#psysuak

Not long ago, a dragon deity’s fate became entangled with that of a nomadic clan. A sorrowful twist it was; the people had been slaughtered for their precious items. How cruel for such thieves, so few in number, to take advantage of those who refused to fight. The deity discovered this only after the tragedy had taken place, and by the time they came across the scene, there was barely one life left. That life flickered like a flame in a storm. The small soul contained in a body just as small. A baby on the brink of death. The rags around it could not keep out the harsh cold with the unlit lanterns, and so the great dragon, taking pity on the poor infant, picked the bundle up with their teeth and carried it back to their sanctuary. 

This sanctuary protected thousands of dragons, and their god watched over them all. Here, the little one would be safe. Upon seeing the young, pale face of the dying child, the dragons questioned the deity relentlessly. 

Psysuak, this is a human child. What will happen should that child grow up to be a hunter strong enough to kill us all? 

Psysuak, why have you brought it here when it’s skin is already sickly and its eyes refuse to open? Do you wish to feed that miniscule creature to us?

None of us have any business caring after that human when its species is responsible for needing a sanctuary in the first place. What do you plan to do with it?

The questions evoked only a single answer from the Psysuak: “The little one’s people were slaughtered, and she was left to die. She is now my own responsibility. I will heal the child.”

Upon hearing the divinity’s response, the dragons began to gather furs from their previous hunts to surround the baby whose skin had begun to turn blue. They were hesitant and considerably skittish, but they respected their leader, and so they assisted without asking any more questions. 

Nearly an hour had passed, and the furs proved to be useless when the baby’s condition did not improve. Still, her skin was pale and blue, and her breathing was labored and slow. A smaller dragon brought the child into the cave, and called to the mighty god for help with lighting humble fires around the edges of the cavern. Delicately, hot breaths led to gleaming flames, careful so the fragile human would not burn. Its soft flesh and wispy hair and brittle bones were hardly any protection in the eyes of a dragon. This creature had no wings or horns or scales or claws to keep itself from harm. It could not spit fire or fly or kill. How, then, could such a creature survive all alone? Even if it heals from the brutal cold? This question echoed in the minds of the dragons who now watched over the still shivering infant; however, none of them dared to speak up. Instead, they watched their deity carefully remove a small pendant that locked the child’s rags in place. A single claw was all it took, and beneath the rags the baby’s body was blue and purple and red. Colors much different from the pinks and tans and browns that the humans from the nearby kingdom were. Colors much too dangerous for a human to be. Bruises and blood littered its skin, and, oh, how shallow its breaths were. Several moments would pass between each one, and the god could barely detect a heartbeat. 

“This child has already fallen prey to the merciless cold, Psysuak,” one of the dragons finally expressed, “I fear it may be too late to save it.”

For a brief second, the deity considered letting it die. Perhaps it would be better this way. Hunters regularly sought to kill the nearest dragon that made an appearance outside of the sanctuary, and adding another to the population would worsen the issue. But…

This human child’s life had barely started. Psysuak could not let this infant die, not after her family had met such a grim fate. And so they gently pressed their forehead upon the little one’s body, using their magic to detect even the tiniest sign of life. The child’s foot curled ever so slightly, and the godly dragon took this as an indication that the small soul in the small body was willing to fight for life.

So Psysuak inhaled deeply and allowed a wave of power to wash over their body. Snippets of what must have been the child’s memories flashed through their mind. A gentle hand cradling the child’s head, a brush of lips against her forehead, soft whispers of what must have been her human name. 

They exhaled, and the baby was bathed in a golden dust. If nothing else could save this child who was so new to the world, magic would have to do. 

Sure enough, the baby’s bruises faded away, and red began to return to her flesh. Her breaths returned to her, and her eyes opened for the first time since she had been rescued. They were golden, briefly reflecting the Psysuak’s own shimmering gaze. At this, they let out a breath of relief; they had not realized how tense they were for the sake of this infant. This god, Psysuak, accepted now that since the child had healed, and since her village had been killed, they had the responsibility of raising her.