Tattered wings took the warm blast of wind, riding the updraft skyward in a spiral. The warmth of the orb-lights above caressed his pale skin, and he felt content.

Leo was a good place; he'd been back and forth through the caves for several cycles, now, but this place was gradually growing on him. Monoceros was--had always been--too dry for him and his magic. And the darker, damper places were too wet, and far too cold for his magic to really take root. Leo was just right, in terms of humid moisture; sickness would flourish here. It wasn't that he wanted to spread it wildly, though. It just felt... fitting.

The problem was the heat.

He didn't mind some warmth--sunning himself now and again was fine. But Dread basked in it. Bone, when she came, seemed to enjoy it (Svartis, not so much). But Leo's was constant.

He'd found that night was a better option for him. His vision seemed better-suited to darkness, anyway, and there was something both peaceful and freeing about his solitary flights over the ocean in the dark. Dipping feet or jaws to snatch up a single flash of silver at the surface, curling around beneath the dim pale orbs to drift up to a darkened cliff--he felt at home, that way.

Dread took the day; he took the night. But he couldn't keep lounging around the black dragon's roost. There were still unhatched eggs, there--or, well, chrysalises. And as much as Dread welcomed him, there was a bristling, side-eyeing, mantling annoyance to the dragon that Blight didn't think he realized he even had.

He could see him now: a black shape, unnoticeable if you didn't know what to look for; matching the curves of the top of his island roost and with a head craned just over the edge to watch sea and sky for trouble. He was guarding those "eggs" with his life, regardless of the fact that they seemed unlikely to hatch.

And where was the other child--the fish-like one, the orange one?

"Dread!" Blight called up, and twisted those tattered wings, letting the warm winds carry his smaller, lithe form up to meet Dread's immense, darker one. The black dragon's head tracked him as he curled over the sea stack and curved, angling down to land at the rocky edge.

"...Still no luck?" he asked, eerie green eyes settling on first one chrysalis, then the other. "Any idea what kids they are gonna be?" It was a quick redirect. Maybe if he got the other dragon chatting, he'd be a little less irritable--more hopeful about the kids' futures, and less annoyed about their lack-of-hatching.

Dread watched the other dragon with dull interest, the glow of his ember eyes seemingly dimmed by the far brighter orb-light above.

Blight was an agile thing--pale and light and always looking more like bones with skin stretched across them than real draconic muscle. He had no real feelings for Blight one way or the other--a vague protectiveness, because Blight was family, but he was neither truly pleased with his presence nor very annoyed by it. It was all faint: a slight relief on seeing him alive, a little relief at another family member being around to help protect the eggs, a little defensiveness when Blight drew too close to them or lingered in Dread's roost.

He watched the pale shape flick upward, light turned to shadow as he swept overhead and blocked out the rays of the orbs. Dread turned, tracking him as he came in, landed; he noted with distant approval that the other dragon didn't land too near the "eggs."

Blight's questions--as he landed, as he wing-walked a couple steps over, smelling of fish and sea--had Dread blinking. The black dragon shook himself, a little, fins rattling and rising fractionally as he considered.

Ember gaze swung back around to blink at the chrysalises.

"THEY ARE NOT BOTH CHILDREN," he answered, voice booming, as always. "THIS ONE WAS A CHICKEN. IT WANTED TO FIGHT. THE OTHER ONE WAS SUPPOSED TO BE ITS BABY." He fell silent, pensive. Had he messed up, somehow? He'd been wondering, for days--weeks; had he somehow burnt Kalama too badly for her to reemerge? Had it... killed the child, somehow, too? Even though the kid's stone was separate?

"I DON'T KNOW HOW IT ALL WORKS," he said, and his tone was plaintive, and clearly worried. He'd been guarding these chrysalises nonstop since they had formed, and it was growing tiring: raising a child, while constantly coming back to check on these, and ensuring that Haven and her nest and her hidden gemstone-in-the-hole were all safe, too--it was a lot for his daily routine. He'd rather just... laze around and sleep--and eat, of course. Eating was good.

"DO YOU HAVE MAGIC?" he demanded hopefully at Blight--and then blinked and shook himself; what a foolish question. Of course Blight had magic. "CAN YOU SEE IF THEY'RE ALIVE?" he amended, and stared at the other dragon with worry in his eyes.

Blight regarded Dread with some surprise. He shook himself, a few stray droplets of sea spray dripping off; then he crawled to the stones, and peered at them.

Both flint; one small, one larger. He spared a glance up at the worried dragon. So this was what Dread had been so fixated on... This was why he'd seemed stressed. Not just defensiveness, territorial over his "eggs"--but worry for their fate.

He felt bad for his assumption. He felt worse for his "Dad-dad" (his granddad, in his mind).

"...I don't know, Dad-Dad, but I'll try," he answered, hesitating. He had no magic to see such things. Maybe he could try to... put magic in them, and see if anything happened..?

Blight crawled closer, and focused first on the chicken's stone. Dread shuffled backward, making room, his looming, brooding presence one of hovering parental concern made manifest. Blight spared him a glance, took a half-amused breath (seeing the dragon in such a state was grimly funny), and then cast his magic downward.

There was a faint flicker.

But what did that mean? It could be life around the stone, he reasoned, fretting. Can my magic even penetrate rock-? He looked to Dread, and shook his head a little. "I can't really see. But there's something alive--whether it's the stone or just... invisible life around it, you know like--the grass?--I'm not sure. Let me check the other one."

Dread waited, tail lashing a little behind him. It was relieving--maybe?--to know that Kalama wasn't really dead, at least. He was pretty sure he'd "killed" her twice, now, but the last time she'd been just fine.

He hoped that would be the case again.

He drew closer, nostrils flaring, as he watched Blight try to work.

"AND?" he asked, fidgeting, trying not to be impatient. If Kalama died, well--that would suck, of course. But if the unborn child died-? That would be really sad. And Dread didn't like sad things!

Blight moved to the much larger slab of Flint, casting a brief glance at Dread and trying to ignore his looming stare. It wasn't that he was intimidating, not to his adopted grandkid, no; it was just hard to focus with someone breathing down his neck like that.

He did his best to continue to ignore it, to focus on his magicka instead.

Again he was left uncertain, and he offered Dread a little shrug.

"There's... something, here, too. But I don't know if it's inside, or out. Uh, is there anything I can do to help? To make you feel better, maybe? Or do you wanna rest, and I can watch the stones for a little while?"

Dread shook himself. He couldn't really think of anything, and this wasn't really distracting enough.

Oh, but-

"DO YOU WANT TO FIGHT?" he asked. Maybe blowing off some steam (rather literally, in his case) would help him to feel better? "I HAVE FIRE, AND YOU HAVE SICK. WE CAN SEE WHAT WINS," He decided.

Then he waited, still fidgeting. He hoped Blight wouldn't turn him down--he'd be careful not to kill him, at least. Svartis would be really upset if he did, and truth be told, so would he; he wasn't out to murder family members, or anything.

But a decent spar sounded good.

Blight hesitated. That wasn't what he'd have suggested, or even a possibility he'd had in mind. But if it's what would help Dread, well; "...Sure. Try not to kill me, huh, Dad-Dad? But let's do this," he agreed.

Truth be told, he needed the practice--and he knew it. He hadn't fought much at all and when he had, it had gone rather poorly; it would be good to get an edge in, to polish his powers (especially after that weird trial he'd undertaken) and hone his abilities. If he were in a real fight, it would be good to actually be useful. He spent most of his time just... living; hunting, fishing, resting.

Rarely did he truly flex his draconic wings.

Blight took flight with a burst of tattered flapping, a sharp, keening roar escaping him. It wasn't the bass bellow that he knew Dread would follow up with, but it was something screeching and air-rending nonetheless. And a flicker of dragon's pride surged up in his chest, too; something he didn't often indulge in, but it was there.

"READY, OLD-TIMER?" he called down, watching as Dread charge for the edge of the seastack's cliff. He waited until Dread was nearly airborne, and then flapped away; he curved back around with a swift, sweeping glide, wings tucked. His body was smaller, lighter, more agile, but not by much; Dread's was stronger and every bit as fast, the muscled wings more than able to keep up in straight flight. But right now Blight circled, zipping past and snapping his jaws open--and his wings out, a stream of green putrescent air blasting out like cold fire.

Round: 1/5
Attempt: Disease Dread (with Blight's typical disease)
Defense:
Injuries:

Dread felt something like a weight lift as Blight turned and nimbly leapt from the seastack. Good-! He could focus on something other than worry, for awhile. He could have fun! And practice!

Blight was roaring, already turning back and angling for him, when his haunches launched him into the air. Massive wings snapped out to catch his weight, easily billowing him upward, and he answered with a roar of his own: deeper, as Blight had expected, with a reverberating bass that echoed through Leo's 'sky.' His typical seabird retinue scattered, keeping well away from him--and then Blight's disease impacted him, swarming over his body.

He roared again, shorter this time, and shook his head--flinching and wincing away from the green. Fins rattled and spines rose along his back. He could feel nothing of it, yet, and he'd never seen this magic from the smaller dragon before, but he knew what it would do: it would make him sick.

He had to burn Blight before Blight "sicked him to death," as he imagined it.

He turned in the air, his own black jaws dropping open, and inhaled: as Blight's form streaked past he exhaled a flamethrower torrent of his own, flashing toward the plague dragon's hind end. He didn't think he'd manage to catch Blight's head, neck, or even torso or wings--he was too quick for that, passing too fast--but he'd catch him (he hoped) nonetheless.

Round: 1/5
Attempt: Burn Blight
Defense:
Injuries: Sickened

He felt the heat flashing toward him, coal-hot and unrelenting, and his magicka flared up along his hide. It was their family magic, ironically, a magic that swept over him, hardening scales with reflective power and protecting him from almost all of Dread's flame. He was through it and gone in a heartbeat, and flapping away to gain some space for his next attack.

His powers had a longer range than the black dragon's did. He could strike Dread from a few body lengths away, but Dread's flame breath barely reached ten feet.

He felt the heat still lapping at his limbs and tail but it didn't feel like it had done much--if any--damage, and he felt a fierce elation take him.

He was doing it. He could win this.

Blight didn't consider that maybe he should let Dread win--his offer had been to help Dread out, after all. But the thrill of combat now infused him, and he was practically grinning with the fun of it.

Round: 2/5
Attempt: Dragonhide to resist some fire damage
Defense:
Injuries: Burnt from this attack either way... minorly it seems

His fire... had done nothing? With a strangled roar of frustration, Dread pumped his wings to try and keep up. He knew just as well as Blight did the smaller dragon's advantage of range, and he wasn't about to let him gain too much of it.

But Blight was mistaken in thinking that Dread had nothing that could reach him from afar. The black dragon did--and much of it was deadly.

He could have simply engulfed the other dragon in roaring fire with a thought, but that seemed... overkill. So! Instead, with a crackling bellow, he sent his magicka up into the air around them.

Cascading meteors, roaring with flame, began to smash down all around them--with Dread arrowing through them, closely pursuing his 'prey.'

The sickness would take mere moments to begin its work--but that was the problem with it; it wasn't like fire was, immediately deadly and instantly fierce. The benefit, he knew, was that it was hidden: Blight could kill someone without anyone ever knowing it had been him. He wouldn't--it wasn't like him--but the magic wasn't weak. Dread was wary as hell of it, after he'd been sickened long ago by something similar. He was afraid of it, in fact.

All the more reason to tangle with Blight harder, and faster, than the plague dragon could manage.

Round: 2/5
Attempt: Firestorm!
Defense:
Injuries: Sickness