Chapter 20-Differences of Time

Days passed for Jormundur and Narssia as they grew used to their new time stream. Being seven years in the past was not that difficult really. They only had to guard their minds from the past versions of Narssia and Raxmon that made them live in the same web of underground paths as the two did.

Months flew by as the eggs hatched and soon Jormundur was forced to hide during the day as to prevent his younger self from asking questions. Narssia was managing such disruptions fine, her temper growing thinner though with each passing day, but life was as good as they could make it.

Whatever had caused Narssia to pass out had not come over her again. She was weary of speaking with Jormundur in private but he understood her fears. The Orichalcos was growing more strongly inside the seven years prior Narssia faster than it had for her future self and this worried both time traveling dragons.

Raxmon had tried to make peace with both versions of Narssia but had only succeeded with one of them. The hatchlings, younger versions of Sitedal and Jormundur, grew more adventurous and stronger with each passing month.

When six months had passed, Ryta's egg was laid and the dragons moved into the cave that would become the place where Raxmon was killed. Narssia was seldom seen then, claiming to Jormundur that she could not stand by and watch the horrible events of the Orichalcos takeover come true once more. Although the grey dragon was interested in the lives of the past version individuals he had grown up beside, he realized his mother's fears.

Mother! He roared after her as she disappeared yet again into the darkness of their new home.

Jormundur snarled deeply and sent out a burst of rippling grey fog in his anger. He felt as if she was a stranger to him now since Ryta had hatched. She was his mother, she was supposed to standby him through the toils of life.

Again she turns tail and flees, his younger-self muttered, now at seven months old and struggling to control the gusts of fog that occasionally swirled around him. Should she not be here? With us?

Jormundur lifted his left forepaw and ran it over the horns of his past self's head. I agree. Action should be done yet she is a free dragon. We can only advise, not force another to follow our requests. He paused for a moment then whispered softly, I can help with your ability. With controlling its power.

His younger self growled and agreed to such training, thus forcing Jormundur to remember how he had calmed the powerful might within himself when it had awakened for the first time. There had been such fright to come over him upon its discovery. He had blamed Narssia for bestowing it upon him, called it a curse, and left the cave for several days. The greyling adult chuckled, recalling how he limped back to the side of his mother and apologized for days on end afterwards.

The meadow for which Jormundur found for the training was the very same one that Ryta had given up on Narssia in seven years later. Although he was not aware of it, he walked the same path as his mother had to the edge of the gorge, looking down deep into it before leaving to show his younger version the peaceful place that their training would be held at.

This place is beautiful, young Jormundur muttered as they both landed, their scales reflecting the waning sunlight of the afternoon.

Indeed it is. Now then, tell me what you know of this skill you have.

I know that it springs up without warning, often throwing stray rocks at the others. His time differed version paused, glancing up at him. You know of this skill?

Know is an understatement, youngling. I . . . have such an ability. Jormundur was reluctant to say anything about who he was to himself, yet he felt a kinship that went beyond the normal connection of a dragon and itself from a different time.

The eyes of the young grey dragon seemed to widen. You have this skill? I thought I-

You thought you were the only one, Jormundur interrupted, recalling his own fears of being the only dragon with such a method of attacking. There are others, like us in ways, that also feel what you feel right now. I know this seems hard to take in but trust me, please.

Planting his talons firmly in the soft earth, the adult dragon inhaled, feeling the circulations of the wind deep in his lungs. He had not used his natural gift for a while now so it could be . . . There was no way it would just become dormant without proper cause.

A soft growl rippled from his jaws, his younger self gazing at him with expectancy. He needed to focus, to feel the edges of his power within him. That was the key to such displays of strength. The will of the mind had to be stronger than the limitations of the body. Few regular dragons could ever compete with that way of thinking as far as the skill he had was concerned. He was not a regular dragon though; he knew the limits of his skill far better than anyone did.

Having trouble? The smaller version of him inquired as a light snarl rose into his throat by simple reaction, not meaning to direct such a sign of anger at himself.

A little, he replied, sighing as he met the yellow irises of the grey hatchling. My, uh, control is rusty. It is not a skill I use on a day-to-day basis, at least not anymore.

Do you trust me? I mean, do you honestly believe that I can keep a secret from anyone else?

The question startled Jormundur. He had not considered such before, yet he knew without having to answer that trustworthiness was a deep part of himself. Trust could be formed between them, a link across time to connect two time frames to each other. What choice did he have? He knew himself better than anyone so it seemed the right thing to even ponder.

I trust you, Jormundur. It sounded odd to him to be adding his own name to the end of his words, felt as if he was betraying himself. Why do you ask of this?

Because I . . . I think we might be the same dragon. I know the thought seems crazy but we have the same eye and scale color and our abilities are the exact similar thing. Has not the idea struck you of this before I mentioned it?

The idea of their similarity had finally reached out to him from himself. Jormundur snorted in amusement and nodded slowly. Had not he known this before even having taken his younger form under his wing as far as training went? It had been his knowledge all along that they were the same dragon, differed by time.

We are the same, Jormundur whispered softly as the sound of wing beats resounded in the air around the meadow. You and I are both Jormundur, son of Narssia.