I wake with a start, already rising with my spear in hand, manifested like a miracle from on high. My chest is heaving, and I feel the sooty aftertaste of the Breath in the back of my throat. Glancing around, I realize I’ve fallen asleep at the table again, and from the looks of things, I’ve unleashed a small bit of the Breath in my sleep, burning a ragged hole in the table that will need to be repaired… again. I quickly dash some water onto the surface to stop it from smoldering, having kept a bucket nearby for such occasions.

  Most of my life, I’ve never been able to manifest the Breath the way one of my kyn should. It fails to ignite or catches in my throat, and I’ve never figured out why. All the elemental serpents should be able to use the Breath to a greater or lesser extent as far as my understanding goes. But not me. Just lucky like that, I guess.

  Casting spells using Ignia? Absolutely. Conjuring firebolts and setting small fires is well within my abilities, but it's always come at the cost of drawing on my personal natural reserves. Someone like me should have a gate, and I do! But mine has never awakened, so using Ignia always leaves me at a terrible deficit — something especially bad because of my being Ignia.

  With as little to go on as I have, I've largely just had to chalk it up to a mystery. Someday I might meet another of my kind, but it’s not something I’m holding out hope for — I don’t foresee anyone wandering out here into the woods to teach me how to manifest my Breath anytime soon.

  I set about organizing the room, righting the chair I had slept in and subsequently knocked over when I stood. My tail pushes through the carved section in the chairback to lift it upright again. The hole allows me to sit comfortably and, in situations like this, makes correcting things a good bit easier without needing to bend over.

  It's roughly hewn, like most things in here, but imperfect as it is, I'm still proud of the effort I put into it. Sliding it forward, I move to stack some lightly scorched papers with a disgruntled shake of my head, but in a fit of emotion on seeing the remnants of the Breath on them, I ball them up and toss them in the corner.

  Immediately regretting the impetuous decision, I walk over to pick them up. Paper isn’t cheap, and Lilly is kind enough to get me some occasionally. I take a few deep breaths and uncrumple them to stack them far less neatly on the table. With them pressed as flat as possible, I put one of my tomes, a first aid book, atop them to help flatten them.

  That task done, I adjust my bedding, all still orderly after a lonely night sitting unused. Idly, I wonder if the bed ever feels jealous of the number of nights I spend in the chair… Lilly always says there's a spark of life in all things, but it's always seemed like overly poetic ramblings to me.

  I step back afterward and take in the room. Everything within was made by my hands over long years, from the wobbly table to the bookshelf with a slight lean to the left to the woven thatch carpet. And while they’re all imperfect in their own ways, they each give me a sense of pride and a slight smile.

  The feeling almost offsets my discomfort at my brash outburst. I’ve been doing that more and more lately — having sudden outbursts emotionally — and I’m really not sure why. It’s been getting worse, too. I worry I’m going to snap at Lilly at some point over something undeserving. The very last thing I would ever want is to stop her coming by for any length of time.

  Sighing, I step outside to grab one of my buckets from a small pile of them as well as my spear, and turn around to look at my cabin. It’s hand-constructed like everything else… and it shows. I note some of the garish fae grasses on the roof have wilted and will need to be reseeded. One of the rough-hewn boards framing the doorway is bending outward due to the high humidity. And finally, I’d simply taken the door off a few days ago because it fell over, and I couldn’t be bothered to do anything about it at the time.

  Check, check, check, check, and check. I add them to my ever-evolving to-do list. A monster of my own creation that accompanies every waking minute of the day, and sometimes even in my dreams at night! With a grumble in the back of my throat thinking about The List, I turn and walk over to my well. I draw up a clay vessel and fill my bucket with it before turning to water the garden.

  Deceptively small, my garden is fenced in with rough posts tied together with twine and reinforced with braided vines at random points. All along the posts are luminescent flowering vines that Lilly seeded around that will not go away, no matter how many times I rip them up by the taproot. Sure, they’re beautiful, but they also seemingly intentionally grow to encompass the gate, locking it closed even within the same day that I clear them out. Left untended, the damnable things inevitably ensconce the entire fence top to bottom, a fact I discovered when I got sick once and couldn’t tend to them for all of three days. They seemed to be taunting me the entire time, growing taller than the fence itself, which, given the source, is entirely feasible. Clearing three days of growth took the better part of an entire week!

  Absurd.

  At least they make for good tea.

  Within the sturdy and flower-and-vine-reinforced walls are various colorful fae crops that are specifically cultivated to grow quickly, using local essence to speed them along. The downside of that property is that, with the prevalence of Mineralis (Most commonly known as metal essence) in the area, much of my food often has strange amounts of the tastes of random types of metal. It’s never strong enough to be unpleasant, but it’s variable enough that I’ve never been able to get used to it.

  The names of them are also honestly ridiculous — each one is given a name by the local Court of Tale and Song who gave me them according to the personal interests of the fae who cultivated them — a fact that has seen these otherwise useful crops be named things like “The Third Treatise on Passion”, “The Vegetable At Roads End”, and “Juicy Crunchy Bluey Gooey” instead of the simpler names I’ve given them. Lilly says names like “embergourd” lack refinement or artistry. I say that it’s a gourd full of Ignia essence, and as such embergourd is fitting. We’ll never agree on it, I think.

  The routine stabilizes me, helping me feel more in control after the earlier outburst. By the time I’ve finished my upkeep chores, the sun is rising above the dense Mineralis forest. The tall and orderly branches of the essence-derived trees, growing in nearly identical patterns of repeating fractals of branches and leaves. The bark and leaves are imbued with various types of metals that hue them in reds, blues, oranges, grays, and myriad other colors of metals I both know and don't. My favorite is one with a rich blue hue to its bark and leaves. I think it’s probably related to cobalt, but my books on metallurgy spend very little time talking about colors, except for how they change as metals heat.

  Looking around, my crops are watered and some harvested, some work done on making replacement boards, my water barrel refilled, weapons and garb maintained. All things are where they should be.

  I gaze at the cave mouth, easily fifty feet across, and start to walk toward it. It's the final part of my daily routine that will free me up to do…probably nothing for the rest of the day. Maybe I'll work on my cellar some more…

  My thoughts are sharply interrupted when I feel a sudden change in the air pressure behind me as I pass by my well. A snap of magic in the air.

  I wheel around, bringing my spear up to defend, and see the creature leaping at me. My spear snaps into position to stop the leaping jaws by slamming into its open mouth. Its leap is stopped, mostly, and it starts to try to bite down through my weapon while its rear claws try to slice at me to no avail because of the size difference. All the while in the struggle, the back of its throat glows ominously, red essence building up in its gullet.

  As it dangles from my spear, I hear the wood straining while power builds in the back of its throat. I'd really rather not make another new haft, and this thing has already ruined my routine right at the most important part of it, so I twist and release one half of my haft, letting the monster slide free to go tumbling across the path and towards my little farming plot.

  It lets me get a good look at it without it snarling and snapping at my face. It's a vaguely feline monster that looks to be nothing but muscle — if it had muscles built solely out of steel wire that were left out in the rain for a few weeks. In place of eyes, it has opalescent orbs with shimmer metal and fire contained within.

  An evolved glimmermaw. A simple monster and a common enough one around here. A basic ambush predator, relies on its oversized jaws and overdeveloped muscles to overpower larger monsters and beasts. Or me, I guess, if I hadn't fought these things so much growing up. This one is exceptionally large, though.

  Which explains it being about twice the size of the average one and having apparent access to something other than just Mineralis essence like they normally would. And because the world likes to taunt me, it appears to have evolved from Ignia essence. Realizing that it has access to my essence lights an annoyingly proverbial fire in my chest, and I issue back a snarl at the creature; my anger rising at it having the audacity to attack me on my way to see my parents.

  I stalk backwards at the same rate that it closes with me — now being more obviously careful after it failed its ambush. I just want to put my back to the stone wall, but can't risk turning around to close the distance faster. It's common enough that these travel in pairs or small packs, and this example has to have other friends nearby.

  To prepare, I start calling upon Aero essence from the world around me, drawing in a deep breath and causing green motes to manifest around me to get pulled into my body. Magical power ready to be expended while I scan around for its pack.

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  It feels the Aero and backs off fractionally — so I shape and release a quick, simple, spell. It's all I really know how to use, but I use these basic spellshapes often, so it comes easily.

  [Wind Spear]

  [Projection | Aero]

  I lunge at the monster as green motes leave my body, manifesting my will onto my spear. At maximum extension — still well short of the monster — the tip of my spear bursts, launching a narrow needle of concentrated air pressure.

  It tries to twist away, but the attacks scrapes along the side of its body, ripping through some of the wiry hide on that side, making it loose an angry snarl to match my own.

  It doesn't charge like it should, though. Instead, it hops back and throws its oversized head back to loose a metallic screech that sends a shooting pain straight to my brain, dazing me momentarily.

  Just long enough for its partner to capitalize on my distraction as it reveals itself from behind a pile of split wood nearby. Instead of leaping high, it throws itself at my ankle and clamps down. This one is no larger than an average fox or raccoon, not a small deer like the other, so it struggles to actually chomp through my scales.

  Having failed its opening attack, it rips its head side to side to wrench my leg out from under me, sending me momentarily off balance until I flap my wings to stabilize and use the extra force to twist, slamming my tail into its flank as hard as I can.

  The impact tears it away, taking shred of my favorite pants with it. Which will need to be fixed. Which expands my list. Further ruining my routine for today.

  I right myself and draw Ignia from deep within, feeling a chill spread through my body as I tug on my vital self for more power and fuel for my spells.

  "I'm so tired of you monsters upsetting my life!" I snarl through a tight jaw as I stride forward to kick the recovering, smaller glimmermaw in the ribs with everything I have. My heavy toed boots strike its flank with a burst of Ignia at the point of impact, and its side craters inwards. The little furnace inside it that powers it cracks and vents excess Mineralis around my leg, hardening my scales and boot and stiffening that leg for a few moments.

  The hiss of power escaping draws the attention of the other one. Monsters don't have feelings. They aren't smart or sapient the way that people are. They coalesce from excess essence collecting. So when it charges me following my killing its companion, it's not out of a sense of loss or anger.

  No. The monster I killed just released a ton of free essence into the air, and it really likes that. The fact that I'm standing near it means I'm just a threat and a challenge to it getting the stuff. It seemed to largely resist my [Wind Spear], having probably tempered its body using its access to Ignia and Mineralis essence, so I'll just need to sharpen my spear.

  I shape another, simpler spell with the Ignia I'm pulling from myself as fuel, and force it to the spear tip, which begins to glow bright red and bleed off motes of expended power.

  [Puncture]

  [Touch | Ignia(Consumption)]

  It predictably launches itself at me, so I sweep one leg back to brace and set my haft against the ground. If it notices its death coming, it doesn't react, though.

  It skewers itself on my spear, the reinforced body being pieced clean through by my molten-tipped weapon. Puncturing its core furnace causes Mineralis and Ignia essence to burst outwards at me, scorching my clothes and hair to make it brittle, and then causing other parts to harden into metal that I will have to snip off later.

  More disruption. More…just everything.

  But the combination of the damage at the opening of the fight and the greater weight of the evolved monster hanging off it now is enough to snap the haft, causing both to drop unceremoniously to the pathway with a thud and clatter respectively.

  It crumples to the ground, the front half of my spear lodged deep within its body as it lands — totally inert after its core was punctured — causing it to vent a ton of Ignia essence. My parent's essence. I can feel it's theirs and It shouldn't have it. There's only one place around here that's concentrated enough to cause one of these to evolve.

  Anger rising further, I kick the body with everything I have, cracking its carapace in a few places and ripping away the metal pieces with the force. I stand there for a moment, seething, before loosing another frustrated snarl and ripping my spear free of its body as it starts to break down after sustaining so much damage.

  In an hour or two, both will have dissipated, and I won't have to see them anymore… But in a fit of lingering rage, I pick up the thieving monster and hurl it into the nearby woods before reigning myself in again with several deep breaths.

  Now I'm cold. If those stupid monsters hadn't come and ruined my schedule, I wouldn't have needed to defend myself with Ignia. But no! It's not enough to take what isn't theirs. They also have to ruin everything by just existing and making it my problem!

  Everything boils over, and I am left just feeling tired. But I have to finish my routine.

  I also need to repair my spear as soon as possible. I have a backup, but I can't abide not having a backup, so I'll probably work on that this afternoon. Adding a new, much higher priority, addition to The List…

  Turning away and back towards the cave with a heavy sigh, I place both halves of my spear in a rack I made from deadfall near the entrance and head deeper within. It immediately angles downward, and I start to descend into relative darkness. While I can see decently well in the dark, I’ve never been a fan of being in the dark for any length of time, so I grab a copper and glass oil lantern and quickly ignite it before heading onward.

  The cavern is… well… cavernous. At no point does it narrow, having been shaped deliberately by the touch of magicks in decades past by my Ma’. The openness allows me to freely stretch my wings wide as I walk, ensuring that the muscles aren’t stiffening from limited use. Much as I’d like to use them more, but I honestly have no reason to. If a nearby town should see me flying around, it could raise a fuss and get me visited by well-meaning heroes out hunting dangerous dragons! And I’d rather not. So I stay ground borne. Safer that way. I generally prefer not to think of the other reasons.

  After walking a while by the flickering lantern light, I make it to my destination. A chamber wide enough that my lantern’s glow cannot reach from one side to the other, that is a nearly perfect dome. I make my rounds around the outer limits. Passing by the dreams of a young girl scrawled on the wall in colorful chalk, I eventually complete my walk and end up in the center of the room, standing on the only section of stone that isn’t magically smoothed. It is coarse and irregular, with small bits of shininess sparkling in the shaky light of the lantern. A shakiness that I would definitely attribute to a failing of the lantern's construction and nothing else. The bits sparkle the same color as the lantern itself, and it flickers with an almost uncertain quality to it, reflecting my own inner thoughts, maybe.

  Within and near the center, there are two pillars of rounded river rocks — cairns. All smooth to the touch and in many colors. While they’re fundamentally similar, I made sure to personalize the selections of stones to suit Ma or Pa respectively — Pa’s are more wide, flat, stones with a focus on reds while Ma’s are taller and thinner with a color focus on yellow. Each stack starts with a simple granite foundation stone and steadily stacks upward with smaller and prettier rocks until the apex, whereupon each stack is topped with a sparkling faestone—a multicolored gemstone that is said to reflect the mood of the viewer. The damned things must be broken, though, as no matter what mood I’m in when I come down here, they’re blue. Always blue. I keep wanting them to be red or orange. I’ll even take green! Just anything different from this subdued, dull, blue. But they never are.

  At times, I wonder if the whole "colored by emotion" thing was just a fae trick. A small prank by Lilly or whoever she got them from.

  I narrow my eyes at the stones with a small bit of suspicion before kneeling to adjust the cairns to ensure they are steady. Never once in the last fifteen years have they fallen over or been stacked in a way that could be unstable, and I intend to keep it that way.

  I set my lantern down nearby and kneel. The ground and air in here is always hot, irrespective of the temperature outside. It’s a fact that’s always put me at ease — I view it as something of them still being here for, a sort of embrace that can’t be taken away. Not easily anyways. The glimmermaw must have spent some time in here on occasion to get so inundated with Ignia that it evolved.

  The heat suffuses me — helping me to recoup some of my lost Ignia. It's a very slow process that will warm me back up over the course of a few days or weeks, depending on how much time I spend down here — I just need to avoid using more for a while.

  Simple. The fire dragon simply needs not to use fire for anything. Just like every day!

  But… I'll at least try to draw it in. It's failed a thousand thousand times before, and will surely fail again, but… I have to try. It's an important part of my schedule. And if I can finally manage to draw on the power my parents left behind, I'll be much better off in both the short and long run. Even if my gate doesn't want to awaken, being able to draw on theirs would be a good substitute.

  Inhale. I draw in a deep breath, feeling the scalding hot air of the cave fill my lungs — so densely tinged by the essence of fire that it causes me a small spark of pain that quickly gives way into a more comfortable warmth that floods my body.

  I focus, holding the power inside, and try to reach out to my parents' remnants to draw from their virtually limitless supplies. I can feel them. I know their exact locations in the cave, even if they're not normally visible. Metaphysically, they should be accessible to me.

  But aside from warmth filling my lungs…nothing comes. The pair of gates resist.

  I'm not good enough, and they know it. Maybe tomorrow.

  Exhale Sapping what energy I can from the air, I let it free again, keeping my eyes open to see if any sparks of flame manifest along with my breath being released.

  Nothing happens. It never does.

  I grumble, pulling out a polishing cloth and some wax I bought in town a few months back, and set about polishing the stones to keep their exteriors lustrous. While doing so, I begin to quietly speak, my own voice softly bouncing off the walls to give me the subtle impression I’m not alone in this space. Yet another of the small comforts I find here.

  “Ma, Pa, I know it’s not really a surprise, but I had that dream again. Think I probably caught maybe 4 hours of sleep last night because of it. Stayed up later than I should have — I know, I know, but it’s not like I have anything else going on — and then woke up early because of…” I trail off, picturing the eyes in my head with a shudder. I glance around as I wrap my arms about my chest, holding myself tight with my wings drawing in for good measure. “Anyways, the cabin is holding up well enough, and I’ve started to lay the groundwork for a simple cellar, so I can keep some of my grain fresher longer. I think it’ll be a nice improvement, and it’ll be a great place to go hide out in when things get too hot!” I say with a slight smile, but it dies immediately when I notice the speckles of copper on the floor. I stand slowly after replacing the last — still doggedly blue — faestone.

  “At any rate, I’ll come by tomorrow. I’ve got some work to do today. I was considering taking a trek into town and stocking up on some supplies, but maybe I’ll just nap instead. Committing to the few days of travel sounds like a lot.” I yawn at the thought and turn to walk out. I pass by a small alcove between some standing stones shimmering with the slight haze of a lasting enchantment in the air and stare at it for a moment before shaking my head and moving on, more dour as I leave than when I entered.