The following short story is a brief look into Conwell’s thoughts upon finding his daughter with a dragon in her room. This is one of several short stories that will be taking place before the next book.
Conwell Snoweldon knows he’s a bit overbearing when it comes to his children, but he just can’t help it. Being a father has always been one of the greatest blessings in his life. So, when his daughter says she’s feeling unwell, he doesn’t even think about ending the meal early with the excuse of work to go check on her. He knows it’s likely nothing, but there have been some concerning reports from the clinics in town. If only to set his own nerves at ease, he heads to his daughter’s rooms.
Muffled words reach his ears, and he pauses outside his daughter’s door. Cecily has never been prone to talking to herself, not even as a toddler. Frowning, Conwell slowly eases down the door handle and cracks the door open as quietly as he can manage. Just as he glimpses the lacquered wood of Cecily’s desk, his daughter’s cry of pain draws him up short. Shouldering the door open fully, he raises his hand in anticipation of an intruder but he sees none in his daughter’s room. Or, at least human intruders.
Near her bed, Cecily clutches at her badly cut hand. The dripping blood has already formed a small puddle at her feet. Meanwhile, a white creature mewls in pain on her bed. Hurrying forward, Conwell spots a deep cut along one of Cecily’s fingers. Blood seeps rapidly from the wound, causing Conwell to grimace. Ordinarily, a deep cut like that would require stitches. However, Conwell is blessed with something every father wishes for: the ability to heal the hurts of his children.
“Cecily, let me see,” he urges his daughter, reaching for her injured hand. Cecily sniffs and looks up at him with teary eyes.
“He clawed me, father,” she whines as she holds out her hand. Conwell glances at the scaly creature on Cecily’s bed. It shivers in pain, and he can see blood splattered across its upper body.
“I can see that.” Conwell carefully adjusts Cecily’s tiny hand in his own large ones. Blood drips onto his own, but many years serving as a healer steels him against it. Taking a breath, Conwell reaches deep within himself, to the well of power seated in his core. Bubbles of mana heed his call. Many decades of practice allow him to carefully coax the liquid strength into the right pattern before expelling his healing enchantment through his hands. A green glow emanates from where he holds Cecily’s injured hand. Within seconds, the cut on her hand closes up; and all that remains is soft, delicate skin. Smoothing his thumb over it, he checks the rest of her hand but finds no other wounds.
“Thank you, Father.,” Cecily says as she pulls her hand back and flexes her fingers. At eight, his daughter still hasn’t let go of her childish joy for magic. Despite being a practitioner of the family ice magic, Cecily loves seeing all kinds of magic, from attack class spells to simple household charms.
Having seen to his daughter, the Snoweldon turns his attention to the tiny monster sitting on Cecily’s bed. White wings and scales would have him believe the creature to be one of the miniature wyverns kept by the beast tamers, but it has two too many legs for that.
“Don’t hurt him!” Cecily grabs his hand and tugs on it, demanding that he focus on her instead of the creature laid out on her bed.
“Cecily, it hurt you. I need to dispose of it. Wild monsters are dangerous,” Conwell replies, pulling his hand free and starting towards the bed. Min-wyv or not, once a monster tastes human blood it becomes much more hostile to humans.
“But he’s not! He’s smart! I gave him a bath and he didn’t hurt me!” Cecily cries as she tugs on the back of his tunic. Conwell blinks and looks to his daughter.
“You what?” He asks.
“I gave him a bath! He didn’t like it, but he didn’t hurt me!. I found him in the garden.He was dirty and bleeding so I gave him a bath with the fountain water. Then I took him to dinner in my coin purse and he knew to stay silent. And then he knew what ink was and tried to use it!” Cecily rushes through her nonsensical explanation as fast as she can. Conwell frowns down at his daughter in confusion. Monsters, especially wild ones, wouldn’t know to be silent at dinner and certainly wouldn’t take being washed in the garden fountain.
He looks back at the monster. It’s still curled in a ball, clutching its side. Oversized wings drift off its back, while four legs mark the creature as a quadruped. Soft bumps line its spine and tail. From head to toe, it lacks color.
White. A color created when an object rejects every color wave and the human brain doesn’t know what to do with it.
The realization comes unbidden from the depths of his mind; and as soon as it comes, he cannot shake himself of it. Normal monsters aren’t white. To be so would be to reject the world’s mana and deny themselves sustenance.
Conwell steps forward and ignores his daughter as she tugs harder on the back of his tunic. Carefully, he hovers a hand above the creature and when it doesn’t react, he picks it up carefully. Cecily quiets at his side upon seeing his careful handling of the tiny reptile. Turning it over, he carefully checks both its coloring and its injuries. The creature’s neck appears to have been savaged by something sharp and needle thin, and the muscle on one shoulder appears to have been quite literally shredded at some point. Apparently, Cecily reinjured the torn shoulder when she threw the creature on the bed.
The lack of color certainly appears to be throughout the creature’s body, but there is one last measure Conwell can use to check if his suspicions are correct. He doesn’t know if he wants to be correct. In fact, some small portion of him dreads knowing. Despite knowing that this creature is clearly not a miniature wyvern, Conwell shies away from his own hypothesis.
Taking a breath, he breathes out an ancient oath of healing and moves to sit on the bed. The beast’s wounds are more extensive than his daughter’s cut and require both more magic and more skill, especially if the creature is what he dreads it to be.
“Eonwy Ca Mianel. Eonwy Imnael Va Humn.” He hums softly as a healing circle lights the air surrounding the beast in shades of green. However, he frowns as he feels the magic hit the white scales of the creature and rebound. He has to direct more mana towards only the injured portion of the beast’s hide for his spell to have any effect, and even then the change occurs slowly. A bead of sweat rolls down Conwell’s brow.
Sage- a monster that transcends the bounds of mortal thought and limitation by virtue of its purity.
A Sage. The only monster not to become aggressive when in contact with humanity.
A Sage. And his daughter is the one who found it.
Conwell feels as if he could weep now. Sorrow tightens its hold on his heart. Yet, he still pours mana into his spell; and he still carefully, painstakingly, knits the sage’s ruined muscles back together. He takes care of the bruising on its head, the teeth marks across its neck, and even the cracked ribs.
The healing takes a while. Conwell has to carefully direct his magic around the sage’s magic repelling scales where he can and multi-layer his spell when he can’t. As he heals the creature, his mind is already a million miles away. His daughter is the one who found the sage. As much as he would shield her from what is to come, he knows that he can’t do that.
Cecily found the sage for a reason. What that reason is, he doesn’t know but he does know that it’s for a reason. Sages are either blessings or calamities, but they are forces of fate in either case. Small as the creature in his hands is, as a sage it holds the future of Xevania in each beat of its tiny heart.
Taking a closer look at it, he nods. Knowing that it is a sage, he can also conclude that the creature is a dragon, despite its lacking stature. He’s never seen a dragon in person, but he’s heard about them from the stories left by those who lived afterwards. The appendages and wings match the description and being a sage would have effects on the creature’s growth. Perhaps that’s why the creature doesn’t carry the quills and spikes of its brethren.
Well, either way, he plans to keep the sage’s existence as secret as possible. Already, he’s planning ahead to the meetings he’ll be calling tonight. He’ll need to speak with the mages and knights first- they’ll more likely take issue with the creature as well as offer insight on security measures. No one outside the Snoweldon Domain can know about the sage-not yet. Considering its size, he knows that it’s not very old yet. To expose the sage to the world could have disastrous consequences, especially if the king hears about it. So, he’ll need to meet with the knights and mages to enforce silence and alter the Saecrept Ward hanging over the city. Then he’ll need to inform Cecily’s teachers of their newest student if he wants the sage to go to class with her…
However, before he does anything, he’ll have to meet with his father. Ceasil Snoweldon is still the true lord of the Snoweldon domain after all. Conwell is only acting lord. And…
He steals a brief glance at his daughter while the healing magic fades. Anything regarding Cecily also has to be run by his father. So, since Cecily is the one who found the sage, he’ll need to meet with his father immediately after putting the two of them to bed.
He sighs as the healing magic finally fades away. The sage before him is now whole and hearty, but he finds his own heart troubled instead of relieved. The future suddenly seems uncertain and fraught with mystery.
What would come of this? He wonders to himself even as the creature looks up at him.
By the Weldwitts.
A Sage. And his daughter found it.
A Dragon Sage. And his daughter found it.
Oh, dear, sweet Cecily. You’re going to give your father so many gray hairs worrying about you. Yet, you’ve grown so much already, and I can’t wait to see who you’ll grow up to be.
Isekai Dragon 