Wings of Fire - The LostWing Chronicles, Book 1 - The Awoken

~ Prologue ~

 As Ocotillo left for his patrol, the cause of Queen Blaze and the IceWing alliance was far from foremost on his mind. This wasn't due to treason or carelessness on his part. He was a good and loyal soldier and he believed with every fiber of his being that he was on the right side of the war. At the moment, he was simply dwelling over something more pressing than any attack upon the stronghold, especially in this awful weather and with the other scouts not reporting any enemy sightings for several days. None of their foes would mobilize in such a downpour. It seemed reasonable to allow himself a bit of distraction.

Shivering in the bitter cold, Ocotillo worried over the security of the golden wristband he had just won from a fellow guard and deftly hidden in his quarters. Thievery was common within Queen Blaze's stronghold, with most acts of robbery perpetrated by the royal SandWing herself. Her desire for shiny objects was overwhelming and she was often caught exiting the quarters of her soldiers with their prized possessions. Protests always achieved the same result: the soldier in question being sent off to the front lines and certain death. However, if Ocotillo could just keep his winnings hidden from her clutches for a few days, he could sell them to his contact on the IceWing border and send the profits to his siblings. The war had torn his family apart. His parents had allied with Burn's forces and left all of his siblings to be wounded or killed in the earliest battles. The survivors were encamped in the desolate northern regions of the Kingdom of Sand, where prey was scarce and had to be purchased from local markets. They were unable to hunt for themselves due to their injuries, and without Ocotillo's economic assistance, they would have starved long ago.

The conditions outside of the stronghold were as bleak as Ocotillo had ever seen them. The skies were obstructed with wrathful clouds ranging from dark grey to blacker than NightWing scales. Heavy rain was being blown near-horizontally by the fierce winds. This patrol seemed pointless; Ocotillo could barely stay aloft, let alone search the territory below for invaders. There was no way that anyone would make an attempt on Blaze's stronghold in these conditions. Yet despite this, Ocotillo's IceWing commander had insisted on their departure, and rather overenthusiastically informed him of the punishments he would face if he refused to participate.

The IceWing could barely be seen through the torrent despite her glaring white scales. Ocotillo banked towards her as best he could and shouted, "Beluga? I do not mean to be disrespectful, but there won't be any invaders gathering under these conditions! Can we turn back before we drown in this weather?"

Beluga frowned down her snout at him, and he backed down under her glare. "Keep searching, you pathetic sun-baked lizard!" she snarled, turning away sharply. Dodging her whipping tail, Ocotillo spiraled towards the ground and swept along the surface of the rocky terrain. The landscape was a wasteland, barren of all life and beauty, a great span of shattered rocks dismal in their monotony. Nothing was out of the ordinary within his line of sight, which was cut quite short by the downpour and heavy fog.

They had been flying for around an hour when the squall suddenly intensified. The wind rose dramatically, matched in peril by a surge of lightning spearing through the sky. Frigid water droplets pelted Ocotillo's snout, and he hissed out at the storm, blinking furiously. As a result, he nearly didn't spot the dark mass of another dragon, huddled below a sheer outcropping in the side of a nearby hill.

He inhaled sharply and called to Beluga, then drove towards the shape, which was barely distinguishable from the coal-black rocks surrounding it. As he drew nearer, he noticed the bizarre orientation of the dragon's limbs, and, after a moment, the pool of crimson blood growing around him. Landing near the outcropping, he found himself gazing at a badly injured SeaWing, slightly smaller than him and quivering uncontrollably. The dragon's scales were an array of deep blues with lighter patches around his eyes and talons. His fluorescent lights were flickering sporadically across his body, his wings were twisted into a grotesque form, as was his back leg, and he was barely able to turn his head to gaze at Ocotillo. The moment their eyes met, an expression of utter dismay and horror tore across the SeaWing's bloodied features. Ocotillo's heart lurched in his chest, his career as a resolved soldier combatting his instinct to help this sorry figure.