Narquelion

Armor was for cowards.

Narquelion may have been of Nature, but he had Fire in his veins. He was no coward. Besides, armor was so... restricting. How was Narquelion supposed to instill fear in his enemies, show them the full force of his rage, when his movements were limited and his body bound by odd contraptions? Dragons had scales for a reason.

There were many great warriors in Rakraēt, but all save one fought in teams. Only Rahka stood alone. It was the greatest test. Narquelion felt that he needed to prove himself, prove that he was strong enough to stand independent and not fall. He could have gone farther, but he liked the Rakraēti. They were challenging. Besides, their dwelling was a volcano - and what home would ever be more fitting for a mighty warrior such as himself?

So he fought and fought, until the unending battle became a simple hunt, and his foes mere prey. He stood alone and undefeated, an unbroken shield. But he still wore no armor.

Rahka scolded him for it once. "You are arrogant," the strongest warrior in Rakraēt told Narquelion. The only other Guardian he'd met here. "It will bite you in the tail."

"Hmph!" Narquelion said, and passed her without glancing back, on his way to another solitary patrol. One day she would recognize his greatness. He did not need her advice. He would not follow her with stars in his eyes like that Tundra did.

But the words stung. It will bite you in the tail, Rahka'd said. The first time he'd heard her to be disapproving, and it was of him.

He would show them all what he could do.

It was not his tail that suffered the most, in the end.

"Your wings are done for," Renarin told him matter-of-factly.

"What."

Renarin sighed, like he had better things to do to tend to Rakraēt's (second) greatest warrior. "The ligaments are torn, and the bone has been broken without being set properly at least twice," he rattled off quickly, "plus a recent fracture. And bruises. What have you been doing to them?"

Narquelion snarled. "Nothing," he said vehemently. He'd just... used his wings to shield himself from attacks. He'd always done it; it was a habit by now. It was easier than dodging. "They never hurt," he growled at the medic.

"Touchy, touchy," Renarin sing-songed. "I am so afraid. Just 'cause your pain tolerance is through the roof, doesn't mean your body likes being hit. You are aware you will need cybernetic replacements if you don't want your wings to break mid-flight?"

What an annoying medic. "I don't wear armor."

Renarin clicked his tongue, veering off to dig for something in a nearby chest. "This isn't armor," he said. "It's your guarantee against expiring too early. I shall expect eternal gratitude in return," he grinned, "and also, do me a favor - learn to dodge, won't you? I hate doctoring."

"I hate you doing it too," Narquelion grumbled, but he did not walk away. He loved flying - how was he supposed to know he could have lost the ability to do so? He never did feel pain.

Renarin did good work, but Narquelion hated looking at it. His wings regained mobility with the enhancements, but it was obvious they'd been altered. Narquelion's failure to protect himself, displayed for everyone to see.

Even worse was what he had to do. He had to be humble, and it enraged him to no end. But some things had to be done.

He approached Rahka when she was setting out to patrol. "Rahka," he said, and stopped, and found he could not say anything further.

She just looked at him, tilting her head. She did not turn around and walk away, and leave him to his shame. Narquelion met her steady stare - and then averted his eyes to look at the ground. A surrender. "I... apologize," he managed. The words hurt him more than any enemy ever did. Would you teach me.

Rahka measured him with her eyes. She'd always said little, concise to a fault, but Narquelion had never found it maddening until now. "Come," she said finally. "Hunt with me."

It was acknowledgement, not forgiveness. Rahka's gaze was hard. But Narquelion followed her into the snows anyway, and when she lectured him during the fights on his stance over and over again in curt brisk words, he found that he could get used to the humiliation if the lessons meant he could beat her one day, so he bit his tongue and listened.