The Diamond Winglet: Frostbite's Power

Chapter 7

My talons dug into the floor, cracking the smooth surface. My head was pounding with all the possibilities. My father could be hurting her. She could be sick, or wounded, and no one had noticed. 'Where was she? Where WAS SHE?'

I flicked my ears towards the sound of another shriek, flinching. That scream didn't belong to my mother, but someone familiar. 'Icestorm. Frost.'

My legs were moving before my brain caught up, running towards the distressed sounds, which were becoming too numerous for my brain to count. The wailing became louder, and I swerved to avoid hitting a corner.

I finally arrived at the main entrance to the palace, where a full-on battle was occurring: SandWing shredding the wings of IceWings, SkyWings reaching for their throats, biting and tearing. Some dragons already lay dead or dying, and I even saw some littler dragonets fighting as well. 

So this was war. If Chill wanted me to be a part of this merciless bloodshed, he would have to make me and drag me kicking and screaming. Well... he couldn't drag me anyway, so there.

I watched in horror as blue IceWing blood mixed with red SandWing and SkyWing blood, mixing into disgusting vein-like purple colored puddles on the floor. I watched as IceWings were were in the infirmary only yesterday fought for their very lives, but I didn't see my mother among them.

I shook the thought of her being dead already. Ill and hurt or not, my mother wouldn't just die. She was too strong for that. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Chill leading Crystal out of the thick of the fighting, and Crystal moved without protest. I curled my lip at their cowardice, but turned to try and find my mother.

I took to the air, having to dodge multiple talons and snapping jaws that reached for me.

Through the thick of the fighting and screaming, my gaze shifted to one particular IceWing, with a fresh scar on her side, and darker blue eyes: my mother.

She fought for her life, wings trembling, and talons lashing out weakly, seemingly at random. The SkyWing, smaller than her, seemed to almost be having fun, leaping at my mother teasingly, then hopping back, not letting Blizzard touch her. 

I watched in terror as the SkyWing got bored with playing, and reached for Blizzards throat. I screamed, and took half a second to store up the coldest amount of frostbreath I had ever come up with, and shot it at the red SkyWing.

She staggered away, mist rising from the ice that now encased her in an icy prison. She screamed in such absolute terror I wished I hadn't even gone near her. 

I shook it off and turned in the air to my mother, who had a complicated expression on her face. It ranged from: Wow, my amazing dragonet just saved me, to Oh no, my amazing dragonet just murdered a dragonet possibly younger than himself.

I flew down to meet her, and she looked around at the thick of the fighting worriedly. "You shouldn't be here. I mean, thanks for saving me, but-"

I heard the sound of talons pounding into the ice behind me, and I whirled around to see the SkyWing, who was shaking off the ice- HOW WAS THAT POSSIBLE?!

The ice had entirely melted off her, and then rose off her in waves of steam, like her scales were as hot as flames. She bared her teeth at me, and I shot her a dark glare. 

She yelped, backing off, shivering, and I noticed that she was definitely smaller than I was. She looked to be just between 1-2 years old. Lovely. I was terrorizing a 1 year old.

She had shut her eyes tightly, and wrapped her wings around herself.

My mother looked at me. "I can't fight her. Her scales are like yours. Even if I could touch her like this, I couldn't. She reminds me of you." Blizzard whispered. I looked at the SkyWing closer. Her oddly dark red scales (like the color of blood, almost) had smoke rising from them, like mist rose from mine. 

I poked the small, quivering shape until she opened one shaky wing, still not looking at me. "Hello?" I asked, and the small dragonet stood up. She opened her eyes.

I don't know what I was expecting. Maybe normal, yellow or orange eyes, maybe cold with bloodlust, or cruelty, for what she was trying to do to my mother.

I didn't expect eyes like Whiteout's: Light blue, almost glowing. Filled with worry, fear, and pain. And in those eyes... I saw myself reflected.