“When Dreams Die”

Chapter Three

Holding his brother’s lifeless frame in his arms, Wildwing decided to turn his entire fury upon the black and orange uniformed drake who stepped in front him. “Who are you? What have you done to my brother?”

The newcomer’s eyes narrowed, as if he barely tolerated the demand made upon him, and opened his beak with a spiteful expression, but Tanya cut off him. She hurried past him, knocking the slightly older drake in the shoulder, then fell her to knees at Nosedive’s side. She quickly checked over his vitals and pressed down on the wound upon the boy’s torso, which already had slowed from torrents to trickles. She let out an exhale and nodded with a smile to Wildwing.

“He’ll be okay. The trauma resulting from his fall was minimal, thank the Stars. It seemed to be impaled by some the garbage but nothing too severe. With some rest, he should be on his feet within a day or two.”

Wildwing relaxed visibly, and his relief allowed him to focus the majority of his anger and worry toward the drake before him once more. “Who are you?” he repeated.

Bowing slightly, though it seemed more derisive, the drake explained, “I am Drysith, sworn protector and guardian of Queen Flarren, ruling monarch of the Firehawks and Flarasia.”

Though Wildwing’s feathers were completely white, color still drained from his neck, for the Mask covered most of his face. He shook his head in disbelief, but the truth could not be changed.

In a flash of orange, a girl, barely older than Nosedive, came to stand by Drysith’s left, and she chattered merrily, “You were right, Drysith, like always. Her grace said to—” Her orange orbs went wide-eyed at the sight of the bruised and bedraggled Nosedive before she cringed. “Oh, that is not good. Flarren will not like that.”

“Then we must not tell her,” Drysith seethed through clenched teeth. “Perhaps we can wait to deliver the Son of Fire until he is—”

Tanya turned on the ground at the words the Fire Mistress spoke not a day earlier, but Wildwing only tensed his grip upon his brother. He had practically raised the hatchling in his protective arms, albeit with their father. He’d watched over the boy since he had been brought to the Ice Drake world, and he would not allow these people—his betrayers—to take Nosedive Flashblade, his baby brother, away.

A bleeping cut off any reply Wildwing would have delivered, and he opened his comm. unit. Canard’s worried and rather pale face filled the circle after a moment of static. “Wildwing, come in! I lost the kid!”

“He’s here, Canard. What happened?” Wildwing kept his eyes narrowed at the two drakes before him, but he listened to Canard. He always listened to Canard when he spoke. When his best friend told him what Wraith had done and finally how Drysith had taken Nosedive to the Fire, he asked the Firehawk before him, “What did you do? Why did you bring my little brother here?”

“The Saurian you call ‘Wraith’ attempted to steal the boy’s Fire,” the drake said long-sufferingly, almost impatiently. “You Ice Drakes have no conception of Firehawks but know this. If the Fire Goddess’s gift is stolen from us, we cannot live. It is through her will and her burning lifeforce that we survive; thus, I needed to immerse the boy in it to reinstate his connection to the Fire Goddess.

“Now.” Drysith patted his blaster on his thigh and nodded toward Sparx. “We have been ordered to bring the boy to Flarasia. Relinquish him or face the wrath of the Firehawks.”

“So he can be caught in the middle of a civil war? I don’t think so,” Wildwing scoffed, hearing the cocking of Mallory’s weapon behind him and the glimmer of Duke’s sword as the former thief activated it. Grin’s knuckles crackled, perhaps the most threatening warning of them all. No one wanted to mess with Grin. No one.

Apparently, not even Drysith. The drake never backed down, but his serious face contorted to be embittered. “So, you know who and what this boy is.”

Wildwing’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Yes.”

“Then you know he must return to Flarasia if our people are to survive.”

“I know that he was brought to Puckworld to be free of the social responsibility your people wished to force upon him, a duty that should not be born to anyone, especially one so young.”

Drysith took a step forward, his blaster drawn. “Enough talk and conundrums. The boy does not belong to you or your people, and I refuse to allow him to stay under your control any longer. I am the queen’s personal guard; that position was given to me for a reason. You do not wish to find out why.”

“I do not believe it was to be a kidnapper,” Tanya interjected, her omnitool now burning with a bright blue laser. “Dive needs rest and medical attention at our base. Come with us, and I believe I am right in saying Wildwing will be kind enough to hear your grievances.”

Sparx snatched Drysith’s sleeve and tugged once. “Flarren will want him alive and well, Drysith.”

“I know what Flarren would want!” he barked, never once turning from Wildwing’s steady gaze. “You believe yourself in power, having raised the boy, but he belongs to another. You have no right to keep him.”

“You have no right to make demands of me,” Wildwing retorted harshly. “I made a promise a long time to protect him no matter what and from whomever wished to bring him harm. I will not forsake my duty as his brother and guardian to allow you to deliver him into a war that has nothing to do with him.”

“Then you know nothing!” Drysith’s hand sliced horizontally through the air. “Once he discovers the truth—”

“—he will make his decision, not you and me,” Wildwing finished in finality, “but I will be damned if my brother will be used as a pawn in some sick game of Risk.”

“Then you have nothing in which to be concerned.” Drysith raised his beak, his raised eyes focusing upon Wildwing as if the drake was a lower life form. “After all, he is not your brother.”

Wildwing gasped before his face contorted in emotional anguish. As the ducks all turned to him in stunned alarm, the team leader simply gathered the teenage drake in his arms, stood, and turned away from the Firehawks.

*^*^*

Kres put his forearms between Calder’s in a last ditch attempt to save himself, but his guardian was his guardian for a reason. Not only was the older drake deadly with any weapon, Calder was built. He had a half a foot on Kres with the body mass to match it. There would be only one way Kres could ever be killed by any assassin, and that would be by his guardian’s own hand.

Fierce Fire, so it was.

Kres’s lungs burned with the fire not born to him but instead one he’d die from. A stabbing cut into his throat as the unrelenting hands closed off his air flow. Choking, he blinked against the white light floating through his vision, along with the snow covering more than the ground. Still, he saw his guardian’s tears, staining his face red, while his morose eyes allowed Kres to see the truth in Calder’s soul.

His guardian truly believed he was doing what was right for Kres. There was no other way to save the boy from a painful and sadistic death. The torture the Saurian put him through proved just that.

With his own tears plunging down his face and terrific panic filling his heart, Kres still fought until his arms weakened and his lungs no longer having the oxygen to give. Exhaustion gripped his being, and his hands slipped from Calder’s wrists, his eyes rolling back into his head.

“Forgive me, Raen, but there is no way he could escape the Saurians,” Calder sobbed.

A thwack of his arrow pierced the air before its sharp tip buried itself into Calder’s shoulder. The guardian’s hands instantly lost their strangle hold upon Kres, allowing the boy to crumble his knees. The princeling leaned forward on all fours; his back heaved with air and wracked with coughs. Oh, Mistress, Fire Mistress…the air tasted so sweet, relief in every breath.

Still, fear rushed through him when the horses broke through the forest’s night, and a warrior slid down his steed. A sword drew from a sheath, and Kres ducked his head, grimacing at the pain in his neck, and covered his head with his hands.

A thud, a grunt—and Kres hesitantly raised to his head to see a white drake, dressed in a gold tunic with a heavy cloak. His sword blade desired blood, hovering just underneath Calder’s beak, while his hardened gaze gave no reprieved to the already bleeding guardian.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t kill you now,” King Raen demanded, his teeth cleaned, his hand poised to stab.

Soft hands clutched his shoulders, and at first, Kres flinched. Then, the murmured voice soothed, “It is alright, my prince. We will not allow any more harm to come to you.”

Kres recognized the voice from one of guards who had been stationed outside his door—“Raen’s most trusted soldiers,” Calder had called them. The second guard fell to his knees and draped another cloak over the boy’s shoulders.

“Come. Let us take care of you.”

Kres opened his beak to speak, but instead, a wet choke rasped. Raen’s eyes immediately shifted from Calder to his little brother. Swiftly, he turned back, slammed a fist across Calder’s face, then fell to his brother’s side. While Calder sunk down to the base of the tree, Kres crawled into his brother’s arms. Raen shhhed him gently and ran a tender hair through the boy’s free hair.

“It’s okay, Kres. It’s over. It’s all over.”

Saurian shouts!

Raen tensed, then whirled his head. Kres opened his eyes to see three generals before him, or so he remembered them to be.

“Hold them off until we are a safe distance ahead,” the king ordered, “At the moment, my brother needs me.”

The eldest general, who sat upon a horse, bowed in his saddle, then drew his blaster from its holster. “Of course, your grace. Please watch over his highness.” Then, with a shouted commander, all three generals took off past Raen and Kres. Following him stomped hundreds—if not thousands—of avian soldiers. Snow and dirt flickered upon them, but Raen kept him safe, pressing Kres’s head into his chest and wrapping his cloak still around his shoulders and his brother’s as well.

When they finally finished their precession and only the most loyal guards and Calder remained, Raen tilted his brother’s beak up with a bent knuckle and smiled down softly. “Come on. Why don’t we let the soliders handle this, huh?”

Kres kept in a hiss at his moving neck and fought the nod he wanted to give. Instead, he replied, “Yeah,” then allowed his brother to heave him to his feet. With help into a horse’s spur, he accepted the reins one of the guards handed him, then waited for Raen to mount his horse. Once he did so, the king directed his horse to stand in front of Calder, then pointed a condemning finger down at the guardian, who breathed shallowly, his face paler than death, blood drenching his torn shoulder.

“You have forsaken your sacred oath and attempted to murder my brother. Have you nothing to say for your actions?”

Calder tried to muster a reply, but eventually, as blood seeped through the crack of his beak and down his chin, he shook his head.

“Fine, then. Your punishment is simple. You are condemned to your fate among the Saurians. May they find you and deliver the same fate they wished to give my brother.”

His voice raspy, Kres hardly recognized his own voice, “Your grace? Y—You’re—”

Raen whirled, apparently shocked by the title spoken by his brother, and rode up to Kres’s side. He patted the boy on the knee. “You have been through enough. Let’s find you a place to rest.”

Before Kres could argue, Raen grabbed hold of his reins and pulled his horse along as they headed toward the woods. Kres turned about his saddle to steal a final gaze at Calder. As much as his guardian scared him now—The person he revered as a second older brother tried to kill him!—he knew Calder’s intentions. Calder thought he was truly doing right, even if he was wrong. As the shouts of the Saurian soldiers and the sounds of the battle rushed into Kres’s ears, even as he and Raen tried to put distance between them and the fighters, he knew it was only a matter of moments before they came upon Calder. He couldn’t let that happen. His guardian had saved his life numerous times; he had to return the favor at least once.

Seizing his reins back with a snap, he whirled his horse about and kicked his heels into its flanks.

“Kres!” his brother screamed, but the boy ignored him.

The teen’s horse tore into the ground to propel them forward, and as he came to a halt in front of Calder’s leaking and pallid body, he reached down to his guardian. “Come on! We don’t have much time.”

The clangs of the swords and the lights of the blasters became louder.

Calder shook his head drearily and focused upon the ground with a pitiful look. “Your brother has made his decree, my prince, and he is right. I failed you and forsook my duty. I deserve the fate I have been given.”

“Damn your fate and damn you!” He extended his hand painfully. “Please! This is foolish!”

Raen growled as his horse dug his heels into the ground to stop, and the king slapped his brother up the side of the head. “Kres! He tried to kill you! Are you mad?”

“And he saved my life time and time again! At least listen to him before you pass judgment, your grace!”

Raen stared bewildered at his brother before sighing and shaking his head. “And this is why you are not the king. You rule with your heart and not with your head.”

“And you are any different?” Kres shout back.

“Maybe not, but I am,” a Saurian sneered and lunged forward out of the forest, his blade focused and poised to stab Kres directly in the chest.

With lightning speed, despite his injuries, Calder seized the Saurian’s sword handle, twisted the blade without ever stealing it from the lizard’s hand, and buried it deep within the lizard’s stomach. As the Saurian crumbled to the ground, Calder muttered, “No one harms the prince.”

Raen sighed, but Kres knew the implications behind that. How could he condemn the guardian after he’d just saved his brother’s life—even if he had tried to take it? This proved at least his reasons were not unfounded, if not still inane.

“Kres,” Raen beckoned with furled fingers, “ride with me.”

With a hopeful grin, the boy dismounted, then grabbed his brother’s hand and allowed himself to be pulled up behind Raen on the horse. Then, with a nod toward Calder, Raen decreed, “Narys, Rynce, watch him. Do not allow him out of your sight.” Reining his horse about, Raen said over his shoulder, “He almost killed my brother once tonight. I will not allow him to do so a second time.”

Then, he urged his horse forward, and with his arms about his brother, Kres leaned his head against Raen’s back and allowed his brother’s warmth, as well as the king’s hand over his own, to comfort him.

*^*^*

Nosedive first heard the tick-tock of the wall, and he immediately realized he had fallen asleep against Raen. He only hoped he kept in the saddle, for if he fell off his brother’s mount, he doubted he wouldn’t feel the aftereffects. Then again, his guardian had just tried to kill him; he was sure that would hurt later.

“So, how long do you intend to lounge around? I’m not bringing you food in bed this time, y’know?”

Nosedive mentally wanted to smack himself in the head; he’d been in the infirmary way too often. After all, isn’t that how Tanya got to know him so well?

Granting Tanya with what she wanted, he opened his eyes and fixed her with a mock-exasperated glare. “What? No room service?”

To his surprise and delight, Tanya waved a brown bag over his head. “Might not be gourmet, but it’s edible.”

The bag acted like bait dangling from a fisher’s line, dragging the boy into a sitting position. He cringed at the slight aching in his back, and he retained no doubts about the bruises there, too. He couldn’t see them through the T-shirt he now wore, along with the shorts under the blanket and forgot about them when he seized the bag from Tanya and opened it hastily. Thank the Fire Goddess for his brother; Wildwing always made the best sandwiches.

Thinking about his brother…”So, where’s Wing?”

Tanya suddenly looked upset and very sad. “He’s…talking with some visitors.”

Nosedive furled an eyebrow. “The plaintiffs of the lawsuits?”

“No,” Tanya scoffed with a tiny chuckle. “Those will be easily taken care of. Apparently, the city is suing us for a car they say we damaged during a battle with Dragaunus, and few others are suing for legal fees. If I remember correctly, and so does our accountant, we already paid both of those. So, we should be okay. This…” She let out a long sigh, then leaned over to fidget with his bangs. At that moment, she reminded him so much of Tasha. “This is something completely different.”

“How so?” He finished the peanut butter and jelly sandwich and took a swig of the green tea drink.

The door opened to reveal Wildwing, sans the Mask and battlegear. Dressed in his jeans and a wrinkled T-shirt, he looked so very tired with dark circles under his eyes. “Hey, kiddo. You gave us a little scare.”

Nosedive returned his small smile. “I’ll try not to do it again.”

Wildwing chuckled. “Like I haven’t heard that one before.” Then, he sighed loudly, rubbing the back of his neck.

Fear washed through Nosedive; he only seen his brother this seriously three times in his entire life. Once, when he was five, and their house had been invaded by an insurgent group. He didn’t remember much of the incident, but he vividly saw his brother’s morose face. Then, when he was nine and Dad Flashblade had been moved back the capital, he’d almost accepted the Fire Mistress’s call and had actually battled his brother and his new best friend, Canard. The last time had been just during the Invasion, and the Saurians tore them apart.

Thus, Nosedive knew something was wrong—horribly wrong.

“Wing…?”

His brother looked at him, then quickly averted his eyes. In the deafening silence, the swooshing of the door as it opened was devastating.

“Ah, so the boy has awoken,” the drake, dressed in a suit very similar to the one the Fire Mistress had given him, said as he came forward. “It is time he knew the truth.”

Truth? Oh, Goddess. It started to sound as if he was in Isylaca.

Wildwing stood abruptly and met the drake forthwith. “I promised the Prime Leader of Puckworld that I would not explain the situation until he turned twenty-one. At that time, he will be able to meet the demands placed upon him. Now, he’s still a teenager.”

“I do not need to inform you, deceiver, that the proclamations of your ruler have no bearing upon me, and I am truly regretful to inform you that the boy’s age is irrelevant to the future of Flarasia.”

Who was this guy? And who was Flarasia?

“The boy has the right to know who is he is, and right now, the Saurians seem to. Though your war means nothing to my people, any who endanger the boy is an enemy of mine. He needs to know, too, so he can protect himself.”

“Uh, guys?” Nosedive interjected, waving a hand in the air. “What the hell are you talking about? And just who the hell are you?”

“At least we agree on one thing, Drysith,” Wildwing replied. “Any who dares to harm Nosedive is enemy.” Sighing, the older brother rubbed his forehead before turning toward Nosedive. “And it is time he knew.”

“Knew what?” Nosedive demanded, but Wildwing only returned by telling his brother to meet him afterward in the Ready Room after he changed into jeans and boots.

He complied quickly and found his brother in the aforementioned room, where Wildwing vacated a seat for him, then leaned against Drake One’s console, looking lost and utterly broken. Nosedive had never seen him so distraught, and it worried him to no end. What could these newcomers possibly say to upset his brother so much?

He looked toward Drysith and saw a girl as well, one not much older than he. She smiled slightly at him, then straightened her back to be as tense as Drysith’s.

The older drake looked down at him, his eyes unwavering in their focus. “Tell me something, boy—” Why did everyone older than he enjoyed calling him “boy” or “kid”? “—you must wondered why you’ve never been burned before or just from where you received the ability to weave fire?”

Nosedive’s eyes narrowed dangerously before he whirled toward his brother. “You told them? People you’ve just met you’ve told I’m a freak?”

“No,” Wildwing whispered, grimacing. “I didn’t.”

“He did not need to,” Drysith interjected, taking a step forward. “It is a common trait of my people…Nosedive. Like the Ice Drakes can strive in ice, we do in heat. It is how we received our name—Firehawks.”

“But what does this have to do with me?” Nosedive glanced toward Wildwing, who still refused to meet his gaze.

“A lot, actually.” The female Firehawk flittered forward, her voice bubbling with excitement. “About fifteen years ago, a member of our nobility disappeared, stolen from our kingdom without a trace. The queen asked us, her personal guards, to seek out the boy who was lost and return him to Flarasia.” She bowed her head, then fell to one knee. Drysith knelt next to her. “You are that boy.”

Nosedive met both of their serious gazes, looking from one to other, before cracking up laughing. “Okay, fine. Who put you up to this? Is this your idea, Wing?” When his brother refused to even glance at him, Nosedive whirled back to the two Firehawks. “Fine then. Mallory? No? Duke?”

“This is no joke,” Drysith said sternly. His face barely moved.

His severity drew all the humor from Nosedive, who spat outright, “You’re insane. Just crazy. There is no way I’m a Firehawk. Aren’t they supposed to be mythical creatures anyway?”

Drysith bristled, while Sparx smirked at her partner’s anger. “Just because the Ice Drakes have not seen us in over a millennium does not we are mere myths.”

“No. You’re right. It just makes you hermits.”

Unlike usual, Wildwing remained silent, not snorting when his brother made a comment.

So, Nosedive tried harder. “Please. I can’t be a Firehawk. I’m little-girl-scared of Fire, right, Wing?” When he only met silence, he turned about in his chair, beseeching toward his somber brother. “…Bro?”

Wildwing cringed, his emotional turmoil tangible upon his face.

“Son of Fire, haven’t you guessed yet?” Drysith interjected, laying a hand upon Nosedive’s shoulder. “If you are a Firehawk and Flashblade an Ice Drake, then there is no way you can be brothers.”

Calling him a myth, okay, Nosedive could deal with that, but downright dismissing the one thing Nosedive always depended upon, knew to be true when nothing else was, alarmed the teen drake. “You’re lying!” Nosedive shouted, throwing off Drysith’s hand. “My brother and father raised me! I grew up on Puckworld! I—I’m just a freak! Right, Wing?”

And suddenly, a queasy, sinking feeling besieged his gut at his brother’s withdrawn nature. …no. It couldn’t be true. It just couldn’t be. Nosedive leapt forward and seized his brother by the shoulders, shaking them madly. “Stars, Wildwing! Will you say something? Anything! It can’t be—”

Wildwing scared him more in life than even the Saurians did when they invaded or when he gave himself to the Fire, with three simple words. “…I’m sorry, Dive.”

Releasing Wildwing, Nosedive staggered backward. Shock froze time, and he only stared at his broken brother—no. Wildwing wasn’t his brother, but how could that be? His entire life, Wildwing was there for him, cared for him, loved him when only a few people did. How could this be true? He knotted his hands in his hair, then pulled them out to shout through his tears, “How is this possible? How could you ever—”

His breathing increased as his chest expanded and contracted. He tried his best to calm it alone, but he couldn’t. His tears mixed with his swift inhales, and he couldn’t breathe. He could hardly think, and a hand clamped over his beak, not allowing him to breathe at all. A brown bag followed to help him.

“Take deep breaths,” Wildwing commanded, and like always, Nosedive obeyed.

When his breathing finally evened out, he tugged off the bag and tore his body from his brother’s embrace. “How could you lie to me? What was I to you? Something Dad just gave you to amuse yourself when we worked long hours?”

“No! Damnit, Dive! It’s not like that!”

“Then was it because you had moved so many times you needed a companion to keep you company? Or—or!” Nosedive took a half-step back to be out of Wildwing’s grip, but the older brother lunged forward to snatch the boy’s hands. When Nosedive struggled to pull away and flee, Wildwing forced him back against Drake One’s console, and terror filled the younger drake’s eyes. He felt pinned to the tree once more, Calder ready to kill him to save him.

But Wildwing wasn’t Calder or Canard.

“Please…” Demoralized tears poured from Wildwing’s trembling eyes as he shook his brother madly, scaring the younger mallard with his intensity. “We will you just listen to me for a few moments, and I promise I’ll make it right. Please. I’ve never asked you for anything, but please…I need you to listen to me.”

Nosedive’s struggling down immediately at Wildwing’s desperate plea, especially since he heard the severity of it and the truth within. Wildwing was right. He never did ask for anything; even when Canard came for them and tricked Wildwing into thinking Nosedive couldn’t follow, Wildwing had never asked him if he would come. He only asked Canard.

Thus, with his heart still searing and his life about him in shambles, Nosedive nodded and allowed his brother to speak. Drysith, standing in the middle of the Ready Room, folded his arms over his chest and listened with a neutral expression. He seemed willing to allow Wildwing to talk if for no other reason than the boy learned who he was and how he came to be where he was. After all, he was probably better coming from Wildwing than him. Next to him, Sparx fell to the ground and sat cross-legged, an elbow upon each knee with her fists holding up her head. Again, she acted like a child and nothing more.

“When I first met you, my mother had just…well, y’know what happened there,” Wildwing began with a sigh and collapsed into the seat Nosedive had occupied. “Dad was still getting use to be a single parent, and he hired a babysitter most of the time to watch me. It was pretty hard, but we made it work. He usually let the sitter go at night, and he’d play with me or something. But sometimes he got called into work, and well, what could he do?”

Wildwing stood in the entrance corridor of his home, gazing up at his father as the older drake coaxed through the phone. “Come on, Kel. I really need you tonight. Isn’t there any way you’d—…Double! I’ll pay you double!...Okay, triple!...What? Of course this isn’t a joke. Look, the Prime Leader just called me personally and said he was calling a meeting of the Executive Generals, and it was priority alert status. Do you know that means?....Well, then let me educate you. It means that either we’re being invaded, which hasn’t happened since the Saurians, so I doubt that, or it means the world is imploding. At any case, though, I don’t want my seven-year-old son listening to that, and if he tells someone, let’s just say the military could actually hunt him down and kill him for treason…So? Aren’t you a junior? There will be another prom next year, won’t there?...Hello? Kel, you there?”

He slammed the receiver down and allowed his second hand to join his first on the table and hold him up. His head ducked below his shoulders, and he let out a growled sigh.

“Daddy?” Wildwing peeped, and almost in an instant, the drake’s demeanor shifted. No longer did he ache, but a soft smile appeared upon his beak when he turned and hurried past Wildwing to grab the little hatchling’s coat off the coat hanger.

“Come on, kiddo.” Wilder fit the sleeves onto Wildwing’s arms, then sought out the little hands hidden inside them. “Looks like It’s Take Your Hatchling to Work Day.”

When he zippered up the coat, Wilder dropped the hood upon his son’s head and ventured out into the coldness of the capital. When they reached the governmental complex, the father placed his son on the counter as he emptied his pockets and gave his security clearance. He never had to explain his son. This wasn’t the first time, and encircling Wildwing’s neck with a security pass of the highest clearance. Nuzzling the boy on the top of the head, the guard waved them through. With his son in his arms, Wilder marched down the halls and through passageways until he reached what was affectionately called “The Shit-Hit-the-Fan Room” and walked inside.

Like usual when these meetings were called, no one, not even the Prime Leader, was in uniform. About the long oblong table sat ten female and male ducks, some in jeans like Wilder, others in hockey gear, even two in pajama bottoms with just sweatshirts over their chests. The Prime Leader at the head of the table even wore a jersey and shorts, as if he’d been watching his favorite game of the week and abruptly was pulled away.

However, the ducks in the corner put them all to shame. A male drake stood unfathomable firm with his long, flame hair plaited down his back. His intense orange eyes surveyed the room, paranoia set firm within them, while his placement in front of a female duck and the child in her arms exacerbated his fear. His dress was unlike anything Wildwing had ever seen—an orange and yellow robe encircled his neck and plunged to his feet, while his undershirt, a teal and white, and black breaches and boots, offset the outer coat. Unlike the Puckworlders, he wore an insignia of a fire droplet with an icicle upon his left breast. Circumventing his waist was a golden belt, from which a blaster hung on his left side and a sword from his right.

The female behind him kept her glistening golden hair pulled back in a ponytail, while her teal dress caught her curves and fell to the floor. A gold vest held her tightly about the torso, while a golden cloak kept her warm, or so it seemed by her shivering. Dressed similarly to the drake’s appearance, the boy in her arms used her bosom as a pillow to rest his head upon. His crown was golden, like his mother’s, but his eyes—they were blue as only the core of fire ever was.

They were wide and all-engulfing in their continued learning of the atmosphere about the boy, but as soon as they saw Wildwing, he giggled and actually reached out. His mother instantly scolded him, but it didn’t stop the boy’s fussing.

The Prime Leader, a tall drake with dark, chocolate feathers and honest eyes, motioned for Wilder to fill the last seat on the table, the one directly across from him. “Hello, Wildwing. It’s good to see your father is already training you to become the military leader he is.”

Wildwing waved, then maneuvered into a cross-legged position on the table. Wilder ran a hand through the boy’s hair, then divulged, “Sorry, sir. The babysitter has her prom tonight.”

“Ah. I should have deemed the area around her school a disaster zone and called for an evacuation.”

Wilder chuckled. “I’ll keep that in mind for next time, sir.”

“May we please get on with this?” the drake in the corner demanded, a hand upon his weaponry. “Despite the long distance we have come, there is a good chance our opposition will find my wife and son shortly.”

Though terse in his speech, the Prime Leader responded nonetheless. “Lord Segan, might I profess that you are the one coming to us for help and not the other way around?”

The lord’s face scrunched in anger before it eased, and the drake inclined his head in respect. “Of course, Mr. Leader. I regret my anxiety, but you must understand that I fear for the lives of my family members. Any further delay might cause them harm, and I wish to avoid that if at all possible.”

Wildwing turned his father and muttered, “Dad, will this take long? I’m bored.”

Wilder sighed, then dipped his hand into his jacket pocket. He pulled out playing cards and quickly dealt them into two piles for War. Wildwing turned over his card immediately, while his father turned over his first, too. The boy won, king over ten.

“Before we get into the dispute, I’d like to introduce Lord Segan and his wife, Lady Jovia, and their son,” the Prime Leader introduced firmly. “They come from Flarasia, home of the Firehawks.”

“That is impossible!” a general shouted.

“Preposterous!”

Another snorted. “Please. Firehawks are only a myth.”

Wildwing clapped his hands and scooped up his father’s five. He totally had Wilder’s number this time.

“Now, now, I know it might seem rather unfeasible that these people are actually of an ancient race unknown to us, but they have proven themselves already to be truthful,” the Prime Leader replied, his hand pressing down flat as if on top of a button. “They only ask for one thing from us in exchange for knowledge about their people and their land.”

“It must be a rather steep price,” Wilder interjected, taking away the two cards down and dropping another. Darnit. Wildwing had another king. Where did the boy get them all? “I conjecture you wish asylum here in Puckworld, outside of Flarasia, and protection to go with it. Otherwise, you would have just assimilated within our people. The question is why.” Wilder put a hard straight up on the table at the same time Wildwing did. For the first time, they had the same card type—aces.

War.

Lord Segan stepped forward and bowed once more, though this time, his grim and sharp eyes never dropped to the floor. He continued to glare straight into Wilder’s, meeting the charge head forthwith. “You are unfortunately correct, General—”

“Flashbade. Wilder Flashblade.”

“—General Flashblade.” Segan beseeched to the rest of the table, “Flarasia is at war, even if it is not openly hostile as of yet. The queen has given birth to a child out of wedlock and unbeknownst to many, with an outsider. Never in our entire history has that ever occurred before except once. Most of the her advisors as well as the nobility supported the boy and his succession to the throne. However, there were others who wished to usurp the queen, take the boy, and use him for their own selfish purposes. The queen had her own prerogative. It is believed that she had the boy as a way to bring Flarasia outside of its myth status and once more join the two native people of Puckworld.”

“Where does your kid fit into this? And why are you using past tense?” Wilder demanded.

Segan pondered for a moment, his face stern, his hand unconsciously moving toward his sword handle. “My wife and I supported the queen and her son undeniably, as well as her attempt at tolerance with the outside world. Sadly, the boy did not live past his first hatching day.” Segan’s eyes never dulled and never showed pain, though his voice fell to a murmur, “An assassin killed the boy as he slept.”

“Dad, you didn’t put down a third card to end the war,” Wildwing whispered, then raised his eyes to see his father’s haunted and vacant eyes, marred by the same force Wildwing saw the moment his mother slammed shut the door and never returned—pain, unbearable, forever longing agony of the soul.

“Dad?”

Wilder quickly plastered on a firm front, his face serious, and subconsciously, he drew his son from the table, holding the boy tightly in his arms. When he spoke again, only the closest to him would have heard his hurt. “And your son, Lord Segan?”

The lord bowed. “If the queen does not birth another heir, legitimate or not, then my son will rule. I cannot,” he interjected before a obvious question was asked. “By having a title and a fief already, my place in Flarasia has been secured. Only a boy or girl who has not been tied to a position within society can rule, and being of the second highest house in Flarasia, my son is next-in-succession.”

“Therefore, Lord Segan and Lady Jovia want us to keepsake the boy until he reaches legal age to rule,” the Prime Leader finished. “However, I need you to decide amongst yourselves if you believe this to be the wisest course of action. Do we possibly condemn an innocent boy to his death and send he and his parents back to Flarasia, or do we possibly put ourselves in the middle of a trivial war between royals and perhaps cause a civil war in our own nation?”

Discussion went long and cruel with Wildwing leaning his head against his father’s shoulder. Throughout the entire conversation, Wilder remained silent, alarming his son. After all, Wilder always had something to say.

And he did. When the vote came down, the generals were tied—five, five. The Prime Leader would ultimately make the decision, but he always relied upon the judgment of his top advisors.

“Well, General Flashblade,” the Prime Leader addressed, “what shall it be?”

Wildwing knew his father’s answer even before he spoke it. He saw the pain within the drake’s eyes, felt it about his tiny body when Dad squeezed him tightly. Wilder Flashblade might have been a high-ranking general who prided himself on levelheaded thinking and rationale during tumultuous times, but deep down, he was simply a father.

“The boy stays,” he said in finality, and though protests hit him full force, he simply stood and nodded to the Prime Leader. “I must speak with you immediately. There are matters that need to be discussed.”

“Quite.”

*^*^*

Like usual after an impromptu meeting, Wilder tucked his son into one of the big, fluffy beds in the Prime Leader’s residence, fell into a crouch at the side of the bed, and trailed a hand through his son’s white locks. “I have to speak with the Prime Leader for a while. Sleep, and I’ll wake you up when it’s all over.”

Wildwing faked an angelic yawn and pretended to fight to keep his eyes open. “But I’m not—”

“Of course you aren’t.” Wilder placed a tender kiss on the boy’s forehead, then left.

As soon as the door shut, Wildwing pushed off his covers. He slid off the overly padded bed, and with socked feet, slid his way across the hardwood floors. When he reached the door, he grasped his tiny fingers about the golden, oval handle and twisted. A small clicked sounded, but still, the boy inched the heavy door open. Angered voices entered the corridor, one undeniably Lord Segan’s. The second was higher-pitched, feminine. The speakers eased the door shut across from his, and their whispered voices became furious flings, despite the guards stationed on either side of the entranceway.

“—even care? He’s not your—”

“He is the heir to the throne, Jovia, and you would do well to remember that it was I who decided to take you here, or else you would have been killed as well.”

“But this—Segan! How could we ever—it’s inconceivable! The treasonous actions we have—”

Segan launched forward and grabbed his wife’s wrists before pulling her against him. “Shut up! Just shut up! We are here now, and there is no changing our actions now. You are an accomplice, and at my side you shall remain.” He threw her backs until she slammed into the wall, and he stalked past her. “Come. I am hungry, and for the first time in a while, the boy is safe.”

Rubbing her wrists, she wiped her cheeks of the water that had been released and followed like a loyal servant. When their stomps faded into nothing, Wildwing fought to open the door and only succeeded when one of the guards helped. “Hiya, Jance, Lars. What’s going on?”

“You’re supposed to be sleeping, little hatchling.” Jance smiled gently and fell to one knee. “Perhaps you should go back and try.”

“Can I see the Firehawk? Pleeze!” he whined, his eyes revealing the innocence of his age. All he wanted was to understand. When Jance glanced back unsurely, Wildwing pressed, “I promise I’ll be very quiet and then go back to bed. Just pleeze!”

Lars shrugged. “Ah, what could it hurt? Let ‘im, Jance.”

“Oh, kiddo, but don’t wake him. His parents had a heck of a time getting him to bed.” Jance stood and opened the door, and once ushering Wildwing in, he shut the door rather quickly.

The room looked the same as Wildwing’s down to the hardwood floors. Elegant teal and gold curtains in the pattern of roses and icicles, and the same fabric decorated the bedding. A lady’s vanity hugged the corner of the room, while a wardrobe rose almost to the ceiling on the left side. A plush couch sat along the edge of the wardrobe, which eventually opened to a walk-in closet. The only difference between Wildwing’s room and this one was the chic crib in the middle. Its wooden bars rose high but not high enough that Wildwing couldn’t see the boy through them. His hair still glistened, and unlike Jance had thought, the boy was not asleep. In fact, while laying upon his back, the boy gazed with wide, fascinated eyes, and their azure glow drew Wildwing in like child on Stars’ Hallow morning.

Mystified, he crept upward and listened to the hatchling’s bubbling giggles and extended his uncertain fingers toward the boy’s fuzzy face since his feathers hadn’t quite grown in as of yet. A soft gasp sounded from his beak—

Glass shattered; blasts burst. Curses spurted from Jance’s and Lars’s beaks, and their thundering stomps resounded down the hall. Wildwing whirled fast and dashed to the door, struggling to open it. Down the narrow, dark oak corridor, he saw nothing before the large staircase which led to the foyer of the Prime Leader’s residence. Blue flashes of light lit up the darkened hallway, and shouts, pained and angered, echoed into Wildwing’s ears. Pressed against the wall, he edged down the hallway and crouched at the top of the stairs to see the see the fight below.

It was utter chaos.

Drakes dressed in battlegear and the Lord and Lady fought those dressed in black get up. One particular drake stood above the rest on the table just before the stairs. He raised his hands to the sky, and a large, nova-like ball of blue fire formed in between his palms. As it grew, the light became too bright for Wildwing to look at, and he ducked between the wall. In a burst, it exploded, washing heated air over the hatchling. Once it died down, Wildwing glanced back into the foyer, where almost all the Puckworlder soldiers screaming at the fire engulfing their uniforms, while the Lord and Lady lay upon the ground, motionless. The drake who’d cast the fire held a Puckworlder by his throat with a hand full of blue fire next to the soldier’s face.

“Now, perhaps you will tell us the truth.” His voice hardened and rose in volume. “Where is the prince!”

Wildwing gasped and turned on his heel, rushing back toward the Firehawk hatchling’s room. He once more strained to open the door and only succeeded in doing so enough to squeeze through. It slammed it shut behind him, and pressing his back against the wood, he huffed from the exertion. Then, he dashed toward the hatchling’s crib. The boy still giggled at the sight of Wildwing, but Wildwing didn’t have the time to entertain the boy. Instead, he looked for a way to get the hatchling out of the crib. The bars were too thick for him to grab the hatchling through them and too tall to snatch the boy over them. The bed, however—Wildwing rolled the crib over it, jumped onto the fluffy mattress, which propelled him into the hatchling’s sleeping area. The boy coughed when the crib jumbled but practically conformed to Wildwing’s body when the older hatchling took the boy in his arms. Then, he slowly rocked the crib until it spilled them onto the floor.

Footsteps—frantic running; he hoped they were from Jance or Lars. Yet, he knew he couldn’t take that chance. He desperately looked about the room for any escape, but the closet—the intruders would surely look for them there. Where could he—

Next to the lady’s vanity—a vent. He raced to it and with one hand, somehow pried it off of its holder. Then, with an arm still holding the boy to him, Wildwing inched his way in, and his fingers pulled the vent back into place.

The door flew off its hinges less than a moment later, pushing Wildwing back onto his butt. Kres began to choke in his arms and whine, indications of a full- out sob. Panic swarmed in Wildwing’s gut. If the boy cried, they would both be found and killed instantly. Thus, Wildwing attempted to shhh the boy and bobbed the hatchling up and down in his arms while trying to keep his own tears locked inside his body. Stars, black boots thumped into the room, and the crib crackled against the wall.

Kres’s cries were muffled, but he still threatened to blow their hiding spot. To Wildwing’s luck, a pair of boots stopped just in front of the vent. “No one in the closet. They must have set up this room as a decoy.”

“Then we’ll search the rest of the house,” another voice commanded, starting toward the door. “They can’t have taken the prince far.”

They fled out the room, though one pair of boots lingered longer than the others. Wildwing’s teeth clenched as the boy choked one, twice, three times—Oh, Stars, please no. Just a little longer, little one. Please…

And then the boots left.

Wildwing let out a heavy exhale, and after a few moments, the hatchling broke out in a shrilling cry. The boy’s shoulders shook; the fear bled through him.

And together, they cried.

*^*^*
Long after sleep overtook the boy, Wildwing simply held the prince in his arms, waiting for something, anything. He didn’t dare move, just in case the enemy soldiers waited him out. He tensed, though, and the boy in his arms almost awoke at the return of the thundering steps.

Of course, this time, something familiar and warm accompanied them.

“WILDWING!”

His father’s voice.

“Dad!”

His father’s white boots shown through the vent as they entered the room across the hall, and Wildwing irritated his yell. Wilder immediately pounded into the room, and he paused for only a moment. Then, as if he had been looking for a hiding place, he dashed to the vent and pulled it off, his own tearstained face filling the opening.

“Wildwing! Thank the Stars!”

“Dad!” The boy launched into his father’s awaiting and welcome arms, finding solace in his presence and hold. He only waited a moment before bubbling, his apprehension and fear percolating. “Dad, they came! They came looking for the prince, and they killed the Lord and Lady and—”

“Shh! It’s okay,” Wildwing eased, running a soothing hand through his son’s hair. “It’s all okay. I know. I know.”

“I know you know,” the Prime Leader responded ten minutes later as they once more gathered in the Shit Room. “The question is: What are we going to do about it? The Lord and Lady are dead; so are half of my elite guards! Whether or not we wanted this, we’re now embroiled in the Firehawks’ civil war.”

Wildwing almost flinched at the harshness in the Prime Leader’s voice, but his father hardly blinked. Instead, Wilder kept petting his head and the boy’s in Wildwing’s arms, as he crouched next to the chair they sat in. Then, when he finally had a reply, he raised his eyes and said solemnly, “The boy needs a home, a place where the Firehawks won’t know who he is and won’t think he will be.”

“What do you have in mind?” The Prime Leader was intrigued.

Wildwing felt his father’s eyes upon him as he held the prince securely in his arms, and Wilder gazed at the Prime Leader. “My wife…she left almost nine months ago. Ironically, she must have been pregnant, and just like with us, she couldn’t handle having a family.”

The leader’s eyes faded. “Wilder…I…”

Wilder smiled up gently. “I always wanted a large family.” He then ruffled his own son’s hair. “What do you say, kiddo? You want a baby brother?”

Wildwing wasn’t sure what that exactly entailed, but he knew one thing. The boy in his arms was destined to be part of their family. He knew the first time he saw the boy, but more importantly, the boy did, too.

“Dad and the Prime Leader came up with the idea of telling you about your past on your twenty-first hatching day,” Wildwing ended, looking up from his hands to meet Nosedive’s eyes for the first time since he began. “You have to understand. We didn’t want to hurt you, Dive. We wanted to protect you, to save you from those people. We didn’t think—”

“Didn’t think I had the right to know?” Nosedive felt the anger rise within him and slammed his fists against his knees. “Stars, Wildwing, for years I thought I was a freak! The voices, the fire—everything, and now—”

“Wait!” Drysith clutched Nosedive’s shoulder, and even Sparx, the seemingly easygoing of the two, stood with a pallid complexion. “You hear voices? From the fire?”

Nosedive’s hands burned with blue fire. “Did, but what’s it to—?”

“No.” Sparx shook her head, tears staining her eyelids red. “There is no way—Drysith, do you know what this means?” Tugging down upon his sleeve incessantly, she babbled, “There has only been one other person, and—That means our entire lives will change. Flarasia will exposed, mingled with the Ice Drakes. The queen will—”

“No! No!” Drysith disputed. “There is no way that this boy could be…” His furious orange eyes surveyed Nosedive up and down before he yanked his arm free and closed his eyes in finality. “Just no.”

“I couldn’t be who?” Nosedive asked, his heart thumping against his chest. The words came thickly, from a nightmare that refused to leave, that he refused to believe, and yet, a part of him always knew the truth. “I couldn’t be…Kres?”

Drysith’s eyes widened, and he whirled toward the boy with an accusing finger. “How do you know about Kres? You shouldn’t know our deities.”

Nosedive took a deep breath, bracing himself more than the others, and uttered, “I am Kres.”

The little brother thought Wildwing would faint, and the leader seemed dangerously close to it as he let out a sigh and leaned back in his chair.

“Ever since I embraced the Fire, I’ve been dreaming this whacked adventure about King Raen—”

“The Ice Drake brother, yes,” Drysith confirmed

“—his guardian, Calder.”

“Ah, yes. The betrayer.” Drysith stepped forward and clutched the boy gently by the shoulders. He searched for something deep within the boy’s eyes—the burning of Fire gifted to only one other—and once he achieved it, he swept down to one knee and bowed his head. “Son of Fire, I am sorry, but if you need to see your past, then it is not for me to tell you how it ends.”

*^*^*

Warm, lithe fingers tingled upon Kres’s brow, helping to bring him from unconsciousness. He moved his head to groan and regretted the motion when his neck protested. Oh, Stars. It hurt. Obviously, Calder was good at killing. Kres doubted anyone ever lived to feel the aftereffects of his guardian’s attack—other than he.

“Don’t worry,” a comforting voice soothed, and her breath teased his bangs. “The pain will go away shortly, but to be honest with you, I don’t blame Calder. I want to kill you for this latest stupid stunt.”

Kres opened his eyes and wasn’t at all surprised to see Tasha. He coughed for when he tried to talk, but still, he managed to rasp, “You came.”

Tasha returned the grin. “Of course. It’s you, after all. I had to be here, if for nothing else than to clean up.”

Huffing—for he knew it to be the truth, now and in Anaheim—Kres gathered enough strength and moved to sit up, but Tasha kept him upon the pallet with minimal force. “Oh, no. You’ve been through enough with this ordeal and your wounds and Calder’s…you need to rest.”

Even though he humored her, he refused to give up. “I need to see his grace—now.”

“Your brother will be back.” Tasha stood and retrieved hot tea from a kettle over the fire. When she returned, the steam still rose from the mug. “He apologizes for having to leave, but he needed to deal with the battle at hand and figured you were in good hands.”

Kres accepted the tea, and because he needed to sit up to drink it, she allowed him to do so. However, after one sip, he pushed to his feet and retrieved his tunic off the chair next to him.

“Hey, hey, where do you think—Didn’t you just hear a word I—”

Kres didn’t know where he learned the motion, but he simply put a hand. Obviously, it meant something because the lady, even though nobility in her own right, stopped short in her tirade.

“Where he is, Tasha?” Kres pressed, attaching his heavy cloak onto his clasps at the base of his neck. The extra weight tugged, singing him with pain, but at least he could bare it.

Tasha, however, simply crossed her arms and looked away. “My prince, I will not allow you to further injury yourself, and therefore, I regret to inform you I will not help—”

“Tasha, you know what’s wrong with me, right?” He grabbed her elbows and turned her so she looked at him. “You know, don’t you? Well, I’m starting to get an idea, and those Lizards want me because of that secret. Please. I need to see his grace now, so I can finally understand. Then, maybe I can be of more help.”

“Or you’ll get in more danger.”

“It’s a fifty-fifty shot, Tash.” He pored his pleading eyes into hers. “Please.”

She only had to gaze into them for a mere second or two before crumbling with a sigh. “I never could say no to those eyes. Fine. He’s probably holding council by the fire in the middle of the camp. The soldiers have all returned now, and they should simply be discussing tactic.”

He smiled his thanks at her and made this way. Ironically, it found the campfire with little difficulty, as if he knew where it would be by memory. Over a table, a map was thrown, while the various generals marked points with their sharp daggers. The light reflected across Raen’s tunic and his face, casting a dark shadow over his usually bright eyes. He seemed to feel a presence of someone watching him, and instantly, he looked up to see Kres waiting by the side of a tent.

“Why don’t we finish this later?” the king spoke, even though he met bewildered glares. “We are all tired from the battle, and it would probably be better to discuss this after some rest.”

As one, the generals looked at each other and expectedly glanced back to see Kres. He smiled sheepishly and waved, causing them to grumble under their breaths, but they vacated a few moments later any way.

Fortunately, Raen did not; instead, he sent his little brother an unrelenting glare. “What are you doing up?” Then, he sighed and shook his head. “Actually, why am I wasting my breath? You never listen, anyway. Why should you start now?”

When he collapsed to one of the benches by the table, he patted the one next to him and poured a reddish substance, most likely wine, from a carafe into a mug, sipping sparingly. “So, you haven’t asked me why we need the fire yet. I was expecting an ambush from you the moment you awoke.”

Confusion swept through Kres, but he suddenly realized by Drysith had said. Apparently, Kres, too, could hear the voices until recently. “I…The voices no longer talk to me, your grace. Apparently, Calder tried to save me by throwing me in a fire, and instead, the prolonged exposure and my acceptance of its presence have stopped its speaking.”

“I don’t know if I like the sound of that. If you’ve accepted it, ah. We shall see, won’t we?” He took a longer gulp, then refilled his mug. “How are you feeling? Better? Not feeling that insane need to risk your life frivolously anymore?”

Kres debated how to reply when he slinked into the seat and decided not to rub his neck. “I’ve been better, your grace, but I was wondering—”

Raen’s head popping up startled the teen, as did the glaring stare he received. “Your grace? Ouch. What’d I do?”

“N—Nothing.” Kres fidgeted with his gloves. He’d only heard people call his brother by his title. It never occurred to him—though it should have—that Raen would allow him to use his first name. “Sorry. Ever since the fire…about that, though…” Goddess, how was he going to phrase, “Just what have you been keeping from me?” when he realized, he didn’t know why he held back. “Look, you’ve kept a lot of things from me, and…I need to know, Raen.” His voice dropped uncertainly, and he found he couldn’t meet his brother’s questioning gaze. “I’m not like the other Ice Drakes, am I? And we…we’re not brothers, are we?”

Raen’s silence answered more than Kres wanted to know, and when his brother finally spoke, his words only left more questions. “Tell me, Kres, how much did Calder tell you?”

“Not much,” the boy admitted. “He called me the ‘Fire Heir’ and then said it wasn’t his place to say anymore.”

“At least he got one thing right about his position,” Raen grumbled. Kres heard his brother shift in his chair to stare at him, even if Kres refused to look up. A soft finger denied his wish and touched his beak, urging Kres to reveal the tears that trickled down his cheeks and plunge from his beak.

“Of course, we’re brothers, Kres. Maybe not the way each of us would want, but we’re brothers nonetheless.”

“Then why am I different, and why did the Saurians want me? And why do you get that distraught expression upon your face when I ask? What are you so afraid of?”

Raen simply raised a hand and waved. Blinking, Kres saw two figures detach themselves from the shadows by the tent. The loyal guards, as they were, left without a word, letting Raen slump back in his seat and this time, take the carafe in his hand.

“Okay, fine. I was going to tell you anyway because…well, I don’t like to exploit those I love. You know that better than anyone, but times only allow me these connections through which to work.” Raen swigged long and hard before he finally spoke again. “How much did your tutors teach you about the native populations of Isylaca?”

Kres tried to think, but to be honest, there was only one thing he truly knew about Puckworld. “There were two original civilizations, those of the Ice Drakes, which eventually become…” He stopped before saying, “Puckworlders.” “…and the Firehawks. The Ice Drakes lived in the cold atmosphere and loved ice and its properties, which actually could… kill… Firehawks.”

He glanced down at his heavy, insulated cloak wrapped about his body.

Raen nodded, content. “Close. There are actually three original civilizations—the Ice Drakes, the Firehawks, and the Lizards of Sauria.”

Shock froze Kres faster and stiffer than any cold draft, even here in the past. The Saurians weren’t invaders? They were actually natives of Puckworld? But how? Why? And how much of what he had been taught was fiction?

Raen ignored his discomfort for the moment. “Because the Firehawks have the gift of Fire, which actually lives inside of them, they cannot be exposed to ice for long periods of time. Vice versa, Ice Drakes cannot live among the Firehawks for long because we have likened to ice—they,” he corrected. “They have likened to ice.”

That intense melancholy once more infiltrated Raen’s features. “However, if one group were to invade another with mass quantities, there would be no doubt that damage, even destruction or enslavement could result.” Sighing, the king once more downed some rum. “About sixteen years ago, my mother fell ill before granting our father another heir to the throne. However, our laws are strict about who can ascend to be king, hence my engagement to Lady Tasha. You know of our love. It is true and gracious, but it is one of companionship, not pure passion.”

Kres found himself nodding and subsequently cringing. Raen smiled sadly, then put his carafe on the table, so he could rub his brother’s neck as he spoke. The ministrations soothed the searing of Kres’s heart. “Therefore, Father needed to find another royal within whom to sire another hatchling. You have to understand. While Father was kind at times, loving during others, you know he had a side of him that he only showed those closest to him.”

Subconsciously, Kres’s hand fell to torso, where he remembered being nursed back to health for more than one broken rib. When he looked up at Raen, for a moment all he saw was that black eye his brother had received just before his coronation, just before their father’s death.

“Power hungry, he looked to capture all of then neighboring lands for his own and thus, conceived a plan in which he would invade Flarasia and take it by force.”

“But you said Ice Drakes couldn’t live among the Firehawks—or in Flarasia.”

“Ah, you were listening,” Raen chuckled and ruffled the boy’s hair before leaning back. “Yes, that is true, but Father only wanted to hold it under his rule for a short period of time—enough to convince the queen to his agreement—to bear his child, one who eventually rule Flarasia and be under his control.”

Kres closed his eyes and hunched over, his forearms laying on his knees. “…me.”

“You,” Raen confirmed. “Father never lived long enough to realize his dream, and I have no aspirations to take the Firehawks. I’m content to simply force the Saurians back into their lands, so we might once more live in peace.”

Peace? Kres wanted to snort. He never knew peace, never knew how true and pure the thought in the execution could be. After the invasion of Puckworld, he only knew war and its ugly existence. True, Earth wasn’t a dungeon, and his brother and his time together healed many wounds. But still, he would wake up in a cold sweat in fear, and he sometimes wondered how he ever lived before it, if there was a time before the war.

Apparently, there was; he just needed to remember it, but now that he knew the Saurians and all the iniquity came from Puckworld, it left so many questions to be answered. He always thought drakes were kind and gentle in nature and the Saurians nothing but evil, but the lizards, too, were Puckworlders really.

“The Saurians—they want you for a different reason,” Raen interjected, reaching out to clasp the boy’s shoulder. “You’re…you’re not most Firehawks, or so I’m told. You hear their goddess, the Fire Mistress, which makes you something of a deity to them. Only the most pure and loyal to the goddess can truly hear her voice when she speaks. The Saurians must have thought they could tame her power by harming you.”

Kres put his hands to his head. “Why didn’t you tell me this earlier? What the point of keeping the truth from me?”

When Raen didn’t answer, he glared up at his brother, genuinely surprised for the first time at the fear evident in his eyes.

*^*^*

“Wait. The past—deities—what is going on here?” Wildwing demanded, forcing himself to his feet. “Drysith, explain yourself.”

Sparx came to her partners side and knelt as well. “Our prince,” she said with reverence only given to royalty.

“This…this is absurd—crazy!” Nosedive staggered backwards from them. “H—How could I be a noble’s son—”

“That is where your brother’s tale wanders from the truth, our prince.” Drysith waited for no command to stand, probably because Nosedive did not know to give it. “You weren’t the next-in-succession as that traitorous bastard Segan explained to the Ice Drakes.”

“The civil war went as planned,” Sparx interjected, still on her knees. “In fact, it still exists today. However, the reason it began wasn’t because the boy was killed; it began because the Fire Heir was stolen, kidnapped.” She bowed her head, then reached out to grasp Nosedive’s shaking hand. “It happened because you were taken by Segan and his wife to be their own. They believed with the Fire Heir in their grasp, they would be able to take over Flarasia once Queen Flarren was killed. Of course, that never happened.”

“Because they were killed the day my father met Segan and Jovia.”

“Not by us, I assure you,” Drysith said with a hand over his heart. “When we attacked your Prime Leader’s residence, we simply stunned them. The Ice Drakes who fought us met their end, but Segan and Jovia we left alive. That was only because the queen forbid us. She wanted to deal with them personally—once we found the Fire Heir.”

“So, it was you that day.” Realization dawned in Wildwing’s voice, and it hardened to ice. “You slaughtered our soldiers and would have killed my brother and me if not for—”

Drysith looked insulted. “No. We do not kill innocent hatchlings. Soldiers are put in place for war, but children—no. That is for barbarians and the Lizards.”

“Wait…” Wildwing’s forehead crinkled, as he rubbed it to alleviate the headache pounding in his skull. “You didn’t kill Segan and Jovia.”

“No, we didn’t.”

“But if you didn’t…my father found them dead, shot through the heart.”

Drysith pulled his blaster, showing it off to Wildwing. “If you see here, you will notice that the barrel is not ment for lasers for but fire. We couldn’t have killed the lord and lady. It is not our choice of method.”

Wildwing glared at the barrel. Sure enough, Drysith was correct. To eject a laser, a blaster needed a rounded barrel; this one had an angular one, almost in the shape of an oval. The Firehawks hadn’t killed their own.

“It matters little, though,” Drysith superseded with a wave of his hand. “They were traitors and deserved to die. What matters now is what the prince will do now. He has no choice but to come back to Flarasia.”

Wildwing opened to his beak to retort—No way was he allowing his little brother to leave—but Nosedive cut him off. Shock wore into anger, and his entire embittered glare focused upon Wildwing, his eyes burning with a fierceness not born to any other than Fire itself.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” The teen started off soft, but as his blue-flamed fists furled, so his voice raised. “You knew—this whole time. I was being tortured by the voice, and you knew why. You knew, and you still let me think I was insane! Why?”

*^*^*

“I was afraid,” Raen murmured, leaning forward to tug on his brother’s golden strands. “At first, I was afraid of what Father would do to you if you confronted him. He was so power-craving that I feared he would break you just enough so you would live since he couldn’t kill you if he wanted Flarasia.

“Then, I was just afraid you’d leave, and…I know it’s selfish, kid, but you are my family. I feared if you had been told who you were, you might leave Isylaca.”

Kres shook his head and focused upon the small, snowy white pebbles on the ground. He hated being manipulated, not being ever given a choice or being told the truth about his life, so he could make the decision. Instead, first Friesen and then Raen had dictated what his life would be, and after he handled the situation so poorly with Wildwing…

“You said you have use of me.” Kres’s eyes snapped upward until they met the startled ones of his brother. “You need help to defeat the Saurians, don’t you?”

After the initial shock, Raen exhaled loudly and shook his head. “I’m sorry, little brother. I really didn’t want to ask you this, but when the Council of Nobles discovered you missing, they accused me of orchestrating your escape. I told them I knew nothing of it. After all,” he added with a smirk, “I told Calder to take you as if you were going to the Saurians—two days later. So, really, I knew nothing, but they failed to believe me. They wanted to try me for treason, but it is not in their right. They can advise me, even vote on issues about the kingdom, but they cannot vote about my loyalty to the kingdom or remove me from power. Needless to say—”
“—the kingdom is divided, and you need the assistance of the Firehawks to win,” Kres finished and winced. “You want to ask my mother, from whom I was stolen, to help the kingdom that forced my conception?”

“No,” Raen asserted. “I want you to ask the queen to ask the Fire Goddess to help your brother. The Saurians, too, need heat and fire to survive. If the Fire Goddess favors us, then perhaps we can force them back to their own lands.” He put out a hand, beckoning. “Please. I do not know who else I can turn to, and if there is ever someone I can trust, it is you.”

*^*^*

Nosedive huffed, trying to best not to go into his hysterics. He couldn’t, wouldn’t give his brother the satisfaction.

“I was trying to protect you!”

“Protect me?” Nosedive reiterated, as if he hadn’t heard it correctly. “By making me question my sanity? For not allowing me to know the truth! What were you so afraid of that you had to lie to me for sixteen years?”

“That you’d realize who you are and want to be there—with your mother and the Firehawks!”

“So? That’s not your decision or anybody’s else, either, including the Prime Leader! It’s mine—”

“If I may say, your highness,” Drysith interceded, standing between the two Flashblades. “It is my decision to make, and now that the queen has requested your presence, I have the duty to deliver you to her.”

Nosedive stretched his hand wide. “I don’t know if you realize this, but we are on another planet!”

“That is irrelevant, your highness.”

Before Drysith even turned, a puckline encircled his body, while another attacked Sparx. The girl collapsed to the ground, but the older drake stayed on his feet. “I have Fire, Flashblade. Do you truly believe your futile attempt with hold me?”

Wildwing smirked and blew the smoke from the edge of his puck launcher. “My lines are fireproof for a reason, Drysith.”

“Yeah, to restrain me, right?” Nosedive threw his hands up into the air and headed toward the door. “I—I have to think.”

He needed to speak and talk to Raen, understand what was happening there.

“About what?” Wildwing demanded as fire engulfed Drysith. Still, the drake could not escape.

Nosedive halted and looked down to the floor, as if it had the answers he sought. “For the last sixteen years, Wildwing, I thought I was a freak or I had somehow come out wrong, and I fought so hard to keep my focus and stay…me. And now, I’m being told that I wasted all those years being an outcast and being afraid when in reality, I had nothing to be afraid about.” He beseeched back to his brother, “Do you know how that feels?”

“Do you know how it feels to listen to a loved one tell you the last sixteen years they spent with you might have been a mistake?” Wildwing retorted.

“That’s not what I’m saying!”

“Well, it shouldn’t be! If these Firehawks really had cared, they would have found you before now, Dive! Dad, Canard, and I are the only ones who have ever given a shit about you, and we’re the only ones who ever will!”

Wildwing now stared at him, horrified and breathing deeply. He realized just how close he was to losing Nosedive, and that fear fueled him his lunge to grab his brother.

Nosedive stumbled backwards and only saved himself from the floor by seizing the chair. “Do you know what it’s like for you brother to tell you that the mother who gave birth to you has never cared?”

Then, without a second thought, he dashed out the door, never hearing Wildwing mumbled reply, “I’m sorry, baby bro.”

*^*^*

Nosedive sat upon the bench in the middle of the mall, trying his best to think everything out. After all these years, he finally found out the truth, only to discover he really wished he hadn’t. So much history, so much still left unanswered.

He felt a consoling hand raking through his hair, and he would lying if he hadn’t expect Wildwing to come after him. After everything, they were still brothers, no matter what genetics said, and Wildwing was right. In world in which everything was wrong, his brother loved him. Of that, Nosedive had no doubts.

He grabbed the hand that touched his hair, only to find it void of feathers and instead, lined with harsh, scraping scales, before a cool rush of water drenched his feathers.

To Be Continued…