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// Realization 
// Story: Spike: The Last Draconian 
// by Maneiac 
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        The darkness, how it calms you. It wasn’t that long ago...the start of your thousand-year slumber. Needless to say, your body hurts from trying to arouse itself from its comatose state. You blink...at least you think you do. It’s dark...wherever you are, yet a feeling of belonging rings through your mind. A cool breeze of air tickles the balms of your feet.

        “Well, at least my nerves aren’t shot. That’s a huge problem with larger dragons.” A smile creeps onto your features as you begin feeling at your surroundings with your claws. You press a scaled-hand onto what feels like...stone. Yep. You ended up in a cave with no way in remembering how to get out. You sigh dejectedly, hoping at least to find some source of illumination as you stand shakily to your feet. The floor is cold; which makes you wonder how sleep came so easily given your more...high-class, taste. You take a step forward in the darkness and smile. Muscle memory never ceases to amaze you.

You suddenly stop in your tracks as a feeling of absolute pain rockets through what you assume is your left leg. A dog-like yelp escapes your mouth, much to your pride’s chagrin, as you bend to massage the throbbing calf muscle.

“I get a damn charlie-horse!!? How in the hell do you get a charlie horse after waking up!!?” You stay bent over and massaging your throbbing and quite big calf muscle. After a couple more minutes of mind-boggling PAIN, you finally stand fully erect. Fate is a cruel mistress who obviously enjoys seeing you suffer, for you immediately collide with the ceiling of the tunnel. You curse again, rubbing your head where it was bumped. Hoping to leave before anymore injury can be done, you begin walking in a random direction.

As you walk, the sound of dripping water echoes around you. The monotonous dripping sounds begin to irritate you slowly but surely, adding on to your aggravation. But, whether you like it or not, the sounds are all natural so there’s no stopping them. You grunt in irritation as a drop of water plunks down on the crown of your head. The rocks and pebbles that are crushed under your heel somehow add to your growing agitation. Then, as if an apology was sent by fate itself, you feel the touch of soil underneath your feet. A smile-rare in your case-breaks loose upon your features as you quicken your pace.

“You...are...fucking...kidding me!” You curse out loud to fate. In front of you is a virtually endless expanse of trees and vines as far as the eye can see. That, unfortunately for you, means that there will be no flying. It’s been a thousand years, yet nature is finding new ways to piss you off. “Simply glorious...” You drawl out in a sarcastic tone. You look up, noticing the many trees and vines that will prohibit you from flight and above all else, knowing your location.

You contemplate on just burning everything above you down with your fire. That idea, however, goes away as quickly as it came. “I almost forgot,” you shake your head in disbelief at your ignorance. “Draconians, much like Dragons, could fall into cardiac arrest from strenuous use of the fire glands after the Millennial Slumber.”

While nature was quickly becoming one of your vices, your own voice seemed to give you a sense of peace and calm. A beam of sunlight struck one of your eyes, causing you to shake your head and close your eyes rapidly. Aggravated once again, you tear your head down from the sight of the canopy.

“What was that?” You heard some sort of jingle sound when you shook your head from side to side. Curious as to what that could have been, you shake your head thrice more. The sound played against your consciousness. It wasn’t annoying, but it’s definitely not amusing either. Out of the corner of your eye, a bright glimmer of sunlight shimmered briefly. Needless to say, you’re pretty interested on what that could have been. You turn your body quickly, the blades of grass that you venture onto tickling the soles of your scaled feet while you do.

Your brain stops.

“How is there a wall of obsidian in a forest clearing!?” The very sight must be some sort of trickery! Obsidian is the most valuable possession a Draconian could own! The black and hard stone material could be eaten and you feel hunger in two years! Come to think of it, you’re pretty famished from your Millennial Slumber. Someone must really be a great subject, because this is quite possible the greatest gift ever. You quickly run over to the rectangle-shaped wall of midnight-purple colored ore. You open your mouth, ready to taste the sweet and divine pleasure of your favorite type of ore before something in the ore catches your attention.

“Is...I-is that...me? I’m...beautiful!” It was your reflection in the ore. You’re dressed in a black tunic with a gold sash tying it around the midsection. Along the trims of said tunic are broad lines of what appear to be gold sinew. It dusty from the tunnel you were sleeping in but beautiful nonetheless. You measure yourself through the obsidian, coming to the conclusion that you’re at least eight feet tall. That’s normal for a draconian male such as yourself.

Your eye color is nothing shorter than breathtaking. A beautiful light and dark gold color followed with a black pupil. There were no, “whites in your eyes”, for in the socket was a black and abysmal pit. It’s true, you were scaled, but what interested you more was the shape of your ears and the feathers. There was nary a mane on the crown of your head, like there would be for most draconians. But, there were intricate and strong feathers that curled into tribal like shapes, adding even more to your aged appearance. Then, your eyes rested on the feathers on top of your scales.

You felt your slightly exposed and well-toned chest with a single claw. You traced the outline of your pronounced pectoral muscles, nodding as you began to feel yourself once more. As strange as that may sound, it wasn’t meant in that way. In the spur of touching yourself, you had your head angled down and thus were looking at where your claw was touching. When you brought your head back up and stared into the obsidian mirror, your eyes widened with realization.

On your forehead; just above your eyebrows, was a headdress like the ones royalty wore. A tribal-like headdress adorned with five golden horns of varying size. The largest horn rested in the center of the headdress, with a gold pendant hanging from a gold chain in the middle of the horn. Black feathers with gold trim graced the back of the headdress, and were brought out even more by your grey scales and feathers. Your ears are droopy and feather covered, hanging to the side of your head.

“Of course, the ears are always different.”  Your thought was laced with discouragement. There was always that one detail that seemed to ruin your mood. Now that you think about it, you’ve always been a moody individual. You noticed a red glimmer coming from your chest earlier. When you looked down and saw a gold neckband fastened around the base of your neck, you nearly flipped. Now if that red orb was attached to a beaded gold necklace right below it...

You fangirl scream...hard.

“I’M ROYALTY,” You shout into the heavens, “THIS IS BY FAR THE BEST WAY TO WAKE UP!!!” Your parade of happiness was put on mental hiatus, however, when a thought from the bowels of your conscious surfaced. “If I don’t have the Ceremonial Earring of  Wanotreyxi, then wearing the rest of my regalia is meaningless!!!”  Your claw immediately reaches the back of your oddly shaped ear, feeling for the trinkets of princehood you desperately desire to be resting there. You feel yourself smile devilishly as the trinkets are felt up by your claw. A sigh of happiness and relief leaves your mouth.

You’re a Prince, which means there’s a country you should be ruling right about now. But, as if on cue about discovering who you are, a flood of memories comes crashing into your head. It hurts...badly!!! You begin screaming in absolute agony as you drop to a kneeling position with both hands on your head. Your face is scrunched up in concentration, trying to remove the hurtful memories being played out in your head.

There’s a little boy of which you’re sure is you, crying alone in the foyer of a grand castle. His tears burning his face as they fizzled out on the cobblestone floor. Draconian’s are taught to never cry or mourn, for their tears run hotter than a witch’s brew. Muffled shouts are coming from in front of him, but cannot see who it is. One thing’s for sure, whoever was yelling sounded very angry. A high pitched scream caused your body to tense up as you continued to watch with horror. A female draconian that looked just like you fell to the ground in a limp mess of feathers and blood, her green eyes glazed over. The child version of you screams even louder, causing the earlier voice that was yelling to raise it’s own to even more deafening levels.

 


	
“YOU SUCK THOSE FUCKING TEARS UP RIGHT NOW DAMEION, OR YOU’LL GET WHAT YOUR WHORE OF A MOTHER GOT AS WELL!!!”  That voice sent a feeling of which you haven’t felt until now. It was worse than agitation or anger, way worse. It was cold but blazing hot as well, clear but confusing...It was hate. Yes, you haven’t felt that emotion in a long time. But something tells you it’s name with so much clarity through the turmoil you’re in right now. You praise the heavens as that horrid flashback ends quickly, leaving you beside yourself. If this is how your memories are going to return, then please let them stay lost. You rise from the ground with something new to think about. Your name.

“Dameion...” You say your name softly, as if you're very speech was a gentle breeze on summer’s day. Your voice was commanding but understanding, as if you have been alive since this world had been made. But you weren’t, nothing was. Your stomach growled in agitation, rumbling through your midsection like a cadence of well-trained soldiers. Having stalled enough, you turn and face the tasty morsel of obsidian. You pounce on it vigorously, your teeth making short work of one of the strongest ores on the planet. It doesn’t taste like rocks, much to the chagrin of other creatures. Instead, it reminds you of the sweetest blackberry-tart that you’ve ever eaten. It was given to you by that female draconian you saw earlier in your memory/flashback/episode.

Something hot runs down your face as you continue to eat. You stop and bring a claw to your cheek. Your eyes widen. It’s a tear. You’re crying. You miss her, your mother. The father in your life seemed like the abusive type, even having the brass to threaten you with death! It wasn’t unheard of-abusive fathers that is- but it certainly although rarely happened. You just happened to be one of those unlucky boys that had one. Before you began crying, half of the wall had been consumed and now your stomach is practically bursting with the obsidian snack you had. You wipe away your tears and crumbs, dismount the half-eaten wall, stretch really hard, then yawn.

You’ve been through so much today, but the sunlight still poking through the canopy says its still daylight. Which means you have a lot of time to kill. So, with a full stomach and every bone popped, you begin trekking into the forest. It was going to be a long walk until you’ll be able to scout the skies for your home, but a walk is said to be the best thing to clear your head.

That...and fine wine.