This cave wasn't anything extraordinary.

The continent was filled with dozens of cavern systems, some stretching for hundreds of miles beneath the surface of the planet; they came in all shapes and sizes and were filled with unique wonders and riches of all dreams and imaginations. Compared to most, this single-mouthed cave was hardly anything special; no bigger than the average house in size, it was almost laughably small, with the entrance fully visible from the very back. The inside of the cavern had no distinguishing features to set it apart from any other; stalactites hung sparely across the roof and stalagmites poked up here and there from the rocky, uneven floor, which rose at the back of the cave before sloping down towards the middle and coming back up on an incline to the entrance.

The life in the cave was nothing out of the ordinary for this world, either: the walls and ceiling shimmered with bio-luminescent algae, ropes of glowing pink moss hanging from the ceiling or slithering down stalactites in vein-like growths. Large, glowing mushrooms of a bright blue color grew at the bases of the stalagmites.

Large, firefly-like insects fluttered aimlessly about the cavern air, their glowing gold abdomens blinking on and off in patterns at each other. A fat, six-legged salamander the size of a Labrador dragged its slimy mass across the floor, content to simply meander along, the bright red and purple markings streaking across its black skin more than enough of a warning to all potential predators. Small horned rodents chattered and scampered about, hastily gobbling up anything they could find to eat while remaining constantly on guard against any predators.

All in all, a very small, very unremarkable cave.

Which made it all the more amazing that it would be the birthplace of the first elder dragon this world had seen for thousands of years.

The newly-born Safi'jiiva laid on the floor in the back of the cave, trembling in a puddle of yolk and embryonic fluids as he took his very first breaths of life. The experience of being born was a traumatic one and he was still reeling from it all; from being forced out of his simple existence of sleeping in his warm, dark egg and thrown out into a massive, freezing world full of sight, sound, smells, and touch. The sensations bombarding his brain were overwhelming, leaving him to whimper and thrash in place, his muscles still adjusting to being used for the first time.

He kicked his hind legs in instinct, pushing himself out of the lower half of the egg he was still partially in, the shiny amethyst shell falling apart and allowing the reptile to unravel his body from his confines. Then he fell still, breathing heavily with exhaustion, as his body tried to accustom itself to the newfound suffering that was life, and the desperation to survive despite it. Another wailing shriek escaped his throat as he thrashed in place, legs kicking the air and wings slapping against the stone floor of the cave with sticky splashes of yolk.

In his throes, he lifted his tail and slammed it against the ground: a loud *CRACK* boomed throughout the cavern as the blow broke the very rock beneath it, the walls shaking as the crack split outwards across the floor from the impact spot.

The cave came alive as hundreds of bats were violently disturbed, spilling out into the moonlit night as a panicking flurry of wings, fur, and shrieks. The high-pitched screams continued for several minutes until every last bat had escaped, leaving their former roost as silent as the grave.

At this point, the wyrmling was in a state of shock, lying as still as the stone around him, only his heavy breathing to show that it was still alive.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, another sound broke the silence. Flapping like those of the bats' wings, but much faster and lighter, almost papery in quality. And accompanying the sound was a soft green light, dim and distant at first, but growing brighter as the fluttering got closer, bright enough to where it shone through the dragon's eyelids, causing him to moan in pain.

For the second time in his new life, he weakly opened his eyes a crack, barely able to make out the blurry image of a glowing humanoid figure of green, surrounded on either side by flickering waves of brilliant lime-green light.

Of all the cities of the Fair Folk on the Continent of Nimh, Avalon was by far the largest and the grandest. Located deep within Feywild Forest, far to the north-west of the Rodentkin Lands, it was a kingdom born from nature itself.

All the structures within its grounds, from the humblest of mushroom-cap huts of the tiny pixies to the mighty oak castle of King Oberon himself, was formed from trees, plants, fungi, and all other manner of purely natural things, not a single piece of metal to be seen anywhere. It was a city whose streets rose and fell with the land, weaving in and out amongst the trees, rather than being carved out of it. Great trees the size of buildings, towering over the rest of the forest, were the dwellings of the larger races of fair folk while giant mushrooms served the same for the smaller kinds, their interiors grown hollow and used for housing. Luminescent flowers of numerous colors lined the smoothed-dirt streets, while tall stalks with glowing seeds served to light the city during the night.

A large river flowed through the middle of the city, but the fairies had built about it, with numerous bridges and pathways leading over it rather than blocking it off, including a large stone standing in the center of the city, smoothed into a flat surface and set up as the main square; shops and market stalls lined the edge of the square, and a giant jade crystal formation grew from the middle of the stone, bearing a crude resemblance of a dragon in mid-takeoff, serving as a natural landmark of the city.

And out of all the trees in this mystical city of magic, it was the Royal Palace of King Oberon that was the most impressive. The main tree of the palace was easily the largest in the entire forest, standing twice as tall as the rest of the city and towering over the canopy, allowing those in the upper floors to look over the sea of leaves. Its branches stretched far over the city, large and strong enough to hold other sections of the castle in their grasp, as well as providing the city protection from the elements (namely the incredibly harsh winters Nimh was known for) and light in the forms of many large crystal shards that hung from them via thick vines, glowing with a soft sunny light.

From the balcony of the king's private study, which was located about halfway up the main palace tree on its western side, it was one of the most beautiful views in all the world. Especially on a cloudless night like this one, the entire galaxy visible across a sky free from the artificial lights of mortal steel.

A perfect night to enjoy a glass of one's favorite nectar and basking in the bliss and pride of one's beautiful home.

King Oberon leaned back in his chair as he took a sip from the amber-forged glass he held in his left hand, taking a moment to savor the rich deliciousness of the flower-and-bee-brewed beverage; the honeycombs had done very well this year's spring, the pollen of the kingdom's numerous fields harvested and mixed into honey far sweeter than any man-made beehive. Once finished, he turned back to the large book he had propped up on his lap, using his right hand to turn to the next page as he idly swirled his drink while reading; his chair had been turned away from the large oak desk covered in paperwork, tomes, and other duties that he would deal with tomorrow, now facing the massive glass doors that opened out to the balcony itself, allowing the cool night breeze to flow into his usually stuffy study.

He smiled as he spared a moment from his reading to gaze at the amazing sight before him, the twin moons of Zella and Adrano casting their beautiful green and orange glows across his forest; tonight, he was taking a well-earned break from his duties as the King of all Fair Folk and enjoying a good book and a bit of stargazing. It was too perfect a night not to, and even a king was entitled to a break every now and then.

Taller than a full grown-man when standing, King Oberon was an Eladrin; also known as 'Light Fae' or 'Sun Fae', they were largest and most powerful of all the human-bodied fairies, so much so that they were often mistaken for elves, and could disguise themselves in the human world as long they kept their long elven ears and moth-like antennae hidden from view and didn't draw too much attention to their shining golden hair, bronze-colored skin, and piercing eyes of otherworldly power. And Oberon himself was a prime specimen of his race; tall, intimidating yet handsome, with sharp emerald-colored eyes that could stare into your very soul and judge your worth. His long, flowing hair hung past his shoulders, with a pair of long locks that framed his almost cat-like face all the way down to his collar bone. Part of his right ear was missing, the scarred edge torn and jagged where it had been ripped off; an ancient memory of a past that felt so long ago, before he became King.

Or "last day as a free man, even before you're married", as an old friend of his had cheekily put it once upon a different time.

He smirked fondly at the memory; his friend couldn't have been closer to the truth. He barely remembered what life was like before his father's crown had been placed on his head; it was as if the following morning, he went from being the dashing, handsome prince of adventure and spirit to...well...his father.

The burdens of ruling an entire kingdom were not those easily carried by any means, and it being a kingdom of the magical, mischievous, and trouble-making Fae didn't make things any easier. Between the constant squabbling between all the different fair folk races, the rising tension with the Rodentkin, and the growing rumors that a certain threat was going to return, the weight of his crown (as well as the already-massive pile of paperwork) felt ten times heavier.

Well, even the busiest of kings were entitled to a break every now and then, and right now he didn't care what kind of work there was still left to do. He was long overdue for this much-deserved rest, and it was far too beautiful a night not to take it. So he swapped out his ornate royal robes for comfortable evening ones and promptly locked himself away in his study, with only a good book and a relaxing glass of nectar for company.

The Council's petty conflicts could wait until tomorrow. Right now, this was his time, and he was planning to enjoy it to its fullest.

*BANG!* *BANG!* *BANG!*

So one can imagine he wasn't too pleased when the silence was shattered by a loud knocking against the study's large oak doors, as if whoever was doing so was using a large club or war-hammer to do it.

He closed his eyes and sighed deeply through his nostrils, snapping his book shut with the hand he was using to hold it; and just when was starting to relax...

With a loud creaking of wood, the study doors slowly opened to reveal the ones pushing them to be two large Treant guards adorned in crystalline armor; the elephant-sized living trees were an intimidating sight on their own, but adorned in the crystal-carved armor of the royal guard they were a sight that would terrify any enemy of the forest.

"Get away from my trees!" The one to the left of the doorway boomed, his deep gruff voice filled with the sound of creaking and snapping wood, caused by the movement of its mouth.

Oberon had to fight the urge to roll his eyes; Treant vocabulary was strictly limited to any iteration of 'warning trespassing humans to stay away from the trees' that they fiercely protected, like a dragon guarding its treasure. He wasn't even sure why anymore; there hadn't been a human on Nimh for thousands of years, and the Rodentkin respected nature as much as the Fair Folk did. Old habits die hard, he guessed, and until they decided to drop said habit, it was a matter of knowing the tricks of understanding what they truly mean; little audio ques, range changes, and so on between the never-changing words.

He turned his chair back around so that he was facing the study again, placing his chalice and book on the side of the desk before resting his hands on its polished surface.

"I'm going to assume the matter at hand is of great enough importance to defy my request for no disturbances." He stated bluntly, crossing his hands together with inter-lacing fingers, one of which tapped impatiently against the knuckle of the other hand.

"Get away from my trees!" The Treant repeated in the same tone. "The Forest is not yours to destroy!"

The eladrin cocked an eyebrow at that; the Thorn Patrols? They didn't report back from their nightly rounds until midnight, and even then, it was with the captain of the guard.

It must've been something extremely important to bring it directly to the king himself...

He opened his mouth to allow them entry when an angry, high-pitched screech of an animal wailed through the crystalline halls, following immediately with the pained screams of what he assumed to be several of the Thorn Patrol guards waiting outside his study. The screams were accompanied by the sickly sound of tearing flesh and powerful impacts, the latter of which paired with the sound of snapping bones.

A sudden *BOOM* echoed out as something struck the floor with tremendous force, sending a soft shockwave through the rooms around it. The chalice would've toppled over and spilled its contents across the desk, were it not for Oberon's quick reflexes.

'What in the Hollow is going on out there?!' Oberon thought in bewilderment as he set his drink back down. "Send them in and be done with this nonsense!" He finally barked.

The Treant guards nodded before stepping back out of the doorway, using their elongated, primate-like branch-arms to push the doors fully open.

What came through could be compared with the opening act of a circus, were it not for the absurd amount of carnage that was a part of it: fifteen Thorns (green-skinned humanoid elf-like fairies with hair formed of long wooden spikes, ears tipped with them) came tumbling through the doorway and collapsing into a massive groaning, twitching pile of broken limbs, shattered armor, and useless weapons.

Each one of them looked as if they each had gone a round with ten rabid wolverines; their bodies were covered in thin three-set lacerations from head to toe, leaving them soaked in their own sea-green blood, which began to pool collectively beneath them, while most of their limbs were bent and broken in directions that were entirely unnatural and very painful-looking. Their thorn-covered, amber-forged armor, legendary among the forest for being impenetrable by any foe, hung off their bodies in shattered fragments, the largest of said fragments possessing impressive cracks caused by powerful blows, their deadly spikes flattened and bent by said blows. Their leaf-blade swords, famous for being sharp and swift enough to slice through solid rock when wielded by properly trained hands, had all been crushed and broken beyond recognition, resembling crumbled balls of green paper.

It was such an unbelievable, inconceivable sight that it left King Oberon, the wise and unmovable King of the Fair Folk, stunned into silence; he opened his mouth several times to speak, but couldn't think of what to say, leaving him gaping like a fish out of water. The Thorn Patrol, the fiercest and deadliest warriors of the forest, and the pride of the kingdom's royal army. The story of how a single squad had saved the city from the attack of a Stone Giant, a living force of nature, had been one of his favorite stories as a feyling; stories of the legendary, unbreakable heroes of the kingdom...

...and here they were now, beaten within an inch of their lives, their tools of legends utterly destroyed.

What in the Hollow had happened here? What foe could've brought an entire squad of the Elite Thorns to their knees?!

Then something forced its way out from beneath the piles of groaning bodies, snarling as it did so, and the answer became perfectly clear...and for the second time that night, the mighty King Oberon was left shaken to his core.

Fresh out of the egg, the dragon was no larger than a house cat, which its body was only partially akin to: a long saurian body that resembled the perfect mix between a cat and a lizard. It had six limbs in total: four legs and a pair of wings, the latter protruding from his shoulders. Its hind-legs were saurian in nature, complete with a digitigrade ankle structure and four-toed bird-like feet, while its forelegs were outright primate in build, complete with five-fingered hands with one being an opposable thumb; both his fingers and toes were tipped with sharp, curved claws, obviously used for slashing prey. Its dinosaur-like tail was incredibly long, twice the length as the rest of him, while his wings were large and bat-like, with four long fingers lined with a fiery-orange skin membrane and a single clawed thumb on each of the wing's 'hands'. His underbelly was lined with overlapping gold-colored scale-plating from chin to tail-blade, while the entire length of his spine was covered in hundreds of long dorsal spines that looked sharp enough to pierce through metal, the longest lining the back between his wing-shoulders and the thickened end of his tail, turning the latter into a deadly weapon. His neck was long and snake-like, yet thick and strong to support its head, which was more like a prehistoric beast dragon's than a traditional dragon's in appearance: outright saurian in structure, with a therapod-like snout and jaws, forward-facing eyes, bony eyebrow-ridges, a pair of backward-facing horns that curved upward in an S-shape from the back of his head, under which several smaller horns and chin spikes lined the back of his head and jaws. Its eyes glowed with a magical light in the dark, glowing pools of bright gold and magenta-purple with snake-like slit pupils, looking as if a literal fire was burning within them.

Any mortal being would've looked at it and believed it to be a normal dragon, especially those who would be more familiar with the tales spun in the medieval west; of great winged, fire-breathing monsters that burned down villages and stashed hoards of gold away in distant caves.

But to any member of the Fair Folk, two very important details set it apart from any other dragon alive.

One was what kind of dragon it was. The quadrupedal body structure, larger than average wings, exaggerated saurian features, long spiny dorsal plating, and fiery primal eyes...this was a baby Safi'jiiva; a prehistoric race of elder dragons from the Realm of Primordia, which were long thought to be extinct. To look upon this creature was akin to the fair folk as a human to look upon a living dinosaur...but as incredible as that was in itself, it was the second feature that caused Oberon's mind to seize from sheer, disbelieving shock. A sight that he had, not once in his entire life, ever even dreamed of seeing for himself:

The color of the creature's scales: a brilliant royal purple, shimmering like hundreds of polished gemstones in the light of his study's hearth fire.

"Where..." He finally managed to gasp out, still staring wide-eyed as the fussy wyrmling squeezed itself out from between the tangle of Thorn bodies, standing on top of the pile and growling with disapproval of its situation. "...where did you find it?"

A harsh, wet cough came from the doorway; he tore his eyes away from the miracle before him and looked up to see the current captain of the squad standing in the doorway...well, somewhat standing, at least; the female Thorn leaned against the right of the door frame, her free arm wrapped around her torso, ribs evidently broken. The left side of her once pretty yet stern face had been torn open with what was now confirmed to be dragon scratches, sea-green blood splattered across her left shoulder and breast, her left eye having just missed being ripped out of its socket.

"A small cave near the edge of the Crystal Mountains." She managed to answer, before coughing up another mouthful of her own lifeblood. "It had literally just hatched, still wet from the egg, when we discovered it."

Oberon had hundreds of questions he wanted to ask, but one most important stuck out more than any other:

"Any sign of the parents?"

The captain spat in disgust. "There wasn't even a nest!" She snarled, cringing as her outburst agitated her ribs. "No nesting material, no bones from past kills, no footprints, nothing! The cave wasn't even big enough to house a Lindworm!" She paused to catch her breath, shifting herself into a less painful standing position. "The egg was sitting on the cave floor, with no means of keeping it warm whatsoever. Had it not hatched when it did..."

It was well known that eladrin were normally as stoic, calm, and stone-faced as the elves they resembled, showing little to no emotion unless under extreme conditions. And King Oberon was exceptionally so, his many years of ruling over the forest and the Fae having molded his ability to keep his cool to perfection.

So, it spoke leagues to the sheer amount of rage as his chiseled features twisted into a cold fury, his anger literally radiating off of him as his fairy-glow turned hot-red.

His anger did not go unnoticed; the baby elder dragon tensed at the sight of the enraged fairy before taking a battle stance, growling threateningly as it arched its spiny back in preparation to pounce, wings spreading and tail swishing back and forth.

The Thorns it was standing on, originally too pain-drunk to do much else than lie on the floor and moan in pain, quickly snapped back to alarmed awareness when they realized they were about to go for another round; screams filled the room as they all started to panic, scrambling to untangle themselves and put as much distance between themselves and the source of their agony as possible. The dragon perked up in surprise as the mound he was standing on began squirming violently under its feet, prompting it to hop off the pile before it lost its footing. Its claws clicked on the smoothed crystal floor as it turned around to watch all his former 'attackers' kicking and clawing, looking to all the world like a pile of stuck green pigs squealing in fear.

It was such a comedic, unflattering display that Oberon nearly lost his composure, his anger and red glow quickly fading as strong amusement tugged at the sides of his lips. The hatchling turned to look up at him, cocking its head to the side curiously, confused at the sudden shift in emotion it had sensed in this tall golden newcomer.

And despite her injuries, even the captain managed her own small grin. "We got him 'bout halfway back to the palace when he caught his first wind of life, at which point he started beating the honeydew outta us." She chuckled mirthfully. "Barely out of the egg and able to wipe out an entire squad." She gave a chuckle of begrudging respect. "He's a fighting spirit, if nothing else."

"That will serve him well in the life that awaits him." Oberon said with a tone of admiration, before clearing his throat and steadying his mirth. There were far more important things to take care of right now; first, he turned his attention to the Treant guards, who had been standing back and watching the whole situation in silence, though a twinkle of amusement could be seen in their amber eyes. "Summon the Petals and have them take these Thorns to the infirmary." He commanded them. "Make sure each of these brave souls are given the best treatment we can provide; they deserve nothing less for their deeds tonight."

The Treant on the left nodded. "Stay away from the trees!" He boomed before turning to the hall outside; a glimmering glow of green and yellow magic began flowing through his branches, along with a light shower of sparkling pollen falling from his leaves. And soon enough, the musical giggles and fluttering of wings echoed through the halls as the Petals, small child-like pixies with dragonfly-like wings, dressed in tunics made of colorful flowers, answered the call; they fluttered and danced about, leaving a trail of sparkling dust behind them as they flew, which covered the bodies of the Thorns. The entire squad gave sighs of relief as the Petal's magic soothed the pain of their wounds, the dust coating the scratches and stopping the bleeding.

As the others prepared to move the squad to the royal infirmary for their promised healing, Oberon knelt down in front of the Safi'jiiva wyrmling, who had been watching the magical display with the wide-eyed wonder of a child; the hatchling snapped out of its trance when it noticed him move and turned to stare at him with suspicious eyes, giving a high-pitched growl of warning as it prepared to fight again.

"No need to fear, Son of Akatosh." The King of the Fairies assured him calmly, holding his hands up to show he was unarmed. "You're in the heart of our forest, and here you're among allies."

He then slowly lowered his hands and held the right one out in beckoning, as one would to a frightened animal.

After he had hatched, the young dragon's body and mind alike was still reeling from the trauma of being born; the shock of being torn from non-existence and thrown into the wide waking world of life was one that leaves all creatures reeling from it. However, he was a dragon, and thus a reptile; just like lizards and serpents, they hatched relatively independent and capable of surviving without parental rearing if circumstances forced it. After a few minutes of adjusting to his new existence, weaving in and out of a hazy mist, something in his brain finally snapped in place; the haze of confusion lifted, the sensations of the body became bearable, and from deep within his blood sprung forth a flood of ancient knowledge and instincts: feed on the flesh of prey to survive, take shelter from the dangers of the sky, seek out and gather the sparkling treasure of the earth, and fight tooth, claw, and flame against all who opposed his place as ruler of the land.

And the first thing he came to realize was that he was in the grasp of an unfamiliar creature, surrounded by more of them on all sides; tall, spike-covered beings with green skin and a scent like stripped tree branches. Unaware of their true intentions, the instinct to defend himself from potential threats took hold and he attacked; he shrieked, bit, scratched, struck, and kicked with primal fury, but despite their wounds, despite clearly being in pain, they would not release him and continued to carry him through the trees, while any attempts they made to force him still were met with stronger blows.

They did not stop until they brought him into the giant tree, finally collapsing from their injuries and allowing him to wriggle free from their grasp.

And now here he was: in their strange green, brown and gold cave with light inside, standing before a taller being with pointed ears, horns of treasure on his head, and his body shimmering with a golden glow.

The elder dragon pup stopped growling but remained on his guard as he eyed the hand with suspicion, unsure of what to make of all these shimmering creatures. Despite them taking him to this place, they didn't harm him doing so; even as he hurt them, they didn't once try to hurt him back, only to try to hold him still. And this tall golden one...this must've been their Alpha, and one great power, given how even the moving trees that towered over him followed his voice with respectful loyalty; a creature could not command its physical greater unless there was a hidden strength it had to keep them in submission.

The Alpha of the Forest itself...and yet, despite being one who could command the very trees, he was making no attempt to harm him either. Just offering his hand, waiting for him to make the first move.

Ultimately, curiosity won over instinct, and with a hesitant croon the purple wyrmling took a step forward and sniffed the hand held out to him.

The Alpha of the Forest smelled like tree sap.

But the scent of the eladrin clicked with something deep within his blood, and another flood of instinctual knowledge rushed through his mind; images of a great glimmering tree from a far-away land. A magic tied deeply with the very world. Of his kind alongside the winged creatures of magic, neither side attacking nor fearing the other, but instead aiding each other in the eternal battle of survival.

A symbiotic alliance between two magical species.

Now he understood their intentions. Why they had brought him to this place without attacking him. Why the Alpha offered him his hand rather than raise it against him. These were fairies. The children of the Great Hollow. The ones who loved his kind and called him friend.

They were here to help him.

Any form of hostility remaining within him faded away as a deeply-welcomed sense of relief and comfort washed over him, now knowing he was finally safe from all the potential dangers lurking in the dark. His crooning became a pleased purr as he pushed his nose into the king's calloused but gentle hand, basking in the warm touch and the genetically-familiar smell of fairy magic (along with the sweet scent of tree sap).

Oberon smiled at the gesture, gently stroking the side of the dragon's snout with his fingers as it nuzzled his palm. When he felt the wyrmling was comfortable enough, he reached down with both hands to pick him up under the forearms; the wyrmling shifted at the sudden movement, but ultimately allowed it to happen, being lifted up as Oberon stood back up, holding the small creature in front of him like one would lift a puppy. Though in this case, a scaly, winged, fire-breathing puppy with a long enough tail that the tip nearly touched the ground.

"For ten generations, we've awaited your birth." He said in hushed awe as he admired the infant in his hold, his emerald eyes meeting the creature's magenta ones. "For twenty thousand winters we've prayed for the day when you would once again grace us with your glory. For the chance for us to right the wrongs of our past, and see your kind restored to honor."

Too young to understand the words being spoken to him, to acknowledge the true weight they held, the dragon ignored them in favor of reaching up with his serpentine neck and gnawing at the rim of the king's crown, attracted to the gold. Oberon carried the purple wyrmling in his arms as he made his way through the study to the balcony, stepping out into the night.

And then the King of the Fair Folk lifted the wyrmling to the sky, as if presenting him to the world.

The sensation of being up in the air prompted the dragon to flap his wings in a lazy, awkward manner, the instinct there despite not yet knowing how to fly. Behind him, from Oberon 's point of view, the brilliant orange and green beams of moonlight from Zella and Adrano crossed paths into a single beam of bluish-purple light, which bathed the dragon like an almost heavenly aura.

The effect was not merely that of the light, though: the moment the combined moonlight touched his scales, the purple Safi'jiiva began to radiate with an ancient power drawn from deep within his body; mystical, bright-purple light glowed from under his armored skin, lighting him up with fiery stripes across his body and constellation-like markings across his wings, giving him an outright-divine appearance that shone brightly in the dark. An appearance only amplified as his eyes glowed with a brilliant white, like twin stars shining in the night.

This was the confirmation Oberon needed, the first tears he had shed in many, many years coming to his eyes as the baby dragon's high-pitched roar echoed through the night sky; the proof that this was indeed the beast of legend he and his people had waited so long to see.

The Aetherian Safi'jiiva...or the Purple Dragon, as he was known by the mortals. The Son of Akatosh. The Great Cleanser. The Lord of Time. The Heart of the Aether.

"And now, after all these years, the day has finally come...Jendovahzoor."