Wings of Fire: Dragonbite

Two Lives

He had killed so many dragons he couldn't remember them all. There was the first dragon, his best friend. It had been a sloppy kill, and completely accidental. He hadn't meant to kill her, he'd wanted to save her. And then there was the last dragon he'd killed: Blister's most trusted bodyguard, a dragon they'd called Venom. He'd meant to kill him, and therefore the kill had been much neater, a dart coated in the venom of a viper, wrapped in the snake's hide. It had been strangely poetic, killing a dragon with his name. But he had not been satisfied, even when he saw Blister's shock and fury as the last dragon she trusted collapsed, and the mysterious killer vanished without a trace.

Death was never satisfying. Once a dragon was dead, the only ones hurt were those who had cared about him. Dragons he never knew, and would never know. He wished that it had been guilt that caused him to stop, because that would mean he still had a soul. But no, it had been simple practicality that called him home; assassins were being caught and killed  for murder under  Thorn's reign. So he returned to the jungle to meet the new queen. She had asked him his name, and asked him his story. And that was when he became Boto once again.

*** 

His talons were a whirlwind, his tail a striking asp. His wings were half open as he balanced on his hind legs and struck, a desert eagle coming in for the kill. He leapt into the air, shifting his scales to match the sun kissed sky, and twisted, before landing silently and snapping at his invisible foe. His scales reappeared, Sandwing gold, and he struck again, this time with his tail. The metal spike glinted in the early morning sun, and then whipped away. Each move was deliberate, a dance his mind knew and his heart loathed. A dance of speeding death.

It was the only thing he kept from his past, the knives and poisons buried a quarter of a mile into the Diamond Spray Delta. Half a world away, and yet a small part of him still longed for the simple relief of weighted steel, perfect for throwing. 

He'd kept the tail spike, but that was only practical. It completed the disguise of a Sandwing. 

His mind returned to the desert, and for a few moments he faltered, remembering the open sands and the sun that lasted forever and ever. He remembered the tangy taste of scorpion and the sweet flavor of dates, snatched from the oasis. He remembered the friends he'd made, and the enemies he'd fought. 

But most of all, he remembered the sun.

Shaking his mind clear of the fog of memory, he finally stopped the training regimen, realizing - not for the first time - how pointless it was. He had returned to the Rainforest and put the life of an assassin behind him. He was a reformed dragon now, and with time perhaps he could wipe away the metaphorical blood that stained his claws. At least that's what he kept telling himself. Over and over, day after day, he remembered and fought the urge to return to a place of shifting sands and endless light: a place where he had been known not a Boto, but as Dragonbite. 

And sometimes he missed being a dragon that everyone feared.

There were many good reasons for him to stay a Jade Mountain Academy, but for some reason, there was only one that had any hold on him. The sad part was, this reason was the least sensible, and the most likely to change. He sighed, stretched his wings, and turned to walk back into the Academy.

At least killing had been simple . . .