Aranon floated above the ocean; his large black wings pocketed the buffeting winds that flew up from the surf. It was a perfect morning, the sun rose red over the Crescent Isle's rocky horizon, bathing the black pebble beach and forest in an orange light that streamed around the mountains.

To his left, other Night Furies dove headfirst into the waves to retrieve fish from the thrashing sea for their pups, and to his right, other dragon species were trying to copy the acrobatic children of lightning – Monstrous Nightmares, Deadly Nadders, even a few Gronkles were trying to replicate the perfect fishing of the Night Furies.

Aranon snorted at their efforts. Gronkles, they shouldn't even be trying. Nadders? They were technically wyverns, and they couldn't see the darting fish that would flash out of their talon's reach because of their eye placement – they were meant for larger prey. Now – Nightmares, they could fish fairly similar to the technique of the Night Furies, even though they were wyverns like the Nadders.

He would have been fishing also, but as Second to the clan's leader, he had to keep the divide between the Night Furies and the other species to keep fights to a minimum, it was pup and hatchling season, and competition for fish was fierce.

There was a wallowing bellow as a Gronkle was pulled under a cresting wave; the dragon's short wings were too small to pull him out from under the water. Aranon didn't see him resurface, but he was unmoved, all the dragons that weren't Night Furies on this island were rogues that had left their islands and had landed up on the Crescent Isle.

"Aranon," A voice like honey called from below him, it was Tempest, his mate. "Why are you out here?"

"I was... thinking." He replied slowly, he always had to be careful with what he said around her, everything he said around her couldn't seem less intelligent, everything about him seemed unremarkable, never good enough for the striking she-dragon.

She flew above him, then cuffed Aranon playfully over the head with her tail, "Come back to the island, Torok wants to speak with you."

Aranon rolled his eyes, "What does our mighty leader want now?"

"I don't know, he didn't say," Tempest said thoughtfully, as if trying to recall something, "he just said he wanted you to get over to the Crystal Cave, he also said a few words that wouldn't be very dignifying to say." She tilted her head, flashing the eyespots on her ears. These markings ran all over her, like liquid metal had been drizzled on her wings and tail, the rivulets of color were pearlescent white, so her wings glinted in the sun.

Aranon shook his head to break his stare, "I'm coming."

Tempest landed lightly on his back, not weighing him down a bit, "I'll see you back at the nest." Then she hopped off, diving down to the ocean and snapping a fish from the ocean easily, then jetted back off to the island, to the black peaks where the Night Furies nested. Aranon followed her with his gaze until she disappeared.

Aranon flared his wings, willing himself to be carried high above the rest of the dragons, then he followed his mate's example, snapping up a fish for a quick breakfast, then jetting off back to the island, but instead he flew to the beach, where Torok held his counsel in the Crystal Cave.

Aranon landed on the beach, spraying pebbles, and headed to the cave were the counsel was.

He poked his head into the entrance cautiously, then the rest of his body followed ever so slowly into the cave. Aranon squinted, the light from the glowing sea crystals in the cave were stunning, meant so that the dragon on the floor was forced to look at the Night Furies on the raised rocks – the counsel.

But today, only Torok sat on the raised pillars, the Night Fury's tail sweeping the floor. Torok was an intimidating figure, he was enormous for a Night Fury of his age, and he had traded his natural jade markings for crimson paint that ran down his back and wings like the tribal marks of the humans.

"Aranon, little brother," Torok leapt down from the pillar, "you came remarkably quick, usually you take your time with coming to the Crystal Cave." The dragon was on the ground with Aranon now, his ears flicking.

Aranon stiffened at the informal address, he narrowed his eyes. "What do you want, Torok? You never acknowledge me as family unless something bad has happened."

"You are correct," Torok said casually, he paused, as if contemplating something, then continued. "The Whispering Death pack to our south has intruded, they killed the nesting Gronkles on the east shore, a phalanx was sent to drive the intruders off, and they did. But at a price, the Gronkles that you saw fishing are the last of their kind on this island."

Aranon thought about the Gronkle that had been pulled under by the waves, how easily he had been killed. "Wouldn't the Gronkles on the beach be spreading the news of their comrades' deaths?"

Torok shook his head, "They don't know, but I suspect they will quite soon." The leader of the Night Furies observed his Second, then said with indignation, "The Gronkles are going to leave, as will everybody else – including Night Furies."

Aranon was stunned, not sure he heard his leader correctly. "What?"

Torok looked down at the ground angrily, "The Whispering Deaths aren't our only problem, they can be driven off. But we face a greater threat; a threat we cannot defeat now – humans."

"Humans?" Aranon asked incredulously, "Why would we not be able to defeat humans? We are more than capable –"

"It's Frost," Torok interjected. Frost was the Night Furies' elder who lived on the north face of the mountain, despite her hermit-like existence; she sometime came down to tell her predictions. And quite often her predictions came true. "Frost came to me before I called for you. She told me that she had a dream, and she predicted that humans will crash against this island like waves, there will be no dragon will be left alive, no rock will be clean of blood – unless we all leave."

"But where will we go? Night Furies aren't nomads, we can't move around like other dragons."

"There is a small island, enough for us, in the Barbaric Archipelago. There are plenty of food sources, that area has been coveted for many years. But there are two problems." Torok drew a map with his talon in the dirt floor of the cave.

Aranon glanced skeptically at the dirt floor, then back at Torok, "What problems?"

"Of course, there are humans to the Northeast, but they are the least of your concerns," he drew a string of islands, the largest on the end he labelled with a figure of a human, then he gestured an island that was slightly smaller, "this is the island we want, but it currently hosts a less than friendly local."

"Get on with it," Aranon growled.

"Red Death."

Aranon looked at Torok with disgust, "did you seriously just use the words 'less than friendly' to describe a Red Death?"

"Yes, yes I did," Torok matched his Second's tone, "But she is lazy. She depends on the dragons on the island to feed her, if they don't –" he made a snapping noise with his mouth, " – she eats them."

Aranon paused, "Then will we go to this island, to be oppressed?"

"No!" Torok barked, "You will go to the island. And you will kill the Red Death and liberate that island for our clan."