Everything around him hurt. That was all he ever knew. That was what he had been born into. Pain. Pain was the beginning, pain was the end. He would wake up to it and fall asleep to it. He had experienced so much pain in his life that he simply stopped crying out. But that only made things worse. He realized that crying out would make his pain creators, the white robed humans, cause less pain. So he screamed. That was what he did all day until he could do so no longer. But that was pointless, to bother on pain, he had become used to it. He also decided to refer to himself as something other than him.
"Ancalagon."
Nothing. How odd. Usually, when he made a noise aside from screaming, a loud commotion would proceed from the white robed men. He tried again.
"I am Ancalagon."
Nothing again. This was very strange. Even strangers were the smells. Normally, his room smelled of nothing unless a white robed man entered, and then the smell was horrendously strong. However, what he smelled was nothing short of the human word "paradise." Everything was sharp, yet did not bite. It was silky yet tough. Opening his eyes, Ancalagon found that he was no longer in the white plastered room of the science division, but instead in a long-since-charred clearing of trees and bushes. He also noticed a group of animals he did not recognize. He suddenly felt this strange pang coming from his stomach. Ancalagon had never felt this before. He decided that he would try to converse with the animals using his mind-powers. Once again, he found himself surprised, as these strange, white creatures were nearly brain dead with how little thought they had inside their minds other than "what is this great black thing? Is it a friend?" Regardless, he decided to obey the strange pang in his stomach and search for a way to alleviate it.
Brom was taking one of his irregular strolls in the spine, for what reason he could not explain. He felt some strange compulsion that morning while smoking his pipe, and he knew such gut feelings were not to be ignored if they came during the clarity of a smoke. While walking along, he saw massive marks, like those of a…...no. That wasn't possible. No dragon aside from shruikan existed anymore. Dragon tracks out here could not be possible.
"What do we have here?" Brom asked himself. He had found a large scale. Impossibly large. A dragon with scales of this size would be at least 15 years old, and a dragon could not have existed in Alagaesia for that long without being noticed by someone. What was even more befuddling was the fact that the scale was white. Solid white. Like Umaroth. Brom could think of no other solid white dragons. He decided to follow the tracks, and, if he found a creature of some sort, then he would retreat and form a plan to either incapacitate or kill whatever had left these false tracks. After all, patience was the way of a rider. He followed the tracks for some time, until he discovered takeoff tracks. This creature was now most definitely a dragon. No other creature, not even a lethrblaka left these kinds of tracks. He tried to trace them back to a landing point, but, after 15 minutes of tracking, found himself at the site of a massive blast. Enough trees had been incinerated by this explosion to fit at least two large taverns. Even more unsettling was that this blast was most obviously not blast, according to what Brom knew about magical explosions, would have created more ash. There was almost no ash present at all, like everything caught in the explosion simply vanished along with the fire. The ramifications of this kind of explosion were unknown, and Brom did not want to wait around to find the creator of this level of devastation.
~Several hours earlier
Ancalagon, as he now called himself, was starving. He could not describe it any other way. He knew english perfectly, and could read and write in it, so he felt the term was accurate. He had happened upon a herd of deer, if he was remembering the term correctly, and tried to kill one of them. However, due to his inexperience in the realm of hunting, all he succeeded in was frustrating himself to the point of torching one to a crisp instead catching it, effectively ruining the taste that he assumed was supposed to be good. But alas, he had to continuously do this, as he could not effectively catch them. His wings were no help either, as he did not know how to properly use them. "As a dragon, I must be able to fly. If need be, I shall watch the birds fly and attempt to ascertain a method of taking to the skies that must grant me freedom." He learned quickly from watching birds, and, after a few short hours, had effectively learned to fly. Using this new technique of flying he had learned, he would drop silently on the deer from the sky and found that they tasted much better without receiving a scorching before their death.