Frost Dragon (3)
Among the countless dwarf brothers of the Holy Land, three in particular were treated with the deference due an elder sibling.
Trivius Fallac, the third. Sedus Fallac, the second. And Opus Fallac, the eldest.
These were the dwarves who had received their names directly from the Great One, and that distinction had naturally settled into a quiet authority the other brothers all recognized.
In truth, authority inside the Holy Land never amounted to much. No matter how they ranked among themselves, they were all equals before the Great One.
At best it meant getting the colder beer a little sooner at the tavern, having a chair reserved for you, or seeing your name scratched highest on the wall. Truly trivial privileges — but Sedus Fallac was a dwarf who knew how to savor such humble joys.
"Heh heh heh. Ahh, that's cold. You pretty little thing, how are you this cold?"
He squeezed tighter.
Sedus Fallac hugged the frosted egg even closer, soaking in the chill. Embracing the frost-rimed egg that had appeared in the Holy Land not long ago and basking in its cold was another of his modest pleasures.
The second brother's fearsome authority and power simply meant Sedus Fallac got to hold the frost egg a little longer than his younger brothers. He could hear a few of them grumbling behind him now and then, but he ignored that with ease.
A shiver ran through him.
That bone-deep coolness! Dwarves who spent their days practically living in front of blazing forges would gather in clusters around the frost egg, hugging it and luxuriating in the cold.
"Heh heh— ahh, that's refreshing."
He put more strength into the arms wrapped around the egg, trying to maximize every point of contact so the chill could reach every corner of his body.
Crack—
"…Hmm?"
An unfamiliar sound reached Sedus Fallac's ears. The sound of a thin membrane breaking.
He turned his head this way and that, searching for the source. The other dwarves had heard it too; they murmured among themselves and peered around.
Crunch! Crack-crack—
The sound came again. Every dwarf head, Sedus Fallac's included, snapped toward the same direction at once.
"Ah— the egg…!"
"It's breaking—!!"
The frost egg that had been supplying them with cold developed a great fissure, then split and shattered with a series of sharp cracks!
The dwarves' jaws dropped. They scrambled away in a panicked rush and only looked back once they had put a safe distance between themselves and the egg.
The dwarves had countless brothers, yet paradoxically, not one of them had ever witnessed something being born. They had not been born — they had been made by a god. Faced with that unfamiliar scene of birth, the dwarves were frightened before they even understood why.
"B-Big Brother! Shouldn't we be doing something?"
"Don't shove me, you idiot! What am I supposed to know?"
"Uh-uh…! It's still breaking!!"
Crrrack! Snap!
The cracks etched across the egg's surface grew wider, spreading until at last—
"Ppi-iiiii!"
With a mighty cry, a life roared into the world.
"O-ohh… Great One have mercy…"
"By the heavens, by the heavens… how could such a…"
The dwarves gasped. The moment they laid eyes on the being that had broken free of the egg, they knew. It was an instinctive revelation.
That creature was a born predator, a thorough hunter, a merciless tyrant — and their natural enemy.
Look at that form. Look at that violent, terrifying bearing!
The sharp little claws poking out so adorably. The plump belly jutting forward! The tail plump with soft flesh, the smooth scales shimmering with blue light, the slightly elongated pupils, the tiny red tongue, and those pebble-like bumpy little teeth!
"Ppi-ii?"
Thump—
"Guh—!"
"M-my heart…!"
That little thing was a fierce beast. A predator that aimed straight for its prey's heart.
The creature that had hatched from the egg looked up at the dwarves and tilted its head left and right. Its small body swayed along with the motion until it lost its balance and flopped over onto its back right where it stood.
A truly devastating sight.
Struck through the heart by that surprise attack, the dwarves clutched their chests as one and dropped to their knees. An ambush in a single instant!
"What?! What's going on, Big Brothers! What happened!"
"H-huh? The egg's gone!"
The other dwarves who came running at the commotion fared no better. Before that merciless violence they collapsed helplessly.
"Ppi-ik? Ppi-iii?"
"Guh!"
"So cute…!"
Thud.
Around the frost dragon, dwarves knelt in every direction. Standing alone amid the neutralized dwarves, the frost dragon's bearing was truly that of the apex of the ecosystem — the king of all winged things.
All of this catastrophe had unfolded in the brief moments after the frost dragon's birth.
What a terrifying predator this was.
"Ppi-iii…? Ppi-ik! Ppi-iii!"
Flap-flap.
The frost dragon tilted its head at the fallen dwarves, then began beating its short little wings. Compared to its plump body those wings were absurdly small and adorable, yet miraculously, that body slowly rose into the air.
Having climbed as high as a dwarf's head, the frost dragon turned its face toward the sky where sun and moon hung together and roared with all its might.
"Ppi-iiiii!"
A tiny, adorable howl rode the breeze and spread. As if determined to stamp its existence upon the world, the lingering echo hung on for a long time.
It was the moment the cutest, most precious tyrant in the history of the Holy Land arrived.
Dragons.
Personally, I think they're one of those cases — right up there with octopuses — where Eastern and Western perceptions diverge most sharply. From appearance to the images they typically carry, they're nearly polar opposites.
In the West they symbolize terror, evil, and dread… every negative thing imaginable, and they show up constantly as targets to be slain. In the East they appear as spiritual beings of the highest order, endowed with wisdom and sagacity. A fantastical creature whose reputation splits to absolute extremes.
Either way, they tend to show up as extraordinarily powerful and mysterious life-forms — that much is similar. But the point is this.
…It's a dragon?
A jackpot had just hatched from a frost egg I'd held no particular expectations for.
"Ppi-iii. Ppi-ik!"
I'd bolted through lunch and logged into the game for a quick look, just to check what had come out of the frost egg — and the face I found waiting left me briefly stunned.
Flap-flap.
A tiny dragon zipped between the temple, the mines, and the buildings, beating its adorable little wings. As if to prove it had come from the frost egg, its overall color was a pastel sky-blue. Maybe because it was still a hatchling.
Looking closer, only the shattered fragments of the egg remained where it had once sat. A few dwarves were fidgeting about, cleaning up the leftover pieces.
A dragon? And a frost dragon at that?
What did that even mean?
Above the head of the hatchling I still hadn't named floated the temporary label Frost Wyrmling, and that name threatened to drag up one particularly unpleasant memory.
Basic attacks packing terrifying raw damage and a stun. Area breath attacks whenever it felt like it. Switching to aerial patterns the moment Phase 2 started and making the game a living hell… Coincidence or not, that thing's name had been Ancient Frost Dragon, and this little one was a Frost Wyrmling.
…Are those two actually the same species?
A reasonable suspicion. Frost-affixed dragons weren't exactly growing on trees.
If they were the same species… this was huge. Raise this little thing right and I might end up with a once-in-a-generation broken pet whose basic attacks stun.
"Ppi-ik! Ppi-iii."
Tap tap tap.
The Frost Wyrmling never stopped racing across the grasslands. When I poked it with a finger it latched on happily, for all the world like a puppy. The kind of white, fluff-covered mutt you'd find at a grandmother's house out in the countryside.
Swoosh—
"Ppi-iiiii!"
I dragged my finger in a long line in front of the Frost Wyrmling, and it flapped after me in delight. It came panting with its tiny red tongue out, that slightly protruding belly wobbling with every bounce.
…This is way too cute.
I was starting to understand why the ancestors used the word "bewitched." I played with the Frost Wyrmling in a daze until I snapped back to myself and checked the backlog of message windows first.
The Frost-Covered Egg has hatched, and a Frost Wyrmling has been born!
Given sufficient affection and time, the Frost Wyrmling will demonstrate its outstanding abilities!
This cute little scale-ball has abilities…? Is being cute an ability?
I considered it seriously. Being cute like a cat could absolutely count as an ability.
"Ppi-ik! Ppi-iii! Pik-pik!"
Flap-flap-flap!
As if it had read my mind, the frost dragon landed at the mine entrance and began flapping its wings while swaying its tail left and right. A tiny scale-ball bobbing along to its own little rhythm.
Pfft—! So freaking cute!
Frost Wyrmling is the absolute BEST!
The Frost Wyrmling has begun flapping its wings to cheer on the workers!
All workers' work speed has increased!
"Wait, that actually works."
At the frost dragon's adorable encouragement, the dwarves' movements visibly sped up. The rate at which they mined ore, smelted it, and forged weapons rose dramatically.
I zoomed in on that tail swaying left and right and only managed to look away once the frost dragon stopped dancing.
Please name the Frost Wyrmling.
If no name is set, the default value Frost Wyrmling will be used.
"Ah, a name. Right — I never gave it one."
Only then did I remember I still hadn't named the Frost Wyrmling. But then, the Frost Wyrmling's name was already as good as decided.
From the moment I saw those overall blue-tinged scales and the keyword frost, one name had flashed into my head.
I gave it a name I still missed from a game of old memories.
"Ivercana… a bit long? From now on, your name is Iver."
Iver. Go freeze this whole world solid.