I am Dragon (Dragon Fires Rising Book 2) by Marc Secchia (famous ebook reader TXT) 📕

Are you alright, son?

I am not your son, remember? More bitter than he had intended. Biting his lip to quell his emotions, he raised his muzzle to regard Blaze.

Can I explain? I was young, ambitious and enamoured of Indigofire –

Stop. Please, enough. Dragon heaved a sigh worth the weight of ten hearts rather than five. Just now, I cannot … hear what you have to say. Maybe one day, I will be ready to receive your word.

Is there no forgiveness left –

Twenty years! Twenty years you let me suffer and now you beg forgiveness? Sucking back his fires, he considered how close he had come to flaming his own father. Perhaps Blaze expected it; even wanted a sign of punishment. I cannot go there, not yet. This betrayal is far too raw.

Literally. His hide bled in a few places where the vigorous act of being stripped by large, energetic helpers had torn at the far softer new hide beneath. No battles for a few months, Juggernaut had advised balefully, until his hide hardened again.

Just like a hatchling.

Inside of him was a youngling who had always yearned for his father’s love. How did one ever, ever restore such a rift?

Examining his hearts, he discovered a surprising truth. Slowly and thoughtfully, he said, When the three years and three days have passed, I promise upon my oath that I will come to speak with you about this, Blaze the Devastator. Until then, I cast you out of my life. You are not my sire. I have no sire, for that Dragon is a despicable thief and one who stood by and let abuse endure for far too long – and for what? To satisfy his pride and selfish ambition?

The other heaved a huge sigh.

Dragon said, I would know one thing –

Anything.

What was her name?

Sirensong.

So many questions. Had he loved her? Was it but a dalliance? Was she alluring? Had he treated her well, or decimated her very Dragoness hearts – he must have? What mother would have given up her egg? Or could there be more tragedy waiting for him somewhere out there in the Lumis Ocean?

At length, Blaze said, For what it is worth, I have never been prouder of you, Dragon.

Now, after twenty years?

Hatred? Bitterness? Relief? He had no idea what he felt – most of all, an all-pervading sense of numbness. He wished nothing more than that his sire would leave him alone. Forever.

Very soon, the heavy tread departed.

Perhaps his sire fled.

Sirensong. One more reason for him to fly up to the Vaylarn Archipelago. If he was not mistaken, the annual migration should arrive in five to six weeks’ time, if anything they had learned and surmised was correct. Would she be swimming with the Sea Dragons? Might he see her …

“You alright?”

He nearly shed his new scales in fright. “Princess. No.”

“Would you like company?”

“Not really.” How much had she overheard? Everything? “Only if …”

“I understand.”

Stepping over his crossed forepaws, she slipped into her usual place in the crook of his neck. Said nothing. Asked no questions. Did not act like anything but a perfect friend cosying up for the night. Irrationally, that was exactly what broke him.

Covering his Princess with his wing for warmth, his shoulders shook. He tried to clamp his muzzle shut with his paws. Vain hope. The first lament was not long in coming. Moans wrenched from the depths of his soul.

What fool had first uttered the phrase, ‘big Dragons don’t cry?’

What a heaviness of grief. He could only release it as best he knew how, or face being crushed.

* * * *

His kin flew on just as Dragon stirred to the awareness of a Taramis-first sunrise. He hoped that Blaze flew to make things right with Indigofire. To warn her of what must surely come; the price that must be paid for what they had surely plotted together. What had broken his sire’s resolve to keep the secret buried deep? Could it be that such secrets carried a dreadful weight of their own? Or had his hearts burned for the fate of his son? He wanted to believe it.

Some Dragons had already flown on the previous evening. They agreed that Juggernaut’s lair would be the base of operations. A small mixed group planned to travel south within a day or two to speak with King N’chala and to bring reports back to their respective Clans. The Obliterators, who had a blood feud with the Terror Clan, departed muttering about plans to ‘see to those Terrors once and for all.’

He approved.

The previous evening felt like a dream – or nightmare – until he spied the still-smoking tree on the other side of the training ground.

Gnarr. With extra gnarliness.

How to annoy oneself with one’s own puns.

Naturally, Azania slept the sleep of the innocent, one of the greatest lies under the suns. Inveterate rascal. He muttered, “ ‘Dragon steaks. Oh, I’ve been wanting to carve a little of the male ego out of you for months, Dragon.’ Right, Princess. The feeling happens to be mutual …”

His crackpot monologue ended at the sight of white paws peeking out from beneath a wing that was definitely turning white, with those rich brown tones tracing the veins and struts, like the veins of an autumnal leaf.

Not too many half-air half-water Dragons about, were there?

How was he even supposed to think of this colour as him? Although, warming up his ego a tad, one must admit it was a far more fetching colouration than his old ability to blend in with swamps, mud flats and sundry roof tiles. He refused to miss that gift. Now, he could hide amongst melting snow. Perfect disguise for the Obsidian Desert, right? Would not stick out like a sore talon everywhere he