AN: I won't waste much time here in the beginning. Just a warning for the violence that is Drago. Have fun reading!

When the moon hits the sky and the air turns glum,

up and awake will the dragon man come.

Stomping with anger and eager to eat.

Run to your covers,

so you won't be his treat.

Children I tell you his claws are just dangling,

his teeth will be snarling,

barred for the taking.

Lock the door and close the windows,

by the smallest crack he can come in trickles.

Under the bed and surrounded by swords,

will be nothing against his hundred dragon hoards.

Chapter 1

The gloomy skies and crowded clouds concoct depressing moods; a familiar feeling. Waters below quietly stir the boat, rocking it ever so slightly that a man stationed at his post could forget that he was ever stationed at all; slowly shifting his weight to whatever he leans on and finally his vision becomes blurry before a dark, black blanket overtakes him. Everywhere, on each ship there are guards, readied with spears and gadgets to help aid the capture of anything that roams by.

Yet, there isn't one shiver of movement, not one creature of snow dares come this way. If the chill from the white glaciers wasn't enough, then the stone cold ambience diffusing from the tremendous sized crowd of boats will surely keep off all wildlife that can no longer inhabit its own home. There isn't much to gaze at besides that vast emptiness of the dark blue sea that leads off into the fog and as it trails aboard the decks of the boats, it leads to the victimized dragons confined to the boxed borders that have been built for subjugation.

The quiet coos and rumbles from dragons in cells distract from the deafening silence, it is their quiet outcry for nourishment. Yet, despite their discomfort, not one of them decides to use their power to rebel and make havoc. For some reason, it has been unanimously decided that obedience will be followed out -their fear of man blinds them from robust rage- and each trapper can leisurely enjoy themselves. Conditioning and manipulation have poisoned the dragon's minds to the brink of blind obedience, courtesy of the colossal man that commands his grand fleet.

Intimidation.

Today seems to be made for quietude, the wind whistles shy hymns and the land is at rest.

Vera is not meant for pacific days.

Wings like its were molded to beat with passion and glide with the breath of the skies. Ironically, with muscles aching and yearning for zestful activities, all it can do is pace.

And pace.

And pace .

It is obliged to fight and demand and go! What is beyond this door is everything. But what is intended for it now is to remain bound to the tight space it has been forced into.

This is all that is meant for it, just as the master has intended so. But he has resigned to his room. The master is free to go. The master is not bound by anything. That is what makes Drago Bludvist different from any other man in this world.

(Drago is the only monster Vera is bound to)

Every man was bound to something, whether it be his gods or his wife or his child. Vera doesn't understand it. There was always something holding them back. A dragon however was free to be. Free to fly, free to take.

Vera wasn't. And the very thing that kept it grounded was the heavy gem around its neck.

(The one that it grabbed.)

(It did this to itself.)

Clenching claws tightening with every turn is a channel for the release of frustration and anger. Pacing is the only thing it can do. Tense muscles keep it alert, storing energy should it need to make haste and focused ears ensure it'll cover every inch of its surroundings. Every scale is primed. Should anything come this way, it will be a blur to their poor eyes.

But this is boring.

It needs to go.

It wants to fly.

Drago is smart to keep the door locked shut, to keep the key closest to him like a man does with booze (a drink with a strong smell that reeks in the lower decks) because at any chance it got, Vera would leap to the skies, touch the clouds and remain capsuled there forever.

Instructions echo along the walls…

Wait there until further notice

Woefully though, it is not only a sealed door that isolates it to the corners of this small dungeon. Its emerald necklace means obedience and those doors mean submission. It wonders why it does that. How horrible is it, what nerve it has to contradict itself; to be its biggest hypocrite.

It cannot wish for anything if it has no means to follow it.

There's never been a time that Vera can remember when it's ever been out of the master's grasp. While from time-to-time it would question how and when, its stomach almost drops to the ground with anguish and the sinking feeling hardly goes away for the brief moment it ponders. In its sight, an almost invisible barrier forms, one that can be touched faintly before it drizzles away into its imagination. That is what reminds it to stop. It is best it figures, to leave any questions behind it so that the master will cease his judgement. Vera knows the unease is the fault of the master. The master will not allow it to think for itself. The master knows all that it feels.

Grunting out of boredom, Vera shakes its head and stops for a moment. The pause reels back the recollection of the night before, as poor decision making lead to Vera being thrown into its cell. Its improper, hasty selection of choice was necessary…yes.

You let it go.

It was trapped just as it is- as he is-

You killed one of my men.

Although, any dragon freed from these depths of hell is worth a violent lecture from Drago. In Vera's very rare moments, just enough emotion empowers it to...do something... not completely no -the master would never allow it.

No.

In those instances, Vera just widens its eyes as somewhere around it there is a ringing screaming back wait.

After those reconciled echoes comes the master's voice, loud and true, overbearing and intruding.

Death is a cessation of life it prefers to be less violent, still a trapper's wasteful life is inferior to that of the victimized dragon.

How dare you.

(That is the truth!)

Vera knows something is wrong. Vicious beatings won't ever conclude but today Vera could have been free to patrol the upper grounds, clean of raw bruising and a belly fuller.

And now, you have given yourself a longer absence of privilege.

(What privilege!)

Vera wants to argue, to continue to refrain, yet by the rapidly growing pounding in its chest that is like a lighting fire bursting into flames, it decides to listen to the master and reserve itself.

Concentrating on the physical environment it can touch, opposite to the silent conversation between it and the master , it's as if the cell darkens. Not that that provides any problem, as by the great gift among dragons, light is made before its very eyes and seeing is as easy as when the sun shines down bright. Armor lays in the corner, heavy and collecting dust. The few lonesome days aboard a moving ship calls for no action, no need to be fitted in the armor. Unnecessary it all is. All that it wears is for the façade of terror; its usual appearance is apparently not suitable for Drago.

With the armor of uneasiness, its sick necklace ties him to Drago. Attached to the manacle around its neck is a hint of magic. It's never been directly stated to it by the master, but it resides close to its heart and it can feel it. The bleak object feeds a different kind of cold, the kind that tells it it is alone and isolated. Despite being a creature of warmth it feels none of it, the treasure of dragons betrays it.

It brings a hand to its choppy hair -awkwardly almost bald in some patches-, rustling through it like a Terrible Terror in a pile of leaves. Dirt and grime have piled up, which its fingers tangle through disgustingly in areas of longer hair. The master has cut its hair that way before, all so that the reddish color doesn't shine through and so that its eyes are completely clear. Vera is embarrassed of the look, and the helmet is a thankful necessity.

Sitting down and resting on the wall behind it, it slumps his arms to the floor, extracting all strength from them. Drago is done for the night. Vera will not be needed. But it will be times of simplicity like this where it'll look back from future horrendous moments and yearn for the opportunity for sleep. It decides it'll take advantage of that tonight. Moping won't do anything, it never does.

Vera stares into the abyss of the wooden floors. Splinters sometimes pile up on its exposed feet, resulting in it having to wrap its heels often. Fortunately Drago requires Vera in good trim, therefore bandages aren't ever a problem to request. Its resources can be scarce, but never impossible.

(Somehow food is different)

Silence!

In the corner of the cell are stale planks laid out to imitate a bed, a poor suitor for rest. Besides it is a window for actual air to flow through, still the salty wind of the ocean's scent is itchy. The blank door holds a barred handle and a small cut out. There is nowhere to relieve itself, ergo Vera doesn't quaff enough water.

The lack of space is the physical example of the limitations within this ship. Drago has it tied around his grimy fingers; Vera is a dragon trapped under nets.

(m...s...n)

(so..)

(my-)

Shutting its eyes closed tight, Vera cringes, hating that ridiculous hazed sense.

It can't think too far back. Whatever life was like before its imprisoned time with Drago, it was all but a blur -blur was an understatement. If life had been anything but lonesome and boring (which anything was better than now) it was not even enough to be a memory. Crazed voices that flashed by with a bright light occasionally was not a recollection.

But they all had to add up to something right?

No.

There is chatter outside that it can hear, a few laughs accompany it. Trappers are at liberty outside, able to feel the cool wind hit their cheeks. Even though they are forever grounded to the land their feet touch, Vera is still jealous.

Briefly, two men pass by outside the cell door which is rare to the usual dead zone around here. Dragons are stored north of the ships, more centered in the middle. Yet around here, Drago's quarters and a few empty cells are all that makeup the southeast wing.

The chatter is low and muffled, making any clear words hard to concentrate on. Interesting strings of sounds roll off their tongues and Vera wishes to speak like they do. It seems to Drago that Vera's voice is… inapt for any verbal communication.

It peeks out to the blue waters that rock the ship. Shining bright above is the moon that watches all it illuminates. Gleams sparkle onto the melancholy ripples of waves outside. There isn't much stir below with the wildlife and the lack of action convinces Vera to actually settle for the night.

It begins moving its slumped arms to pick itself up, ready to head to the sad corner of a bed. Its head is still resting lazily on the wooden walls, its neck stiff.

Damn!

An abrupt surge of heat overcomes it, making it sit completely upright as its chest pounds; the end result of Drago's frustration from afar. Vera inhales sharply, the anger a futile contribution that tortures it every time. Dismally, Drago's clever shackles over Vera tortures it with a faux feeling that is bestowed from the owner. Often enough the radical pulses of emotion betray Vera's true thoughts, and they seep into what little will it is already short of. The gem is the instigator to many horrific incentives that persuades Vera to march on without any questions.

Again, it is best to leave that culpability behind; Drago knows all that his drudge does.

Stupid necklace

Vera wonders what causes the master to feel so strongly. He knows what it thinks, yet vice-versa it is not equal. They've simply been sailing, slowly, but moving. And Vera has no idea where or why.

Once its hot breaths cool down, it crawls over to the pile of planks and blankets, yawning. Vera lays to its stomach, ignoring the soreness all over and it rests his chin on its forearms with wings laying to the sides. The blankets don't provide any more comfort than the wooden floor it is on, yet it's all the usual. Vera tosses and turns before finding itself on its side, hair grazing over its charred hands and draining itself of any lingering energy. Before more blinks overtake its vision, Vera glances one last time at the armor thrown to the floor beside it, heavy gear it wears on the daily…too bulky...uncomfortab...

…..

Vera awakes in what it can assume from all of the itching is grass. It's dark green color towers over it everywhere, not one thing in sight. All that is heard is the howls in the wind. An eerie feeling begins to sprout.

A figure emerges from behind, and unbeknownst to it, the figure will remain quiet until Vera turns its focus towards it. As Vera stands, the thing elongates upwards, casting a shadow before it. Releasing a challenging roar, the creature causes Vera to snap its attention to the source of the threat but the overbearing figure pounces on it, making it succumb to the ground and they brawl briefly which is nothing more than pushing and growling. It seems the figure -which Vera can assume is a dragon- does not want to completely dedicate itself or else it's barred teeth would make their way into the fight. But the dragon is a blurry shadow that barely makes out a silhouette with the exception of a few features and Vera is unsure where to strike. Green eyes glow through the darkness.

Although it would rather not act first and think later, its self defense is instinct to follow. Clawing at anything solid seems to no avail. Awkward and abrupt, light appears over the clouds and reveals a woman in front of it.

It is no longer lying but standing in a place it doesn't recognize. Blue fills its surroundings. While it's all hazy like the green eyed dragon, Vera can see icy colors that mix all around. In the midst of its turning from trying to identify anything, it hears a voice it feels is familiar.

At first it is gibberish, but after listening to the soft mumbles, it slowly manifests into some words.

"Why, m...son? ..ve y... gone?"

Vera freezes in place, the questions make its chest pound, a deep pressure that makes it wonder why he feels staggered.

The words stream out again in a soothing calmness. A slender face is barely visible by the blinding lights.

She seems crestfallen, yet the mellow expression shifts into stern ignominy. "...uch..ail...boy are...ight?"

It knows its eyes are gaping, but the narrowed disapproval from the woman in front of it is causing its stare to continue. Its lips can't form any words (not that it knows much) and it's dumbfounded. Dejectedly, the silence fuels her streak of what it can decipher is discomforting remarks.

"...shame ...rself...point...bas..." She shakes her head and sighs teasingly, an expression it thinks, for some reason, is rare for her. "...at...you...fo..go..ten?"

Vera blinks, confused. Thoughts should be racing through, but all that's present is nothing.

"I… I don't…"

She brings a finger to her lips to shush its grumbled attempts, and soon after that as she smiles, its sight beclouds.

Now before it stands a figure Vera assumes is the little control it has of itself, manifested into the form of an ordinary adolescent character of itself, all without the abnormal features that mesh and mix with unorthodox traits between two creatures. Gleaming green eyes -even they are different from Vera's- peek out from under the long, rugged hair it thinks it used to have. Not one piece of metal armor shields him. Looks are exchanged between the two almost identical yet contrasting identities, and Vera knows this part of it is the one that fights back with guilt.

"You lost."

Vera understands that perfectly. It glares at his mirrored self, but doesn't respond. The other half scowls and frowns, and comes closer, and closer.

Threatened, Vera signals for it to remain put, curling its lips back and dropping low as reasonably, deep growls reverberate the empty surroundings. The deterrent seemed to have angered the other boy because he leaps forward and bashes Vera to a wall it can't see, making the two incredibly tight and awkwardly in each other's faces.

The wham! knocks the wind from it, and Vera breathes heavily at the observation of itself… Then the slightly blurred figure lowers in whispering, "Speak to me. Pathetic animal."

As the derogatory demands are verbalized, the nasal voice (is that its?) transforms into a hoarse, deep one, with the rest of the person changing too.

"You disappoint, Vera."

bölvuð vera* is not his name.

Heavy arms weigh on his neck and although he tries with all his might to break free, the master has more power than he.

In the distance, the black foe from before gaze back at him with the woman and they do nothing. Green and blue eyes watch him struggle. In desperation, Vera reaches out for them, alas he knows it's useless. Why would his critics help him? Drago pushes harder and Vera is certain his neck will break before he starts gasping for air.

"You belong to-"

No!

Vera wakes gasping for air. Did it yell aloud? For a moment it believed itself to be under water, with its chest burning and its eyes beginning to water. Yet as its profoundly deep breaths fill the silence of the room, it reassures itself. It is only it that is present, Drago is away in his own room.

A low humming comes with the freakish green glow on its chest. Contrary to the emptiness of the dark around it, its head is buzzing with noise. It squeezes its eyes tight shut, shaking its head like trying to rid itself of an invisible bug that's latched onto its hair. Eyes focus to adjust in the dark and Vera spots nothing besides feeling the rocky waves below the boat. Numbness is spreading from torso to toes, eradicating from the damn necklace. Sweat is still trickling down its temples, but it's okay now. Its short rest has been interrupted and it's unlikely it'll fall back asleep.

Drago has stirred. Vera knows. Confusion infiltrates it like a lukewarm feeling, slowly heating to a feverish hotness. Vera wonders if the toxic feelings are felt vice versa for Drago, with Vera feeding him fear.

Ironically, as terrible as they can be, nightmares are its only gateway to people of the past. Voices, pictures, faces… all of them come to it in a dream. Although, Vera notices Drago's touch; everything turns bitter and black when he appears. It does not want the monster to taint its dreams, nonetheless it is starting to become common for Drago not having to emerge for dreams to turn sour. With every sleep, the figures it sees taunt it.

By daybreak, hopefully its headache will have ceased and-

Come

The master is hard to feel. Vera feels like a feather in the wind, easily pulled and tugged into one direction, flowing with where the wind carries it. It realizes it is moving, one foot in front of the other. The darkness is so overbearing that it can't see anything despite that never usually being a problem, although sometimes when the master pulls it away, even during the brightest days it can sight seem so dark.

Something clicks, and Vera is met with a gush of seawater fresh air. Its little window in the room can only allow so much breathable winds. It begins its walk and turns somewhere...six more steps...another turn. The master waits. A few more steps...are there voices? People are walking about…and then…

"Vera."

It looks up to the dark shadow behind the now opened door. Green glows bright into the depressing chamber, highlighting only the ugliest features of a scarred man. The master's eyes are screaming.

What is wrong with you!

The phrase is more of a frustrated statement than rather than a question.

Vera enters and closes the door, just as the master instructs. They stare into each other's bloodshot, tired eyes. The master scrutinizes Vera's tired posture with his narrowed look. Vera attempts to stand tall.

Without any warning, the master strikes its cheek and Vera almost stumbles to the floor, tripping over its own bare feet. It quickly composes itself and the master grumbles.

The master continues his physical lecture by grabbing its face with a tight clench thus bringing it closer to his own.

"Whether awake or asleep, you are to obey me. And me alone."

For a few more moments the master has Vera in his clutches before it is thrown down and stays there. Vera stares down at its hands on the dark floor and it waits.

The howling wind wails outside, a whisper in the silence between the two.

Stay down there

The master's condensing glare almost burns on its back.

Whatever you dreamt, forget it.

(The woman-)

Is of no importance.

(The drago-)

The master screams inside and out.

He throws a chair just a hair away from Vera's position on the floor, the whoosh! gushing into its eyes. The master picks up his spear and readies it above, and all Vera can do is wait and endure.

Pathetic!

Stay

put!

Fucking

monster!

The master is tired and sleepy and everything else. His anger is rightfully so, with breaths so hard it's as if smoke were coming out of his nose.

When the sun will reveal itself, however long that will be, by its grace Vera's torture will end.

*bölvuð vera- cursed being in Icelandic.

A/N: Hooray! You finished! Comments, questions, concerns? Constructive criticism? I'll take it. It's just me having some fun here with this idea I've thought about for a while… Probably a little too long haha. I think this first chapter was a nice start don't you?

Anyway, this story might be full of grammatical errors and if it bothers you that much lend me a helping hand? I'll fix it. I do my best to proofread but when you stare at something for so long where did the mistakes go? Also, is just really hard to use to upload docs, so if there's any issues with formatting just let me know!

Just FYI, the 'it' is intentional…Until I see you again, whenever that might be who knows! Stay safe out there and thanks for reading.