Chapter Text
Born from the shattered chaos of a world on the brink, the Dragonborn were but a brief spark of fire and fury, their existence a storm that surged through time. Like a tempest, they arrived—unstoppable, untameable, and in an instant, they were gone, swallowed by the void. Now, they remain only as whispers on the wind, their names scattered to forgotten corners of history, lingering as shadows in the legends of those who dare to remember."
Dragonborn: Ashes of the Forgotten Age — Israya Draegoth
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This morning when I woke, I knew that nothing would ever be the same again, and for better or for worse, I was marching towards my destiny - also known as my mother's office. I don’t know why I don’t trust my dad with this secret: maybe it’s the way his eyes glint when he’s talking about the Gods and the Isles or the topic of his latest obsession; maybe it's the way his emotions seem to flip sporadically, from loving and patient to distant and cold with no rhyme or reason; maybe it's simply that I couldn’t risk losing the way he sits and reads with me and smiles at me adoringly (an issue I don’t have with my mom). Maybe I'll never know. What I do know is that after I finished panicking this morning and decided someone needed to know, my feet carried me to the controlled reaction of my mother - a decision I am coming to regret as I stand outside her door, unable to make myself knock. Just as I’m debating whether this is important enough for me to be here, or if I should return to my room and deal with it on my own, the answer smacks me in the head; quite literally as Col. Aetos opens the door on my face, and my mother spots me standing in the hall.
Col. Aetos is my best friend’s dad; he’s also my mothers aide which means whenever we move somewhere, Dain moves too. Dain doesn’t seem to care that I’m weak and fragile like everyone else, he’s just happy to have someone to play with. He tries to protect me of course, but also seems content to let me decide what I can and can’t do - what pain I can handle and what's too much. He knows how to push me to do things I’m scared of, and stands beside me unrepentant and unwavering when I get hurt. I don’t think he’ll ever know how much it means to me that he doesn’t try to wrap me in a blanket and hide me away in a tower like the rest of the world seems to do. I’ve always wished–
“Violet!” my mother calls impatiently, drawing me back to reality, and from the tone of her voice I know it's not the first time she’s said my name. As I look up, I realize Col. Aetos is at the end of the hallway, and I wonder, not for the first time, how long I was stuck in my head.
“Yes, sorry, coming mother.” I respond meekly, causing her scowl to deepen, and I internally curse myself; this was not how I wanted to start this conversation. As I enter her office I’m struck once again by how intimidating my mother is. With her tall, muscular frame, permanent scowl, and eyes an electric blue that reflect the lightning of the storms she wields, I barely want to face her within the walls of our current home, let alone on the battlefields I know she's fought through, but I can’t let the silence stretch on any longer.
“I-” the little sound I manage to get out dies in my mouth. Squaring my shoulders and clearing my throat, I try again. “I need to tell you something”
She just looks at me like an idiot who said something obvious (which in hindsight I did) and makes a ‘get on with it’ motion; not exactly the confidence instilling response I was hoping for, but unsurprising nonetheless - thanks mom. I grip the edges of my robes tightly - my tan, pseudo scribe uniform that my dad’s always made me wear - before speaking again.
“Something has… I don’t even… I need” I stutter before giving up entirely. Turning around, I take in one last comforting breath. You can still leave a small voice whispers in my head, begging me to go, to run, to get out of here, but I shake off the thought and drop the outer layer of my tunic, revealing the broad silver wings tucked tightly against my skin - wings, resembling those of a dragon, that are very clearly attached directly to my back.
A shocked gasp is all the reaction I get before their are hands on my shoulders, pulling me this way and that, poking at my wings, and as I’m trying to comprehend the speed of my mothers actions, my tunic is thrown roughly over my back and I’m being dragged toward the door.
“Mom what are yo-”
“Silence Beast.” That comment hits me like a slap to the face. It’s not the first time my mother’s cut me off - not by a long shot. Nor is it the first time she’s taken such a violent, no nonsense tone with me, but that one word keeps ringing through my head in circles. Beast it cries, tearing at my heart. Abomination, it continues, burning down the carefully constructed shields and boxes inside my mind that keep me sane and whole. Useless, Worthless, Freak of nature, it finishes, echoing my darkest thoughts; the ones people whisper about me when they think I can’t hear. The ones I pretend don’t affect me; ones that cycled through my mind this morning when I woke up with these… things.
So stuck in my thoughts I don’t realize where we’re going till my back crashes onto a cold stone floor and the loud clicking of a key turning in a lock viciously drags me back to the present. My mind is still back in the office, the world around me fuzzy, but I manage to stagger to my feet before my mother gets more than a dozen feet away from my cell.
“What are you doing?” I call out after her, but when that gets no reaction I can’t help the strangled and heartbroken “MOM!” that tears itself from my lips.
She’s in front of me in an instant, a vicious snarl splashed across her face resembling the dragon she rides, and I feel my body leave the ground as she hoists me up eye level with her by the front of my tunic. Thunder rumbles outside; the rain pounding against the roof of the citadel, and her voice is the coldest I’ve ever heard it, but it's her words themselves that send ice coursing through my veins.
“You. Are NOT, my daughter. I don’t know what kind of sick games you're playing Demon, or what I’ve done to deserve such a cruel fate, but no halfbreed is any family of mine. I may have given you life, but I will not stand for this curse, this… twisted mockery of what I am.
I could have put up with a lot for you; loved you despite your weakness and scribe tendencies, and would have continued to, but this? This abomination is beyond redemption. As soon as we determine how to stop this from occurring again, I will take the life I gave and condemn you to an eternity without peace. An afterlife without the blessing of Malek. A Thing like you deserves no such decency.”
She stands there for a moment, eyes glaring daggers into my soul, before she tosses me backwards and turns to walk away again. Tears sting at my eyes as I struggle to process everything that's just happened, but my mind refuses to make sense of it. My mom rejected me. I’m cursed. I shouldn’t exist. I have no family. I’m going to DIE.
“No no wait mom please! Stop! Come back! Don’t leave me! I’ll fix it I swear! I’ll find a way to turn it back just don’t give up on me! I’m still your Violet, your Little Flower… Mom, I love you!” but no matter what I say, my pleas fall on deaf ears, and she keeps walking unaffected. I start curling up into a ball on the cold hard floor, accepting that this is my life now when one thought sends everything crashing to a standstill. “As soon as we determine how to stop this”. That means experimentation. That means torture.
She’s going to tell people.
That thought alone is enough to spur me into action, and I scramble up to the bars, pushing all my worries away to deal with another time. I have to stop my mother. I can’t let her leave. As I watch her back get smaller, I feel my emotions spark something to life in my chest - my sorrow, rage and desperation, my heartbreak and fear all converge into something raw and powerful, fueling one last anguished “STOP” that rips itself from my very soul, and miraculously, she does. I stand there for a second in shock before I notice it wasn’t just a hesitant step, or a momentary freeze, but that she isn’t moving. She doesn’t twitch, or shake, or even seem to breathe, and I realize I must have done something; this well of power I can still feel in my chest must have done something.
“Come here” I say, but nothing seems to happen. She doesn’t move and the force in my chest just continues to swirl aimlessly. “Come here” I try again, forcing more authority into my tone, but still, she remains frozen. By now I start to panic, as I can tell she’s still not breathing - the telltale expansion and compression of her chest being absent - and as much as she may have hurt me, she's still my mother and I don’t want to kill her. “Breathe” I cry desperately, and to my utmost relief, I watch her take in a shuddering breath, before her chest returns to a more regular, although slightly robotic pattern.
Emotion I realize. Whatever this is, it’s tied to my emotions. They spark the fire in my soul and allow the power to be released. I wonder how I could trigger the spark and control this ability without the overwhelming feelings and begin planning out experiments and trials before I register I’ve gotten off task and should probably be focusing on the more pressing issues at the moment, though this reminds me of my broken mental boxes and I sigh as I realize I’m going to have to re-compartmentalize everything. As I look back up at the frozen body of my mother, I try to focus on everything I’ve been feeling this morning - my fear of being found out, my grief at the rejection of my mother, my desire for everything to go back to the way it was - and I do my best to channel it all into my words.
“Come here” and this time I feel it: the vortex inside me expanding and reaching out past my body, interacting with the environment around me; the quality of something extra and different in my voice that I don’t know how to explain, and my mother starts walking towards me!
Backwards.
I couldn’t suppress the sigh that escapes my lips if I tried. I tell her to turn around, which fails - because apparently frustration isn't a strong enough emotion - and try again. Luckily, it works this time, but I don’t realize I have to tell her to stop before she walks face first into the metal bars of my cell. How to not make this as finicky as drawing Tyrrish runes is added to my list of things to experiment with. It’s at this moment that I realize how carefully I’m going to have to word my order if I want any chance of this working and being able to live a relatively ‘normal’ life. After a quick glance to ensure she’s still breathing - which she is, thank Dunne - I get to brainstorming.
I don’t know the extent of this… ability, which is going to be the most troublesome part, and I don’t have time to experiment. The guards shouldn’t patrol this area when there are no prisoners, but someone might still end up walking by, and that would make this all infinitely harder. I know I can give her orders, but I don’t know how long they last or what else I'm able to do, which means talking and explaining my way out of this is my best bet, hopefully adding power to my voice to enhance the effect. I can’t just tell her to forget this happened (though that's definitely something to try in the future), but maybe I could convince her this was all a dream? I did that with Mira once when I borrowed her favourite sweater, so it might work, I’d just have to act accordingly for the next few days in case she remains suspicious. So I’ll just tell her I never came to her office and this was all a dream? Wait no, Col. Aetos saw me. What if he asks her tomorrow what I was doing there? Ok so I also have to plant the seeds of what I was doing in her office today, and then convince her that the wings and prison and everything else was a dream. Do I have to tell her what specifically was a dream? Or can I just give a timestamp?
“Urgh” I cry aloud. Why does everything have to be so confusing? Why couldn’t I just have stayed in my room this morning and tried to figure it all out on my own? All I want to do is curl up in a ball and cry but every second I waste is a greater chance I get caught. I run through all my ideas and all the factors that need to be considered in my head once again before deciding that this is probably my best course of action. I don’t like this plan and I don’t feel confident about it, but I don’t have the week I wish I had to prepare, so I take a steadying breath, and start talking.
“Stand up” I begin when I realize she's still on the floor, and to ensure I'm speaking with my power (find a better name for it, I mentally add to my list of things to do after and processing everything). When she does, I continue, allowing my intentions and instinct to guide me. “When I finish speaking, you will return to your office like you normally would and you will sit down at your desk. You will remember your meeting with Col. Aetos, and me coming in afterwards throwing a fit about something you didn’t care to remember. When I got fed up, I punched you, which is how you ended up with the light bruise on your forehead, and you told me to leave, which I did, running from your office. You then put your head on your desk in exasperation, as it had been a long morning after an even longer night. The events of the last half hour played in your dreams. I am not part Dragon, nor did you bring me to the dungeons. When you wake, what you remember will be foggy and unclear at best, and you will forget and disregard all previous orders given to you by me. This is my will, and as I have said it, I lay it upon you. Now go.”
And with that, I watch her walk away. I barely remember the words I said, feeling as if they were drawn from somewhere deeper and older than myself, and I pray that it will work, and know, somewhere deep in my gut, that it will.
I feel my energy and adrenaline drain from me, and I crash to the ground in a broken heap, finally allowing myself to feel the emotional pain of the day, and realizing that with all the rough handling and sudden movements, my body has broken once again and I don’t have the energy to self scan and determine what's wrong.
My mother wanted to kill me, I finally let myself think, before an even more heartbreaking thought joins the fray in my mind. Whether or not she remembers it, I was disowned and even if I wasn’t, do I even really want a mother so quick to demonize her own daughter, and judge things she has no knowledge of, simply because they are different from her? I don’t know, and know I’ll never get the chance to find out. Despite her living, breathing body, today I lost my mother over something I had no control over. It’s at this moment that I realize I forgot to tell my mom - no, not my mom. She’s just The General to me now - General Sorrengail to unlock the cell door.
Happy fucking birthday to me. What a way to turn 7.