The Golden Dragon's Hoard

2 - 8

"When you go a little tame and sane, it's good to have someone who can pull you back to the wild side, the madness, the tide. Someone to be crazy with is the best one to gift a daisy!"
- Trevor Album

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Part Two - Chapter Seven
"The Dragon's Fear-Filled Witch"

“Oziamon,” Ras pinches the bridge of her nose. “Stop being a little shit, we’re staying here and that’s final.”

“But I want to go,” the witch whines, pouting from where he’s sitting around their small camp, arms crossed and leg shaking. “Why can Atlas but I can’t? He’s more intimidating than I am!”

From next to Stray, his protector rolls his eyes.The golden dragon just snickers, bouncing on his heels.

“He’s Stray’s dad, for one,” the phoenix says which, consequently, makes both of the dragons’ faces go a little red. Even after all these years, titles and easy fondness still makes the both of them all squirmy. “And for another thing, you’re a witch. They don’t have the best history involving witches, you know this, Ozzy.”

They didn’t want to overwhelm the voidwalker more than they already will.

“I know,” then those warm brown eyes are turning to him, narrowing. “You’ll get us if you need help, yeah? None of that ‘I can handle it myself’ bullshit?”

“You’re so fucking clingy, Oz,” Stray grins, but relents. “Yes, we’ll get you guys if we need you. Now please, can we go? I haven’t seen them in literal years and you’re making me wait longer, like a dickhead.”

The witch pulls a face but nods, so the youngling takes off to where he can see the ruins of the town poking out between the trees without saying anything else.

“Behave!” Ras shouts after him.

He hears Athanasius sigh from behind him and then the pounding of feet as his dad easily catches up.

He gets an unimpressed eyebrow raised at him when he slows to a fast walk not even ten minutes later.

Not his fault he doesn’t have the same stamina as a being literally centuries old.

Walking along the end of buildings, Stray can’t help but to wonder how exactly everything went down.

He knows that his dad came here years ago and killed all the witches—except the voidwalker, apparently—that had to do with his old coven. That he burnt their homes to the ground, that he uprooted the crops, that he turned this into a ghost town.

He wonders how long it took for everyone else to abandon this place, for people to connect it with bad omens or evil souls. If they even knew what happened, why it happened, or just saw a giant, scaled creature ruin everything and everyone in sight.

He wonders how much it hurt—if they all deserved it.

Then he remembers the scars on his back and he knows that they did.

They travel into the town, Stray in the lead and his dad not far behind him. They don’t run but their pace is too fast to be called walking.

He stops in front of a burnt, hollowed out building, the only wall still standing is the one facing him. It’s ruined, blackened. The roof caved in and the walls were scorched, the windows shattered.

Even with it looking so different, Stray recognized it.

He’s in front of the big window, in front of where he and his voidwalker usually stand.