AN/Warnings:
This story contains massive spoilers for Legends: Darkstalker and The Lost Heir, if for some reason you haven't read them yet.
More importantly, this story is rated M for a reason! It deals with some very dark subject matter and is told from the point of view of a dragon who has done some awful/violent things and ultimately goes insane. I wouldn't consider it gory, but there is quite a lot of violence. If you are sensitive to those kinds of material, please do not read this story.
If you still wish to read it, I hope you enjoy the story (well, as much as you can enjoy something like this), and I hope it gives you a fresh perspective.
Sometimes, Albatross worried that he was starting to go insane.
But he couldn't be, could he? In all the scrolls he read about mad dragons, they had spoken of hearing voices in their heads. Albatross had definitely never heard any voice in his mind besides his own.
But sometimes he would become angry, so angry that some very small part of him knew the intensity of his rage wasn't normal. And his thoughts got so dark, dark like the very depths of the ocean, where there was no light at all and the water pressure weighed on one's shoulders like a huge burden.
Even that pressure wasn't as hard to handle as the weight of his guilt over what he had done to, Sapphire. What made him feel worse about it was that on some days he fully believed she'd deserved it. Those days were growing increasingly common, until now there was almost one day of hatred for every day of remorse.
Albatross had started writing tally marks on the walls of his room, enchanted so that no one could see them but him. One on the left for every day the darkness in him outweighed the good. One on the right for each day he felt strong enough to forgive his siblings instead of hate them for their childish cruelty. He didn't want anyone else to see the marks, because then they would also see that he was losing his mind.
Fathom had seen it, he knew, on the day of the animus test. His grandson had watched with wide green eyes as Albatross vented his insatiable fury the only way he knew how—through bloodshed. Half of him wanted to strangle Lagoon or even Fathom with the vine, but he'd done it to the seagull instead. Albatross knew he'd spared their lives, but he couldn't bring himself to mark the right wall that day.
He'd never had this problem before his wife had died.
It had been an arranged marriage, and he'd never expected to find happiness in it, but Albatross had eventually fallen in love with Marine. When he was with her, he'd finally be able to forget his guilt and live in the present.
She had beautiful green scales, her eyes always shone when she saw him, and the shape of her mouth always made it look like she was about to laugh, even when she swore she was being serious. She'd tease him, but it was always lovingly, and he found that when he was with her, it didn't matter that his scales were a weird color, that his teeth were too small, or that he swam like a feeble old duck.
They'd often lay together in the shallows by the beach, and he'd enjoy the feeling of her sunbaked scales leaning against his. Then one of them would slap their tail against the water as one of the big waves washed in and they'd both end up drenched from head to toe. Albatross still remembered how whenever he'd done it, Marine would shriek in surprise at the sudden cold and shove him, and how when they looked at each other, water dripping down their snouts, they'd both start laughing.
He missed Marine, missed her so much it hurt. Missed her so much that the day she died, he'd stood by her, studying the way her eyes had been closed and her mouth still curved with laughter, as if she were simply sleeping and dreaming, not dead, and decided to enchant her back to life.
When she died, it had been very suddenly, from a surprise attack by scavengers on the same beach they'd spent so much of their time resting on. Albatross had noticed her absence and went searching for her. When he'd found her, she had appeared to be sleeping, but when he'd gone closer he saw that she wasn't—her once-beautiful gray eyes were staring blankly and the foamy waves around her were stained pink with blood. A small, scavenger-sized spear protruded from her chest.
The sight didn't make sense to Albatross. Marine couldn't be dead. Such a small weapon couldn't have done something so terrible. But it had struck her in the heart, and a dragon could easily bleed to death from a heart wound regardless of how small it was.
Almost automatically, he'd closed her eyes, feeling completely numb inside. For one long, terrible moment, Albaross felt like he couldn't breathe. He'd lost Marine, the one light still left in his life amidst the darkness of his magic.
My magic. The thought hit him like a lightning bolt.
He'd felt his claws brush against a seashell lying in the sand and he'd grabbed onto it like a lifeline. "I-I enchant this shell t-to bring Marine back to life when I touch her with it, completely healed of all her injuries."
Albatross held the seashell out to Marine with shaking claws, holding his breath in the hope that the wounds would close, her eyes would open, and she would smile up at him. But nothing happened. Marine just continued to lay there, the sand around her soaked red from the spear wound in her chest.
That's it, he thought. She needs me to return the blood to her body first.
"I enchant the sand of this beach to return all the blood spilled from Marine's injuries back into her body," he commanded in a more confident voice. He needed to be strong, for her sake. I can do this. My magic can do something good for once.
To his relief, the red sand slowly became beige again as the blood was reabsorbed. As gently as he could, Albatross tugged the spear out from where it had been buried in Marine's chest. Then he touched the enchanted seashell to the wound. Still, the wound did not close and Marine did not open her eyes.
It's not working, he thought frantically. Why isn't it working?
Maybe I only enchanted it to work the first time I touched her with it, Albatross realized. If I enchant it again, it should work now that she has her blood back again.
"I enchant this shell to repair all of Marine's injuries when I touch her with it," he said, concentrating as hard as he could on the spell. When he touched his wife's body with the enchanted seashell, he was relieved to see the gash in her chest close up this time. She didn't move, but without the gaping hole, she looked as healthy as ever.
Wake up, he begged her silently. Please wake up.
She remained motionless. She wasn't breathing.
Of course, he realized, feeling foolish. I only closed the wounds with that last spell. I didn't actually enchant the shell to bring her back to life. I have to be extremely specific and it will work this time.
"I enchant this seashell so that when I touch it to Marine's scales, it will bring her back to life, restoring her to the state she was in before sustaining the fatal injury, as if it never happened at all."
That would work.
It had to work.
But it didn't. And Albatross tried everything he could think of—a different item to enchant, different phrasing for the spell—before he was forced to admit that Marine was gone forever and there was nothing he could do to bring her back. He'd thought his magic could do anything, but it turned out it couldn't re-spark a taken life.
The pain was so great that he'd curled up in as tight a ball as he could beside her body on the sand, wanting to die so that he wouldn't have to live without her.
What's the use of having this horrible magic at all, he'd wondered despondently, if it can't do the one thing I want most?
Could it kill me, he thought, if I asked it to?
He picked up the seashell again, the one which had healed Marine's injuries but refused to bring back her life force. He didn't have the strength for words, so he thought the spell instead. I enchant this seashell to transform into a sharp dagger.
It obligingly changed form, its new blade gleaming wickedly silver in the sunlight. Albatross turned it over in his talons, contemplating his idea. It would be so easy to test whether he could enchant the object to turn its point against him, killing him painlessly and instantly. But was that the right choice? And even if he told it to, would his magic allow him to use it to kill himself?
Marine wouldn't want that, he thought, shaking the thoughts away. She would want me to take care of myself and our dragonets. Poor Manta and Eel, not quite two years old, wouldn't understand why their mother wasn't coming home.
I have a better idea.
"I enchant this seashell-turned-dagger," he ordered, clutching the blade and not caring that his scales were being cut and that his own blood had begun to flow down his arm, "to locate the creature responsible for Marine's death and inflict upon them an exceedingly painful death. The moment the blade touches the killer's skin, I enchant it to make the killer remember exactly what they did to Marine so that they understand exactly why they are being tortured to death."
He released the dagger and watched it fly away, its blade winking like a blinding silver eye as it caught the sunlight.
Part of Albatross wished he had also enchanted the dagger to bring back the killer's corpse, so that he could see the fruits of his vengeance with his own eyes, but he dismissed his regret. He could enchant something else to do that job if he needed to.
But he didn't think he'd need to. He knew that when it came to evil things, his magic would never fail. That day only confirmed what he'd known from the beginning, when he'd destroyed his sister's life: while his animus power could be used for good things sometimes, it was inherently dark magic.
"It's so powerful that you can do almost anything," he'd told Fathom the first day he'd started training his grandson. He had spent days thinking about it, deciding if he'd really wanted to, or if he wanted to defy Lagoon's wishes. Ultimately, he'd decided to educate Fathom. The dragonet knew he was an animus now, and without Albatross' guidance, he'd only chase the limits of his powers on his own. He'd only end up making the same mistakes Albatross had. "Except bring a dragon back from the dead."
Fathom hadn't asked how he'd known that. The dragonet was too young to know what heartbreak was, to guess that Albatross had discovered the limits of his powers through painful experience.
He never cried over Marine's death.
A good dragon would have cried.
So when he got home the day he'd found her dead on the beach, he made the first mark on his left wall. He looked at the lone mark, and it confirmed to him what he'd suspected since his animus powers had been revealed: I am a bad dragon.
Other dragons might relish in the awe-filled looks he got, as the tribe's animus, the maker of wonderful magical objects. But he didn't like being admired. No one else knew the evil things he'd done. Their admiration wasn't worth anything, because they admired a good Albatross, a loyal Albatross dedicated to serving his queen, a perfect Albatross—an Albatross who didn't really exist. They didn't see the flawed, broken, bad dragon who was really there in front of them.
I don't have to be that dragon, he tried to tell himself, shaking his head to clear the negativity from his mind. I can still do good things with my magic, no matter how small they might be in comparison to the big awful things I've done.
You have to do what I say, Lagoon was always hissing in his ear. How else can you make up for what you did to one sister besides helping the other?
Some days, he was desperate enough to believe that catering to her every whim would somehow redeem him. Other days, he knew better. He would never cast some of the spells she asked him to. He would never risk hurting Manta, one of the few links he had left to his beloved Marine, by eliminating all potential threats to Lagoon.
Fathom was a link, too. But his animus magic proved that he had inherited more of Albatross than Marine—too much of Albatross. And Fathom's scales might be similar to Marine's, but his eyes were too greenish, not his grandmother's pure gray, and the shape of his face was totally different.
Manta too looked nothing like Marine. Her scales were blue, not green, and her eyes were a dark blue like Albatross'. Her brother, Eel, had paler green scales and eyes a matching color, and his dragonets took after their mother's side of the family too much to show any resemblance to either Marine or Albatross.
Thankfully, none of them had inherited animus powers. But it was painful to see that as generations went by, the little hints he had left of Marine, which he saw in Manta's smile and the shape of Eel's eyes, faded away.
Lagoon had become more insistent, recently, about seeing her awful spells come to fruition. When Albatross refused, she dropped hints about replacing him. If you're too squeamish for these things, she'd said loftily, I'll just ask Fathom. He might make a better pet animus anyway. He's not as ugly, and he doesn't question my authority.
It was alarming to hear that she might somehow manipulate poor Fathom into casting those spells for her. Would he even be old enough to understand that a spell to eliminate threats would kill his own mother?
But more than it scared him, the idea made Albatross angry. After all he had done for Lagoon, how dare she replace him?
He liked Fathom, he really did. The dragonet's enthusiasm about enchantments was contagious, and Albatross found himself smiling more often during their training sessions, the muscles aching a little from lack of use.
But he resented him, too.
Fathom was the presentable animus, the obedient animus, the animus who hadn't done anything wrong a day in his life. He didn't have to keep a tally of when he was bad and when he was good. He didn't have to deal with the queen hissing in his ear every day, reminding him of his crimes.
It wasn't until the day they set the final enchantments for the Summer Palace that Albatross glanced sideways at his grandson and realized that because of Fathom, he truly was expendable. Before then, he hadn't really been. Albatross' powers might not be unique anymore, but his ideas were, and even Fathom couldn't finish their secret project without his grandfather's vision. But now that project was finished, and Fathom could do anything Albatross could—and in Lagoon's eyes, do it better.
Albatross had been very quiet that morning, thinking, and noticed Fathom flashing him worried glances. His grandson's concern only made him angrier.
He's kind, too, the old animus thought bitterly. He's more presentable, he's more obedient, he's innocent, and he cares about his grandfather more than his grandfather cares about him.
There's something wrong with me, Albatross thought, bowing his head to hide the anger in his eyes. I shouldn't resent my own grandson like this. I shouldn't glance at him standing beside me and wonder if I could use my magic to stage an accident so that I'll be the only animus again and Lagoon can't replace me.
It was only as that thought crossed his mind that he realized he'd been seriously considering it. Without saying anything, he turned and abruptly walked away from the beach, leaving Fathom to hurry after him.
I need to get away from him, Albatross thought, trying not to think about the small green dragonet trying to keep up with his longer strides. Before my thoughts go even darker and I end up killing another seagull... or doing something worse.
After bidding his grandson a hasty farewell, he returned to his room and stared at the marks on the wall. Today, undoubtedly, would end with another mark on the left side. The bad side, the evil side.
Albatross realized then, with a jolt, that another mark on the left wall would mean that his bad days would now outnumber the good. When had those marks gone beyond matching his additions to the right and started catching up?
Maybe I should stay home instead of going to the welcoming party for the SkyWings tonight, Albatross thought. Not only had his thoughts gotten much darker than usual, but he also felt physically ill. He touched the side of his neck, feeling for fever, and was surprised to find that apparently nothing was wrong, even though his head was swimming and his whole body felt kind of shaky.
A nap might help, he thought, pouncing on the idea. Even the darkest days were usually brighter after he slept. But that afternoon, as he curled up on his seaweed bed and tried to find relief in unfeeling slumber, his mind was haunted by nightmares.
He woke up with a throbbing headache several hours later, feeling more terrible than when he'd gone to sleep. Part of him wanted to stay home, but the other part knew that wasn't an option. If he didn't come terrify the SkyWings into agreeing with Lagoon in her negotiations, she would be furious.
Ha, he thought bitterly. That's one thing I'm still good for. Fathom just doesn't look frightening enough. Everyone can see there's no malice in him.
So he forced himself out of bed and headed for the party, even though every little sound and bit of light seemed magnified into painful intensity. When he climbed out of the water onto the beach, it was even worse. His joints ached from sleeping in an odd position and his scales felt dry and itchy.
He stopped a considerable distance from the gathering and watched as Lagoon spoke to Fathom. The dragonet looked startled, taking a step back from the queen, and Albatross wondered if she was trying to get his grandson to cast the spells he'd refused to. He took a step closer, trying to get within earshot of the conversation, and a twig snapped beneath his talons. Albatross froze, but Fathom had already heard the sound and flashed an uneasy look over his shoulder.
Thankfully, he didn't seem to see Albatross. Lagoon hissed one last sentence at her great-nephew before whirling around in a huff and strutting over to the SkyWings, who had called her over to ask about the fountain Albatross had enchanted.
He couldn't help but smile as he watched her flounce off. Looks like someone is feeling a little prickly because she didn't get exactly what she wanted.
He made his way around the edges of the party, wanting to observe the visitors for a while before revealing himself. He didn't have the energy to insert himself into a rigid social situation without knowing what was going on first.
The SkyWings already seemed agitated by the time he settled into a position to watch from; they were both bristling at Lagoon and her unbearably smug face.
What a surprise, Albatross thought wryly. His sister always tended to anger every dragon in Pyrrhia, simply because she believed no one would ever retaliate against her bad manners with two animus dragons standing behind her.
"Didn't I mention I have those?" Lagoon asked, a self-satisfied smile flickering across her face before her expression returned to its normal haughty look. "Well, I do. That's probably an important point to remember during negotiations tomorrow."
Noticing their proximity to the fountain he'd enchanted for the party, Albatross quickly realized they were talking about animus dragons. He could step into the light now, but he hesitated. He wanted to hear what they had to say about him.
"You have animus dragons," one of the red dragons asked, looking appalled, "and you let them live?"
Albatross felt all potential amusement drain out of him.
"Whatever do you mean?" Lagoon asked, seeming equally offended. "Of course I do. They're extremely valuable."
The SkyWings exchanged glances. "We do not tolerate dangerous differences in the Sky Kingdom," the male said stiffly.
"Doesn't your tribe know the legends?" the female SkyWing went on, leaning forward as if she thought Lagoon was particularly hard of hearing. "How using their magic eats away at their soul?"
"Well," Albatross said, unable to remain silent for another moment, "in order for that to work, you'd probably have to have a soul of your own to begin with." He stepped forward into the light, and both SkyWings took a step back, their eyes flaring with terror as they realized who he was. Albatross felt a pang of satisfaction.
"There you are," Lagoon said snottily. "It's about time."
Albatross allowed himself a brief fantasy of using his magic to shove sand up her snout and choke her before blinking away the image. When his eyes focused on Lagoon again, she had turned to the SkyWings.
"Here is our first animus," she boasted, "my brother, Albatross. We were just talking about what his next project should be. I'm thinking big this time. Something that makes me invulnerable, perhaps. Or something that kills any dragon who might be a threat to me." Lagoon greedily absorbed the increasing alarm in the SkyWing's faces.
Albatross was her personal monster now, her scary animus weapon, and he didn't like it.
"Yes," he interjected, trying to spare the red dragons despite their harsh feelings towards him. If they were prejudiced against magic, making them see him as a monster would only make them hate animus dragons more. He couldn't imagine anyone killing a small dragonet just for having magic in their talons. He tried to push away the self-loathing he felt at what he himself had done as a small dragonet, the part of him that understood the preemptive slaughter. Thinking about it made him feel even sicker. "Although you might recall I wasn't exactly enthused about any of those ideas."
"Then it's lucky you're not my only animus dragon," Lagoon hissed, baring her fangs at him. She didn't look at Fathom, but Albatross did, and he saw the small green dragonet shiver from nose to tail. He was so young... too young to have those kinds of spells weighing on his soul.
Lagoon had power over Albatross because he manipulated him, but he was bigger and stronger and had magic. Her control was only in his mind. Albatross stepped forward until he was nose to nose with her, and he saw on her face that she was thinking the same thing... only she still thought her control was completely binding.
"Do you think you're done?" she crooned softly, the glint of cruelty still in her eyes after all these years. "Do you think you'll ever be done atoning for what you did to Sapphire? It's not going to end, Albatross. You'll always be mine."
He felt a rush of emotion, something between despair and anger.
Deep down, part of him had known all along that he would never redeem himself. He had known that what he'd done was unforgivable, a permanent stain on his soul. He'd tried and tried and tried to make up for it, but nothing he could do would ever be enough. Deep down, he'd known he was fighting a losing battle all along.
But hearing Lagoon say that was the final confirmation, the one he'd never been ready to handle. The part of Albatross that had always longed for redemption broke the way his heart had when he'd found Marine dead on the beach.
How would you like it, some other part of him snarled in response, the part that was furious rather than devastated, if our situations were reversed? What if I was the one who manipulated you? What if I got to control every single thing about your life? What if I got to decide who you married? What if I got to decide what you spent all your time doing and who you spent it with?
What if I got to decide everything, including the moment you die?
What if I enchant the nearest knife to fly over here and slit your throat, slowly and painfully, and you die completely powerless over me?
With that thought, it was no longer a "what if". Albatross saw the murder in his mind's eye a moment before it became reality, exactly as beautifully as he'd imagined. The knife carved a slow, curved line across his sister's throat, which soon welled red and spilled blood down her chest.
For the first time since Marine's death, his animus magic had done exactly what he wanted most.
And he felt not even a shred of guilt.
Lagoon's talons traveled to the wound in curious disbelief, as if the weight of a new necklace had been added to her neck and she wanted to feel its shape. "But I'm the queen," she said, blinking at Albatross in an idiotic mixture of hurt and surprise, and then she plunged into the fountain as the knife which had slit her throat floated to her brother's hand at his unspoken command.
Albatross knew that no matter what he did, he'd never be able to atone for what he'd done to Sapphire, what he'd now done to Lagoon.
The only difference now was that he no longer cared.
It was exhausting trying so hard to be good when you knew that you'd done some unforgivable evil. It was pointless, really. Why bother, when you knew that you'd never truly be redeemed? No one would ever forgive you for what you'd done, and you would never really forgive yourself, either.
Why fight that losing battle?
It was easier, and far less painful, to just give in.
All the constant guilt and worries churning in his mind had been weighing him down, but now Albatross straightened his shoulders, feeling much lighter.
There was no such thing as good and evil, he realized now, just power.
He turned the knife over in his talons, thinking about all the power that he had now that he wasn't restricted by fear for his mind or morality. Other than bring back the dead, he could do literally anything he wanted. I could have made Lagoon my slave the way I was hers. I could have enchanted her jewelry to keep her alive despite terrible torture. But no matter, killing her was satisfying enough.
Better yet, his headache had cleared. He could think straight again.
Suddenly, the SkyWings burst into the air, shrieking with fear in annoyingly shrill voices. Albatross spared them an irritated glance.
First things first. Knife, go eliminate that racket by stabbing Sunset in the neck. Then stab Eagle in the heart to find out if he has one. He watched the silver weapon chase them through the air and smiled as it did exactly what he asked and the two red dragons fell to the ground at his feet.
Dragons scattered in every direction like ants from an anthill after you poured water into it. Only one SeaWing struggled in the opposite direction—Manta. Albatross narrowed his eyes. Was she coming to reason with him, or attack?
She held up her claws, revealing them to be empty. Foolish dragon. She was too kind to be powerful, like Marine. She would be killed just as easily.
Manta doesn't see how stupid it is to be kind, Albatross thought. I'll teach her that lesson soon enough.
First though, he had to find Fathom. His grandson had been irritating enough for a lifetime, and he was another animus, a threat to Albatross's authority. He scanned the docks for the little green figure, so much like Marine yet not similar enough.
He was suddenly very angry at Fathom and Pearl and Manta and Eel and Scallop and Current. They were not nearly enough like Marine. They had failed him.
Albatross saw sudden, distracting movement from the other side of the fountain. It was Splash, Lagoon's daughter, wielding a spear.
Did she seriously think she could kill him? What a foolish dragon—just like her mother. And I should kill her, just like her mother. I enchant the spear she's holding to stab her in the heart and pin her to the ground—out of my way.
Immediately, beautifully, her own weapon turned on her.
Albatross took a moment to admire his handiwork before the sound of talons against creaking wood snatched his attention. Fathom and the indigo dragonet who had interrupted their first training session were fleeing through the pavilion.
Albatross could easily enchant something to hunt him down, but then he would die out of sight, like the scavenger that had killed Marine. He'd learned his lesson. He needed to follow Fathom and watch as the light left the dragonet's too-green eyes.
Albatross felt water touch his talons and looked down at the aquarium that had been shattered by the SkyWings' fall. Shards of glass, he commanded silently, go clear my path so I can get to Fathom. Kill everyone in my way.
About half of the glass from the aquarium rose into the air and pelted the crowd. Humpback, his brother-in-law, and Scallop, his nephew, fell to the ground. Others were hit as well, judging by the screams he heard ringing in the air. Current, Eel's other son, tried to fly on shaking, bloodied wings and fell into the ocean with a splash.
Eventually, after a time that seemed simultaneously forever and much too short, the area was cleared of dragons. Many had disappeared into the trees or the ocean, but there were also many lying dead on the ground.
Albatross stepped past Pearl's body. He hadn't remembered seeing her fall, but the glass had clearly done its job well.
Manta and Eel were also among the dead.
Good, he thought, looking at the bodies of the dragonets he had once, in the grip of despair, denied himself death to care for.
How could he have even thought of killing himself then?
He was much too powerful to die.
Albatross stalked across the docks, making his footsteps as quiet as he could. He hadn't seen the dragonets fly away. They had to be here somewhere, hiding.
His gaze soon landed on one of the boats Lagoon had ordered to be crafted for the SkyWings' visit. They were resting against the side wall like turtle shells. Albatross saw one of them tremble, just the slightest bit, and his eyes gleamed with a predatory light. Fathom had never been as creative as his grandfather, really.
And yet Lagoon had thought him to be Albatross's equal.
"Grandson," he hissed, unable to keep the jealous fury out of his voice. "Hiding like a hermit crab. Interesting choice. One I should have expected, though, from such a little dragonet with such a limited imagination."
Truthfully, he had forgotten Indigo was there. Fathom was really the only one he cared about killing.
"You may be wondering why you're still alive," he went on. "Especially when all your family is dead. You know I could easily kill you from a distance. It would barely take a thought. But you've been such a thorn in my side the last few years. Every chance she got—'I don't really need you anymore. Perhaps Fathom will be better at this than you are. You're so expendable now that I have a replacement. What a pathetic creature you are, little brother, with your tiny teeth and oddly colored scales. Fathom is so much more presentable than you are'." Albatross's voice became high-pitched as he mimicked Lagoon's, leaking increasing resentment with each sentence.
"So no," he growled, once the breath-snatching swell of rage had passed and he could speak again, "I couldn't dispose of you from afar. That wouldn't be satisfying at all. I want to see your face as you die."
He ripped away the boat with his talons instead of his magic. He wasn't prepared for an attack, didn't expect Fathom to fight back.
That was his mistake.
Because Fathom wasn't the only one under the boat.
Albatross saw only a blur of indigo scales as the other dragonet pounced at him, her talons digging into his throat and chest. Her wings smacked him in the face, but he had already been blinded by the sudden pain.
"Fathom, get out of here!" she screamed.
No. NO! Albatross roared in pain and hatred, twisting in an attempt to shake off the obnoxious dragonet clinging to him. He couldn't let Fathom escape.
But the green dragonet was already moving, not fleeing, but surging with sudden determination to his feet, his talons reaching toward the spears mounted on the ceiling. He was too short to reach them, but he didn't have to.
"Spears!" he cried. "Kill my grandfather!"
"No!" Albatross snarled, fighting back a surge of panic. "Spears—"
But he never finished his spell. Indigo grabbed his snout in her claws, preventing the words he'd been about to speak from coming out, and bit down hard on his ear, pain chasing them completely from his mind.
A second, greater burst of agony stabbed into him as one of the spears smashed into his back. He grabbed the pearl necklace Indigo was wearing and twisted it, choking her, and she released him, falling back with a satisfying yelp of pain.
Albatross slashed his claws across her throat, about to turn, about to command the spears to stop, to turn against Fathom instead.
Too late.
The second spear caught him in the side, and agony swept over him again.
Albatross fell to the ground, feeling darkness close in on his vision. He'd released all his anger—but more than that, his overwhelming despair—in the only way he knew how—through bloodshed. And now he was joining the dead.
It was too late to cast a spell to save himself… words were draining from his mind as the blood left his body. In his mind's eye, the pavilion around him was fading away, replaced by darkness.
He could have thought of all the power he'd been about to take, the death he'd planned for Fathom, his rage at being felled by a pair of worthless dragonets.
But as he took his last breath, all Albatross could think of—inexplicably, after all he'd done—was the tally mark he'd never gotten to add to the left wall.
...
..
.
Two thousand years later, a blue and pink dragonet roamed the SeaWing palaces, her wings shivering just a little at the thought of what she had to do. Search for any last traces of magic that her late sister, the killer Orca, might have left behind.
She was Fathom's descendant.
Marine's descendant.
Albatross's descendant.
And she didn't want to end up like her great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great grandfather. But she also didn't want to end up like all her sisters but one—dead—so she reluctantly obeyed her mother's wishes.
"Necklace," she murmured, running her talons of power lightly over one of the many strings of pearls adorning her neck and wings, "show me the magic here. Make all animus enchantments visible to me."
Anemone studied all of Orca's sculptures carefully, but none of them shared the purple glow which now emanated from her enchanted necklace.
The whole Summer Palace were shimmering with it, though—the stone pavilion beneath her talons and the canopy overhead.
Enchanted to grow from nothing.
Enchanted to hide the Summer Palace from sight.
Interesting, Anemone thought, as the words explaining the spells filled her mind. She'd never known that the leaf canopy had been enchanted to grow that way.
Even more interesting: the two enchantments had slightly different patterns of light blooming from them, different from her own enchantment, and she'd be willing to bet that they were different from Orca's too.
Magic fingerprints.
The fingerprints of Albatross and Fathom, who had been awe-inspiring partners until one snapped and tried to kill the other two thousand years ago.
Anemone diligently combed through the palace, taking her time in order to delay her return to her harness. Technically, any dangerous objects enchanted by Orca could lunge for her at any moment, but she had survived the statue while she was still in her egg—and been the only heir to do so.
She had a feeling she was meant to survive.
Besides, she had her own powers—she was practically invincible. She could beat any enchantment thrown against her with a simple thought.
Focus, she reminded herself. You don't want to use your powers more than you have to, remember? With each spell, you give the enchanted object part of your soul…
But part of her secretly liked her magic, liked her unique specialness. She was a little less unique now that they'd found out about Orca, but dragons who were dead now didn't really matter anymore.
Except one, the one she was trying not to become. Albatross.
She finished patrolling the Summer Palace and, satisfied that it was safe, moved on to the Deep Palace. There weren't as many sculptures there as at the Summer Palace, but Orca had been a prolific artist and one could find a little bit of her work everywhere in the Kingdom of the Sea if they looked hard enough.
None of the magic here was Orca's. She'd been very careful, apparently, to keep her magic hidden. And to keep her soul undamaged, whispered the more cautious part of Anemone's mind. She was starting to regret wasting her magic on this enchantment when there didn't seem to be anything to find.
She let out a little sigh, flaring her gills as she swam.
She swam on, checking every room with a sweeping glance. The telltale glow of magic was impossible to miss, and it only took one look to determine whether there was an enchanted object present.
When Anemone finally came upon a room twinkling with light, she was surprised to find that it bore Albatross' unique mark. Not many of his enchantments had survived the two millennia since he'd lived.
Hesitantly, she peered inside.
It was the walls themselves that were glowing purple. Two of them, to be exact. The wall to the left of the doorway and the one to the right of it.
Enchanted to hide anything written on the walls.
The revealing spell she'd cast on her pearls also allowed her to see through that enchantment, see the tally marks on either side of the room.
Anemone frowned. What's that about?
There were hundreds of small black marks. Near the top, they had been written in neat, orderly lines, but they got wilder and more jagged as they went. Her gaze fell to the marks gouged out near the bottom, and Anemone noticed that there was exactly one less on the left wall than there was on the right.
That's… very strange, she thought, backing out of the room. Even before animus dragons had known the cost of their magic, it was odd that anyone would make such a seemingly pointless enchantment. Why were historic dragons all SO WEIRD?
And without giving it a second thought, she continued on.
She didn't know that a little over two thousand years ago, Albatross had lived in that very room. She didn't know that before the Massacre, Albatross had spent so many years clinging to his sanity and the shards of a broken soul, hoping for redemption. She didn't know that dragons who did bad things felt guilty over them, didn't know how they felt when they were denied forgiveness, didn't know that it was Albatross's despair, not hatred, which had been the final trigger to start the Massacre.
The story had never been told to her that way.