The Odd Dragon Out: Reckoning of the Cinder-Born

The dusty wind of the Wild walloped Ancor, and as if he had been whipped by it on the buttocks, he staggered forward while wincing, his dirty robes rippling furiously.

One of his hands gripped tight the strap to his sling bag, while the other hurriedly held down his hat so that it wouldn't partake in a swim through the gust, and get buried within the sands of this desert.

Ancor sighed and decisively removed it from his head. It was supposed to be pointed, like those the other 'normal' Shamans wore, but fortune was against the poor, ashy – formerly black – hat.

An enchanted toad the size of a small house had sat on it, and now, the hat forever looked like a struggling, doughy pancake.

"I picked the wrong place for this, didn't I?" Ancor said.

The young boy standing two paces from him did not offer a response. He merely stood there, trying to hold down a boulder that seemed to be lodged in his throat.

Ancor looked at the boy, and smiled sheepishly.

He then knelt down on the red sand while narrowing his dark eyes so that the dusty wind wouldn't throw obstacles in them – an issue that seemed to avoid the boy before him – and spoke.

"I know, it's sad. I know it hurts, but you have to go, Ginger."

Ginger was a slightly plump boy of average height with a full head of rough, black hair. Of course, there were the few, long strips just above his forehead that took on a light shade of orange.

"Do I really have to go? I...don't want to," Ginger said while raising his head with a bitter expression. His large, sugar-grey eyes looked straight into Ancor's dark pair intently.

The Shaman felt a pang of guilt and pain. He knew Ginger was fighting a great, melancholic battle inside.

Yet so was he.

Summoning the most tender voice he could, Ancor spoke earnestly.

"Life has dealt you some... very hard circumstances, Ginger. What you have had to endure since your father passed, and even before... no child should ever have to go through it. I know why you're so hesitant. I was glad to help with everything then, and I'll gladly continue to help now. I promise I'll take good care of them for you. Trust me."

Ginger shivered.

He felt guilty about having his insecurity exposed in this manner. He was doubting his mentor, and it was clear despite him not saying it outright.

Ancor had told him yesterday that he had to leave the Wild and go somewhere far.

His life with the clumsy Shaman had come to an end, and worse yet, he had to leave two very important individuals behind. Two people he cared for so much.

It was a hard pill to swallow.

For a moment, a tear threatened to fall from Ginger's eye, but he refused to let it leave the lid guarding its base.

'Falling tears only serve to water the weakness...'

Recalling a long-lost gentle voice scolding him harshly with these words helped Ginger stifle the waterworks.

Ancor patted Ginger's shoulder and attempted to steer the boy's mind from morbid thought.

"Now, first, you have to hide these," Ancor pointed at Ginger's neck where dozens of small, scattered scales could be seen over his warm beige skin. "Dragons, if I recall correctly, usually wear scarves to cover their scales. In their dormant forms, I mean."

Ginger subconsciously began stroking his scales. Right now they felt like pieces of glass attached to his skin.

Ancor packed his hand into his sling bag and drew a long, dark brown scarf of ancient, scruffy quality. It almost looked revolting to a degree.

He wrapped it around Ginger who beamed lightly and held it tight, as though it were some mythical treasure.

"That should do it. As for the scales around your belly... you should keep them hidden too."

Ginger's mood turned light enough for him to ask:

"You once said dragons are prideful. So why would they all hide their scales?"

"It's not so much the scales than it is their color, I think," Ancor said, though with a suspicious whipping of the eyes. "Can't remember why. It's been a while since I've been there. I was a bit of a rebel in my younger days."

Ginger raised a brow.

What absurdity was Ancor spouting?

"Younger days? You're still young. Aren't you only 235 this year?"

Ancor rubbed his indeed young-looking, clean-shaven face and narrowed his eyes.

"Hopefully you keep that sharpened tongue where you're going," he scoffed. "And not every Shaman lives to be 600. Times have changed." Ancor coughed awkwardly. He wasn't lying. He could feel his body creak at times. "In any case, keep those scales hidden."

Ginger felt around his belly. The scales on his body only concentrated around his neck and abdomen for some reason, and it had only been three months since they started to emerge.

Their appearance must've been important, since Ginger recalled that Ancor had started behaving strangely ever since, despite already knowing beforehand that Ginger was a dragon.

"Second of all, as I said before – though admittedly in rather lacking detail – I am sending you away to learn. There's a school where you are going. If you do exactly as I told you, you shouldn't have any problems getting in. Today should be opening day."

Ginger blinked a couple of times. His mood started to slump again, and he subconsciously began scratching at his thigh.

"How do you know that? And how are you so sure that I should even be going there?" he protested desperately.

"Because you are 14 years old. All young dragons go for their First Year at that age, if I remember correctly," Ancor answered while rummaging through his sling bag.

He began dragging out a myriad of items that had no business fitting inside the small, sagging sack of leather; a wooden cane, nine cabbages, three boulders, and fourteen bags of sugar.

Ginger was almost mesmerized by this, but he managed to reel his mind back to respond defiantly.

"But I'm not 14. I'm only 9."

"Over there, you'll be 14. Those scales are proof of it. Anyway, these trivial details don't matter," Ancor said before handing Ginger the sling bag.

Ginger looked at it quizzically.

"This is yours now. It will be more useful to you than to me," Ancor said with a smile.

The young plump boy couldn't process this for a moment. This sling bag was one of Ancor's most favored items.

It was enchanted, and he never went anywhere without it. Though that could be attributed more to his abuse of it, than his attachment.

Ginger had once seen Ancor fit a large toad corpse the size of a small house into the bag with fierce satisfaction. He suspected that the Shaman and toad had had a personal, hostile affair.

For Ancor to be giving him this bag...

On one hand, Ginger was touched and grateful, and on the other...

"You're not even going to accompany me, are you? Even for a little bit," he said while hanging his head sullenly. The morbid depression fully returned.

Ancor hurriedly pushed the boy's chin up and smiled.

"I'm not as springy as I was when I was 70. The Fetid here is already enough to strain my bones, I can't imagine what Mana Essence would do if I risked traveling outside the Wild even for a minute," he said.

Ginger shrank.

Ancor held his shoulders firmly.

"Don't feel disheartened. This will be good for you. You haven't forgotten why you should go, right? What you will do when you are a big-shot dragon one day. They will be proud when you get back. Maybe you'll be able to make them smile then."

A small smile crept up on Ginger's face.

Yeah, that would be a sight. If he worked hard enough, maybe he could 'fix' them.

Ginger raised his head, a little motivated.

Ancor was happy to see it.

"Besides that, you're going to create your own, solid identity. Let that dubious curiosity of yours shine. And for a change, let an environment full of children your age influence you. Whatever you become because of it, I'll fight anyone to support it."

Ginger's smile grew wider at these words. He could see the confidence in the ruddy Shaman's eyes. He meant it.

But...

Ancor wore a strained expression.

"As for... If you feel that HUNGER and deep IRRITATION again, as I'm sure you'll feel it a lot more frequently—"

"I know. I'll have to take care of it myself," Ginger cut off Ancor, who smiled sheepishly, not sure if the brave smile Ginger wore, was genuine or intended to make him feel better.

Yes, Ginger would have to deal with THAT all on his own. He and the boy knew what it was, but how it would impact him from now on... that was something no one knew.

Ancor could only hope for the best.

He stood up straight.

He didn't think he had it in him to talk to Ginger some more. Sooner or later, he would start doubting himself.

At that moment, a strange, small bird the size of a fist flew by while cawing loudly.

Ancor was disturbed. He looked at the lone sun in the sky.

Dear heavens, when had the time flown by so quickly?!

"Shunting Shamans!" he cursed and put on his eternally pancaked hat. "We have to hurry!"

Ginger stood straight, clutching the scarf and sling bag tight.

He was nervous. His throat hurt a little as if he had been crying in another plane, and tears were battling against his eyes, but he couldn't show weakness, even with this experience.

Ancor could sympathize, but he had wasted enough time. According to his calculations, the second sun was probably already starting to dip over THERE.

With a sharp breath, Ancor drew the Fetid in the air and gathered it towards him and his pile of random stuff.

He gave Ginger, who was shaking, half terrified and half thrilled, a bitter smile and asked.

"Ready?"

"No," Ginger strained to say.

Ancor grinned.

"Love to see that bravery."

And then he began.