Archive of Our Own

Sulfur. The smell was familiar to the islands' inhabitants, more so to the dragon who came here often, almost every day, to "Stretch my wings," he'd say. Today was no different. The smell— that familiar sulphury smell— was as present as it always had been. It was almost overwhelming to the heightened senses of the reptile, but he didn't mind. To him, it was calming. The sting in his beak was a reassurance; a reminder that he was here. That he was still alive.

He knew the difference between the ones who had suffered for scraping the bottom of the barrel, compared to him, who had been pampered from the moment he was born. He felt as if he had no right to complain. He was offered the best to be the best, and he had not disappointed. Not even once. So what was this creeping uneasiness that tugged at his mind? It's been poisoning him like the very vines he attacks with. If it begins to affect his performance, he's sure he'll never hear the end of it.

Afar, the sea stretched for miles and miles. The nearest island was but a cloudy silhouette from here, the thick fog obscuring the view. The sun blinded his peripheral vision, and his sensitivity made it so that strong scent still hurt, but he stood as tall and proud as he always had; Chest puffed out, beak perpetually curled into an arrogant smirk, and bright wings rivaled only by the very golden glow that was blinding him. Truly, he had nothing to worry about. His trainer couldn't be that cruel to completely cast him aside after all he's done for them. Surely not.

(He's not very good at convincing himself, is he?)

A memory resurfaces to him, and he doubts yet again. He can still remember, vaguely, the look on his trainer when they first laid eyes on him. First, it was bright. Relieved. Proud. But it disappeared just as fast when they had assessed his strengths; Their expression morphed into something disappointed, disgusted even. Every day, he can see their interest in him fade, slowly but surely. His out-of-place affinity to metal had been weighing him down ever since the start. Everyone knew, their trainer especially, as they hadn't even bothered strengthening it to avoid wasting time and resources. They would prefer him getting hurt and healed again and again over spending a little extra gold. It's inevitable that when a dragon with a better element combination is conceived, he'll get left behind.

And to that, he wonders: Who would his replacement be?

An Empress, perhaps? Or someone even stronger? And how long would it take before they, too, get replaced?

A bitter one like him shall never know. He'll die before he does.

He looks up again, at the glistening waters and birds flying overhead. Oh, how he wishes he were born with functional wings, if only so he could fly far, far, far away from this place.

Maybe then, things would be different.

But, as always, he knows, that's nothing more than a mere fantasy.