Chapter Text
Sanctuary is booming.
The once miniscule and rundown village for outcasts and hybrids alike is now the epicenter of activity in the Claws of the Clouds Mountains. Dragons from across Pyrrhia and Pantala alike flock to this gem of civilization, and for good reason. Sanctuary has become one of the first cities in the world to achieve coexistence between scavengers and dragons, creating a utopia of innovation, culture, and diversity between all tribes, transcendent of species. It represents the testament to a new world, a world where no matter what tribe, creed, orientation, or even species you are - you would still be welcome.
And that’s why I hate this place.
Don’t get me wrong, the coexistence between dragonkind and “humankind” – or whatever their species calls themselves – is impressive, commendable even. I cannot even imagine the effort it must have taken to create a codependent society where no, or little, conflict arises from interspecies drama. I would have an especially difficult time adjusting to such a culture shock, but I suppose the dragons here have gotten used to it. No, the diversity of this place is what is truly detestable to me. What do you mean a NightWing could live right next door to you, with no preapproved jurisdiction? And a scavenger could live in the other neighboring house? Sandwiched by filth, I’d rather not. Living in such a town would truly test my capabilities of patience. Regardless of modern-day beliefs of coexistence and peace, I instead choose to follow the ideology I was born with. To stay strong, stay vigilant, and to strike first. Believe me, it’s the only proven way to survive in this world.
As I fly over the city of Sanctuary, I peer down into the expansive urban setting. Over the past couple of years, the town has truly seen an uprising, both in population and innovation. What was once a small town has become a sprawling grid of wooden huts, storefronts, and other unintelligible structures (most likely belonging to scavengers). Smells of roasting meats, active constructions, and varieties of fruits waft up from the city, almost deterring me enough from my current mission to go hunting. Dragons of various shapes and sizes fly in and out of the town, conversing with one another jovially, as if they weren’t from different tribes. A SeaWing and a SilkWing flit past me, discussing the prices of certain shops through giggles and snorts. A NightWing glides by as well, flying towards the town’s square in a hurry. It takes an incredible amount of willpower not to bare my teeth at the black dragon as he brushes my wing when he flies by. I notice a familiar – and particularly angry – looking SkyWing staring at my distasteful glares from afar as I continue to soar over the city. I pay no mind to it, but something inside alerts me to the potential danger of the dragon, for some odd reason. The center of town is clearly the main attraction of the city, sporting a variety of professional-looking buildings, luxury stores and restaurants, and even a stylistic fountain displaying the Dragonets of Destiny in heroic poses. Hordes of colorful dragons, scavengers, and even scavengers atop dragons were littered throughout the square, perusing through stores and other businesses gleefully. How delightfully chaotic.
Eventually, I spot the place I’ve been searching for. Coasting down silvery-blue wings, I land gracefully, folding my wings behind me in a professional manner before strolling down the beaten path into the woods. The pathway is secluded from the rest of the urbanization in Sanctuary, providing a brief respite from the assault on the senses the city exhibits with its serene woodland ambience. Birds chirp wholeheartedly beneath the encompassing canopy, drowning out the chatter of the city beyond, imposing a delightful calmness that even I begin to relax to.
“Makes sense an IceWing lives here,” I mutter under my breath, trudging up the sinuous trail deeper into the wood.
After a few minutes of trekking, I reach a clearing in the trees, still shrouded with a loose canopy of thin leaves and branches, permitting rays of sunlight to poke through and bedazzle the area with sporadic lighting. A lone manor stands at the center of the clearing, with little exterior decoration to speak of, save for a small garden near the side of the house. Just the place I was looking for.
Reaching into the leather satchel strapped around my wing, I produce a regal scroll with the seal of the royal IceWing family studding the seal. As I step onto the porch of the manor, I knock on the door a couple of times, being sure to maintain my professional stance. The knocking echoes across the clearing, rustling leaves and bushes at the edges of the area no doubt due to the frightened reactions of the woodland fauna. After no response, I continue rapping on the door intermittently, before eventually resigning to avoid any damage to the door.
“I suppose he isn’t home. Probably stuck wrangling scavengers in town…” I grumble, placing the scroll down on the monotone gray doormat. Sauntering off the porch and into the clearing, I debate the best method of exit: whether to trudge down the path again or squeeze out of the canopy. The latter seems more appealing.
As the carrier takes off once more, breaking through the branches of the canopy loudly – with clearly no respect to the forest – while huffing annoyedly about multiculturalism, the front door of the stoic manor creaks open slowly. A muscled blue-white scaled arm slithers out from the crack in the door towards the unassuming scroll addressed to Winter of the IceWings. In a flash, the arm strikes, snatching the scroll and slamming the door loud enough to rattle the trees of the once tranquil forest and snap out the thoughts of a particularly critical IceWing courier – who was now on his way back to his one and only home, the Ice Kingdom.