Chapter Text
“Are you ready yet?” Platypus asked, impatiently pacing the halls of the Court of Refuge alongside her sister. Quokka had promised to go out hunting with her, but Platypus swore she didn't have the talons to count the hours she had been waiting. Hunting trips were the only time Platypus could taste real freedom—or, at least, an artificial facsimile of it. You were free to roam as long as the SharpWings knew your whereabouts, as long as you didn't take any prey for yourself before bringing it back to the Court, as long as you reported any suspicious dragon activity, as long as you didn't go beyond the border (not like you could if you wanted to). Sure, Platypus could go hunting by herself—and she did often enough—but however staunchly independent Platypus paraded herself as, she also felt freedom didn't taste so real without someone to share it with.
“I need to stop by the library first,” Quokka said. Noticing the disappointment bristling under Platypus’s scales, she added, “You're welcome to come, just… don't make a ruckus? Please?”
Platypus scoffed and nudged her sister with a wing. “A ruckus? Me?” She trotted ahead of Quokka, laying her front talons on the library doors. “You must have the wrong dragon.”
The doors swung open with a crash, startling a gasp out of the dragon stationed at the front desk—a WildWing with varied scales of deep blue and maroon. The librarian reflexively shushed herself, then promptly clasped her talons over her mouth in horror. She threw up her wings around her as if to shield herself from humiliation.
Platypus hoped the dragon was too deafened by her own embarrassment to hear her choking down a laugh. Platypus ducked her head and looked behind her at Quokka with a smile that she was using every muscle in her jaw to fight back.
“Platypus,” Quokka hissed. She was stiff as a statue besides her tail-tip, which twitched irritably. Platypus snorted and turned away, but caught in the corner of her eye how Quokka’s exasperated demeanor faltered into incredulous bemusement.
That's why Platypus avoided the library: it was touted as a relaxing space, but everyone was so uptight about maintaining the perfect, quiet atmosphere. To be fair, Platypus’s idea of a relaxing activity involved lots of smashing and loud noises. And, to continue being fair, the other levels were more lenient—they had entered on the third floor where near-silence was expected, but conversational chatter was commonplace on the first floor. But the first floor was also full of obnoxious dragonets who had yet to discover the concept of social awareness and personal space, so Platypus stayed far away from that floor as well. Some dragons would say that the chaos of the first floor was precisely where Platypus belonged, but that was wrong and, quite frankly, offensive. She was very socially aware—she just knew when to stop caring what other dragons thought.
Okay. She also knew when she was losing a fight with herself. Or, in that case, winning? She frowned. Whatever.
As Quokka approached the dragon at the front desk (who, to her credit, was slowly regaining composure, but also looked like she would never recover), Platypus scanned around the room, looking for something to occupy herself with while her sister conducted her very important academic business. Quokka spoke in a hushed tone, but Platypus could still hear: “Hi, Eucalyptus. Sorry about my sister.”
There might have been some other words exchanged, but Platypus stopped listening. Or she couldn't hear, because across the room sat the most beautiful dragon Platypus had ever seen, and the spectacle demanded the attention of all of her senses.
The dragon displayed prominent IceWing lineage—evidenced by the mane of icicle-like spikes on her neck and the bright white glimmer of her scales—but, as is the case for most dragons in the Court of Refuge, there was something else to her. Something that painted her with subtle highlights of dusty pink and soft orange and gold. She looked like how Platypus imagined a sunset over the snowplace would look (she had never been that far out so late and close to curfew). Was it… RainWing? No, Platypus decided, noticing the dragon’s golden plating and brilliant, gigantic wings that elegantly cascaded over her seat. SkyWing. Not that it mattered, or that Platypus usually spent much time pondering the tribal ancestry of other dragons, but she loved examining the beautiful tapestries of heritage that each dragon wore; she was proud to know that her strong tail and fluorescent scales came from the SeaWings, and her venomous fangs and color-changing scales from RainWings. Platypus wondered if there were other tribes in the dragon’s lineage whose traits were less visible on her… she could be part RainWing after all, or part SandWing, which would explain the beautiful dusty shades of pink and orange, or…
The dragon glanced up from her scroll and met Platypus’s gaze—well, more candidly, Platypus’s intense stare. She hadn’t even realized she’d been gawking. So much for being socially aware, Platypus thought—and then froze. Oh, stars above, what if she's part NightWing? That wasn't an anxiety that plagued Platypus often, but it felt worth fretting over in the moment. What if she’s reading all of my thoughts? Blink twice if you can hear me.
The dragon blinked once and tilted her head slightly, but Platypus figured that was more from curiosity and confusion than proof of mind-reading. Amusement glittered in the dragon’s eyes and a soft smile spread across her face, as if she sensed Platypus’s tenseness—Obviously, Platypus reminded herself, because you look like you were caught stealing the Queens’ last scoop of ice cream, not because she can magically discern your feelings.
Platypus tried to force herself to relax, which sort of had the opposite effect as intended because now she was worrying about looking relaxed. The smile she returned must have looked like the most pained grimace to ever grace a dragon’s face. At least it made the dragon giggle quietly—that actually helped settle her nerves. The dragon glowed in Platypus’s vision like an all-consuming inferno; was scared to keep looking, and even more scared to look away.
Finally, she broke eye contact, and the world came rushing in around her. Quokka. Hunting. Right. Well… Platypus turned and bounded up to her sister, who had just concluded a conversation with Eucalyptus and was looking to leave. “Hey, Quokka,” Platypus whispered quickly, “I’m gonna have to call off the hunting trip. You can still go on your own, though! You're a great hunter; you don't need me. Just trust your instincts.”
Quokka’s eyes darted between the two of Platypus’s, as if trying to puzzle her out. “Why would I go on my own?” she asked with a nervous laugh. “You're the one who wanted to go on a hunting trip. Is something wrong?”
“No! Er, well, yes, but-” Platypus shut herself up and took a deep breath. What could she possibly say? “Something came up. No time to explain. Gotta go. Bye,” she blurted. That would do. Platypus turned tail and headed towards the dragon she’d seen earlier, leaving Quokka in the dust. She hoped her sister wouldn't follow her, but most of her concern in the moment was with finding that dragon.
The unfamiliar dragon had turned her attention back to her scroll, but perked up when she caught sight of Platypus headed towards her. She tucked away the scroll and rested her head on her talon, watching Platypus with wide, expectant eyes.
By the way, Platypus didn't even come close to tripping as she approached the dragon, because she was fully grown and knew how to walk and didn't lose that knowledge at the sight of a pretty dragon looking at her with big, piercing ice-blue eyes. So yeah. She walked like a cool, normal dragon.
“Hi,” she whispered as soon as she got within earshot of the dragon. Somehow, the dragon’s face seemed to light up even more at hearing Platypus’s voice. How did she keep getting prettier?
“Hi,” the dragon responded. She glanced around. “We should go somewhere else.” Somewhere secret. “The second floor.” Oh, right. Where they would be allowed to talk. For sure.
Platypus feared that if she opened her mouth she would blurt something stupid, so she just nodded. A cool, agreeable nod, not an overly-excited one.
“Give me one second,” the dragon said. She stuffed the scroll she had been reading into the satchel around her neck, along with a few other objects scattered about. Then she looked up at Platypus, who made a sort of “you go” gesture with her head. The dragon started off, and Platypus followed close behind.
It was a quiet walk to and down the library’s ornately-carved wooden spiral staircase. Platypus helplessly observed her racing thoughts. Did I embarrass myself? Does she think I’m weird? What’s her name? What was she reading? Why have I never seen her before? The Refuge was large enough that there were assumably some dragons she had never encountered before, but this one… how could she have never noticed her?
It was like a dam broke as soon as the dragon set foot on to the second floor. “What's your name?” she asked in a hurry, like she had a time limit for getting her words out. “I’m Aurora.”
Wow. Aurora. “Aurora,” Platypus echoed aloud. It was a beautiful name. And spoken with a beautiful voice… the dragon’s—Aurora’s voice was velvety and lilting with a husky undertone that made Platypus’s heart tumble in her rib cage. “I’m Platypus.” She winced and added at a third-floor volume, “Don't laugh.”
Aurora tilted her head. “Why would I laugh?” she asked, shaking out her wings. “It's cute. Unconventional and cute.”
That was a response Platypus had never received before. It was always “Weird but cute” or “How… unique!” or “Three moons, did your parents hate you or something?” But this… it felt like maybe an actual compliment? Or the closest any dragon had gotten to it?
“Thanks,” Platypus said, a little embarrassed by the compliment. “It's just… jerks would make fun of me about it when I was a kid. Don’t worry: I taught them all a lesson.”
Aurora looked terribly concerned and a little mortified.
“A lesson,” Platypus continued cautiously, “about communicating our feelings through kind and respectful language.”
Aurora gave Platypus a suspicious squint, but then shook her head and brightened up again. “Let's go sit down. My favorite spot is open.”
She guided Platypus to a cushioned nook in front of a large glass window with golden rays of sunlight shining through. It was on this walk, not so distracted by racing thoughts or spiral staircases, that Platypus realized how large Aurora was. Granted, Platypus had always been smaller compared to the dragons her age, but Aurora had an impressive size; Platypus only came up to about the base of her neck. Platypus usually flared her wings and raised her head to appear larger than she was, but next to Aurora she just looked pathetic.
Aurora laid herself down over a few cushions in the nook, stretching her pink-and-gold wings out. Her scales caught the sun and glittered a myriad sunset colors. Platypus couldn't believe she could get prettier. Aurora’s wings, especially, were so dazzling that she could barely look at them. Platypus wondered if she liked this nook because of how the light played on her scales… and if she brought Platypus here to showcase her beauty.
Aurora took up most of the space, forcing Platypus to stumble around awkwardly. She eventually ended up sitting in the corner, her wings tucked closely to her sides. Platypus was out of the direct sunlight, but Aurora’s scales reflected golden dancing lights that shifted with every movement she made and every breath she took. Breath. Breathe. Platypus wasn't sure of the last time she breathed.
Aurora studied Platypus for a few moments, then readjusted to prop her head up on her two front talons. “I’ve never seen you at the library before. I know; I would remember a dragon like you. You don't come here often, do you?”
Platypus tried not to think too hard about what that could mean. She shook her head. “Nah, not my style,” she said. “My sister Quokka loves this place, though.”
“I didn't ask about your sister,” Aurora said plainly.
Oh. Okay. Right. “Um… yeah, I don't like sitting still or being quiet,” Platypus said. “I spend most of my time outside feeling the wind beneath my wings and shouting into the sky.” Aurora nodded like she understood, but didn't speak. “Why haven't I seen you around at school or anything?” Platypus asked
Aurora rustled her wings. “I’m homeschooled,” she explained, looking a little uncomfortable. “My parents… have a lot of resources, so they didn't want to send me and my brother off on our own before they had to.” There wasn’t quite a hierarchal system in the Refuge—no one dragon was wealthier than another, and all governmental positions were elected. Still, there was an unspoken sense of class. Some dragons were just… above you, whether they came from a noble line or showcased their status through excessive jewelry or whatever. “I’m not good at talking to other dragons because of that. I don't really have any friends besides my brother.”
Platypus nodded solemnly; her sister was her only friend, as well. But that wasn't because Platypus had been socially isolated from her peers—it was just no one else seemed to want to be friends with her. Which was fine. “Yeah,” Platypus sighed, “I get it.” She hesitated for a heartbeat, then ventured, “I could be your friend.”
That was maybe the dumbest thing Platypus had ever said. How was she practically a full-grown dragon and spitting childish sayings like that? She had never said something that silly before, even when she was an innocent little dragonet.
Aurora didn't seem to care. At least, Platypus really hoped she was reading her right. “Yeah,” Aurora said with a slow blink, “I think I’d like that.”
Blood rushed to Platypus’s face, forcing her to look away from Aurora, like hmm, yes, my claws are absolutely demanding my attention right now. That was messed up because Platypus never broke eye contact; never lost a staring contest. Why did this dragon turn her shy?
Playpus anxiously traced her claws around her other talon. “So, what brings you to the library?” she asked, not daring to look up. “I take it you like it here.” Stars above, what are you saying?
Platypus supposed it was a blessing in disguise that Aurora wasn’t used to casual conversations, or she might begin to suspect Platypus was also completely out of her depth. Aurora grinned and shuffled around, snatching a scroll out of her pouch. “Right now,” she explained, unfurling one scroll, “I’m learning about IceWing musical tradition.” She gestured at unfamiliar markings inked across the page, which Platypus assumed to be musical notation.
“Wow,” Platypus breathed. “You can read that?”
Aurora nodded excitedly. “My parents had my brother and I reading music ever since we first popped out of our eggshells. Music is very important in IceWing culture,” she explained, rerolling the scroll and tucking it back in her pouch. “It’s how we… it’s how they communicated stories from one generation to the next.” Platypus smiled sadly at Aurora’s revision of words—she understood feeling like an imposter to her own tribal culture, too disconnected by generations of separation to claim it as her own. “But IceWings didn’t write down their music until the first ones got trapped here, and they realized that, separated from the rest of their tribe, their songs were at risk of being forgotten.” A wistful sheen glazed over Aurora’s eyes. She seemed to be looking somewhere far away. After a pause, she said, “It makes me wonder how many songs were lost. How many songs we will never know.”
Platypus nodded. She remembered the bitter feeling after learning that her SeaWing ancestors had a secret language composed by flashing their bioluminscent scales that they used to communicate underwater. It was called Aquatic, she was pretty sure. But it fell out of use on the Dungeon Isle as SeaWings no longer had a reason to communicate exclusively with one another, and generations of interbreeding decreased the frequency of the fluorescent scales. Platypus had glowing stripes along her wings, but not enough to form a full Aquatic vocabulary; Quokka had none at all. In an odd way, Platypus couldn’t help but feel like she had been robbed of her language—even if she wouldn’t be physically capable of using it.
“You’ve gone quiet,” Aurora observed. Platypus flinched, realizing she had been overtaken by thought. “Is something on your mind?”
Platypus usually wasn’t this contemplative—she hoped Aurora wasn’t getting the wrong idea about the type of dragon she was. Or, maybe, Aurora was revealing a side of herself she wouldn’t have found otherwise. Platypus hesitated for a moment, embarrassed, then spoke. “Yeah, it’s just, I understand how it feels. My sister says the SeaWings had a language called Aquatic that used their glowing scales, like these.” She lifted her wings and flashed the green stripes a few times. “But after-”
Aurora gasped. “Why would you say that?” she demanded, tail lashing in shock.
“Say what? I didn’t-” Oh. Her scales. Had she said something bad in Aquatic? She folded her wings in self-consciously. “Oh, no, I’m so sorry, I-” She cut herself off as Aurora burst out laughing. “Oh, shut up.” Platypus rolled her eyes and clamped her talons around Aurora’s jaw to stifle her laughter. Aurora’s scales radiated a coldness that chilled her claws slightly. From her IceWing side, Platypus figured. Cute.
Aurora started hiccuping in Platypus’s grasp so she let go, but let her awareness linger on the cool sensation in her talons. Aurora went right back to her loud, messy laugh. “Stars above, Aurora, we’re still in the library,” Platypus hissed, holding back her own laughter. This was her first time being embarrassed by any dragon’s volume in the library—fussing over noise always seemed so trivial, but here, she feared any dragon noticing her besides Aurora. She hoped no dragon paid her any attention ever again besides Aurora. She hoped Aurora never again paid attention to any dragon besides her.
“Sorry, sorry,” Aurora yelped quickly, covering her mouth with her own talons. “I don’t usually laugh that obnoxiously,” she added in a whisper.
Platypus thought, Don’t apologize never apologize would you let me trap your laugh in a jar so I could keep it forever. She also thought, Great dragons soaring in the sky above, Platypus, you just met this dragon. “Sorry,” Platypus reflexively returned. “I’ve been told I have a corrupting influence on the dragons around me.” Really, Platypus wasn't sorry at all—there were very few things in her life she was ever sorry for, and hearing Aurora’s delightful laugh was not one of them.
“No, no need to apologize,” Aurora insisted with a laugh. She prodded Platypus with her tail-tip teasingly. “I like it. Corrupt me more.”
Platypus huffed a breezy laugh, shrugged her shoulders, and looked down at her talons. She tried to play it cool and convince herself that Aurora was just joking around, but she had that no-nonsense tone in her voice that always came out when she wanted everyone to know she was being straightforward. Why did you say that what did you mean oh would you let me corrupt you do you want me to corrupt you. And did Aurora's tail brush along Platypus’s scales for longer than necessary? Or was it just that every moment with her felt like an eternity in slow-motion? Aurora’s gaze was still fixed on Platypus, who kept her eyes locked on her talons. She could feel Aurora’s eyes beating down on her like the sweltering midday sun demanding something out of you: to take a dip in a lake, maybe, or seek the shade of a tree, anything to acknowledge its presence and submit to its power over you. But oh, how Platypus would worship the sun, confront it and embrace it, never turning away even when her scales were dry from heat and her eyes blind from light. If only she could get air back into her lungs.
“I’ll see what I can do,” Platypus finally croaked, seeming to have acquired the raspy voice of an ancient dragon. They say the sun ages you, after all. No, don’t try to make it sound cool, Platypus; you just sound pathetic.
After a moment of silence, she glanced back up at Aurora who was looking down at her with a satisfied expression. The dragon smiled and tilted her head slightly, then opened her jaws to say something—and then froze. Her petrified eyes locked on something in the distance. Platypus scanned the library but could not figure out what Aurora was looking at.
“What's wrong?” Platypus asked, unconsciously reaching a concerned talon for Aurora’s arm.
Aurora jumped away from the talon as if the touch jolted her back into reality. “It's my brother,” Aurora said through a grimace. “He’s looking for me. My parents must need me. I have to go.”
Can they possibly need you more than I do? is what Platypus thought, but she wouldn't dare speak those words aloud. Instead, she blabbered, “Oh, yeah, for sure,” all cool and nonchalant, like she didn't care, like it didn't make a difference if Aurora stayed or went. She stared down at her claws and noticed her fluorescent scales were pulsating dimly like they always did when she was emotional. Stars, let Aurora be too distracted to notice.
Aurora silently got to her feet and collected her things. As Platypus watched her work hastily, she couldn't help but wonder why Aurora was so affected by her brother's presence. Does she not want him to see me? Platypus wouldn't blame her; being from a family of such high status, it would be best for her not to be seen associating with some inconsequential nobody. In an odd way, Platypus kind of… liked that? Liked the idea of being a carefully-kept secret? No, that was stupid. She couldn't be some spoiled dragon's little secret. There was no way Aurora thought of her like that, anyway.
Aurora turned to leave, but hesitated. She glanced worriedly at her brother, then asked, “Do you want to meet here again? Tomorrow?”
Platypus’s scales definitely flashed brilliant green in shock but she hoped if she pretended like she didn't see them Aurora wouldn't either. “Yeah, sure,” Platypus gulped. “Tomorrow.”
Aurora gave a small smile and a curt nod, then slithered away, towards her brother and out of sight. Platypus watched her the whole time, but she never once turned back—thank the moons, because she would have caught Platypus staring like an idiot.
Once Aurora was out of sight, Platypus shuffled her feet awkwardly and turned to gaze out the window. She couldn't help the giddy smile that was creeping up on her face.
Tomorrow.