Icaris woke up to a sharp poke in the side.
"Move it, slowpoke," Brass said, not exactly gently. The red-scaled hatchling was sitting on his haunches, looking way too comfortable for someone who'd just hatched.
Icaris groaned, shifting his heavy limbs and trying not to topple over. The world was still weird. His body was awkward, muscles sore, and wings—those giant, flappy things—felt like they weighed a ton.
"Relax," Whisper said softly from the shadows. The black-and-blue hatchling barely moved but her eyes were sharp, like she could see right through him. "You're not going anywhere if you don't get up."
"I'm getting up," Icaris said, trying to sound less grumpy than he felt.
"Then prove it," Brass said, flicking his tail.
Icaris pushed himself up with a grunt. His legs wobbled like a newborn deer. Wings flopped uselessly as he took a shaky step.
"Wow, graceful," Brass mocked. "Like a drunk human trying to walk on stilts."
Icaris shot back, "Better than sitting around talking trash."
Their mother's voice echoed from deeper in the cave. Calm. Steady. "Patience, all of you. You'll learn in time."
Icaris wanted to tell her that time was the one thing he didn't have. That the world outside was huge and waiting and he wanted to see it now.
Instead, he swallowed it down and focused on not falling again.
The cave was warm and smelled like earth and stone, with faint cracks glowing softly along the walls. Those were Aether veins, humming quietly—something the older dragons always talked about but the hatchlings barely understood.
Brass stretched and snapped his jaws. "We're supposed to be able to use that stuff. Magic, or whatever. It's what makes us dragons."
"Sounds fancy," Icaris muttered. "I'm still trying to figure out how to stand."
Whisper stepped forward, a little closer. "It's called Aether. It flows through us and the world. It's why we breathe fire, why our scales shine, why we fly."
"Yeah, yeah," Brass said. "Just don't set the cave on fire again."
Icaris frowned. "That was one time."
"Once too many," Brass said flatly.
Their mother appeared then, massive and calm, her scales deeper red with gold streaks. She watched them with tired eyes.
"You each have a spark inside you," she said. "Aether is what feeds it. But power without control is useless."
Icaris rolled his eyes. "Control sounds boring."
"Control keeps you alive," Brass said.
Icaris gave him a pointed look. "And here I thought you were the expert on dying."
Brass didn't answer, just smirked.
Their mother sighed. "You'll have your time to test your strength. For now, listen and learn."
They settled down on the rocky floor as she told them about the forest, the Aether, and the ancient dragons who had shaped the world. No long lectures—just stories with sharp edges and practical advice.
"The forest out there is alive," she said. "Aether flows in every leaf, every stone, every breeze. It's both friend and foe."
"Sounds like my kind of place," Icaris said, glancing toward the cave mouth.
"You'll explore soon enough," she promised.
Icaris flexed his claws, feeling the heat in his chest stir. It wasn't just fire. It was a part of him, waiting to burn bright.
"Tomorrow," Brass said, "we try flying again."
Icaris groaned. "Great. Because crashing is such a good look."
Whisper smiled faintly. "You'll get there."
Outside, the forest stretched wide—mossy, mysterious, glowing faintly under the twin moons. The air smelled of rain and something wild.
Icaris wanted to run into it all, to burn through the shadows and find his place.
But for now, the cave was home. And learning was the first step.