It was cold, so, so very cold. Cold like death. Like the dark.
And then, a red, hot light as a huge, crimson eye suddenly blinks open, staring into the darkness.
Pitch black, even to a Dragon's eyes. Was this death? Was he in hell? Was Tiamat even now hovering over him, ready to devour his tortured soul?
But wait - the massive eye blinks closed again, and a loud, shuddering breath can be heard, followed by a very loud, rocky cough.
The dragon pushes itself up, slabs of rock, sand and dust spilling off of him.
He was alive...? But where was he?
With that thought, the memories came flooding back. The sight of his elder brother lying in the dust, black scales covered in blood, Marakai standing over him. Teeth bared in savage triumph, dripping with hot blood himself.
Tearing through the ruins of the Tenkou capital, deep in the desert, searching, searching and never finding. A loud, anguished roar, the sound mingling with the thunder and the rain.
Dragging himself across that blasted plane of sand and water - that was the only time in four hundred years he had ever seen it rain before - and finding a place to die with his grief. Lying there on the cold stone, in the dark, waiting for death to claim him.
Why wasn't he dead? He could feel his body was whole again, the tattered remains of his wings and tail healed, the massive chunks of flesh torn from his hindquarters replaced again. He must have healed....somehow.
Marakai slowly walked toward the cave entrance, noting the pitch blackness for a second time - no natural light could penetrate, because the entrance had collapsed. Moving toward the rock slide, his claws forepaw knocked against something, and he could hear it skitter across the stone floor a ways. Lowering his head, the crimson light emitting from his eyes partially illuminating the area. It was a sword, made of pitch black crystal, edged on one side with an adamantium frame on the flat side. The hilt, twisted into a dragon motif, gleamed eerily.
It was his father's sword. His sword.
He moved closer to the rockslide, and reared upwards, coming forward to slam into the stones. Again. Once more.
And then, with a roar that filled the air with superheated, black fire, there was light - a massive black dragon fell forward, landing heavily in the sand and the intense sun. Blinking his eyes against the sudden glare, he looked around. He was appalled.
'...how long have I been here...?' he thought to himself, even as his form became obscured by a dark haze, quickly shrinking to a more manageable size. In a moment, he was merely a large man, tall and very broad, clad in armor of black dragon hide. He turned back to the cave, and went to retrieve his sword, coming back into the light with it leaned against one shoulder.
Blood-red eyes scanned the horizon, noticing the differences from the scene he had seen when he had first found that cave. Everything was different.
A sudden thought came to him - if he was still alive, so too could Otohime be alive. His eyes widened. She hadn't been in the city. She had to be somewhere. He only hoped he hadn't been asleep so long that she would forget about him.
