#moonbranded

As the first rays of light breached the horizon, illuminating the sky in soft yellow, Cassius caught sight of the foreboding thunderclouds rolling in. He could smell the salt in the air, feel the static rising -- building and building -- as the storm edged ever closer.

Perfect flying weather.

At least, in Cassius’ opinion.

He relished the icy prick of rain pelting against him, the wind howling as Varyx pushed his wings to their limits -- testing Cassius’ core strength as he dipped and dove, flipping in rapid circles while making goading remarks.

Cheeky brat.

Said brat was stretched out before him now, lazing beneath a willow tree, having happily gorged himself on sheep not an hour earlier. His black scales winked with iridescent purple under the dappled light filtering through the leaves.

“Careful,” he said to Varyx in Draconic, “eat too many sheep and you might just become too fat to fly.”

Varyx let out a derisive puff of smoke through his nostrils, tail flicking to and fro in clear irritation. “Vissai would run out of sheep long before I became too fat to fly,” he sniped back. He tilted his head, mouth parting to reveal rows of intimidatingly sharp teeth, a low rumble sounding from deep within his chest. “You would do well to watch yourself, Still One. If you grow too fat, I may decide carrying you is too arduous a task.”

Now it was Cassius’ turn to snort. “Is that your way of telling me I’ve been partaking in too much sweetmeat as of late?”

Varyx chuffed. “Your words, not mine.”

A small, affectionate smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Had today been any other day, Cassius would have been content to banter with his dragon until the sun set. Today, however, was not any other day.

No, two days prior, a delegation had arrived from Lysain. Among them had been a familiar -- and very welcome -- face.

The Lord Commander of the Serpent Guard, Aren Brook.

Cassius was not known for his friendly demeanor, nor for any great social adeptness. No, that was where Umberto reigned. Despite that, he found himself daring to think of the Lord Commander as a… comrade. And, with a little coaxing, perhaps… a friend.

His life as third prince, the spare of the spare, had been a lonely one. He had long since grown accustomed to being dismissed -- overlooked in favor of his brothers and their larger, more demanding personalities. Even when his words carried the weight of truth, the warning of misfortune, they fell on deaf ears.

But, Aren had been an… irregularity.

When Cassius had unraveled their enemy’s strategy, had seen the rear assault before it came, and relayed it to the Lord Commander, there had been no hesitation, not even for a moment. No -- Aren had taken him at his word and acted immediately, his voice ringing with certainty, with a trust that had cut cleanly through Cassius’ carefully guarded distance, his commands followed without question -- a true leader.

And, as he so often was, Cassius had been right.

Aren’s decision to trust him had saved lives that day.

In that alone, he had earned Cassius’ respect.

“Daydreaming about the Lord Commander again?” came Varyx’s mocking tone, accompanied by a chittering chuff -- his dragon’s version of laughter.

Cassius scowled, annoyed at having been so accurately called out, his fingers unconsciously fidgeting with his rings -- an obvious, anxious tell.

“Shut up, you overgrown lizard.”

“So, I take it you didn’t want me to mention he’s awake -- wandering about the courtyard, alone?” Varyx asked, head cocked, the picture of innocence.

Cassius’ scowl deepened, though something sharper -- quieter -- flickered beneath it. His fingers stilled against his rings for only a moment before he turned on his heel.

“Not a word,” he muttered.

Varyx’s answering rumble was suspiciously pleased.

The dragon rose without further prompting, unfolding to his full height in a smooth, practiced motion. Wings stretched wide, catching the shifting air as the first low roll of thunder echoed somewhere distant. He lowered himself just enough Cassius to mount him in one fluid movement.

The moment his weight settled, Varyx launched.

They cut through the air in a sharp ascent, wind rushing past in a familiar roar as stone and terrace fell away beneath them. The courtyard came into view quickly -- far too quickly for anything more than a short flight -- but Varyx angled his wings regardless, drawing the moment out just enough to be irritating.

“Show-off,” Cassius muttered under his breath.

Varyx didn't deny it.

They descended in a controlled sweep, the dragon folding his wings at the last possible moment before landing with a heavy, resonant thud against the stone of the courtyard. The impact echoed outward, earning a few startled glances -- but Cassius paid them no mind.

His attention had already settled elsewhere.

He dismounted without ceremony, boots striking the ground with quiet certainty as he straightened, gaze lifting -- finding Aren easily.

He looked just as Cassius remembered: of dark hair and darker eyes, skin pale, a contrast to Cassius' own, wearing far too many layers for the warm morning. He stood only slightly shorter than Cassius, though his presence bespoke of a quiet strength.

For a brief moment, Cassius said nothing.

Then, measured as ever -- “Lord Commander.” He paused, and then, with a crooked grin and a low, friendly tone, he continued in Common, “You rise early.”