go away

[wingborne]

The ceremony was the time for stories and questions, and Earth dragons gathered to retell the stories of their father guardian.

A story. In the ruins of the world, the Earthshaker shaped his children from boulders. He carved their flanks from granite, wings from stone, hearts from heavier things. The Flamecaller wished her dragons brightness, the Tidelord wished his dragons peace, the Windsinger wished his dragons voice. The Earthshaker wished his dragons strength, above all else. Strength, from all else.

“You are my child,” he told them, strong face cracking under age, “and you will be strong. Unity will not serve you. Alliances will betray you. I give you this gift, the armor from rock encrusted over your body. Let no dragon see inside you. Seek strength so no dragon may hurt you. Be strong, child, and be alone.”

Another story. Many years earlier, before any of his children were formed, the Earthshaker once fought with the other three dragons over the shape of the world. His children now praise him for his wisdom, the foresight to understand the dangers of the world beyond. The Earthshaker wished for the planet to arm itself with mountains like spears and canyons like shields, vast and wide and magnificent. He was the great Earthshaker, and no being would harm his land. He was the impenetrable Earthshaker, strong and alone in his fight. His were the claws to carve valleys, his was the strength to create mountains. Out of the First Four, he was the strongest.

Out of the Eight, his body was the base for the Pillar. He formed an alliance with the others, and the World Pillar would shield the planet from the Shade. From the ruins of the world, he aligned himself with the other seven. His jaws from rock had smashed the Shade, ripping the darkness from the sky, stomping the Shade into the gravel. He was strong, so gloriously strong! Nothing could hurt him. The Shade could not pierce that body forged from the strongest rock, the weight of the heaviest dirt. He was strong, so strong! The Pillar that protected the world for so long was thanks to the Earthshaker, and his magnificent strength.

“You are children,” he said to them, “Some born from our anger, our battles. We must protect the world with out strength. Together, we will heal this world.”

Yet another story. The Pillar broke, the Shade had attacked again. The world was once more in ruins. But the story does not repeat itself. No alliance would be forged together to protect the world.

The land had wasted away. The glorious Pillar, rising so high upwards until the clouds bowed to it, had shattered into pieces. The smoggy ash choked into the throats of the dragons, and awoken from their slumber, they gazed into the sky that rained darkness. The Earthshaker watched the darkest smoke spiral into the earth, landing against the deep scars that ran down the crust. His world had broken.

But still, even still, the storytellers will say the Earthshaker still wished from alliance. Yet the dragons turned from him, one by one. The Flamecaller had once battled him in her love of the world. She had loved enough for lava to surge over the surface, bright and orange and angry, to break apart the earth with the flap of her wings. Now it was her footsteps that showed the cracks of lava, and he watched her silent form walk away. The Icewarden, born from the battle between them, offered his advice. The alliance had not worked. They must work without each other.

And they left, one by one. They left, and they left him. The Earthshaker watched them swim, fly, walk away, disappearing across the land. And he was sorrowful. He was strong, so gloriously strong! His impenetrable granite legs collapsed beneath him. His powerful stone back bowed. He laid down, and he became indestructible. With age and time, he turned into a mountain. Not even the hardest gem could scratch him, no iron could scratch him. Nothing could hurt him, and he closed his heavy eyes, the backs of leaving dragons weighing down.

But the Earthshaker was strong, so gloriously strong. Months passed. Though his stone bones ached and his rock muscles eroded in the age, he created children in his element. He gathered the gravel and soil and dust and the young hatchlings emerged into the world. He was strong through his heavy grief, though no younger dragon knew how he had summoned the strength to form them. Though there have been half tales, stories not carved down by stone, which have said the Earthshaker once gave an answer.

“I was once a child, too.” And his old form settled once more for years to come, dust at his heels and ferocity and gentleness at his mouth.

His children, the Earth dragons, grew. They flourished, and grew strong. They followed in his footsteps and cherished their ancestors. They created buildings, taller and stronger. They sought out gemstones, hard and cold, to see what they looked like inside. During their festival, the flight would gather around and speak love to their father guardian, his wisdom for independence. Their rock armor would rub together, caves echoing with their laughter, welcoming passing dragons from all elements to join in their celebration. They work together to construct the festival monuments, flying from all over Dragonhome to greet old and new faces. To the newcomers, they tell stories. And sometimes, they reflect on questions.

A question. When the Earthshaker was surrounded by his children, all guarded by rock armor against all else, why did he smile when he named the festival the Rockbreaker’s Ceremony?