Chapter Text
A large, furred dragon trod through the blizzard ravaging the eastern territory of the Southern Icefield. The infamous Reclaimer’s Glacier might be an unforgiving, ruthless stretch of land to most, but to the Gaoler traversing it, it was nothing short of home. Colt felt his heart ache to know that this would be one of, if not the very last time he would ever travel the expanse, through an unpredicted snowstorm no less. He found he didn’t mind that detail, though.
After the introduction of the shade-smelling children of ice at the Dripcave Dregs not even two weeks ago, the Seeker order had been reinstated, and Colt had been one of the many to be assigned the role. Colt, having been born after the Gaolers hid themselves away in their own prisons, had always worked as a Keeper. He had never wanted to be a seeker and had been upset at the prospect of having to leave his home, especially when he was told he was not expected to come back, but all he had ever known was to obey orders, so he did what he was told. That’s how he found himself traversing the Reclaimer’s Glacier for what was possibly the last time: his start to the adventure forced upon him.
He spent a lot of time contemplating the dragons his brethren had called abominations, Wemba and Trendal as he remembered they were called. They were both ice-blessed despite one of them hailing from a breed originating from the Windswept Plateau. Not only that, but most concerningly, they had also smelled faintly of the shade. Colt had smelled it with his very own nose when the two strangers had spoken to the new members of the newly reinstated order of Seekers. It was strange. Very, very strange. Colt still had difficulty grasping it. Nevertheless, he continued on his way through the barren landscape, away from his home and into a scary, unknown world he didn’t understand.
He was getting close to the foot of the great mountain range separating the icy plains from the much less harsh areas of the Icewarden’s territory, where the majority of modern ice clans resided. He had been to the mountains before, but never had he ventured into the realm past them. The jagged peaks of the Cloudscrape Crags would truly signify the start of his voyage.
While feeling the terrain under his talons turn from flat to hilly, the wind took a sudden, sharp turn. Now blowing almost directly into his face, the climb became even harder, as if the universe didn’t want him to leave his home either. He wasn’t worried for his safety though, his kind’s tough, sturdy physique could not be blown away just like that. Digging his claws deeper into the ground than before just in case, he continued on. The trek would just take a little – wait, that smell.
The wind blowing in Colt’s direction had slapped him in the face with the ever-so-familiar stench of shade. It was light, barely noticeable, but unmistakable to an experienced Keeper – or ex-Keeper, he supposed – like him. The decision to follow the trail did not need to be contemplated, he just let his nose guide him to where it was coming from. It wasn’t long before he could see a shape out in the snow, and there, towards the mountains, he found… a Tundra dragon, unconscious in the snow. The dragon’s smell of shade was only a tinge, weaker than he had expected and suspiciously similar to the ice-blessed dragons from the modern world from before. Was this dragon the same as those two in regard to the shade then?
However, something else accompanied this dragon’s scent. Colt had never paid attention to it before since he had lived all his life along his fellow ice-blessed brethren, but the children of ice all had a very faint, recognizable smell, one that smelled of home. This dragon lacked that smell. In its place, there was a different, hard-to-place aroma. Ever so slightly sweeter and fresher. At this realization, Colt came to a dreadful conclusion. This Tundra, one of the Icewarden’s very own creations, had pledged their allegiance to another deity. How could a child of ice betray their own father so? Colt momentarily felt sick to his stomach. Looking away, he prepared to summon his ice magic, to encase the dishonorable dragon in an icy cage. However, before he could act, a thought came to mind. The smaller of the two visitors in the Dripcave Dregs had been living proof of other deities’ creations being able to be born ice-blessed. It was only logical to assume that dragons of the Icewarden’s design could be blessed by other deities as well… who was to say that that hadn’t become the new status quo? The new normal? The visitors had said there were more like the Skydancer, and this dragon in front of Colt might just be proof of that. Looking down at the fragile, limp form at his talons, Colt couldn’t help but feel pang of guilt and shame at how quickly he gave in to his disdain. The Gaolers were tasked to imprison evil, but also to protect the innocent. As far as Colt knew, this dragon hadn’t done anything wrong, and assuming they had would get him nowhere. He couldn’t let himself be responsible for an innocent dragon’s death.
Mind made up, he gently lifted the half-frozen dragon off of the ground by the scruff of their neck and laid them on his back, nestled into the warm, water-resistant manes of his neck. Colt immediately rushed off to find shelter, walking at twice the pace of before while making sure his fragile passenger wouldn’t slip off his back. He had to be quick, the Tundra wouldn’t last much longer.
With incredible luck, he found a small cave opening in the mountainside after searching for not too long. He barely fit in there himself and had to be careful not to let the sharp spikes on the roof reach the Tundra on his back, but he got the both of them inside. He set down the still unconscious dragon on the ground deep into the cave, safe from the harsh weather, just as gently as he had picked them up.
He was not very experienced in treating dragons with hypothermia since Gaolers rarely suffered from it, but he did know what always warmed and dried someone up: fire. Problem was, he didn’t have the resources to start a fire. He got to thinking, taking a logical approach to the situation to keep the panic at bay. Should he try to find rocks suitable to start a fire inside of the cave? That would be smart, if he had any fuel to burn. Should he go out searching for some twigs? No, he had to keep an eye on the defenseless, hypothermic dragon.
Looking over at their motionless form, he decided to check up on them, gently touching two fingers to their body. Their fur was frozen over, and they felt cold to the touch. As a temporary solution, Colt curled himself around the small dragon, hoping to share his body heat with them like he and his fellow Gaolers sometimes did. He sat like that for a while as the storm kept raging outside. Suddenly, a thought popped up into his head: hadn’t Wemba and Trendal brought along their own supplies? Maybe this dragon had too. Carefully, he lifted the Tundra’s half-furless wing up, and sure enough, in the faint light from outside he could just about make out three satchels at the dragon’s flank. They were definitely not made for a dragon with talons of Colt’s size, but he managed to open them anyway. Feeling a sense of relief that he didn’t want to admit to feeling, he found a couple of twigs and a fancy looking flint and steel in one of the Tundra’s satchels.
He stood up and built a tiny campfire in front of the Tundra, lighting it with ease. Satisfied with his work, Colt sat down again, basking in the warm light of the fire contentedly. Even if he thrived in the cold of the Southern Icefield, that didn’t mean he didn’t enjoy the warmth of a fire every once in a while. Taking a deep breath, he let all of the worries for his future melt away along with the snow in his fur.
Now with the fire lighting up the tiny cavern, Colt could finally take a proper look at his temporary companion. The Tundra’s fur coat was a striped tan and blue with small sections of dark brown. They lacked the thick manes most male Tundra’s boasted, so Colt surmised that this dragon was most likely a female. What struck him the most however was something he had already briefly noticed before: she didn’t seem to have her winter coat. Even for a summer coat, her fur was abnormally short and thin for a Tundra. Her wings were left bare, the fragile membranes vulnerable to the cold. Said wings did catch his eye however, as they displayed a pattern he had never seen before. Differently sized splotches of a blueish white matching the color of the Reclaimer’s Glacier covered a beautiful gradient spanning both wings, going from a light blue, to purple, to a darker blue. Despite this dragon having an allegiance to a deity that wasn’t the Icewarden – a fact that still didn’t sit completely right with him – he felt it was befitting of a dragon originating from the ice deity’s design. He felt a slight swelling of pride at the sight of it.
He could now also see a couple of other accessories the dragon was carrying. She had an ice pick with her and some sort of headwear, seemingly to keep the snow out of her eyes, as well as… silver rings on her tail? What were they used for? She had more unexplainable equipment on her person that Colt couldn’t think of a use for, but he brushed it off. It didn’t matter. The Tundra’s frozen fur seemed to be melting and her breaths had gotten deeper since the room had warmed up. That was a good sign.
Colt’s attention was ripped away by a particularly loud gust of wind hitting the mountainside outside of the shelter. The still-raging blizzard hadn’t been anticipated, but Colt felt positive that it would be over by tomorrow, perhaps tomorrow morning if he and his equally unexpected companion were lucky. Living his entire life in this intense climate, Colt had developed a sixth sense for this type of weather. However, for the night, it would continue howling. Despite not needing the sleep, Colt settled down comfortably in front the cozy campfire, letting his eyes fall closed and drifting off into a heavy slumber.