards, far beyond what any normal person could do.

“That’s cheating!” Nia whined. She jabbed and swung more, but Niolandi bent her body out of reach every time.

“Using my powers is cheating?” Niolandi chuckled. “If that’s the case, then all divinae you fight will be cheaters.” She jumped onto the wall, clinging to it with the octopus-like suckers on her palms. With the grace of a cat, she leapt from her perch, landing on top of Nia and pinning her to the floor.

“Your fighting is too reckless,” she scolded. “If you cannot control yourself, then the enemy will control you.” She got off, then helped her daughter up.

“How am I supposed to match you if I have no powers?” Nia whined, tears lining her eyes.

“One day you will, my ocean pearl. But you must build the foundation of your fighting first.”

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Meanwhile, Meruna raised the orphaned boy as her own. Having no milk for the infant to drink, she instead fed him the contents of her unfertilized eggs. She worried that it would lack the nutrients he would need from his birth mother, but his growing strength proved otherwise. When he was old enough to speak, she taught him the language of humans, and the language of dragons. He sat, rapt in attention as she told him tales of dragons, of the centuries before when her kin roamed the skies and watched over humankind. Meruna learned the boy was divinae when, at the age of five, his arms began to grow dragon scales, and his fingers tapered off into sharp claws. She knew then that she would teach him to fight. With the strength he’d gained from her eggs, his fists and feet would flash through the air, demolishing logs and rocks.

The boy had natural talent, that was certain. More so than any of his others, however, Meruna lamented that his greatest talent was to annoy her to death. Lacking any books to sink his mind’s teeth into, the boy hounded her with his relentless curiosity.

“Mama,” the child said one evening, when they were settling down to sleep, “in your stories, the dragons you talk about all have names. But I have no name. Why is that?”

She smiled. “It is a custom among dragons. A hatchling is not given a name until they reach adulthood. Then, their parents will name them.”

“Why?” It was the boy’s favorite word.

“There is nothing worse in this world than being given a name that is unfitting of you.”

The child considered for a moment. “What does your name mean, Mama?”

“In the dragon tongue, Meruna means ‘night over the ocean.’”

“Will I receive a name one day, Mama?”

“Yes, my little hatchling. One day, you will.”

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Both Niolandi and Meruna thought it important to impart their children with the tale of the Dragon War, although they spun different tales. Niolandi’s tale painted the humans as sympathetic, suffering immensely under the yoke of dragon tyranny; Meruna’s version painted the dragons as benevolent and wise, giving humans guidance and purpose while still respecting their freedom.

“Humans couldn’t bear the weight of dragon rule,” Niolandi had said. “They craved to rule over themselves, to control their own destiny. And so, a group of rebels sought ancient, arcane powers from deep within the earth. They harnessed this magic to steal the dragons’ natural abilities, their ‘eaten strength.’”

“For the dragons,” Meruna had said to her son that day, “To watch over the humans was a sacred task, given to them by the very gods. They did not corrupt easily under the weight of that power. But those traitorous malcontents were not satisfied with their simple lot in life. They wanted to control their fellow humans, to relish in that corruption.” She spat, as if ridding herself of the poisonous words. “And so those gluttons reached deep into the earth, tapping into old, occult magic, and used it to steal our abilities, our divine gift of ‘eaten strength.’”

From that point, both Niolandi’s and Meruna’s tales overlapped. After stealing ‘eaten strength’ from the dragons, the newly-christened divinae used their powers to overthrow and slaughter the dragons in a long and brutal war, with heavy casualties sustained by both sides. When it was clear that defeat was inevitable, the dragons made a final, desperate effort, using the same arcane magic the humans had used to open a portal to another world and escape. The divinae, having decisively won the war, established themselves as royalty across all the world’s nations, and now rule by right of their divine heritage and power.

The next question from both children was the same: will the dragons ever return?

“It is possible,” Meruna told her son. “I had already gone into hiding when they escaped, so I’m not privy to where they went; or if they’ll be able to return. But I hold hope in my heart that someday, they will.”

“I believe they will return, hell-bent on reclaiming their place as rulers of all life,” Niolandi told her daughter. “And when they do, we divinae will carry a great responsibility: to fight them once again, and to finish them off, once and for all.”

Both children took away lessons that day. Nia was instilled with the same hatred and vitriol towards the dragons as her predecessors, and she vowed that when the dragons returned, she would destroy them all.

The boy, on the other hand, was inspired by the dragon’s plight, and excitedly promised that he would save the dragons and return them to this world. On that day, their childish dreams made their mothers beam with pride.

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When both children were on the cusp of their fifteenth birthdays, each of their mothers sat them down for talks. Niolandi found her daughter in her room, hunched over a book beyond her years, as usual. She coughed to get Nia’s attention.

“Your Radiance,” the princess stood and bowed, as was customary.

The queen strode across the room to the desk Nia occupied, then reached out with her right hand and touched her daughter’s cheek: a more informal greeting among their people. Nia returned the gesture.

“I’ve brought you something,” Niolandi said, bringing a small box out from behind her back. She opened the lid, revealing a group of small, powdered candies in a cradle of wax paper. “Your favorite. An early birthday present.”

“Really? I thought you didn’t like me eating these.”

Niolandi shrugged. “Well, since tonight is your last as a child, I figured you could indulge one final time.” She placed the box on the desk, then smoothed out a few stray hairs from Nia’s head. “Besides, tomorrow is a busy day. I wanted to get some time with you before you’re swarmed by everyone else.”

“Thank you, mother.” Nia picked up one of the candies, but stopped before taking a bite. Her eyes narrowed, a sly smile lining her lips. “There isn’t any starfish in these candies, is there?”

Niolandi laughed. “No, no, my little Nia. Though, having the powers of a starfish helped your grandmother regenerate her arm after losing it in battle.” She gently pulled her daughter to the mirror, standing behind her. “Remember that you are the inheritor not only to the divinae legacy, but also the throne of Aqentis.” She placed her hands on Nia’s shoulders. “The road ahead will be hard. But I know you will have the will to endure. And no matter what, I’ll always be proud of you, my ocean pearl.”

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Meruna sat her son down and bestowed upon him her wisdom.

“My dear son,” she said, “You are nearly a man now. Tomorrow, you will be old enough to venture into the world outside.”

“Mother,” the boy replied. “Is this the day when I am given a name?”

She nodded, her cerulean head bobbing up and down. “Yes, my child. I have thought long of what name to give you. I name you… Ren.”

The boy repeated the word. “Ren…” Star…He rolled the name around his tongue several more times. “Why name me that, Mother?”

“To myself and to all of dragonkind, you are a star: a beacon of hope for the return of our kind.”

Ren broke into a smile so deep and jubilant, it made Meruna’s heart tremble. “Thank you, Mother. It’s perfect.”

“I have a gift for you, as well.”

“What is it?”

“I have found you a cloak to disguise yourself when you venture out among the humans.” She gestured with her claw to a bundle of green cloth on the floor. “Try it on, my son. You’ll need to look more presentable for your first day as a man.”

Ren shrugged the cloak around his body, pulling the hood over his head and tucking away his clawed hands into the sleeves.

“You must be careful. Do not draw attention to yourself.” She fussed over him a few minutes more, urging him to groom his hair and trim his claws. Finally, she beheld her son, ready to go out into the world.

“Oh, my sweet Ren. You are my life’s greatest joy. But to see you go out on your own…” Tears welled up in the star-filled galaxies that were her eyes.

Ren hugged her head. “I will always come home, Mother. No matter where I go, I will always come home.”

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Both Ren and Nia experienced lively birthdays the following morning. Ren spent his morning in Portusa, a coastal city near their cave home. The crowds and tall buildings and droning noise disturbed Ren at first, but he learned to master his fear and enjoy the experience. Passing by the blacksmith, Ren’s eyes were drawn to the shining metals of the armor and weapons on display. They may be pretty, but I don’t need them. I have my claws to protect me. He clenched his fists in pride.

Throughout the day, Ren walked through the city, marveling at everything. He found the buildings interesting, but his attention was drawn more to the people walking around him. It fascinated Ren-- their clothes, their hairstyles, their mannerisms-- all so radically different from each other. And yet, all these different beings fit so effortlessly into the word "humankind."

“Humans are so captivating,” he said repeatedly throughout.

Nia’s morning was far less enjoyable. She spent much of it stuck in a celebration hall in Portusa, several blocks from where Ren was rambling about. In this stuffy noble’s house, she was forced to play debutante. And because she was on display, she couldn’t enjoy eating the foods that called to her from their silver platters.

“This is utterly dreadful,” she said repeatedly throughout.

When Ren took a break after all the fun he’d had, he found himself following a massive crowd towards an enormous structure. A stadium, they called it. The people around him were chatting endlessly about whether they’ll see some good action today, or how the participants might be mutilated and killed. Ren’s heart filled with disquiet: how could humans talk about the suffering of their fellow people with such smiles on their faces? Wanting to learn more, he hesitantly went with them into the stadium.

I don’t know if I will like this, Ren thought, but stepped into the darkness anyway.

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The dark throat of the tunnel opened up into the overbearing sunlight of midday. Nia took up her spot in the royal box seat, her mother coming up beside her. Servants stood to either side of them, ready to address their whims at a moment’s notice.

“Will there be more public appearances after this?” Nia asked.

“No, my ocean pearl, this is our last stop for today.” Niolandi’s words were nearly lost over the droning buzz of the waiting masses. “As tiring as it may be, it is important that the common people know that we see them.” She held out her hand, gesturing to the crowd all around them. “One day, these will be your people to rule.”

Nia looked around at these people. They disgusted her. Their faces were warped and hideous, they smelled like garbage and sweat, and their voices scraped against her mind like metal on stone. She searched her heart for any compassion, but all she found was disdain.

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Ren sat in the row closest to the front, noticing that it was less packed than those behind him. A woman on a balcony, announced as Queen Niolandi of Aqentis, stepped forward.

That must be one of the royals that Mother told me about, Ren thought. A descendant of the envious humans who stole the dragons’ powers all those years ago.

As the queen gave a speech, the crowd gradually grew more animated. Ren missed much of what she said over the droning crowd, but he caught a few phrases: “dragon tyranny,” “noble rebels,” and “manifest destiny.” He shook his head. No one knows that the royals were the evil ones. They rebelled under the dragons’ benevolent rule out of greed, creating strife for all humankind.

As Niolandi’s speech concluded, the crowd roared cries of hatred and anger, flooding the air.

“My dear citizens, gaze upon the face of true evil!” Niolandi thrust out her hands towards an iron gate at the edge of the colosseum. In response, the gate rose unsteadily, creaking on rusty chains. As the gate opened completely, a red, scaled head emerged into the sunlight, followed by an elongated neck.

Shock tore through Ren’s body. It was a dragon.

Moment by moment, it was forced into the arena, soldiers following behind and jabbing its legs with spears. It dragged an enormous chain behind it, collared at its neck. When it sat in the center of the arena, a horn blew, deep and loud. One by one, the other gates at the four cardinal directions opened. Warriors poured out, at least a dozen. They wore broken, fragmented pieces of armor, their faces branded with the same symbol. By listening to others around him, Ren gathered that these people were criminals. They all circled around the chained dragon, hefting old, rusted weapons.

Ren could feel his heart beating faster. His hands clenched. He saw all the scars and cuts across the dragon’s body. The collar sinking its steel teeth into its neck. The severed tendons in its hind legs.

The dragon roared painfully as the criminals jabbed at him. His tail swiped away a few of them. His eyes were glazed over; tired, drugged, grieving.

Unable to control his rage, Ren vaulted over the railing and tumbled onto the sandy floor. Shouts of alarm and unrest rippled through the crowd as Ren charged towards the dragon. He tore off his cloak and unsheathed his claws. He ripped straight through the first gladiator, piercing his heart from behind and then tearing him in half. The next gladiator turned and swung his rusty sword. Ren caught it with his bare hand, then squeezed and shattered the old blade. He took the rusted shards and shoved them into the man’s face, the attack punctuated by a muffled scream. The remaining gladiators kept their distance, overcome with fear and shock.

Ren turned towards the dragon. Though its eyes were clouded by fatigue and drugs, they still fixated, trancelike, at the sight of Ren’s scaly arms.

“Be still, father,” Ren said, using the Draconic term meant for a respected elder. “I will break these chains.”

The dragon said nothing, continuing to stare at him blankly. Ren wondered if he hadn’t been heard. He decided to speak more. “I am Ren, son of Meruna.”

The dragon perked up a bit at the mention of Ren’s mother, but it wasn’t enough to rouse him from his languid state.

Ren wasted no time, climbing up on the dragon’s back and grabbing hold of the spiked iron collar around his neck. Ren found the clasp of the collar and pulled with all his strength. With a mighty groan, the clasp bent and snapped in two, and Ren pulled the collar off the dragon. Now freed, the dragon rejoiced by releasing a roar and a gout of fire into the air. He unfurled his wings, like mighty sails and flapped them savagely, storms of dust kicking up in his wake. He launched into the sky, leaving Ren standing alone. The stadium spectators, once a jumble of panicked cries and nervous bodies, all fell still in this moment. Their eyes lingered on the dragon as it climbed into the clouds, an air of awed silence falling over them.

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Nia could scarcely believe it. What began as just a boy falling down from the railing ended with several slaughtered gladiators and the boy freeing the dragon. And worse than all that, he also spoke with it. Spoke? With a dragon? She seethed in her seat, knuckles turning white from being clenched so hard. Bad enough to be one of those foaming, vulgar peasants, but to lower oneself to converse with that soulless animal? She stood up from her seat and faced her mother. “We have to do something!”

Niolandi nodded. “Of course, but be patient. We must do so while preserving our image.” She turned to the nearest guard. “Captain, gather your soldiers! Surround the stadium! Don’t let that boy escape!” The guard nodded and hurried off. Niolandi called the other guards to her and went back into the tunnel, Nia following close behind.

Ren turned and sprinted towards one of the entrances, hell-bent on escape. But as he neared the shadowy arch, dozens of soldiers poured out, all armed with spears and shields. Ren backpedaled, frantically running the other way. But all the other exits were blocked as well. He was trapped.

It took a few minutes for Niolandi and Nia to reach the stadium’s ground level, and out into the sunlit arena. Niolandi strode forward with confidence, always the image of perfection. But Nia could see the emotions bubbling beneath her calm surface. Her mother was furious. And so was she.

“Explain yourself, boy! What possessed you to free that accursed beast?” Niolandi’s tone resonated throughout the stadium.

Ren looked at her quizzically. “I freed that glorious being because I wanted to,” he answered. “The only ‘accursed beast’ I see here is you.” His amber eyes took in the light of the sun, turning them a fiery orange.

“You would sully your own tongue by talking to that animal,” she replied, “and then use that vile thing to speak such insolence to us?” She leveled her trident at him. “I should cut it out for such a crime.”

Ren brought his claws up in defense. “So be it.” His words sounded brave, but the undeniable fever of fear ravaged his body. His hands shook, and his heart pulsed relentlessly. I don’t know if I can escape this, he thought. But there is no other option.

A roar from the clouds interrupted his dire thoughts. As countless heads turned upwards, the red dragon hurtled down towards the stadium.

“Bright star!” the dragon yelled. “Grab hold!”

A flame of hope sparked within Ren’s chest. As the dragon swooped down, a gust followed. Ren jumped high into the air, grabbing hold of his tail, and was whisked away. Relief blew through his body in the same way the wind blew through his hair.

As the dragon began to fly away, Ren gave the two royals a parting look. Niolandi stared hard into his eyes, a shadow of recognition and a glimmer of hatred in her own fiery amber orbs.

“Follow him!” she shouted at her guards. “Don’t let him escape! Bring him to me alive!” The guards nodded, sprinting off in the same direction as the fleeing dragon. Niolandi and her party stormed back to the palace.

For a moment, it looked like… she thought. Could it be?

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Ren guided the red dragon back to the safety of his home. By the time they reached the main den, Ren did not need to announce his presence. They were greeted by the perplexed look upon his waiting mother’s face.

“Ren? What has happened?”

“I saved him from the royals, Mother.” Ren recounted the day’s events: the city, the fun, the stadium. Meruna’s black eyes gazed upon the weak dragon resting his scarred body upon the den floor. Sorrow crept its way into her old heart at the sight.

“I’m sorry, Mother.”

Meruna nudged Ren gently. “My dear son, you have nothing to apologize for. You have proven your bravery through this noble deed.”

Ren glanced back at the red dragon, a feeling of triumph swelling in his chest. But knowing hundreds of dragons were still suffering, still lost, made that triumph feel insignificant.

I must not stop. I will not stop. Not until every last dragon is saved.

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Portusa at night was a gleaming gem, a glittering city of stars. But Niolandi held no mirth for the city when she was so worked up from today. She sat at her desk, furiously scribbling with her quill, signing off on arrest warrants and information rewards for the boy. She could’ve handed these matters off to a clerk or someone of lower rank, but she felt personally responsible.

“Mother?” Nia hadn’t left her side since the fight. “Why are you so bothered by this? Who was that boy?”

Niolandi looked up from her work, resolute in her hatred. “An omen, Nia. A disaster to our bloodline."

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The fifteenth birthday of the twins would be recognized in their hearts as more than another day alive. It would be a day where their childish vows would be retaken with newfound purpose. Both gazed up at the night sky resplendent with stars.

Ren closed his eyes, uttering his quiet promise . “I swear..”

Nia’s hand closed around the moon as if to crush it. “I swear…”

“I will save the dragons.”

“I will destroy the dragons.”