Morg, the Dragonologist
Chapter 3: the Christmas Party (Part 4)
This series is a cosy collaboration with Morgan nic Aoidh <3
Missed the previous parts? Check them out here:
Deleiri got back just in time to witness the hatching.
That was what it looked like to her, anyway, as the little dormant fires that she had placed within the Christmas ornaments began to glow intensely bright. Reds, yellows, and oranges of different hues. As she had hoped, the elves squeaked and gasped in delighted surprise, but still wisely began to back away from the large tree that had stood, initially unassuming, in a corner of the cavern.
She winced as one of the glass ornaments shattered with a sharp, loud pink! Alright, good, good, no one was hurt. The crowd had moved sufficiently far away. A few other ornaments followed in quick succession, shattering. As for the rest—the ones made of thicker glass—they simply overheated and melted in a brilliant glow of viscous liquid, dripping down the branches of the tree. The affected branches began to smoke, but for some reason failed to catch fire, for a strange sort of mist had descended upon the conifer. Deleiri held her breath, and looked over at Shelly. The Blue was frowning hard, concentrating.
Perfect. Everything was going as planned.
By now all the ornaments had hatched, and it became clear that their centres each held a core of fire that pulsed as one. Deleiri smiled. When she breathed in deep, the pulsing quickened. When she exhaled, the pulsing slowed. It followed the rhythm of her heart. This was hers. Her fire.
She stretched out her neck, and spread her wings. All twenty of her little fires sprouted wings, necks, and tails of their own, shaking them out. They began to fly around the tree in an orbit. Still pulsing. Each a unique colour of their own. Elves and dragons and King stood in silence, enraptured.
Shelly met Deleiri’s gaze, and the Red gave her a firm nod.
The mist thickened into a dense fog that shrouded the tree completely. Its area widened, pushing the elves back. They complied with a mix of alarm and excitement.
The flames were still visible as muted orbs of light, spinning faster and faster in a conical spiral. So fast that the entire tree seemed to be alight. Consumed.
Then, an eruption. The flames roared upwards as a large winged creature, emerging from the dense fog.
The suddenness and intensity of heat threw the elves backwards.
The winged-creature soared through the cavern, staying close to the ceiling, singing and charring the hanging stalactites. Once, twice, it circled, eerily silent. Then on the third round its mouth opened in a muted roar, and it streaked out of the cavern, into the open air.
The elves scrambled after it. The King went along too, but not after sneaking a look over to Deleiri, his lips twisted into an amused half-smile that told her that he was proud of her. She grinned. Outside, there was a collective gasp as the winged-creature pulsed, bright.
Mael watched, stunned, at the display. That was… that was masterful control.
There were so many facets of her Talent on display here. Firstly was the fact that she had been able to keep her fire dormant over a period of time, so quiescent that it could be held within a glass bobble. No wonder the ornaments were glowing strangely.
Secondly, she was able to animate it, forming limbs of standard appearance over twenty of these orbs of fire.
And lastly, when they had consumed the tree and grown bigger, she was able to maintain control and continue to animate the winged-creature, despite it being almost the same size as herself.
He trailed out, after the elves, after Deleiri, after the winged-creature. Up in the skies, somewhere among the clouds, the creature of fire twisted and turned, dived and banked, spun and spiraled. Mael watched, mersmerised. It was—
“Well. What do you think?”
Deleiri. He was thrown off. Was she not upset with him? He probed at her intent. Still walled-off. So she was, still, then. But she wanted to have his opinion, nevertheless, and for some reason.
So he gave it to her. His objective assessment. Firstly, secondly, thirdly, et cetera, et cetera. He told her about how he could see that she had put a lot of work in it, made comparisons with her past, and how far she had come.
Above them, the winged-creature continued to dance. Around them, the elves had gathered into groups of two or three or more. Lovers and families, pointing up at the other-worldly spectacle, souls lit by the sight.
“Yeah, but… did you like it?” asked Deleiri. He looked at her, and her gaze faltered. The walls lowered, just a little, but enough for one thing to slip through. Do you like it?
“I do,” he replied, without hesitation. “This is an amazing feat, Deleiri. You are—” He stopped, abruptly, because he realised what he was about to say. Yet as he looked into her warm brown eyes, flickering under the light of dragon-fire, a courage took him, and he decided to say it anyway.
“You. Are. Incredible,” He said softly, emphasising each word. “I had always thought so. And you never needed a creature of wings and fire to convince me of what I have always known.”
Deleiri’s eyes widened. Then she snorted loudly, and began to search the crowd. “Ah, look! There is Morg and Sken.” Grinning over her shoulder, she said, “Shall we?” and she made off without even waiting for him.
Mael had to shake his head. “We shall,” he murmured to himself, standing up to go after her.
Well. At least the walls of her intent had come down.
Overhead, the winged-creature had begun to swell, flashing a myriad of different colours. Finally it spiraled upwards like a heart gladdened, soaring even higher still, and exploded into a rain of fire and starlight. The elves clapped and cheered loudly, embraced one another and exchanged well wishes for the year ahead.
As did the dragons.
As did Morg, Sken, Mael, and Deleiri.
Merry Christmas, everyone.
Tune in again at the end of January for more of Morg’s adventures in Kingsland!
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