On the continent that would later be known as Asia, a species of dragons flourished in the depths of forests and the heights of mountains. This particular species was built for combat and war, traveling from place to place, slowly gaining territory and glory. These creatures were designed to be quick, strong, and clever, defeating their enemies with only brutal strength and quick wit.

And they were called the Androsythians.

"Quick! Get up you lazy girl! Elethea' egg is almost hatched. We have to hurry!" Osma struggled up from her small, hard pallet to snatch a lantern. Stumbling over her own paws, she crashed into the table.

"Get up you idiot!" Floressa hissed, boxing her ears. "I knew you were fumble-footed from the moment you hatched from your egg!"

"Yes Mistress," Osma mumbled, casting her eyes down. The mark on her forehead seemed to burn as if it was taunting her. The sign on her forehead meant everything in her world. It was the symbol of her rank. A Servant. Born a Servant, live as a Servant, and die as a Servant. Just like her mother and her father and all her ancestors. There was no changing your rank.

Floressa huffed with impatience. "Elethea had been giddy with excitement. That sister of mine cares all too much about her dragonets. Youngsters are only good for training. She babies her own too much."

"Of course, Mistress," Osma said. "She was still rather a young dragon herself, but it didn't matter. Androsythians came of age on their twenty-fifth year, many moons away. The age when the Ceremony of Doroskly would be performed, the day when young dragons were fulfilled to their true rank: Chief's Counsel, Medics, Warriors, Gatherers, or Servants. Except that Servants never had the Ceremony performed for them. Osma had watched other young dragons her age, but of a higher rank, train and plan for their own ceremonies. It was a big deal among the younger set. After it was performed, they would be a true member of their legion.

Floressa stared at her for a moment. "We live in a harsh world, Osma. It's every dragon for themselves. Remember that and you'll be fine."

Osma shivered. It was the first and last time Floressa would call her by her name.

"Perhaps it isn't so bad that Lady Elethea cares for her young," Osma said hesitantly. It sounded good to her. Her own parents died from disease when she was only three.

"It will get her killed," Floressa snorted as she dug her talons into the ground. She crept around the darkened caves and tents. Not many dragons were up at this hour.

"But what can you expect from a Medic?" Floressa grumped as they started running. Osma panted, trying to keep up with her. "They are too soft." Her sapphire necklace twinkled in the dark, accenting her deep blue eyes and black hide. The sign of a Warrior was emblazoned on her forehead.

Osma sighed. Her mistress was incredibly wealthy and practically royalty. She was a respected Warrior, the scars proved that. But it didn't matter she'd killed dragons and almost been killed herself. The only thing that mattered was her position and wealth.

They arrived at Elethea's cave.

Elethea's warm, hazel eyes were sparkling with delight. "Floressa, I'm so glad you're here! The egg has been shuddering and cracking for awhile now. It shouldn't be long." She led them through her large home, decorated with many expensive gems and tapestries boasting the family's riches. Elethea and Floressa had come from a very old, very wealthy family of Androsythians.

They arrived in the hatchery. Osma spotted a large egg sitting among rough woolen blankets. Thin cracks zig-zagged on its shell as it trembled violently.

Osma hunched herself behind Floressa's back. Other aunts and cousins were standing stiffly talking quietly and formally to each other.

Amid it all, Elethea beamed. Osma had never felt comfortable among the old families, but she had a soft spot for Elethea. While others were stiff and cold, she was caring. Many called her a fool behind her back, but Osma didn't think so. Elethea was the only dragon who managed to treat her civilly.

Osma watched as the egg shook harder and harder until pieces of the egg fell apart.

"Silence!" Floressa barked,and the talking petered out.

Tiny shards of eggshell flew away revealing a light so powerful Osma had to look away. Suddenly, eggshell burst into millions of pieces, and the family yelled as they shielded their eyes. Shell pounded on Osma's scales, and she squeaked in pain. Among the chaos and confusion, she heard the lusty howl of a newborn dragonet.

She turned to see the tiny dragon looking rather bewildered as the light faded.

Everyone gasped in horror.

The hatchling was left alone, shivering as the others tried to overcome their shock.

Osma couldn't believe she what she was seeing. The hatchling was a brilliant shade of purple. Bright fushia with a light dusting of speckles. She seemed to glow.

Androsythian dragons worshipped order
and tradition. Normalcy.

And this baby was anything but normal.

Hope you like it so far! I'll be releasing it soon! Go to my account and offer suggestions/friendly feedback. mitzy890

-Mitzy