Chapter Text
Silver light bathed the lonely volcano island; billions of bright eyes gazing down at the scorched earth. Under a single moon and the starriest of skies, a tribe of dragons had recently claimed the ashen lands as territory. It was seldom a place to call home but to the elusive NightWings, it offered seclusion and enough food to survive.
It was a refuge from the mainland.
It was a refuge from them.
Quasar huffed angrily as her sight scanned the peak of the volcano. The highest summit, perched on a flat platform, was the nesting place of a few eggs. The NightWing recalled fleeing the mainland, clutching her only egg tightly as the wingbeats of hundreds followed suit. She'd witnessed a few others fall trying to protect their future hatchling, meeting a terrible end to the IceWing's frost breath and serrated claws.
Yet despite the severe tension and conflict between the tribes, Quasar had fallen in love back on the mainland. A treacherous act to some, the NightWing's heart warmed up to an IceWing named Borealis. Though unfortunately, the pair's love was short but unrequited. Quasar fled with her tribe, leaving the mainland and her mate behind. The IceWing returned to the frosty tundra, never to be seen again by the NightWing.
The result of their brief union was now right in front of her; a silver egg reflecting the moonlight. Quasar brushed a single claw along the smooth surface, her thoughts swirling. The other NightWings already saw her as a traitor. Her time to hunt on the mainland had been revoked. Battlewinner herself had scorned Quasar.
Everyone was struggling to get by but Quasar was left dealing with the worst of it. Scraps and bones as meals, merely sustaining herself on the marrow, was miserable. Why aren't I being executed? Is it because there's so little of us left?
The NightWing's thoughts were interrupted when the eggshell began to crack and peel away. Leaning down to observe the hatching up close, Quasar held her breath as she watched a small dragonet emerge. Immediately she was reminded of Borealis, the familiar yellow diamond pattern on the hatchling's face bringing memories back.
The dragonet shared too many similarities with the IceWing. From the many shades of blue to the antler-like horns, Quasar's daughter would be an outcast. The same diamond patterns adorned the youngling's horns, and her tail had a spiky, narrowed end. However her small body was completely dotted with silver, as if the very stars themselves had showered over her.
“You better grow up into something great,” Quasar mumbled under her breath as the hatchling rolled by her front paws. “Starchaser.”