Part One: The Strands of Time

Chapter Eight


April 21st 5015 - Sandstorm


Sandstorm was infuriated. His little dragonet had been hurt, and he was currently angrily digging through the muddy mix of rock and mud to get back into that tunnel. They'd be safe there, from all the bombs and metal splinters. He had actually gotten a few himself. He could feel them moving around with him in his back. It wasn't that pleasant, but at least he want incapacitated. Sandstorm hated that feeling of being completely useless. It really drove into him, just like his PTSD. But there was something about this battle that didn't set it off. It was strange, oddly strange, and Sandstorm was beginning to feel afraid that the world was going to change again.

The explosions were too loud. He didn't see his enemy's eyes. They weren't dragons, nor were they any type of living creature he'd ever seen. Nothing he had seen really made any sense too. He had really never doubted how he had moved, but how those abominations moved was beyond thought. He couldn't even begin to explain how or why the one group of those things could move around. Let alone how that murder of those steel birds could. Sandstorm was amazed by the mechanics behind how those things worked to fly. How did those metal blades push them upwards? Were they like dragon wings?

Dragon wings were much bigger. The biggest being those of a SkyWing. But it made more sense for those flappers to be more like those of the HiveWings. Just that name was scary too. They seemed like such a menacing tribe, and one that could create the monstrosities that had just been unleashed upon his world. The little square blades on those cutters. He liked that name. Cutters. Such a nasty evil name for a machine with many wings like those of a HiveWing.

You know what else was nasty and evil? The pile of soggy dirt he was scraping through. Although he was making progress, it was still painfully monotonous work, especially without any real tools. It didn't matter how much effort he put into it too, for it would still take ages and ages to get through if he kept on digging the way he was. And a dragon was stuck underneath the pile too, and he could see her purple talons twitching every now and then. Only the forearm was exposed now, and even though he was pretty sure that the purple dragon underneath was suffocated by now, he still felt that he should try his best to save at least one life.

His knife hit a hard rock and glanced away into the mud. He cursed in frustration, and continued around the obstruction. Soon Caspia was right back aside him, grunting and panting as they dug away. It was difficult work too, as shown in how they had barely said a word to each other. After most of the rock was exposed, they silently heaved it off, exposing a full arm and a glaringly bloody laceration. She blood shone brightly in its stark contrast to water around it, and they continued, not having anything to stop it.

They were all the way up to her chest now, exposing the deep light-purple shade of underscales that belonged to the dragon trapped in the ground. And now that they had a better view, they could also see the severity of the situation. This dragon had been horribly wounded too. One of the wings had been broken underneath the body. There were bruises in several of the areas they were able to see them. There were also several cuts and scrapes everywhere. It was horrible, and even as they worked up the neck and neared closer and closer to the head, the signs seemed to be getting even worse.

The dragon was alive though, and soon they broke through into the air pocket that kept her head safe for so long. Her breaths were shallow though, and even when they did manage to drag the rest of her out, they weren't sure if she'd make it through the day. No one discussed it too. It was a solemn moment of time, and not oven Mirage dared to speak. It was definitely an unusual and silent time as the rain still pattered on the ground, adding to the squelching sound of their talons. Every now and then thunder would break that, lighting up the dark and stormy sky.

The explosions had long stopped by now, and so had Sandstorm's adrenaline. He was tired and miserable. They were still stuck in that mud pit too. Right now he was sitting on his tail, exhausted and just about ready to keel over. His son was asleep in front of him, and every now and then Sandstorm would lay his talon on his head. He was so lucky that he had survived. Earlier they had taken the knife, and heated it up till it was red-hot with his fire. He son had just fallen asleep, and Sandstorm had taken the time to burn the wound on his tail. The bleeding had stopped though, and at least it was clean.

Sandstorm was digging when they finally breached to the tunnel he had spent the noon in. He was so glad to see those familiar yellow claws burst through the mud right in front of him. He could finally get out of the infernal rain for once, and maybe survive past the night.

"You're still alive," Sunburst had said in amazement as their weary eyes met.

"Yes."

They both continued to expand the entrance, carving through the earth without regard to their injuries. Then Sandstorm hit a big rock. He looked up, and prepared to lift, but the thing refused to move more than a few centimeters.

"Sunburst, help me with this rock."

"Got it. Let's go on the count of the moons." The yellow dragon braced himself, and began to count. "One, two, three!"

They both heaved the heavy chunk of andesite out of its hole, and thereafter rolled it out of the way. After a few more minutes of work, there was enough room for a dragon to pass comfortably through into the tunnel. He had actually been in there earlier. He could actually remember it quite vividly compared to everything else about the day, like it was some sort of peak. He remembered that Crimson had been hung over and acting foolishly. He also remembered him messing around with that purple dragon he didn't know the name of. At least he would be glad that she was still alive. . . somehow.

"Caspia! Mirage! Let's move! We're clear." They both groggily got up, and stumbled/ran to the entrance.

"Blast the moons," Caspia sighed. "We need to move that purple SkyWing."

"Let's move then. I don't want to spend the rest of this dusted day outside."

"I got her tail," Sunburst said behind him.

The three of them carefully hefted the dragon up and into the cave. The place smelled of wet dirt and had a strange dry draft coming through. There was also a sound of snoring in the background, along with the mumbles of a dragon who sounded hurt. All among the wall were various tools, along with many freshly cut boards. The supports above them were fresh too, as if they had just recently been cut out and placed under the roof. It may have actually caved in, explaining why it had taken so long for the dragons inside to escape.

Then he saw Crimson, his new friend. The dragon was knocked out and sprawled in his own little knot off the side of the main tunnel. He didn't look like he was in good condition too, like he had gotten sick from all that drinking last night. In Sandstorm's opinion, drinking was one of the stupidest things a dragon could do. He had just realized that, and it had already made that much of an impact on him. Before, he had been attached to that camel dung, but now that he was off of it, it seemed like the memories came by less often. Maybe his mind was finally healing from the scars that the war had inflicted on it.

I need to let the past go. It's already happened. I've already learned from it. They're gone, but I'm not. And however these times are changing. . . with the bombs the steel and the heartless machines. . . I'll have to face it eventually. This time I need to be ready. Ready to fight another war. A war like no other before.

But I don't know who our enemy is. I haven't seen their faces, their blood, or even their home. How can I fight a war without confronting them personally? Will my spear even pierce the armor on those monstrous steel creatures? Will my fire melt them? Would I die if I tried? Should I really let my family—Caspia and Mirage—die because I had some stupid idea? They need me. I can't just fight some stupid war. I need to keep my family together, and then maybe it would be worth the fight, as long as it's for them.

Crimson yawned. The SkyWing rolled around a bit and then settled still once again.

Then it suddenly dawned upon him. He was safe. Safe from everything outside. And so was his family too. They would be completely fine down here, protected from the bombs if another round came their way. He hoped it wouldn't happen again, but knowing the way this cruel world often operated. . . Sandstorm was quite certain they'd become another target sometime, even if they were underground. But now, it looked like their luck was holding out. Holding out enough that he might as well explore deeper into the tunnel.

He turned back, and yelled towards the dragons up nearest to the entrance, where there were lanterns clearly lighting the shaft. "Hey! I'm heading down deeper into the tunnels!"

Sunburst hollered back. "Got it! Go check on that kid deeper down there too!"

"I'll do that Sunburst!"

He headed back into the darker segments of the tunnel system, taking a glance at Crimson, who was still loudly sleeping in his darker alcove. Somehow he had managed not to fall out of his doze, even through the racket he and Sunburst had just made. Then he continued down until he located the mumble's of the dragon Sunburst said had been hurt. He took a turn, and then strode into the alcove. He lit up a small burst of flame, and the dragon turned away.

"Stop!" He cried, "I don't wanna see it."

Sandstorm let the darkness settle across the little chamber. "Don't worry," Sandstorm said in an attempt to soothe the lad. "I only want to help you. I'll redress your bandages, if you have any."

The SkyWing across from him took a few deep breaths, and then spoke again. "Fine. Just try not to make me look at it. It makes me sick."

"Okay. Where are your bandages?"

"They're to my right. The nice orange dragon helped me with them earlier. He told me to put new ones on, but I'm too scared to look at it again."

"I'm going to light up this place again. Is that okay with you?"

The young dragon moved his head a little in the nearly pitch-black darkness. "You can do it now," he said with a little bit of fearfulness.

When the light from Sandstorm's flame brought the alcove into clear view, he could see that the dragon looked to be a little older than seven. He had been hit by something on the leg, right above the ankle. The bandages on it were completely soaked in blood, which would drop to the cold floor every now and then with a sinister plop. The worst part was that the bandage actually appeared to have sunk into the lad's scales, as there was a noticeable drop where the bandage sagged.

Sandstorm carefully grabbed the roll of cloth that sat nearby the shaking talons of the other dragon. Then he carefully tore the bottom of the soaked bandage and removed it with a pinch, lifting it off and tossing it to the side. He could hear the dragon next to him shuttering at that feeling, maybe feeling the small draft of air on his wound. Sandstorm didn't really want to describe what it looked like too, although he had seen much worse in the war. It was an avulsion though, so it wasn't quite as bad as the described. But Sandstorm could understand why the queasy dragon didn't want to see it.

Then he slowly wrapped the bandage around the leg, covering all the damaged flesh and the scales around it. He firmly wrapped it until he ran out of cloth, where he tied a knot tight enough to keep the bandages in place, but not tight enough to make the rear talons go limp. You only wanted to do that when it was really bad, but the bleeding was slowing down now for the dragon. The bandage mos likely wouldn't be red on both sides, or at least he hoped it wouldn't.

The other person in the room looked back, relief spreading across his face as he stared at the yellowish-white cloth on him. "Th-thanks," he stuttered, managing to sound genuinely thankful, yet still in some sort of nervous shock.

"Good luck. You can get some sleep now."

"I think Imma need some of that." Then the dragon sighed, and said, "I didn't know SandWings could be so nice."

"There are lots of things you don't know. Finding out yourself is the best way."

"Okay. I'm bouta go to sleep now."

Sandstorm left, delving deeper into the now cooler tunnel. After a few moments the climate of the darkened hole began to change. Before it had been crisp and cool, but now it was starting to become just as hot as the desert and really humid. The soil changed too, feeling more full of plant matter and muddy. Soon it felt infernally hot and even more humid, and it felt like Sandstorm was soaked in water even though he was completely dry. But he kept on forging forward in the darkness nonetheless.

Then he heard the voices. He could hear them talking to each other through the walls. Sandstorm froze, and tried as hard as he could to hear what they were saying, pressing his ear against the wall.

A voice with the strangest accent whispered, "Dam noosey gee eye."

No more words came from behind the wall. But he could hear the padding of talons. He could also hear breathing, as if someone were desperately trying to breath as silently as they could. But Sandstorm could still hear it just slightly. It would have fooled him if it weren't for the fact that he was a SandWing. Yet even though he could hear dragons on the other side of the tunnel walls and a language he didn't understand, Sandstorm still felt safe. It wasn't like there were any spears around, and spears were difficult to use in any enclosed area.

All things considered, Sandstorm was completely off guard if an attack did happen. The walls are thin but nobody uses spears or any type of weapon underground, he thought in justification. I'd be able to hear them if they tried to poke me through the wall with something too. What was that? There were more of the padding sounds nearby, to Sandstorm's left. He looked that way but sensed not the familiar heat of a dragon nearby. They must have been on the other side of the wall.

Huh. I wonder how these dragons are keeping their claws off of the dirt. Then more padding sounds came to his left, and Sandstorm heard an angered hiss to his left. It was from the same place, but there was still no one there. What was going on? Sandstorm still wasn't sure, but he was still confident that he was completely fine. He was most likely just hearing things because he was stressed out from the stuff that happened today.

Then he heard angry heavy breathing through the walls. A different, more aggressive, yet accented voice said, "Como tay oday," in a rush, like it depended on their life.

That's when Sandstorm heard—and felt the shunk noise of something being stabbed through the wall. I came out right between his rear talons, nearly grazing one of his legs. With a shlook it went back into the wall while Sandstorm scrambled away. Then it came out again, scratching his leg with a hiss as it passed through some of his scales. Sandstorm stumbled over and cringed in pain at this, falling neck-first onto the wet dirt floor.

He moaned in pain, and the greenish-black stick came out just centimeters away from his snout. But next time, he was prepared, and he caught it on the way back in as it slid out of the wall once again. He wrenched it out, not feeling any resistance at all as he pulled the entire thing out. They had abandoned it, whatever it was. Then Sandstorm dove deeper into the tunnels, and stopped when he thought he was safe.

The stake he held in his talons was a vibrant green when he lit the area up with a tiny breath of fire. It was sharpened to a fine point and was jagged at the end like someone had haphazardly snapped it off whatever it had grown off of. But what bothered Sandstorm most was the type of wood it was. It was tubular with a circular ridge here and there. It was also quite strong for how it was slightly hollow on the inside. He was mystified by its origins. He had never seen anything like this in the Sand Kingdom except for certain types of sugar canes.

Then he heard the howling. Someone farther down the passageway he was inside of the same tunnel as he was in. He was unsure whether to move closer or not. On one talon, it could just be a ruse and I'll find some dragons messing around for no reason. On a second talon, I'll get killed by one of these stakes. Sandstorm glanced at the one he was holding for a moment, not seeing it, but instinctively looking for its presence. Sandstorm Sighed. On the third talon, they're just ghosts or it's a superstitious thing or something else. Maybe I'm superstitious.

The pained howling stopped, and was replaced by ragged breathing. It continued, the dragon rapidly sucking air as if they were flying as fast as they possibly could. It sounded like they needed help, so Sandstorm finally made his decision. As he moved forward the slightest, he could feel a breeze of air comes past him. He was tickled by little bits of dust and a material that felt like wet dirt. It was like the air had began stripping away the surface of the tunnel's bottom. But when he was further along, he realized it had stopped, along with the breathing.

It was only him in here, along with the other, more hostile dragons. The dragon he had heard earlier was gone, reduced to atoms. Not a single piece of equipment or even flesh was visible when he lit the place up. Only the silence and the smell of fire was there, leaving Sandstorm alone and worried. It was as if he were being fooled by someone, yet not quite falling into the trap. Maybe the trap was so complex that he could not comprehend it, or possibly there was no trap. Maybe nothing at all.

He stood there for a moment. Taking in the smells and feel of the area. This place scared him. Sandstorm felt a layer of unsettling fear come upon him, magnifying his shadow, making it look like a group of monsters. But then he heard the slightest pattering. If he hadn't been paying attention, the slightest talon steps that he heard would have slipped away from him. However, his paranoia has saved him for once. He slowly as he could, he hugged the wall, listening and feeling the tiniest vibrations.

The breathing of the dragons in the tunnel beside him was invisible to his ears, but he soon heard the increase as adrenaline surged through whoever was on the other side. Then he heard the most silent click as something metal was moved into place. Then he heard another, a shink as something larger slid into place. Then it stopped, and the dragons across from him breathed in deeply, as if they were about to release their fire. But they did not, and instead released something indeed quite different.

Loud shots echoed through the muddy hallways across from Sandstorm, sending him diving and covering his ears with his talons as they rung from the intense banging and explosive sounds that came from across the wall. When the ringing had faded he lay still, panting, listening to the screams of the wounded and the sound of someone plunging a dagger through the throat of another. He could hear the frightened gurgles of blood as the dragon died, laying in a pool of their own blood, tasting it as their last taste. It was just the way that his sister had died, within his own talons.

he remembered that day. The darkened and smokey sky. Those days were nostalgic yet horrible nonetheless. And she was laying in his arms, choking the same way as the dragon across the hallway had been. Sandstorm had been covered by her blood as she coughed and sputtered to death in his embrace. He had not let go of her when she had faded away. And he had remained on top of her, his tears coming with the spattered blood and leaving streaks of red from his eyes to the bottom of his face. After he stood up again, he was burning for revenge, looking like a bloody ghost ready to vanquish all across from him. And that was what he did.

The rest of the day had been small moments of him doing things. One was Sandstorm clawing off the face of a SkyWing, blood as red as their scales flooding down their face and to the ground. He remembered calling, "I NEED A HEALER!" At some point. Then another time he was sitting with his tail uncomfortably wedged on the top of a rock. He had been panting, too exhausted to care where his tail was. Then a different moment was when bombs rained down on their squadron, which was the beginning of the ambush.

That day had taken its toll on Sandstorm. He sat down and tried to keep the tears from coming. He didn't care much for what was going on anymore, but he slowly realized the temperature had changed and there was nothing around him other than the tunnel. After a while, he got back up again, mystified of what had happened around him earlier. But it turned out the walls were solid, and there was not a passageway parallel to his. Nor was his own hallway muddy anymore. It was just as if he were going crazy. Very crazy indeed.

After blowing a small flame he noticed something on the floor. It was that sugarcane like piece of wood. What? How? Sandstorm thought in panic. Why is this here? It's fake. It's only a phony. Moons please don't let it be real. Moons please. Sandstorm touched the thing with his talons. Then he picked it up, and looked at it with a very irritated glare in his eyes. A silent growl came out of his maw as he hurled the thing at the wall and called forth his fire.

By the time he was done, the stick had been completely smothered. All that was left were a few ashes and a burn mark on the wall. As Sandstorm came to think of what he did, he realized it had been a really stupid move. But he didn't really care. Everything that he had seen entirely didn't exist. It would be like that forever. At least he could trust his partner, his son, and maybe the two SkyWings he actually got to know.


Author's notes:

Finally finished this beast of a chapter. It's the new standard now. Anyways, I'll release the next ones complete. If you were wondering about the scene, one was quite obviously a "Vietnam Flashback." The punji stick gives it away. Basically flashbacks are breaches of time in the universe, where long past events leak into the life of others, not directly harming them. It is very very rare for anyone to see the shades though, for they vanish into dust before anyone can see them, or they simply stay out of sight most of the time. Also expect me to use this AN format too.

Furthermore, I plan to revamp the prologue and enlarge the previous chapters to around 4,000 words. The process will take a while, but it will be worth having a constant expectation for each chapter. My plan is to have relatively about 30 chapters, 10 chapters per part, totaling to about 120,000 words by the end. We're a fourth of the way there now, which is very epic.