He pulled out a small sandglass from a niche in his wall. It was meant for timing short study sessions, but he knew its precise measure. He flipped it over, setting the small, golden grains of sand to trickle down, knowing the soft chime that marked its end would be enough to awake him from a light sleep.
He closed his eyes, drifting off. Moments, or hours later maybe, a high-pitched, irritating bzzzzzz buzzed right by his ear. His eyes opened. A small, dark beetle flew past his snout. Vireo swatted it away with a talon, grimacing. He sat up, the sandglass still flowing. Annoyed, he reached out and flicked the small lever to halt the flow, stopping it from eventually ringing.
He pushed himself off the mat and walked over to his window. Outside, the sun was nearly set. Taking a deep breath, Vireo opened his door and walked calmly into the main living area. His mother was writing on some paper on a nearby desk. What is was about he could not tell.
"Hey mother," he said, "I'm heading out now. For those games."
She looked up. "Alright." There was a short pause. "have fun then. And be careful." She gave a short, dismissive nod, already turning back to her task.
Vireo didn't linger. He gave a quick flick of his tail and walked out the front door. The cool evening air was much nicer than it's stuffy counterpart in their house. He took a single, powerful step forward, stretching his wings wide, and launched himself into the darkening sky. He banked sharply, heading directly for the eastern bell tower. This was it. This was his adventure.
From above, Chert was beautiful. He could see other dragons, small like specks, doing the same as him, soaring over the city, some on errands, others perhaps just enjoying the evening flight. The dragons on the ground were no different.
He shortly arrived at the eastern bell tower. The grand, weathered stone spire rose startlingly high into the sky. Standing on the beach in front of it, were his friends gathered in a square.
Peyote was easy to spot, even in the low light. His tan scales, so similar to Vireo's own, were streaked with darker patches around his body and his darker amber eyes gleamed. He bounced on his hind feet, unable to keep still.
A little further along the ledge was Barchan. His scales were an overall darker tan, almost a light brown, with lighter, almost bleached spots around his hide. His eyes were entirely black, giving him an intense gaze that contrasted with his generally nice and joking personality. And then there was Caliche, with scales of a more golden, sandy color.
He landed nearby and walked over calmly, tucking his wings against his back. A thrill surged through Vireo. "Hey," he greeted, a wide grin spreading across his face.
"Ay!" Barchan chirped, waving a talon. "Are you ready for this?" He gave Vireo a smirk.
"Yeah, I guess," Vireo replied, stretching his neck. "I think this is completely stupid but I'm in."
"That's the spirit," Caliche chimed in. She came over and nudged Vireo with a wing. "We should probably get moving then."
Peyote nodded. "That's right!" He rubbed his talons together in anticipation. "This is crazy!"
Caliche gave a sharp nod. "Then like I was saying, let's not waste any more time standing around. The longer we wait, the more likely some dumb night patrol guard spots us."
Without another word, the four of them leaped from the sand, their powerful hind legs launching them into the air and toward the ocean. The city of Chert began to shrink behind them. As they gained altitude, a leathery wing smacked playfully against his side. It was Peyote, of course, a wide, reckless grin plastered on his face.
"Hey! Stop! This is serious business," Vireo grumbled, though a grin he couldn't suppress tugged at his snout. He banked slightly to put a little more space between them. "Try to have a little focus, at least."
Peyote just laughed. "Oh, relax, Vireo. We're already doing a stupid thing, might as well have fun with it."
From his other side, Barchan let out a low chuckle. "He's got a point. We won't much faster if we're worried, we'll just look stupid." Caliche, flying just ahead of them in a loose formation, simply flicked her tail in a good-natured exasperation. None of them really minded.
They flew in silence for a while, the salt of the ocean tickled Vireo's nostrils. Below them, the huge dark expanse of the ocean was a sight, with the moonlight reflecting off the dark waves.
"So," Barchan's voice cut through the wind. "First one to spot a Cloth Monkey wins… my eternal respect?"
"I'll take that bet," Peyote shot back instantly. "I'm going to find a whole family of them, and they'll be wearing little hats."
"Hats?" Caliche asked, glancing back with a skeptical look. "Why would they be wearing hats?"
"Why do they wear cloth?" Peyote countered. "Who knows! Probably to not get cold, but what if they're not even natural? What if some ancient, super-powerful dragon with that super rare conceiving control everyone talks about just got bored one day and was like, 'You know what this world needs? A pale, furless monkey. And it should be really into fashion. And maybe a few others.'"
Vireo snorted. The idea was absurd, but it was funny. Conceiving control was a real thing, but so rare it was usually brought up in hatchling stories. These conceiving control users had the insane ability to make a thought into a physical, permanent reality. But it was incredibly rare. On the entire continent, there were estimated to be seven out of the hundred thousand dragons. At least, that was what they were taught in his studies, which most certainly wasn't accurate, but it was something.
"Imagine that mage," Barchan added, picking up the joke. "He probably made the Scaled-Monkeys one day when he was feeling practical. 'Let's give them some armor.' Then the next day rolls around and he's feeling whimsical. 'Forget scales! Give them soft skin!'"
"You've been reading too many scrolls, Peyote," Caliche said with a note of amusement in her voice. "Even the strongest Conceiving Control users wouldn't be able to do that. They're just a weird species that came from somewhere else, that's all. I mean, they have to be related in some way, like wolf monkeys, bird monkeys, fox monkeys, all of them seem to be related to animal counterparts. Cloth Monkeys are the only weird one."
"That's the boring explanation," Peyote declared. "I prefer to think some weirdo dragon artist is responsible for them. Maybe he was a terrible sculptor, so he just started thinking his creations into existence instead. He probably tried to make a dragon but messed up and made a Cloth Monkey by accident."
Vireo laughed along with the others. It was a stupid idea, but it was better than focusing on the growing ache in his wing muscles or the empty darkness of night surrounding them. He looked down at the inky water below. He'd never flown this far from land before, it was honestly worrying. The desert, even with it's harshness, was solid. It was home. This watery void felt alien and endless. What if one of them got tired? There was nowhere to land, nowhere to rest. He pushed the thought away, focusing instead on the image of a dragon mage sighing in frustration as his attempt at a majestic dragon sculpture turned into a small creature that immediately started looking for something to wear. It was funny. And right now, funny was exactly what he needed.
"Yeah, that could certainly be true" Caliche said. "But it wasn't a normal conceiving control user. It might've have been one with taxis conceiving control."
Barchan tilted his head. "Taxis control? You mean his one, specific, incredible power… was just making monkeys?"
"Exactly!" Caliche exclaimed, a genuine laugh escaping her this time as she flapped. "Imagine being born with one of the most powerful abilities in existence, and the only thing you can will into reality is a very particular type of silly, hairless animal."
The image was too specific, too absurd to ignore. All four of them broke into laughter. The concept of taxis versus non-taxis control was drilled into them during their studies. It was the dividing line for any supernatural ability, a concept that applied to all species lucky or unlucky enough to possess them, from dragons to the rarer occasion of a griffin or wyvern that possessing them. Non-taxis was broad, versatile control over an entire element or concept. Taxis was more specific, the ability to control only one aspect of that power, and usually pretty well.
As the laughter died down, Vireo's thoughts drifted. He thought of the different dragon clans and their typical affinities. Sea dragons, who were rumored to have a high incidence of water control. Flame dragons, with their legendary fire-breathers. The forest dragons, able to manipulate plant growth. And them, the sand dragons of Ventifact. It seemed only right that a good amount of them should possess sand control. Yet, in their entire kingdom, there was only one: Fallow. A dragon so respected he was practically a living legend, able to control the dunes they lived on.
Vireo sighed internally. He wished he had an ability, any ability at all. He didn't need Fallow's immense power. He'd settle for some simple taxis sand control. The ability to make sand just a little firmer to walk on, or to keep it from getting in his eyes during a storm, maybe harden it into a cup that is usable. Anything really. Every dragon he knew who didn't have a power wished they did. It was a universal envy.
His mind strayed to the other lecture hall lessons. To the countries that were home to the non-taxis conceiving control users, like the Kingdom of Dawn in the savannah, or the nation of Ficoa in the jungle lands. He couldn't even imagine it. A dragon who could think, and a mountain would appear. A dragon who could wish, and an army would spring from the ground. The thought was scary. A war between nations who had beings like that… it wouldn't be a war. It would be an apocalypse. The entire continent of Tranaxas could be destroyed, reshaped into some horrific, unimaginable landscape by the intentions of a few angry, god-like dragons. A cold shiver ran down his spine. Its even happened before, according to historical accounts and old tales. The most popular one, which every dragon has heard of was the Epic of Caelarius. In the tale, it was said the Arctic dragon named Caelarius cooled the entire continent until it was all ice in an epic battle. There was no account on how it was changed back, since the land today was obviously normal, so many believe it to be a tall tale. But real artifacts from their time 1000 years ago support the story as being real, so it is debated. It was all too crazy really. Maybe it was better to just be normal.
The thought stopped when a gust of wind slammed into him. His left wing dipped, and he fought to correct his course. Below, the ocean seemed to churn more than it was, the moonlight glinting off the excited water.
"Whoa!" Peyote yelped, wobbling in the air. "Bit windy out here!"
"Keep your wings steady!" Caliche's voice cut through the roar of the wind. "It's just a crosswind!"
They flew on, battling the turbulence. The minutes stretched into an hour, then another. The initial thrill of the journey slowly dulled as time went on. An annoying ache had settled in his shoulders, which always happened during long flights. This was flight without end, without the guarantee of solid ground beneath. His earlier anxieties began to creep back in. What if they were actually going the wrong way?
It was Barchan who saw it first. "Look," he called out. He pointed with his claw.
Vireo followed his gaze, squinting into the dark. At first, he didn't see much. But then, as his eyes adjusted, thankfully to dragons' superior senses, he saw it. A low, dark smudge on the horizon, a patch of night that was blacker than the rest. It wasn't much, but it was something. It was land he hoped.
Adrenaline shot through the group. The beat of their wings quickened. The smudge on the horizon grew, gradually turning into the shape of an island. They could see the pale line of a beach around the dense and dark mass of vegetation. The sound of the wind was soon joined by a new sounds, the roar of waves crashing on shore and the sounds of nocturnal birds.
They descended to the beach. Vireo's talons touched down. The sand was cool his claws, and much different than what he was used to on the coast of Chert. He stumbled a half-step forward, his wings folding against his back. They had made it.
An exhalation passed between the four of them. Peyote let out a quiet cheer and bumped his shoulder against Vireo's, his amber eyes shining with excitement. Caliche simply stood for a moment, her head held high as she looked at their surroundings. Barchan looked relieved as well, the tension gone from his posture.
"So," Peyote said, his voice a loud whisper in the sudden quiet. He bounced on his feet, looking from the beach to the towering wall of trees that began just a few dozen paces inland. "Where do we go first? We need to see Cloth Monkeys!"
"I completely agree," Vireo said with a nod.
Caliche didn't say anything. She nodded towards the vegetation of black and green, where the moonlight struggled to pierce the thick canopy. "There's only one place to go," she said, her voice firm. "Straight into the forest."
Barchan, who had been gazing at the jungle with a look of awe, now seemed to step back slightly. The trees loomed over them, their shapes twisted and alien in the low light, and the sounds emanating from within were clicks, chirps, and rustles he couldn't identify. Everything was new. They never have seen these plants, never have heard these birds. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice softer now. "Are there… I don't know, any dangerous things on this island?"
Caliche turned to him. "Relax, Barchan," she said, nudging him gently with her wing. "We're dragons. We're the top of the food chain here. The monarchy's decrees were about protecting the exotic animals from us, not the other way around." She gave a confident flick of her tail. "This isn't the jagged peaks where savage griffins live or the deep jungles where giant serpents still reside. It's a tiny island. We'll be fine."
Barchan sighed. "Alright, but if I see anything, I'm flying away as fast as I can."