ORIGIN

Dragon grunted. He first readjusted the gemstones in his jaws, so as not to accidentally drop or swallow any, and then focused on his magic.

Chaotic swirls of black and crimson red plumed out from his back, and swept back from his skull: ethereal wings and horns, respectively, gradually took shape. They were not strong, nor were they true wings but they did grant him magical flight. As he took wing they left heavy bass thuds sweeping through the air, and trails of entropic energy glowing dark behind him.

The black stallion was already some distance ahead by the time Dragon went airborne, and he flew hastily forward to catch up, his hefty body hanging with a ridiculous vertical bent as he went.

"Not too far, I hope," came his humorous grumble, half-muffled by the stones in his mouth.

He didn't bother to slow his trot, senses open as he moved along. It was a swift and easy gait, a loping one, the ground passing away beneath him with every long stride.

There was nothing, yet, that whispered to this magic sense--nothing but the not-too-far-off-Spire; and he called back with dark humor to Dragon's words.

"It may be awhile. There's nothing here," he said in answer. There was some grim pleasure in being able to deny the alligator's requests, purely as an almost sadistic dislike of the task he was here to do. Oh, if only he'd found nothing, anywhere at all, that could be revived-!

But it didn't matter all that much. He'd find him these kids--this once; and that'd be that. The problem, indeed, was finding them.

And it'd all gone so smoothly, at first.

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On he went, hoofs clicking on stone, until he was very near to the river. The darkness here was palpable, cold, and the light dim. It was a dour place, one more suited to Cetus than to the bright, magic spark of Polaris, on the whole.

"The first two stones were stronger. Not by much, but they may have a better chance. The third was weaker," he explained.

"...There's one in the water," he said, at last, coming to a halt by the riverside. "That water's dangerous. But it's straight down, I think at the bottom, closer to this side."

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Dragon came to a halt by the riverside, lowering himself down to the bank. He couldn't see shit--no glint of gemstone nor anything else; and so he turned, gently spilling the stones from his jaws onto the bank. He didn't want to lose them underwater the second he opened his mouth, after all, and damn all three to eternal drowning.

That'd be fucking awful, really.

The alligator rose back up again, then lowered himself tail-first into the water. The pump of magic wings kept him aloft, and even after he lowered himself down they worked for stabilizing himself against the current. "Flying" underwater wasn't something he'd really done, but he found it somewhat useful as his dark- and water-adapted eyes searched out the gemstone.

It didn't take long for him to spot it, abandoned there along the ground, but he picked it up (resolving to revive both this water-creature and the weaker stone first) in his jaws and rose back up again.

Icy water streamed from his flanks--he was no stranger to the Crystal River, having spent some time at its steep shores recovering from the battle with Raheerah. He knew its cold, he knew its danger, he rose from it fully aware that he was damn lucky he had wings.

"There," he managed, at last, with a faint shiver. "This is enough," he decided, looking briefly over the stones.

He'd revive the weak one first, he thought--so that it wouldn't die waiting for new life. And if he were strong enough, he'd bring back the one he'd found in water. Surely a water creature would be a good match for the alligator.

And third he'd choose one based on the looks of the gemstone... he had yet to decide, but he had to choose somehow. He scooped the stones into his jaws, securing them there safely.

"We can return, now," he rumbled at last, and lifted into the air once more.

Khloros turned, casting one last, wry glance back at the Spire.

It would be good to leave it--and its memories, and its reminder of his wretched failure and inaction--behind, for now. Perhaps there was hope to be found in Dragon's ill-fated next generation. Perhaps they could raise an army, at last, and smash the bars from their gemstone prisons.

Khloros moved to call on his other magic--that stuff so different than his old illnesses, the strange wings he'd been granted after the Hunt. Almost at once it felt as though someone had torn wings from nonexistent joints at his shoulders--as if a great weight abruptly landed on his back.

Is this my punishment-? he thought, staggering beneath the sudden pain. Bar a sharply hissed intake of breath, he said nothing, and instead set his gaze forward and his jaw tight.

Then he set out, a swift trot keeping pace once again with Dragon's flight--sourness brewing in his heart.

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