Chapter Text
There’s a dragon walking alone through the deep, dark wood. A tiny form, a creature so small that there is no justifiable reason for such an innocent thing to be alone in the woods.
For with the veil of night, danger rears its ugly head.
The little dragon could, at a glance, be mistaken for living gold. Scales so rich in the colour that the few lighter areas seem to give the illusion of a sheen. He’s a rambunctious little thing, lacking any hesitation as he leaps over the fallen branches and high-rooted shrubbery. Blue eyes like aqua gemstones let off the dimmest of glows, worry and hesitance hiding behind the façade of bravery.
Our little friend is scared, forcing down his shakes and tremors as deep hooting echoes over the forest.
Even an owl is a great danger to the dragonet, the beasts being almost three times his size.
Everything is a danger, yet the little thing carries on, his estranged mission sparking as it overshadows any instinctual urge to cower and hide. For this little one knows that there is no fate worse than what awaits him should he rest in the open like this. Of how easily his pursuer could pluck him out from a den of earth by the tips of his wings, leaving him to dangle painfully at the mercy of that smiling face.
A fate that this young dragonet fears greater than anything this forest could conceive and throw at him.
The woods begin to subside in density the further the dragonet travels, something that, even at such a young age, he knows will only hinder him. That with less canopy cover, the poor thing will be swooped at from the gaping expanses between the leafy rooftops. But he continues anyway, aware that turning around will only make it easier for the one hunting him down.
One slew of babbled attempts at makeshift curses later, the small thing continues his scramble across the thinner woods.
There’s a wall before him, and the dragonet stutters to a halt. It’s a giant thing, towering over him as he cranes his neck back all the way, uncomfortable by the sheer height of it.
Something his pursuer would have no issue climbing over once they follow his scent, the little dragonet holding back tears as he realises he’s been upwind this entire time.
With a sniffle, the first tears drop.
With the sniffle, he smells it, thick and layered in the air, having been rooted here for times long before the little creature had clawed through the shell of his egg.
Magic.
Ancient magic, so intoxicatingly sweet to the delicate taste buds of the little dragonet that he wants nothing more than to gobble it down without a shred of hesitation. Though the wood is still silent, there are still predators on the prowl.
Rubbing his face and neck against the wall, he can feel it. Feel the thrum of magic running through the stones, runes nestled deep within the heart of the structure, their power seeping through the cracks and dips between the great stones. He can practically see it, lifting his front paws and reaching his neck up in order to get a taste of it in a small crevice of the wall. And oh, is the sensation of it all glorious. Satiating and filling the growling stomach of the creature as he gets his first fulfilling meal in…
The creature stutters as he senses it. Something off to the wind, something powerful.
There’s a gap in the stone, the little dragon taking his chances as he dives into it, scrambling through as he can feel the thumping of boots against the dense earth. Claws tear at the gap as the dragonet makes his way through the wall, just under it and out of reach. Upon poking his snout out of the other side, he whimpers as the grooves in the wall flash a violent red, a magical wave washing over him as the runes are set off, some sort of strange alarm system.
His pursuer claws at the walls, and the dragonet wastes no time scurrying into the nearby garden, digging up the dirt to coat it over himself as the door of a great mansion slams open, even more predators slinking into the dark of the night.
If there’s one thing Tommy can do, it’s sneak around. He’s the best at it in all the lands, able to slide with such ease into any hiding spot he can, unable to be detected. Which, being small helps with that, but it’s a tactical decision. He’s choosing to stay small. He’ll grow real tall when he feels like it, because at the current? Sneaking around is the life of luxury.
Scrambling out from beneath a wheelbarrow, Tommy slides across the grassy path towards the highlight of the mansion: the garden. But this is not your ordinary tomatoes and strawberries type garden, this is a magical garden. Everything grown within it is coated with the rich magical potential of the earth, soaking it up into its form. The silver carrots, the nether wart, the straight up fucking golden apple tree. Because yeah, there’s one of those and it’s right here, in a garden of equally valuable magical items, all of it in high abundance.
It’s like the mansion-dwellers don’t even need it all, only taking a few crops here and there every now and again. The times they’re out here the most is when they tend to the crops past nightfall, but Tommy’s long gone by then, safely nestled into his den between the cobblestone.
With a mighty leap and a few small scratches into the side of the wood, Tommy heaves himself up into the wooden planter, seemingly entirely handmade from some incredibly durable material. If he were to take a guess, it’d be some sort of magical tree wood. Because why not. Everything else here is literally radiating magic, why not the planter too.
Turning back to face the greenery before him, Tommy beams at the way the nether wart festers in the shadow of the shade structure. It’s an interesting thing, nether wart. It’s like a mutated middle ground between plant and fungus, tasting and feeling like a plant but growing and thriving like a fungus. And by everything in this world, does it taste delicious. The sweet sweet taste of the fruit-like bulbs at the top of the chewy stem, nothing seems to compare to it. A delicacy that, from what he’d learned by reading through the mansion books over the last month, originates from the world of the fae.
But there is no fae, this is no Underhill. This is just a garden in a random mansion in the middle, or he assumes it’s the middle of the dense woods. Just two random guys living here, and from the glimpses Tommy’s had of them? They don’t really scream fae. If anything, they’re just two random guys. Like, nothing remarkable about them. Except that they’re old. And live in this random fuck-off magical mansion in the middle of who the fuck knows where. And seem to just never touch grass until there is no trace of sunlight. Must be pretty susceptible to sunburn if they’re going to such extremes to avoid any trace of light.
And what does that mean? It means Tommy has no fucking reason to fear the bastards. If they’re easily burned, then the second he finally learns to spark, they’ve no fucking chance against him. Fuck yeah.
Snagging one of the stems with a good chunk of bulbous fruit atop it, Tommy yanks it out of the ground with all his might, stumbling a little when it finally gives way.
Food acquired.
Turning back, Tommy leaps back onto the grass and books it towards the mansion’s exterior, where there’s a good layer of cobblestone before it turns into logs and wood. Hidden sneakily behind one of the bushes around the side of it, Tommy’s den resides. Dug out of the cobblestone into a small little room, a den for him to cosily curl up in, with no threat of getting trapped inside. If he stretches his wings, he can just reach each side with the tips of the fleshy membrane.
Underbelly gently grazing against the soft soil, Tommy slides underneath the protective bush outside his new home, tucking his wings in as he huddles on inside, the cooler sensation of the stone being refreshing. It’s around mid-afternoon, and he’s honestly rather tempted to chow down on the nether wart before going to find a rock to sunbathe on, soaking it all up before the great ball of fire says goodnight.
There’s a vibration in the wall, Tommy’s leathery ears flicking up. They rotate around before pin-pointing the source, where another vibration momentarily travels across the surface.
Something’s happening.
Tommy paces on the spot, kneading the floor with an anxious anticipation. The only other time he’s felt such strange vibrations is when his… owner had come home. When the man walks around with those reinforced iron boots, sending tremors into the floor and throughout Tommy’s body.
But he’s not here. The strange men had chased his owner, his captor away.
They saved him, without even knowing it.
But that doesn’t explain whatever that sound is.
Heaving himself up and into the gap in the wall, Tommy crawls through the crevices before finding a spot to peek out into the basement. It’s freezing, the air being thick with the scents of the two, who just so happen to be down there. They’re big, like, really big. The one sitting on the couch is the smaller of the two wears dark robes over green clothes, white diamond patterns adorning the bottom of the fabric. Tommy has to restrain making any noise as he sees the golden ring the man wears, a beautifully cut emerald on it.
BOOM.
Another hit against the wall, far closer as Tommy barely chokes down a frightened scream as the wall vibrates again.
“Techno, mate, I think you got it.” The green-wearing man says, looking over to his companion who saunters into view, sitting down beside the other.
“And we thought that when we put the painting up last time, Phil. I’m just making sure.” The taller of the two states as he grabs his red cape off the nearby rack, putting it back on overtop the white shirt and black pants with practised ease. The cape looks soft, the inner sections and the rim bursting with fluffy white material. Though the weird thing about this man is his hair. Bright pink, long and braided. Not really a natural colour for a human, but then again Tommy’s not too informed about the humans. Maybe this is an albino human?
Phil sighs, Tommy realising that he’s now got names for the two at last.
“At the rate you were going, the wall was close to splitting in two.” Techno snorts at that with a laugh, Phil throwing him an exasperated glare.
“Yeah, sure. Well, you can tell Wilbur when he gets back to reinforce those runes he put around. Because if I can damage the wall by just using a nail and hammer, his little spells clearly aren’t working.”
Tommy’s got no fucking clue what they’re on about, and honestly can’t find it within himself to care. They’ve got their life, Tommy has his. No need to overstep on either.
Ducking back through the wall and dodging a particularly nasty patch of cobweb, Tommy slips back down into his den again. The humans have finished being noisy as fuck, so now he can just relax and prepare himself for the night. With a few big bites of the nether wart and a hearty yawn, Tommy curls up in his den, sleep easily overtaking him.