Wings Of Fire Oneshots

Arctic Death Scene (Serious)

Two of the three moons were full that night, with the third, Oracle, but a sliver of light among a sea of stars. Their pale glow trickled down onto the stage where Darkstalker stood. While the shimmer of moonlight against his scales was notable, nothing could compare to the innate aura of fear and disgust radiating from the kneeling dragon before him.

Arctic hung his head. His talons were unmoving, bound by invisible shackles. His breath was laboured and anxious. 

Darkstalker grinned at the sight of his father cowering. It was enthralling beyond any sense of the word. To see him quivering like prey finally captured and waiting for the agony of death to come.

"How are you feeling, father?" he asked, a coy smirk still on his face.

Arctic's mouth tightened.

"Let's try that again." Darkstalker cleared his throat. "Tell me, father, how do you feel?" His voice was stern, commanding.

"Annoyed." The words spilled out of Arctic's mouth. "Bothered by how you have to make a big show."

"Oh, terribly sorry about that. Shame, really. You don't want to be forced into a position you never asked for? My, what a tragedy. I'm certain Foeslayer could relate to that had she been here."

"Darkstalker," Clearsight began, "I don't think you should bother him–"

"I don't see why I can't." He glanced back at her. "I was only asking how he was. Is that too much for a son to ask?"

"You're torturing him..."

"Torture?" He echoed. "That seems much. I'm trying to make one last conversation with him before the performance begins."

"You don't have to do this."

"But I must. You saw him! You saw what he did to Whiteout!" He gestured to his sister. "She would've been handed off to some low-life IceWing and erased of any personality. And for what? So he could see Foeslayer again? She hates him. Everyone hates him." His snout curled. "He's better off dead; I'm simply kind enough to let others join in on the fun of killing him."

Whiteout flinched. She moved closer to Clearsight, murmuring words that Darkstalker couldn't hear. Her mind was a swirling storm of muted grey-green with streaks of silver and ebony.

He sighed. "I understand that it seems barbaric, but I promise that this is necessary."

"Is it? Is it really?" Clearsight's voice was sharp.

His eyebrows furrowed. "Of course. You'll see soon enough, my beloved." He raised his talons to brush her snout, but she stepped away. Her eyes were wide. Her thoughts raced. She was afraid. Afraid of him.

Fine. She could be difficult. There will come a time when she realizes the error in her ways. How she was blinded by her belief that Arctic was still deserving of redemption and forgiveness. She never could truly understand the pain that dragon had put his family through. What Arctic had put him through.

He scoffed and turned back around. By the time he had his little conversation, a crowd had formed. The passing NightWing citizens stopped and stared. They were waiting for a performance to begin.

"My fellow NightWings," Darkstalker called out to the crowd. "Today, I bring forth a traitor to not only our own tribe, but his very own kingdom. Gather round, as I would not dare to look away. No, these next few moments will dictate the choices made thousands of years from now. Like a rock tossed into a river, the fate of this IceWing will ripple throughout history."

That got the attention of more dragons. Soon enough, the flow of shoppers stalled as more and more gathered around the stage.

"Isn't this exciting, Arctic?" he whispered. "Turns out there's more than a handful of dragons who care about you enough to watch you. More than I thought."