Author's Note: Recently had to factory reset my phone due to some internal errors within my phone and had to redownload everything from music to pictures to apps and info. I had a Tracer wallpaper as my home screen but I wasn't able to find it off Google for some reason, despite it being rather popular. Well, as a Tracer main, I settled on a new wallpaper, giving me an idea for a new story that takes place during my main one in The Return of Heroes with Draconian and all. This one will feature a Dragon as well, lending them more credibility and humanizing elements. The wallpaper in question gave me quite an idea. I'm sure the idea is written on here on this site as well in different formats, but I'd like to take my own crack at it.

The idea is… What would Overwatch be like if they instead worked for Talon, and the Talon agents worked for good? I own nothing and I will have my one OC.

….

Mages were tiresome.

Sure, some worked to benefit humanity as a whole, healing the sick and poor, creating enchantments for a king's army, helping to purify water, track down criminals. Magic could be used for betterment, and it should have been.

Except for the assholes who have to go and spoil everything. Thought Midjorvyt.

Her wings brushed the leaves softly, shaking water from their dark green canopy and splashing her dark blue hide with clear diamonds. It had rained again recently, as it always did in her world. Rain was always prevalent here. Her claws, black as ebony, squished through the mulch and mud of the forest floor.

I know your cave is somewhere, magus. I will find it, and you and I will have a long chat.

She was remarkably quiet for her size. She was about twenty feet tall at the shoulder, her wings lending another ten feet to her height. Haunting red eyes like splashes of crimson scanned the forest relentlessly, but at the same time were filled with sagely calm. Her hide was dark blue and black, like dusk fading into midnight. She was quite vain, taking pride in her scales of midnight. Black horns, a set of three on her head sweeping gracefully backward, accentuated her triangular, aquiline features, of which she was also quite proud. No brutish shape or jutting spikes from her horns like her brothers. No, she was beautiful, just as a female Dragon should be.

The trees gathered closer together in the forest, which irritated her. She preferred her Dragon form. It felt so much more free and loose than a human form, which was small, weak feeling, and confining. She could not imagine life without wings.

Reluctantly she shrank down into her human form, which was not at all indicative of her Dragon form. Her form was that of a child, an eleven year old human with stark white hair, which she thought an interesting contrast to her dark blue scales and horns. Her dress, which was something like a cross between a duster and traveling robes, was the same color as her scales. Her face was sharp and pale, her eyes the same bloodred crimson color as they were in her Dragon form. She strode forward purposefully, leaves crunching and slipping under her soft leather boots.

"Midjorvyt." A flutter of wings in front of her, followed by a flash of red. Another Dragon stood before her, wiry and thin, and pure black in color. Wisps of black smoke or energy seemed to curl off his scales, and his eyes were a more violent, pure red.

"Destrire." Her voice was curt. "What brings you here?"

"Same thing. Certain items of a court mage were stolen and I was in the area. Heard tell that the items that were stolen are powerful."

"I do not care if the items are powerful. They belong to the court mage in Harmosel and they were wrongfully stolen by another, possibly rival, mage. I sensed there was a cave or hideout where he was hiding, and delved into here."

"Brave of him, considering the depth of Respite's forests."

"But foolhardy, considering he is outrunning Dragons."

"Would you like some help, Midjorvyt? Can't be too careful. Especially if you don't know what objects were stolen."

Midjorvyt eyed her brother carefully. "Fine, but you will have to assume your human form in this part of the forest. The trees are too thick for our wings. Same goes for the canopy. We won't be able to see down."

Destrire growled in reluctance. "Human form? I'd rather stay as I am."

"Then enjoy getting stuck in trees until you relent to my advice." She moved away, weaving gracefully through the thickets like a ghost. "Do not be a wimp, Destrire. You were a human three days ago for the span of a day, and that was when you helped out Draconian."

Destrire growled again, but relented, shrinking down into a man in a suit that seemed to suck the light of the air. His hair and closely cropped beard were black as pitch, slicked back carefully, his red eyes glowing in their sockets. "Better." Said Midjorvyt.

"So you say." Destrire said. "I feel pity for Draconian. Never able to know wind under his wings, the feel of power in our shoulders and haunches as we ascend."

"He is less focused on those then other things, Destrire." Said Midjorvyt insightfully. "Draconian's thoughts are his own."

"If he only he were not so enigmatic. Still, that is his choice to be. I fancy the Dragons were always so cold, but Draconian is more so than even Sacorvr."

"Sacorvr is a grouch, nothing more. More bark than bite."

"Fine, well, he's as cold as the ice fields of Crocia."

"I will not argue with you there. Regardless, it is his choice to be alone."

"Not entirely his choice." Destrire said cryptically.

"Perhaps not, but a price is a price, and while I feel bad for Draconian, Fate, always stronger here than other realms, will uphold that price." Midjorvyt came across another thicket, her hand elongating into a blue black paw with ebony claws. She slashed it down, brushing off her sleeves. "We are close, I sense it."

"I sense nothing." Admitted Destrire.

She sighed wearily. "Destrire, you're one of the strongest Dark Dragons I know, you're telling me you can't sense that?"

"No, admittedly. All I see is trees and gnarled bushes."

"Use your shadows, Destrire. Extend them. Through them, search."

"Hmm. Good idea." He mused, closing his red eyes. Around him the shadows seemed to stretch and lengthen, melding into each other, extending across the forest floor and canopy.

He opened them again, pointing slightly to the right. "There. I'm picking up some sort of energy. Enchantment, I'd wager."

Midjorvyt nodded, striding forward and cutting down thickets with her claws. Destrire moved behind her, his eyes closed once more in search of their adversary, the shadows extending towards him. He opened his eyes again, stopping abruptly.

Midjorvyt was no longer in front of him. "What the hell?"

A rustling from the bushes disturbed his shock. Destrire growled, his hands filling with a black, nebulous energy. A young, pale girl in a blue dress stepped out from behind the bush, appearing vaguely surprised. "Destrire? How did you get in front of me?" Said Midjorvyt.

"I didn't." Said Destrire. "One minute you were right in front of me, the next you disappeared."

Midjorvyt raised a sharp eyebrow, but said nothing. "Fine. Let's keep moving. You in front this time."

Destrire nodded in agreement, moving forward and slashing down thickets with his own claws. They continued this for about fifteen minutes before Midjorvyt stopped abruptly. "Destrire."

"Yes?"

"Look."

He looked at Midjorvyt, who stood watching the surroundings with narrowed eyes. "What is it, Midjorvyt? There's nothing here."

"Did we not just walk through here a half hour ago?"

He looked around, noticing strange almost perfect similarities from when they had walked by this part of the forest earlier. A rock was almost completely swallowed by the roots of a tree, a sizable yellow spider was spinning a web between the fork of another tree, and above them, beyond human perception, was a bird feeding its young in a nest. "You're right." He said. "But, how? I am almost entirely certain we did not lose our direction. And we were close. I detected a flux of energy. If anything, we should be right on top of it."

"Keep moving, and I will mark our progress." She slashed a furrow in the tree on her right, and brushed by Destrire, taking the lead once more. They continued as such, Destrire closing his eyes and sensing the flux of energy based on the shadows.

Eventually they came across to a small cliff face in the middle of the forest, a pillar of white rock that was smaller than the trees and went only halfway up to the canopy. "Here." Said Midjorvyt. "He's here."

"I sense it." Destrire chuckled. "Whatever enchantments or snares he laid back there, he is not skilled enough to master them." He surveyed the cliff face, looking for any imperfection. "So, if he is here, how do we get to him?"

"Simple." Said Midjorvyt. She raised her arms, blue black energy crackling between her hands. She thrust it outward, hitting the rock and splitting it in two from dark energy. Left in its wake was a cave, descending downward into the mulch and dirt of the forest floor.

"After you." Said Destrire. Midjorvyt took the lead, descending into the earth with a dark blue light in her hands. Destrire followed suit, unable to form any light due to his affiliation with darkness. The earth was well worn and smooth, as if a wyrm had taken up residence in it. Transparent blue light shimmered across several wooden beams across the roof of the cavern, enchanted to hold the weight of the earth above their heads.

"A decent enchanter, to enchant wood to as scaffolding. It doesn't hold very well in organic material."

"Decent or not, we are here for a reason."

""Yes, I know, but still, why turn to thievery if he could easily work as an enchanter for-"

"Shh!" Snapped Midjorvyt, leaning forward, the blue light hovering over her shoulder. The cave was a perfect chamber for echoing, worried that their voices would carry. Fortunately, it also worked in their favor. Down the chamber they could hear the soft susurrations of whispering, like leaves brushing against each other in a breeze. An incantation.

Midjorvyt motioned to Destrire, both moving down the hall, which opened into a wide earthen chamber with rocky spires holding up the roof. A grey, long haired man stood in front of them, whispering a spell or enchantment into something hidden from their view. Midjorvyt threw off any thought of stealthiness, liquid night seeming to fill her hand. Behind her, Destrire did the same, his hands glowing with red laced darkness. Torches lit the space higher up while braziers

She cleared her throat, and the man stood up abruptly, seeming shocked at the red eyed strangers standing in his base of operations. The skin of his face was tight and gaunt over his skull, his eyes deep in their sockets and a sickly green color. "Okay, mage." Said Destrire conversationally, tossing the ball of darkness in his hand idly. "You have three choices. Run. A poor choice, considering there is no other way out of here. Two, come quietly and face the kingdom of Harmosel's justice. Or three, the poorest choice, fight and die horribly. We recommend the second option."

"Dragons!" He snarled, baring his teeth at them. "Why must you pick on the less fortunate? I was supposed to be the court mage of Harmosel, but the pandering knave was chosen by the king over mine in skill!"

Destrire snorted. "Yeah, because the king will definitely rethink his decision when the competition resorts to low handedness and thievery. Not to mention the items you stole were enchanted by the other mage, and you obviously wouldn't steal them if you didn't want them for more nefarious reasons."

Midjorvyt stepped forward, her red eyes slitted in concentration. "We will not ask again."

"Never. These items are mine! I will show the king the error of his ways and his chinless mage true magic!" He snatched an item off the table he had been leaning over, chucking it towards them.

They dodged to the side, moving gracefully towards him while he snatched more items off the table. He chucked another item towards Destrire, who caught it easily. "Feeble." He grinned.

A bolt of fire lashed out from the mage's hand, striking the stone in Destrire's hand, which blew up in his face. He staggered backward, growling in frustration as his face rapidly regrew flesh and muscle. Midjorvyt snarled, dark bolts of energy lashing out from her hands as she struck out at him. Wards flashed in his hands, deflecting and absorbing her attacks. "You bitch!" He cried. "You serve only yourselves!"

"Well, that is why Respite is called Respite. For the Dragons." Midjorvyt struck again, darkness seeping up around the ground and behind the mage. Destrire stalked towards him, seeming pissed. The mage retreated further, outmatched by the two beings of immense power.

"I will not relent." He said, fire in his hands once more while sweat beaded his face.

"So you choose the third option." Said Midjorvyt. "No problem." The mage snatched another item off the table, a strangely glowing crystal that pulsed light blue with almost ethereal energy.

The Dragons' eyes collectively widened, scrambling backwards as he tossed the crystal towards Midjorvyt. "Portal crystal!" It exploded directly behind her, with a sound similar to a glass chandelier shattering. A blue portal tinged in purple opened up directly behind her, dragging her towards it in a great vortex of wind. "Midjorvyt!" Yelled Destrire. He snarled in fury, a blade of darkness surging from his arm towards them mage. He never stood a chance. His head fell to the ground, blood surging from his truncated stump.

Destrire blitzed towards her, but it was no use. The earth was too compacted to dig her fingers or heels in, and she wouldn't be able to assume her Dragon form in time for her to fly away from it, if she even could fly in such cramped quarters for a Dragon. She lost her grip, flying towards the portal with silent shock on her face as Destrire fell short of her fingers.

All went white as Midjorvyt fell through space and time.

…..

Portals were tumultuous rides. Sure, they were useful if people needed to get somewhere like another dimension, but the ride was still rough.

She growled in anger. This would set her back, but not irreparably so. All it took was the right mix of materials to either create or a portal, or very strong magic that few Dragons possessed, often having to do with their element or inclination towards a physical or conceptual aspect, be it fire or dreams, stars or hope. Time Dragons were able to create the portals easily enough, provided they were one hundred percent focused. Fate Dragons, which were very reclusive and spent most of their time in trance like states, were able to create them effortlessly. Celestial or galaxy Dragons were able to create them, provided they could find a star that suited their needs. Nebula Dragons were the only exception, seeking out their namesakes within the black reaches of space that only they felt inclined or wanted to explore.

Unfortunately, Midjorvyt was none of them, and while her power was stronger at midnight hence being a Dragon thereof, she was not able to summon a portal on her own.

Her second problem was not knowing the materials either to create one. Her one sole advantage was having Destrire as a witness, which meant he could go and get help from her brothers or sisters. Unfortunately, she also didn't know the relativity of time wherever she would be as opposed to Respite's time. The same applied to Draconian when he left to aid Overwatch. A ratio of twenty years in their time as opposed to a week in Respite's. It meant a month while he was away would be eighty years where he was. It wasn't so long compared to how long the Dragons always lived.

All of these thoughts went through her mind while she tumbled through the portal. She wasn't a big fan of the purple running through it. Generally they were whitish blue, but the purple was something bad. Great. She thought.

And then she felt her descent slow ever so slightly, signalling that wherever she was about to be was coming fast. And then darkness at the end of it.

She tumbled out of the portal onto cobblestone, or what little she saw of it before rolling to break her fall. She glanced around, dark blue filling her hand. Street lights lit part of her surroundings, her eyes picking up the rest as if they were in broad daylight. Tall buildings rose around here, and cars levitating above the ground, idle, without tires. A large monument stood behind her, of a robotic man holding the hand of girl child. A massive clock tower rose above her a block away, a bus parked right by a movie theater. Another block away was a pub, called the Hoof and Haunch, disturbingly quiet despite it being night.

Midjorvyt's breath hitched. She was in King's Row, in the same time Draconian was in. Provided the timelines were the same…

She began moving purposefully towards the pub, sure that despite its quietude it had to have been occupied. She pulled on the door, knocking calmly and firmly, surprised that it was still quiet without a hint of conversation. If there had been any speaking, she would have been able to hear it on the street. And stranger still, the pub was locked. "Excuse me!" Called Midjorvyt, slightly annoyed. "Hey!"

She heard a rush of footsteps from inside, the door being pulled open hastily. "What are you doing, little girl?!" The man whispered fiercely from inside. "It's curfew! Get off the street! They'll come for you!"

"I need some help." Said Midjorvyt calmly. Instantly she grew from the size of a child to a young woman, her hair reaching the small of her back and her eyes narrowing. The man scrambled backward, Midjorvyt holding the door open as he stammered unintelligibly. "I just need the date." She said. She reached out her hand, pulling a newspaper from the cast iron shelf by her. March 9, 2076. She nodded, the man's face pale with shock. "That'll be all." She headed back out, determined to get to where he would probably be. Gibraltar.

She was considering her options calmly when she heard a voice ring out. "Oi lass, don't ya know its curfew?" A red blur crossed her vision along with a solid right cross to her cheek sending her sprawling. She sprung back up, shaking off the blow and looking at her assailant.

Midjorvyt's eyes widened, surprised at who it was. A pale young woman, her face clear with sharp but cute features, spiky black hair, and black tinted goggles. The light from the street lamps gave her eyes an amber glow beneath the goggles. Her lips were red and a grey choker encircled her neck. Skintight black leggings accentuated the shape of her long legs, and her jacket was black leather.

The most prominent features were the uncharacteristic smirk on her face, and the tri-ring design of the harness over her chest, which glowed a red as dark and powerful as Destrire's eyes. A small, stylized W was etched into the metal of the harness, symbolizing something unknown to Midjorvyt.

"Tracer?"

The smirk intensified on her face, and another red blur crossed her vision along with pain in her temple. Midjorvyt shook it off, rapidly healing herself, and turned to face this dark version of what Draconian had called "A force for good."

"Ohh, looks like this one is a fighter!" Said Tracer, grinning. "I was tired of all the weak little fishes I'd come across!" She Blinked forward once more, but Midjorvyt was ready. She caught her fist and swept her legs out from under her in one smooth motion, slamming her on the ground forcefully enough to knock the wind from her.

"Tracer, what are you doing?" Said Midjorvyt, bewildered. "What happened to your chronal accelerator? Your meeting with Kairos? Draconian? Why are you attacking me?"

She smirked again. "Don't know what the fuck you're talking about, girlie. What i do know is that you're about to get your ass kicked!" A flash of red once more, and Tracer disappeared from the ground under Midjorvyt.

The Dragon's eyes narrowed, widening her stance and holding up her fists in an approximation of a boxing stance, her eyes roving constantly. She didn't need to use her real form… Not yet. Not until she had answers.

The sound of a vacuum giving way to air echoed to her left behind her. A tricky spot with which to react defensibly. But that only applied to humans. Midjorvyt swung her arm around, feeling a satisfying smack into her forearm. Tracer collapsed, groaning in pain from running into Midjorvyt's arm.

"What the bloody hell?" She moaned.

"Enough, Tracer." Midjorvyt growled. She picked Tracer up by her chronal accelerator straps, looking directly into the Brit's rapidly bruising eye. "Answers. Now. How do you not know of Draconian? He is supposed to be here. Why is your accelerator red? Kairos saved you from the Void, so how do you not know him?"

Tracer's head lolled up on her neck weakly, chuckling in a way that was very un-Tracer-like, from what Draconian had described of her personality. "I just said… I don't know what the bloody hell you're talking about. But you just signed a death warrant, girlie."

Midjorvyt dropped her, where she lay on the cobblestones of King's Row, spitting up blood. "What are you talking about, Tracer? You just attacked what you could only know as a defenseless civilian until you fought me."

"Saying you're something more… giiiirlieee?" She stretched the word into a mocking tone, drawing it out in an infuriating way.

"What the hell, Tracer? You're saying you don't know what the Dragons are…?"

It hit her suddenly.

This was not Draconian's timeline.

This was an alternate one. Where Tracer, and possibly more, were evil. Dark versions of themselves. Where something had altered the timeline from the original and established one. But then… what had happened to the rest?

"Dragons, girlie? You? You got some fight in you, but you're no bloody Dragon."

"No?" Midjorvyt challenged. Her eyes began to glow the haunting red, laced with black in the corneas. Liquid black ran up her clothing and dark blue dress, lending a pair of intimidating, but in reality purely aesthetic, wings. Tracer's eyes widened beneath her black tinted goggles.

"What the actual fuck?"

"As much as it pains me to say this, Lena Oxton, you are not the same person I have seen or heard about from my brother. He is not here, and I am currently stuck in this realm until my siblings conjure a way of retrieving me. You are turned, and evil in this timeline. Thus, I will do it a service… and put you down." Black began to coalesce in her hands, her foot on Tracer's stomach.

Bang!

Pain tore through Midjorvyt's shoulder, knocking her off balance and causing her to lose her focus on the magic. She growled, forcing a bullet from her shoulder, which began to heal immediately.

Bang!

Another took her in the stomach, again causing her to grit her teeth and eject another bullet from her body, turning to face her new attacker. A man stood in a black split cloak, wearing a dark black hat in the fashion of a cowboy, with dark clothing and a tattoo of a skull on his arm. In his other hand was leveled a futuristic six shooter, pitch black with a red laser sight on top.

"McCree." Growled Midjorvyt.

"Heard a bit of ruckus on your end, Lena." Drawled McCree. "Getting beat by someone? We don't got another rebel group on our hands, do we?"

Tracer's chronal accelerator lit back up, glowing red once more, blinking over to McCree's side. "Get this, Jesse. Claims she's a Dragon. Summoned up some bloody wings and was about to roast me with some bloody black stuff."

"Is that so?" He said. "You might take on one of us, girl, but you can't take two Overwatch agents."

"Agents?" Said Midjorvyt scathingly. "You call yourself Overwatch, yet all you do is attack innocents. People evidently fear you. A curfew was enforced for none, not even Omnics, from what I was told from Draconian. No. I know the aspects of timelines. And this one is corrupted." She held her hands out in front of her, black forming a shield about her body, and pressed forward, McCree rolling to the side and fanning the hammer.

Tracer, young, predictable, and impulsive, flanked Midjorvyt's side. Her pulse pistols fired rapidly at the Dragon, catching her in the side. Instantly the tiny burns began to heal, and Midjorvyt growled. She moved her arm in a slashing motion, a wave of darkness sweeping her feet out from under her once more.

McCree was more experienced. He kept firing at her, the shield catching the bullets and deflecting them. He pressed forward too, rolling and attempting to break her guard while she slashed with waves of blue and black.

Finally, McCree stepped forward, dodging another slash of solid dark, and threw a flashbang grenade over the shield. Light flared in Midjorvyt's vision, blinding her briefly with her enhanced vision and causing her to lower her shield. McCree brought up his left hand onto the hammer of his revolver, loading Midjorvyt full of lead.

She gasped, pain flaring across her abdomen as six bullets tore into her. She stumbled back, growling in fury and clutching her wounds, which were beginning to heal more slowly. McCree walked up, reloading the six shooter and pointing it dramatically at her. Fuck me. Thought Midjorvyt. Now my soul has to get back to Respite through a bunch of dimensional boundaries. That was an inconvenience, which would set her back a while.

She bowed her head, grimacing as she focused on healing herself. "Any last words?" Said McCree through his cigar.

"Yeah." Said Midjorvyt, chuckling. "You're a prick."

McCree laughed, shrugging and briefly taking the revolver off her. Tracer sidled up to the two of them, looking pissed. "Welp, can't say I haven't heard that before." McCree smiled. "Say g'night, spitfire!"

Midjorvyt snarled, tired of these human terms equivocating to them. Her right hand encircled his left, kicking Tracer back in the process as she used McCree as a makeshift pole to launch herself forward. Her grip, enhanced as it was by her being a Dragon, began to tighten further, feeling bone in Mcree's arm flex and bend as she held on tighter. She growled once again, ejecting bullets from her body. McCree began to scream, his radius and ulna about to shatter.

And then it did. A satisfying crunch and snap sounded in his arm, Midjorvyt continuing to tighten her grip as she began to squeeze the muscle and tendon. She grabbed his upper arm, stepping on it and breaking the humerus in two. She let go of the modern cowboy, screeching in unholy pain as he cradled his arm, resembling a limp noodle in a black sleeve. The tattoo was distorted and bent out of shape, the skull smiling sharply upward.

She watched as shock took him, collapsing as his eyes widened massively as he clutched his arm, a good portion of the bone ground into shards. Tracer, kicked backward into the wall, was beginning to stir, seeming to have suffered a concussion at worst. Midjorvyt strode over, kicking her in the temple and knocking her flat out as McCree went silent.

She began to run, thinking that reinforcements of any sort wouldn't be far behind. Even as she thought it, she heard the clank of armor behind her, and a German voice bellowing "WHO DID ZIS?! MERCY!"

She ducked into an alley, clambering over a gate and disappearing into the rest of King's Row. She stopped near the subway, panting and stretching.

"That was impressive."

A voice sounded off to her right, hidden so deep in shadow even she couldn't see who it was. "Who are you?!" Black flickered into her hands again, more shallow in opacity and seeming more ephemeral. She was left weak from her battle.

"Now, now, no need for that." The voice said, a deep, husky rattle sounding voice. "I'm a friend. I saw that whole thing, and heard it. A Dragon huh?"

"I will say it once again." Said Midjorvyt, her eyes beginning to glow again in anger. "Who… are… you?"

The voice sighed, and the rush of wind seemed to caress her. Black mist begin to form in front of her, solidifying into a cloaked figure with an owl skull mask. Reaper.

"It's hard to believe, I know. But trust me. I'm Reaper, a part of Talon, resisting Overwatch's tyranny after they overthrew the Petras Act and considered themselves world authority."

Midjorvyt couldn't believe this. She raised an eyebrow, skeptical and incredulous. "We have a lot to talk about, then." She said.

Reaper nodded. "Then let's get somewhere safe." He walked past her, walking down into the dark subway.