Calyrex

It was cold.

(It was always cold.)

In all his life, he's only ever known it as cold; warmth was a distant memory, something he only dreamed of.

Even when he was standing out in full sunshine, even when he was in the Fire Flight, walking through ash and ember, he was freezing.

He was an outcast; shunned due to the strange mutation that forever changed his life.

Wherever he went, he carried the coldness within him as liquid ice, and only the thin, green-tinted hue of skin kept it from spilling out.

He's learned that, while it had its downfalls, it also had its uses.

He could walk through Flights both hot, cold, dry, and never feel anything, never be affected differently.

His breath, fueled by the icy slush that filled his veins, could cause even the hottest of fires to cool darken, but also ignite even the smallest of embers into roaring fires.

He could keep food chilled and stay fresh while traveling in any Flight, not spoiling for weeks at a time.

He could go for days without rest, without food or water, without sleep.

But at the end of it all, he was still cold.

(...He hated the cold.)

0o0o0o0o0

"Hey, are you alright there?"

He looked up, blinking out of his thoughts.

A bright pink and red Wildclaw stood there, a friendly smile but with concerned eyes.

(Concerned? Concerned for him?)

When he didn't say anything, the Wildclaw went on, and it was then he noticed a couple of different Pocketmice peering at him from where they sat on her shoulders and hat.

"Oh, not that I was trying to be rude, or anything! But I passed by earlier on the way to pick some things up, and saw you, but now it's almost the end of the day and you're still here, and... well, I was just a bit worried, is all," she said with an awkward smile.

He blinked, not sure how to respond.

He glanced around; the Wildclaw must be right, as the ground surrounding his body
was covered in frost and ice.

And yet...

When he glanced up at her, she seemed genuinely concerned, but about him, and not of how he made the ground turn to ice when he was not an Ice Dragon himself.

"I'm... not sure why I'm here," he admitted more to himself than to her.

It was the truth, after all; he had stopped to rest for a bit before he continued on his wandering, but, he just... didn't want to get back up.

(He never stopped moving, could never stop moving, or he couldn't start again.)

"Well, that's not good!"

He blinked, realizing the Wildclaw now just looked determined.

Before he could figure anything out, the Wildclaw suddenly grabbed his arm, and he had a moment of sheer panic-

"Come on! I want you to meet some special Dragons I know!" She said enthusiastically, all but pulling him along.

And despite her touching his arm physically, she seemed to all but not even register his sheer coldness.

Instead, she sent him a warm smile.

(Warm.)

"I'm Tarialia! And these are my Pocketmice, they're all quite friendly. What's your name?"

"...My name is (insert name here)."

Maybe he's been searching for the wrong 'warmth'.

"Awesome! Nice to meet you, (NAME)! Anyways, you're going to love my Clan! Galiwyth and Milithinal are the leaders, and while they seem scary, they're really nice! And-"

...He wonders if warmth can come from inside, too.

(His chest felt warm. It was nice.)

~End