This is probably going to be the last one for today.
I'm wondering if I'm just going to put The Prophecy into one of these bold notes or if I'm going to find a way to put it into the the writing.
NOTE: In a few places the wording will be similar if not the same as the Sutherland books. This is done because a re-word would sound silly and the setting, plot, universe, and characters are distinctly different enough to not constitute an infraction of the "no posting the original work with thoughts thrown into the flow of the work" rule.
Cyclone woke up to the smell of smoked prey and the growling of his stomach. Two of the moons were high overhead, while the third was a dim ivory blur glowing behind a distant peak. His eyes were finally starting to adjust to the bigness of everything. This view was just the opposite of what he'd grown up with under the mountain. Still, this was the sky, and he was a Skywing. Maybe he just needed to get used to it.
He twisted his head to the smell of prey behind him and nearly toppled off the edge in surprise.
Tempest was perched on the far side of his stone platform with her tail tucked around her legs and her wings folded in, as if she were trying to make herself as small as possible. Even so, there was only about the length of a dragon tail between them, and Cyclone could feel the electric heat coming off her scales. It wasn't a warm, basking heat like Flare's or Dune's. It felt like standing too close to lightning. He stretched his wings and tail a bit closer to her. For some reason, Tempest's presence calmed him down. Cyclone couldn't think of another time when he wasn't mad at anyone.
"Oh, good, finally." She said. She nodded at a lump of meat on the rock between them. "I brought you something to eat. Well, I made the guard let me bring it. I hope you don't mind that it's a little crispy." She spread her front talons in an oddly hopeless gesture.
"I like it that way." Cyclone said, remembering the smoked crabs that he would often eat back under the mountain. Cyclone grabbed the duck, and popped it in his mouth. It tasted like smoke, and crunched deliciously between his teeth.
"I'm sorry for being on the platform," Tempest said. "I just thought it might be less obvious if I sat here instead of flying around you."
She didn't sound like a monster. Cyclone couldn't put this quiet dragon together with the brutal killer he'd seen earlier.
She scraped one claw across the rocks, noticing his silence and usual straight-faced scowl. Cyclone wasn't mad, he just looked that way. Especially when he was in a bad situation, so pretty much his entire life. "Do you want me to go away?" Tempest asked.
"No." He said, and she looked up. "Stay and talk to me." He offered, surprising himself.
"Aren't you afraid of me?" Tempest's voice was serene, yet it still somehow reflected a dragon who could fight. "Now that you've seen what I can do?"
"Not really." He answered honestly, remembering The Prophecy line "To try to stop them you'd be a fool."
"Really..." Tempest turned her copper head toward one of the moons – the white one, also the largest. She seemed much more subdued than she had been when they first met. Her copper scales shone beautifully in the pale moonlight.
"Are you all right?" He asked suddenly, trying to distract himself.
Tempest blinked quickly several times. Instead of answering, she said, "That was weird, wasn't it?"
"What was weird?" Cyclone asked, tilting his head.
"The Heatwing – Horizon – the way he just gave up." She opened and closed her wings, "Why would he do that?" Tempest went on. "It's poor form. I guess I should have pushed him away to make him keep fighting. Her Majesty was pretty angry."
"At you? That doesn't seem fair." Cyclone said.
Tempest blinked again. "Really?" she said. "It doesn't?" She shook her head. "No, the queen is right. It's my responsibility to make the fight exciting if the other dragon won't do it."
"Why do you do what she says?" Cyclone asked. "Do you – like fighting?" What he actually wanted to ask was 'Do you like killing?' but he was afraid what the answer might lead to. Would Cyclone like killing, if he'd been given the chance to do it over and over again with no consequences? He's killed before – when they were being captured, and it didn't bother him as much as the other Dragonets of Fate. Maybe he and Tempest weren't that far off.
"Of course," Tempest answered. "I'm good at fighting – and not much else. And she's my queen. I'm her champion."
"Why you?" Cyclone asked, his expression growing emotionless. What's wrong with you?
"No one else wants me." Tempest said matter-of-factly. "No one can even touch me. You saw that. I was hatched with too much lightning. Usually when dragons like me hatch, the parents get rid of them, in my case, my mother was going to drop me off the highest mountain peak, but Queen Vulture saved me, and killed her to punish her." Her eyes went cold at the words 'my mother'.
"Wow." Cyclone said faintly.
"Yeah." Said Tempest. "If you want to know everything, I electrocuted my twin in our egg. I smoked him to a crisp." She shrugged, but there was a wobbliness to her voice. "Dragons like me are hatched once every five hundred years." She said, a little proud. "They're called Elementals. There can be only one of each tribe at a time. I'm the Skywing Elemental of this generation." She looked at her claws. "Elementals are immune to their tribe's element, while normal dragons are resistant – royals being half-immune."
So don't use my lightning if I have to fight her.
"You know who my friends and I are, right?" He asked her.
"Some members of the Talons of Peace?" Tempest asked back.
"Not really." He chuckled. "We're the dragonets from The Prophecy. Our Voidwing Guardian says that we should develop these abilities as we get older - but I doubt that."
She tilted her head. "So maybe, you and I – and your friends – are all born to kill other dragons." She said.
Cyclone wished she didn't sound so happy about it. Maybe she's right. Maybe the only way to stop the war is to be good at killing those who don't want it to end. Cyclone shuddered. Not because he wasn't okay with it, but because he was okay with it.
Tempest noticed his shudder, "Her Majesty said I might as well follow my true nature." She said. "That's how she raised me – letting me be myself, giving me dragons to kill. Maybe you'd feel better if you could be who you really are." She paused for five seconds, and went on, ignoring his silence, "I've accepted myself, and I like myself this way. You should do the same thing." Something clattered far below them, and Tempest jumped. "I'd better go." She said.
"Wait," Cyclone said; he needed to make sure, "Tell the queen I volunteer instead of the Voidwing."
Peril was already shaking her head, "I can't. I'm forbidden to talk to you. She was really mad when I visited you and the others before. Probably because you guys aren't like the other prisoners."
Cyclone paused, thinking. Why would Queen Vulture care if Tempest talked to him? "But you came to see me anyway?"
She shuffled her talons and looked a little embarrassed. "Yeah, I don't know why. I mean, it didn't seem fair. I like talking to you. Her Majesty never has time to talk to me, and my only other friend is old and tells the same stories over and over again. You're lightning."
So she doesn't obey every order Queen Vulture gives her. Good to know.
He realized she was looking at him hopefully. "Uh," He started. "You're . . . lightning, too?"
Tempest grinned, sharp, white teeth flashing in the moonlight. "That's what Her Majesty says. She likes me the way I am and nobody else has. Until you."
He didn't know if he wanted to be friends with a dragon planning to kill him eventually. But there was something not entirely awful about Tempest – a blend of anger and sadness that he kind of understood. And maybe there was a chance he could talk her out of the whole killing plan. Maybe that was why Queen Vulture didn't want her talking to him.
In the meanwhile, though, he had to focus on fighting in the arena before his friends do. He was the best fighter, Tsunami coming in second, then Winter, then Candor, then Ray, then Flora, then Anion, then Umbra, then Clay (the gentle giant), and lastly, Flare.
"Listen." Cyclone said. "Could you talk to her about me going first? Act like you came up with it yourself. A Skywing is something new, right? Save the best – a Voidwing – for last." He paused, Winter, Umbra, Ray and Tsunami, not as 'exciting' as him, came to mind. "But you have to start with something a little better than some of them, aka, me." Cyclone corrected.
"All right," Tempest said after pausing to think. "I'll try."
"Thank you." Cyclone said.
Tempest spread her wings to fly away and then hesitated, looking at him, "You wouldn't do what Horizon did, would you?"
Cyclone thought for a bit. "I don't think I could do that. Not honorable. Not sane."
"Oh good." She said. "I'd much rather kill you fair and square. Well, goodnight." She leapt up into the air and beat her wings, sending a wave of static heat over Cyclone's scales.
He thought of the battle ahead. Would he win? Most likely. Would it be difficult? Hard to tell, that depends on the individual dragon. And if it was Tempest? Not even Wormhole could know.
Alright, I'm done. Goodnight. Next update in 14-18 hours; busy tomorrow.
Thanks for reading!