"It is because--I am DRAGON," he answered, though the old screech of youth was replaced by a dignified rumble of a voice. With it, however, came the ethereal red wings streaked with black, wings that spread and lifted him gently a foot or so into the air. Their beat, though phantasmal, came with the soft whoomph of air; the horns that curled out and back from his skull, though ghostly, looked distinctly draconic.

He had already stated that his name was a who, and not a what--but he'd always considered himself a dragon, regardless. "And I breathe fire," he added, setting himself back in the mud and allowing the magic to dissipate.

He'd been jealous of Dread, but... in the air, with magic, he'd very nearly caught up with him. And his fire, well--it was almost as powerful.

Almost.

Dragon eyed Yanyue again. "I would not have imagined you to be a dragon," he observed; it was perfectly polite, but he just didn't see it. Maybe it was another sort of dragon altogether? He pondered this, for a moment, then dismissed the thought, easygoing. He glanced toward Sniffles at the question, and then to Yanyue. "By all means. And you are welcome, yourself, to remain with us--if you wish?" He relented, after a moment longer, finally allowing for more than "survival" as an answer--going so far as to explain a little further. "Master Aquarian sleeps in the Heart. Those are the waters, here. We make our offerings to him--food, trinkets; in turn we are under his protection. To an extent." He managed to keep the irritation of that last bit out of his voice.

Aquarian had a tendency to scream and hide when the going got tough.

"Beyond that... Cetus is a safe haven. Few bother with it, and when they do, we defend it. The Children of Rot. We aim to survive where others have fallen." It was in the name, really. Others might die and rot; those who survived were the Children.

"Or you may leave a child with us. We are, I would like to think, very good parents."

Unlike some. Dragon thought of Vargas and all of his maladjusted children, and grimaced to himself. Given how rigid his face was, however, it was barely an expression at all.

Dragon offered as close as an alligator could to a shrug. "A cycle or so. Usually. Some take longer; some, much longer," he added, his toothy (and permanent) grin briefly matching his tone. "I think they are lazy." But there was humor in it.

"If you wish you may join us 'officially.' But of course you are welcome to simply be here. We do not own the cave; we only defend one another." And survive, of course; but he'd already said that.

He glanced over at the newest stone. It had been granted life now, and obligingly, as Sniffles moved it closer, he nudged it in with the rest.

He gave it enough room to grow on its own. Dragon had no idea what might happen if a bunch of new chrysalises tried to grow close to one another when there was no space to do so--and he didn't particularly wish to find out. So he spread them, carefully covering them with the mud in a thin, insulating layer; then he moved so he was half-covering the nest, and flopped his belly into the mud to rest. It had been a lot of work for him--he was lazy, by nature and by design. It wasn't natural for an ambush predator to be so active, not for long, and he was tired, now.

Of course, his magic might've had something to do with it--but it didn't feel like that sort of tired. More like he needed a few minutes to breathe, that was all.

...Maybe he was out of shape.

Children.

Dragon curled over the final stones, ever the protective and vigilant father, but he wasn't on high alert, or paranoid, or the like. No, he was... content.

How long had it been..? Years, he thought. Many cycles, in any case. "It has been too long since the Children welcomed new hatches." His voice was a rumble, his tone, pleased. The look he gave Sniffles was a warm one.

What would they be like-? There was never any knowing, really. Most of his children had turned out wonderfully. Happy, indomitably so, in most cases. Fiery in their heart and soul. Whatever their physical forms, he could hope for that, at least: the heart of a Dragon, flaming and undefeatable.