Unlike most beings, I remember much about when I was born-or rather, when I hatched. I was on a silver cliff slightly above the lowest clouds, in a nest of golden straw and sticks. A shadow stood over me for a few moments, and I heard it whisper, "Do not fear. I will return." And with that, it was gone. All that was left was the fragments of my pale blue eggshell.

I wandered around the cliff for days, looking for a sign of another dragon. I gave up after I had seen the sun rise for the fifth time. So I was five sunrises old. Five sunrises alone.

But somehow, I almost didn't mind it. I had free will of some sort, I suppose. I never forgot about the whispering shadow. But it probably forgot about me.

I called it Mother. It was the closest thing I had to one.