He'd ended up here, of all places, strangely enough. The small and sickly-looking hatchling might have gone the other way, and found himself in a bright place--a suitable place--full of bones and death. And given his tattered appearance, that might have fit him.

But, somehow, he had gone the other way: and now, the plague dragon stumbled about wide-eyed beneath a star-swept ceiling, staring upward in confused awe.

Green eyes glowed brightly, blinking now and then, oversized in his tiny face; a body barely two feet long, far belying what might in time be his full adult length, toddled and stumbled here and there.

Tunnel K had been dreary, misty, and dark. Blight had left behind the shattered shards of butter jade chrysalis--a leftover stone, though he wasn't aware of this, a rock that swelled and burst like a malignant pustule over and over again. All he knew was that he'd assumed the entire world to be that way--sick, dark and unwelcoming; and now he was in a place that felt like pure magic.

He revelled in the glittering lights all around (though the still-lingering scent of smoldered stone touched him with instinctive worry). Tiny wings spread, batting at the air, as he stared up longingly at the roof high above.

I want to go up there, he thought--but the ceiling itself was far out of reach.

The little hatchling looked around, and at length his glowing eyes settled on the tower looming overhead. With an excited squeak he began the bounding, stumbling run for it, eventually leaping into the air while gazing joyously upward.

"Fly!" he half-demanded, half-declared, as he jumped; and his wings, if clumsily, caught. His flight was slow, weak; his muscles were underdeveloped, as yet. Little bobs in the air brought him gradually, but steadily, skyward, until at last he maneuvered himself onto the tower's roof.

Here was a problem; for his flights thus far had been short, a few yards at the most, and he'd never really tried landing before.

The hatchling skidded onto the stone, nearly falling off again, clinging fearfully with wings and talons both.

But a few moments later he'd settled himself; and a small, glowing-eyed dragon would be visible from the ground below, staring raptly up at the false stars overhead.

There wasn't much to be said about Svartis's developmental cycles - hell, he was still in them. Being full-grown said nothing of what was going on in that scaled noggin of his. Truth be told, he wasn't sure what was happening up there either. One day, he was content with going through the motions of hunting through glacial ice and prowling among the warrens for an adequate resting place; the next, he was antsy and wanted to move, move, move. Even with draconic company in Monoceros, the sleek serpent didn't think to go there. The dry heat and wind was pleasurable at first, but it made him miss the cool of Pisces.

That, and Dread was prone to just spouting fire and being more of a big brother than any strong father figure. Svartis cared more about the former than the latter (because it seemed like he had no structure in life to dedicate thinking to, anyways.)

So - in short! - that led to him just stopping in the wreckage that was Orion. He'd passed over it a number of times, flitting from one edge of the vault to the other just to get to the windiest cave this side of the... Caves. Never before had he slowed down and watched the reflection of quartz dance across broad, midnight wings. To go all the way to the ceiling would take too much effort, and he was content just circling around for a while, scarcely flapping his wings except to keep a steady elevation.

And along came "Fly!"

He twisted his neck, craning back and forth to find wherever such a pipsqueak of a voice had come from. Fully-expecting to just see some fledgling bird careening off of some grand precipice, he nearly glanced over the sickly-green hatchling fluttering up. Just a bat'd been his initial thought, followed up by an expansive series of mental gymnastics that concluded with that bat said words. Let's not talk about how much was in between. Svartis would be ashamed to admit to how much figuring there was.

Unsure of how to approach without startling the little thing, he hung back - waiting for it to land on top of the tower before gliding closer. The black dragon was still a solid football field away when he finally (and so, so awkwardly) called out, "hey." Absolutely no intonation. Just that greeting and nothing else.

His fins smoothed out for reasons unrelated to embarassment, as he swung his lower half forwards, ruddering mid-air. Slowing his descent (and fairly massive wingbeats) until he could nearly touch the lip of the Tower, Svartis dropped. Talons gripped the stone easily; in the same semi-fluid motion, he hunched over and propped his wings on the edge, their formidable silhouette reduced to some awkward folding as he perched bird-like. The entire length of his tail was hanging off of the building, swaying lightly in the breeze.

Completely uninvited, he stared at the apparently not a bat. Long face, horns, wings, tail... Svartis crowed excitedly, "oh! You are a dragon!" A few seconds more of consideration and - "but you're a baby? Where'd you come from?" Code for where are your parents?

@Blight

Blight reacted with--perhaps understandable--absolute terror at first.

The soft yet solid thump of distant wingbeats had made him think first of Umbra, and he'd peered out only to see this hovering black monstrosity. The first "Hey" was friendly enough. But then it was sweeping forward, utterly eclipsing him, and he knew that it could swallow him--whole--in a heartbeat if it wanted to.

Instinct drove him to try and get a little distance, to hide, so that he could maybe get a second to... gauge this thing's intentions. Said instincts didn't provide all this detail--they just said RUN!!! -but not too far!. Maybe they recognized Svartis as a dragon, where Blight didn't quite piece it together just yet consciously. A possible parent. Or a predator, of course.

The little dragon scrambled away at Svartis' approach, blinking bright green eyes, shadows (at first seemingly reluctant) roiling over him to swathe him in brief darkness. This, apparently, was to cover his retreat: he dropped off the back of the tower, and angled, flapping clumsily (and nearly falling) into the single window atop the hollow tower.

The darkness faded from around him, and for Svartis it might've appeared as if the baby had first gone dark, then vanished, though a telltale dark flapping shadow had tumbled off the tower's back--but now said baby stuck his head out of the window, and craned it up.

He peered for the large black dragon.

Fear mixed with desperate curiosity; he didn't want to be left alone by the second creature he'd ever met (and the first truly like himself).

"I came from a rock. In a cold place. Dark! There was Umbra. And then I came here," he explained, in simple, childlike terms.

...But he was noticeably reluctant to emerge from his tower, barely peeking out, and up.

After a moment's hesitation, and fearful suspicion (but that bright light of hope lurking behind it), he then called up: "...Are you going to eat me?"

@Svartis

It was absolutely fair for the little one to be gripped with fright. Svartis belatedly realized that maybe, just maybe he should have made a few more wide circles, rather than just swinging in abruptly. There wasn't much room atop the tower to begin with, and suddenly having a massive shadow cast over it couldn't be delightful to anyone.

The hatchling scrabbled away, shadowed long before he'd reasonably even be covered with them. Svartis plowed after, only out of keen worry as the tiny figure vanished over the lip of the tower. Long fingerbones clutched at the smooth stone while he teetered forwards. His tail swayed absently, fins perking up all down his spine in a frantic search down below. There wasn't any broken little body down below --

Oh! There were those glowing little eyes and tiny voice.

The rock emergence checked out, but there was a number of cold and dark places. Svartis should know; he loved all of them. He didn't know of any Umbra, but presumed they might be a parent of sorts? But, if this baby'd gone off on his own, then maybe not...

"...Are you going to eat me?"

His neck drew back at the prospect, eyes widening. At first, he shook his head and loosened his jaw a few times - trying to figure out how best to articulate that "oh, no, I won't! I'm good, promise." That works. "Here, let's try, uh," he leaned further over the edge, claws digging in to keep from slipping and trying to get a better angle on the little one, "I'm Svartis. What's your name? You hungry?"

They could totally find common ground in food, right? Maybe he was a bit of a food-motivated fella... and maybe the kid was, too.

@Blight

Blight hesitated.

On the one hand, this thing could eat him in a heartbeat and might be lying and every instinct was screaming at him to stay hidden. What could it hurt, after all?

On the other hand--friend!

He hesitated, and then slowly, cautiously--stealing suspicious glances up at the black mass above him--clambered back out of the window. For a moment he paused on the ledge, clinging to it and peering down. Then he slipped, scrabbled at the stone briefly, and fell. Tiny wings snapped out, ragged, and caught him as he tumbled out; his clumsy descent for a dozen yards was only barely not an outright fall.

When his tiny bulk caught itself, the wings struggled, pumping, to bring him back up to Svartis' level; the intense concentration on the tiny draconic face was laughable.

When his claws settled him in on the roof--as far from Svartis as he could get, which wasn't far, given the other dragon's immense size--he hunkered down, gripping rock, and squinted up at him.

Blight had already half-forgotten the things that Svartis had asked of him, and he paused, tiny child's brain mulling it back over.

"My name is Buh-Light!" he explained proudly, joy lighting his face, his body rising and puffing out. "Blllight! 'Cause I can do THIS!"

The baby dragon inhaled, drew back, held his breath--and then froze like that, little cheeks a little puffed out, neon eyes fixed on Svartis.

Nothing happened.

After a long moment--in which the hatchling's face had begun to darken through lack of air--he puffed his breath heavily out. "It didn't work," he told Svartis, not seeming too concerned or disappointed about that. Instead he began to clamber closer, circling a little, peering at Svartis' wings.

"Um, why are you so big? And black. Will I be big when I'm bigger?" Tiny, ragged-tipped tail twitched behind him, balancing him a little as he wobbled across the stone roof of the tower.

It was only then that he paused, remembering the other question. "I'm a little hungry!" he decided. He'd eaten a single mouse on the way over here--hunting was still very new to him, and he wasn't sure he liked it. But his stomach gave a little twinge--nothing terrible, as yet. "If you're gonna hunt, can I come with you? I wanna come!" he added, eager not to be left out, either way.

@Svartis

Svartis nearly sent himself careening over the edge as the child slipped, falling. He would've, too, if it wasn't for the distance being dangerously great - yet short enough that he might not be able to stop his own swan dive. And... if not for the child catching himself. Svartis needed to learn a little something about having faith in tiny baby dragons and their ability to be just fine.

The hatchling managed to get himself situated on the rooftop, tiny claws gripping at what little space there was left on it. Self-consciously, the black dragon shifted a wing, pushing himself closer to the edge and twisting so his body fit the curve of it. Maybe we should go somewhere less precarious -

Oh, there's a name! "Blight, huh?" he repeated, and waited raptly for whatever was about to crack out of those jaws. Fire was his first guess, and nothing was his last. Ah, well, "magic fails a lot when you're little. You'll get better - maybe soon you'll be able to do THIS!" At that, Svartis tossed his head back, propping higher on his wings. Serpentine jaws cracked open and let out a burst of permafrost. There was a palpable crackling, almost singing noise as the ice crystallized and dissipated into vapor against the comparatively warmer air.

His fins smacked against either side of his spine as he shook off the cast, watching the sparkling crystals while they lasted. That might've been this best bout yet; sure to impress the baby.

Blight was already stunned by him though, waddling over to inspect his wingspan and ask a variety of very fair play questions. He fired off answers for each one, even if he wasn't sure about any of the three of them: "my dad's pretty big and black so I think that's why. I don't know if you have parents but maybe you'll be big, too! Dragons are big." Svartis lifted a wing, leaning over slightly so he could show off the entirety of one's span, "or at least we've got big wings to carry us." He didn't know any dragons of below average size, so his general consensus was correct - right?

To keep from toppling over the tower's edge on his own, the massive serpent set his wing back down, shifting so he was perching again - hunched over to he could be somewhat close to eye-level with Blight. "Well - I was asking to be nice! We could go hunting together, if you want? There's some good food to chase down." Icy eyes widened, brow quirking almost imperceptibly in offering.

@Blight

The blast of ice took him--needless to say--by surprise. Head-over-heels he went tumbling back over the edge of the tower roof, a single frightened squeak escaping him.

Seconds ticked past.

Two glowing green eyes crept back above the level of the top, wide, staring. They flicked up to where the ice had been, and then back to Svartis. "...What was that?" he asked, meekly. 'THIS,' hadn't really covered it.

He was spooked, that much was clear--his bit of boldness lost; he made no attempt to try again with whatever magic he'd apparently been trying. Instead he lingered as far from Svartis, for now, as he could get, casting sidelong, wary glances at him, crouched lower now to the stone. "We can hunt," Blight agreed at last, but he didn't seem very comfortable about it.

@Svartis

Maybe sudden fanfare wasn't that impressive to children. Svartis frowned (as much as his draconic face could, anyways) and dipped his head lower - almost pitifully. "Sorry, uh -" he glanced sidelong, "should've given you more warning. I was thinking I was being really... cool." Nemean would've probably supplied that terrible pun with a roaring chorus of boos.

He didn't even crack a grin (maybe he didn't get his own joke) as he tried to work at his magic, sweeping out a wing slightly to condense the moisture above Blight into a gentle snowfall. No results manifested, and Svartis was left with a soft frown on his face. "I was going to show you, but - ah, magic doesn't work all the time. It's called snow, and it's pretty cold, but safe to play in. There's a lot of it in..." his gaze flickered towards the tunnel leading to Pisces, and tossed his head, "that way."

Blight seemed okay with hunting still, though, and Svartis nodded gently, slowly straightening where he was perched. "Well - what do you want to go after, Blight? Rats? Deer? Oh, and - uh..." he shifted his weight from talon to talon, "do you want to ride or fly?"

@Blight

He was too young--too inexperienced, really--to get the joke. But Svartis' words, and demeanor, put him back (for the most part) at his ease, and he relaxed some, squinting and trying to imagine this "snow" the other dragon spoke of.

He wing-crawled forward, looking down into Orion from the edge of the tower. "Umm. If you wanna eat, too--deer?" he suggested, uncertainly. There was faint reluctance to it; he wasn't sure which the 'right' answer was, and he still wasn't sure about eating living things. But he knew deer were bigger than mice, which were tiny, at least.

And the offer to--what, ride?! What was the point of that! He had his own wings. "I fly," the child answered emphatically, insulted pride in his voice in the way that only a near-toddler could pull off. As he readied himself for flight, he glanced sidelong at Svartis.

Something else the dragon had said was niggling at his mind--he'd not mentioned it, at first, purely down to his surprise (and fear) of the icy blast. "You have a dad?" he asked, peering with eyes half-narrowed in thought. He didn't quite know what it meant, but it sparked concepts in his mind: protection, friendship, loyalty, family. Guardianship, and guidance. "Can I have a dad, too? Can he be mine too? Or do you wanna be my dad?"

@Svartis

"Deer sounds good to me if it does to you," Svartis called, clearly indecisive and waiting for an actual child to take initiative over him. Clearly he wasn't used to social interaction, and was leaving every single decision up to the poor kid. The icy beast prepared to fly nonetheless, balancing precariously on the edge with outstretched wings. He twisted his head over his shoulder, considering -

Could Blight have a dad? As in... in Dread or - me? Pale eyes blinked a few times, and with an astonishing amount of certainty, he nodded, "I can be your dad? And - " Svartis considered for a moment. "My dad can be... your dad-dad." Way to reinvent the word granddad.

It didn't seem like Svartis knew exactly what fatherhood entailed.

Slowly, carefully, the black dragon ascended in the air - sleek wings cutting through the air with practiced ease. He leaned forwards, hovering away from the edge of the tower's peak. Ruddering with his tail Svartis pivoted in the air to face Blight (keeping a careful eye on the little dragon) and chirped, "see anything yet, kiddo?"

@Blight