On the darkest night of every year, when all three moons go dim, fading from view into the inky blackness, the world bathes in darkness. Dragons all across Phyrria would hunker down in their homes, setting up many a lantern and torch to keep shadows away from their home for this one night. Parents would often take the opportunity to tell stories passed down through generations to scare dragonets. Stories of flesh-eating scavengers and mountain-sized birds told stories of maintaining virtue and obedience. A superstitious few believe that certain events or actions on the darkest night foretell misfortunes. A most pertinent example: that dragonets who hatch on the darkest night bring despair to their parents.
This year would have been no different. All three moons were dark, and the only sources of light were the stars above and the lights of the dragon and scavenger civilizations below. However, a comet cut through on this darkest night, bright enough to look like a moon. As if by chance, there was only a single expecting couple amongst all the tribes tonight, a minor noble family in the Skywing Kingdom.
"Dear, will you please stop pacing for just one moment?" Himmel asked with poorly veiled annoyance. "I get that the timing is rather off, but everything should be fine! You need to calm down."
Ciel just huffed, turning away from her mate to return her gaze to the egg. "Don't you get it? Dragonets who hatch on the darkest night are bad luck!"
"You believe those stories? Tonight is just an excuse for parents to scare their poor dragonets and light a bunch of mediocre-smelling candles!" Himmel groaned, running his talons over his face. He couldn't keep his gaze off his mate long, her frantic pacing agitating his sensitive hearing and nerves. Once smooth and glossy, the egg's shell is marred with a single crack.
"Still, I can't help but worry about our dragonet's health," she fretted.
"It'll be fine," Himmel groaned again.
"You don't know that," Ciel retorted. She looked out of the window for a moment, right at the bright comet in the sky. "There's the comet too. That's worrisome, really worrisome."
"Of course, I don't know that, but if something does happen, can we at least save all the panic for future us to deal with?" Himmel pleaded. "Besides, if the comet is bright enough to look like a moon, and our dragonet hatches tonight, then it technically wouldn't be the darkest night, if that helps assuage your worries. I don't know. I really don't get what you're getting at. Just calm down, please."
The two were getting ready to sleep after a long day of handling the politics of their little section of the Skywing Kingdom. The Province of Kallion Reunalla was a long, narrow strip of land along the Skywing's western territories, whence the mountains met the sea, creating the cliffs for which this province was renowned. It was a rather backwater territory, not ideal for living. It subsisted off tourism, boasting views and landscapes unrivaled in the whole continent. Its geography didn't stop Himmel from trying his best to lead the territory to prosperity. It was draining. A long day surveying damage caused by torrential rains, comforting the victims, and organizing relief efforts. The evening was spent revising plans for a new dam. Balancing the budget to accommodate such a project took the place of a quiet meal with his love. He wasn't in the mood for anything besides some quiet time with his mate before restless sleep. When the whole place shook as if a small earthquake had struck, rattling the wooden frame of the estate and the furniture within, Ciel's maternal instincts flared, and she rushed to her egg. It had moved from where Ciel had set it in the nest, but neither expected to see the singular crack in the egg's shell. Himmel thought the earthquake had damaged the egg. It shook on its own, rattling quietly. Ciel connected the dots with old Skywing folklore, and now Himmel was left with the arduous task of trying to reason with her.
"No, no no," Ciel whispered as she kept pacing. "It can't be happening tonight, it just can't. The doctor assured us our egg would hatch November 2, not today!"
"Love, please, calm down. Maybe it'll hatch tomorrow or something. I know that some of my cousins took many hours to get out of their eggs," Himmel said. Seeing her remain fearful, he realized reason would not work, and he got up and moved over to his mate. He wrapped his wings around her and tucked her head under his chin. "Even if it hatches today, it's just a folktale. Nothing will happen."
The egg shook again before more cracks appeared. Ciel unwrapped Himmel and rushed to the nest, circling it a few times before settling down, watching the egg earnestly. Himmel spared a small smile. Despite her faults, he couldn't deny she was full of passion, one of the reasons he fell for her. Grateful for the new silence, he sat down to watch the egg too. Questions started to flood his mind.
Why is it that he only gets nervous just a moment before something happens?
His first-hatched dragonet.
Was he ready to be a father?
What if Ciel is right? Surely not.
The egg shook once again before a singular claw pierced the egg, followed by a few more. Several pieces fell away, clinking on the floor loudly. The expectant parents caught the first glimpse of their first hatched dragonet. A snout pushed through, thin and smooth, covered in orange scales with black highlights. That was unexpected. Ciel was a paler shade of orange, like water populated with rust, whereas Himmel was a darkened shade of orange, like an orange in the shadow of the tree it fell from.
"What in the three moons are those blackened scales?" Himmel muttered, peering closer. The orange definitely looked like a fusion of his and Ciel's scales, so where did the black come from? Maybe something was wrong after all.
"Ciel-," Himmel started. "Shhh," Ciel whispered to Himmel.
The dragonet continued pushing out sections of the fractured shell. Droplets of yolk and fluid populated the floor, and strands of residue clung to the little dragonet as he clumsily clambered out. Besides the black highlights running down his forelegs and wings, he looked to be perfectly healthy. Ciel leaned down and gave the little dragonet a lick, cleaning up the residue and drawing a little noise of protest from the hatchling. Both parents now waited for the dragonet to look at them.
He whimpered a bit from the cold mountain air, stumbling around, before colliding with his father's broad chest. Rest his tiny head, the dragonet took some shaky breaths. Himmel saw that his son's eyes were still closed, but something else drew his attention. A small pattern of scales near his son's eyes, spreading outward. Thick and jagged like claw marks, they trailed off like wisps of smoke, disappearing by where his square jaw started. It looked almost like tears, a trail of tears.
They glowed.
They glowed red, like the hottest of molten iron, before fading into black. It glowed again, then faded, pulsing like a heartbeat. It was bright enough to light up the room the three were cradled in, like a candle in the dark.
Ciel licked her son across the face again, trying to coax him to open his eyes.
"Ciel? Ciel, are you seeing this?" Himmel asked.
"Yes," was all she said.
"Is this bad?" He asked.
"It's strange for sure. We'll just have to see if it's bad," Ciel answered cryptically.
"I hope it's good. I mean, I think it is good. I have to say he looks handsome with those markings," Himmel noted with a small smile. He nuzzled his son, sharing some of his body warmth. He wrapped his wings around his mate and his son, keeping out the cold.
"I think we know what to name him, then," Ciel prompted.
Himmel looked at his son, who seemed to be trying to open his eyes. He smiled again, forgetting the troubles of the day. "Yes, I think we know what to name him."