Friendship in the Far South

Synopsis: Harkwin is a scout, and one of more than a hundred drakken explorers on a pioneering mission to survey the far polar south. But a dangerous storm approaches the expedition, and he must choose between safety and duty. In times of extreme peril, the warmth of friendship burns all the brighter.

The cold is here.

We must survive.

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The moment Harkwin stepped out of the shelter, a freezing gust of wind hit him from the side. Instinctively he used his magic—it felt like a sense of stored up power just twisting within him, and immediately the air around him went still. The effect of his air affinity didn't stretch far. Just a few body lengths away he could see the wind continuing to kick up snowflakes from the ground, but there wasn't time for him to stand around and admire the frozen landscape.

Stepping forward, Harkwin headed for the main command post of the camp. He wasn't the only one in motion—even though it was early in the morning, a wake-up bell was ringing and the entire camp was being kicked into action. All around, Harkwin could see other dragons making preparations against the oncoming storm. Some were moving supplies of food, fuel, or other resources into more easily accessible storage locations, while others were reinforcing the camp's structures and adding temporary covers over exterior doors and windows. All of it would be necessary to make it through the snowstorm. Blizzards were dangerous, but this wasn't the first time that the expedition had encountered such a storm.

As Harkwin headed briskly towards the main command post, each of his four paws left indentations in the snow-layered ground. Trails of pawprints marked out the common routes, left behind by dragons moving around Central Camp,. Harkwin could see his breath billowing forward in a vapour cloud with every exhale, illuminated clearly by the sunlight.

Even though it was early in the morning, the sun was shining already, as it had been ever since the expedition had first arrived in the far polar south. As a result of being so far from the planetary equator, the sun didn't rise and set normally but instead always moved about in a vast circle from right to left, never dropping below the horizon. It had been months since Harkwin had seen a night where the sky was properly dark, and this uninterrupted daylight was a feature of the far south which would remain for around half of every year.

And yet even in what was considered the summer months for the polar south, the temperatures were far, far below freezing in this extreme portion of the world. This place was cold and inhospitable, but Harkwin felt no discomfort from the temperature. He was a dragon—and like every dragon, magic ran thick through his body. His natural magical affinity was specific to air and to controlling the winds, but he also had a second, equal affinity to frost. That had been an obvious requirement for this expedition—everyone needed to have frost affinity to give them natural protection against the frigid temperatures. More than a hundred dragons were located here in the polar expedition's Central Camp, with about forty more stationed in various outposts scattered across the frozen landscape, and every single one of them had frost affinity.

However, even a dragon with frost affinity would still freeze when the blizzard came. There was cold, and then there was storm cold. This was the fourth blizzard that the expedition had encountered in as many months, and preparations were needed to survive the snowstorm. Forward weather stations had already sent back early predictions—at least three days of total whiteout conditions, and the temperature would drop so very far below freezing that even a dragon with frost affinity would be chilled to the bone.

Harkwin looked towards the horizon as he walked between a few of the grey, boxy, snow-covered buildings which made up Central Camp. Though he couldn't see it yet, he knew that coming from far away was an immense snowstorm bringing a sharp drop in temperature and harsh, unforgiving winds. For now the blizzard was not yet visible and the sky remained clear, but by the end of tomorrow the storm would have arrived.

On reaching his destination, Harkwin shoved the door's handle bar with his shoulder, pushing his way in. The inside of the main command post was a calm contrast to the windy, snow-covered landscape outside. But before Harkwin could entered the building itself, he first had to pass through a small antechamber with a double door system which prevented wind from blowing directly through, thus keeping hot air in and cold air out. A pair of dragons (researchers, according to the markings on their harnesses) were already in the antechamber, and Harkwin stepped aside to let them leave first. "Good morning," he said, politely bowing his head.

"Likewise to you. Have a good morning, and a good day too!" replied one of the researchers.

The other researcher didn't look as cheery. "It's never a good day when there's a storm coming."

"But it could still be worse," retorted his colleague. Then the two of them left the command post and headed out into the cold. The thick, heavily insulated door swung closed behind them with a thump.

Before Harkwin went any further beyond the antechamber, he paused for a brief moment to wipe his paws clean on the floor mat. Then he shook himself from snout to tail and dislodged snow which had been clinging to his body. Even with his magic keeping the air still, the wind had managed to kick up miniscule flakes of snow and blow them against his exposed, grey-coloured scales as he'd been walking outside. It had previously been believed that the far south was a cold, frigid, unchanging icy desert where everything was frozen forever and there was hardly ever any fresh snowfall, but the expedition had quickly learned that weather was very much active. There was wind, there was snow, and then there were the storms.

Past the entranceway, a wide staircase led sharply downwards to the underground space which was the main command post. As Harkwin trotted down the stairs, he unfurled his left wing and casually let the tip drag against the wall, feeling the smooth surface of the rock tunnel. Just as he was a dragon with frost and air dual affinity, there were also dragons on this expedition with both frost and rock affinity, and it had been their hard work and their magic which had excavated these basements and tunnel links. The rock had been dug out and then used to build the surface structures, forming the expedition's Central Camp.

Other than a trio of heated greenhouses which needed sunlight, most of Central Camp had actually been built underground in the form of basements. The buildings up above were just the tip of the structural iceberg, serving as entry points and also allowing for air ventilation and skylights. Most of the camp's buildings were connected underground by tunnels, but travelling by the surface was faster unless precluded by blizzard conditions.

Oil lamps dangled from the walls, casting steady illumination and small amounts of warmth, and with each step downstairs Harkwin could feel the temperature increasing from ground insulation provided by all the snow and rock above him. As he went down, he passed by several other dragons heading upstairs. Usually the general mood of the expedition was professional, courteous, and often friendly, but today there was little time for pleasantries. The storm was coming.

Just as the expedition's builder team was mostly comprised of dragons who had stone affinity (or the closely overlapping metal affinity) which thus enabled them to construct and maintain the expedition's structures, Harkwin's air affinity defined his tasks here. His ability to control the winds let him fly faster than other dragons, so over the past few months he had alternated between scouting new regions of the polar south to explore, as well as serving as messenger and courier between the various outposts which were set up away from Central Camp. Back in the City of Wings, the members of this expedition had been recruited from many different backgrounds—different ages, different clans, different magical affinities (though not everyone necessarily had a second affinity besides the frost affinity which they all shared)—but now that they were out in the polar south, and they all had to work together to survive and succeed in their mission.

The main area of the command post was bustling with activity, just as busy as the surface had been. Here was the operations room, where all the expedition's activities were coordinated from. Limited amounts of sunlight filtered in through skylights in the roof which were exposed to the surface, but most of the illumination came from oil lamps or enchanted lights glowing steadily with charged energy. The large underground chamber was roughly circular and divided up into several sectioned areas, with groups of dragons assembled in each area according to their vocation. Each specific section had a large circular indentation dug out of the ground, forming pits which had been filled with white-coloured sand.

Harkwin quickly made his way to the place where he belonged—the scout section. Eight other dragons were already waiting there, standing around their sand pit. Taking his place, Harkwin nodded to the other scouts as he sat back on his haunches. "Good morning, everyone. Did I miss anything?"

The dragon sitting to Harkwin's left side—a female with a short neck frill and scales of dull blue, going by the name of Drend—shook her head. "Not yet. Zhales and Crattevin are still eating breakfast, and Legrane is still speaking with the other leaders."

"Hmm. Ok."

Every dragon in the command post, Harkwin included, was wearing a flight harness—a simple grid of belts and pouches which ran over his smoothly-scaled body to help him carry objects while walking or in flight. Harkwin reached down for the chest pouch of his harness and took out a small clockwork pocket watch, which was specially designed to work in low temperatures. Checking the time, he was actually a few minutes early for the scheduled morning briefing. Casually he wound the pocket watch's springs back up, before slipping it back into the pouch.

Harkwin twisted his neck from side to side in a lazy stretch, and then he suppressed a yawn as he settled in to wait. Being a scout was all about being able to fly fast, yet patience and careful calculation were important to utilizing that speed correctly. Even with a storm coming, rushing into action without information or a plan was pointless.

This polar expedition was his life—it was all of their lives. Coming out here to the far, far south, away from the civilized (and less freezing) regions of drakken-controlled territory was something which would surely seem foolish and risky to someone less adventurous, but they all had a purpose here. Four months ago, one hundred and fifty dragons had flown out from the City of Wings on this expedition, carrying all the resources needed to set up a camp for exploration and investigation. The polar south was one of the most inhospitable regions of the entire world, and the purpose they all shared was to map out this frozen wasteland and see if there was anything of value or interest to be found here.

While still waiting around the sand pit with the other scouts, Harkwin turned his head and glanced towards the side of the room were all the team leaders were having their own meeting. He tried to identify all the dragons there, with partial success—there were representatives from all the different teams, including building, gardens, engineering, cartography, weather, and a multitude of specialist science research teams. The one person Harkwin was most familiar with was, as expected, a male dragon named Legrane, who was the leader of the scouts. Legrane had scales of a dark brown, and he was an older drake who was slightly into middle age. If Harkwin had to guess, he would have estimated Legrane's age to be about a hundred years old, which was quite a few times older than Harkwin.

While he was waiting, Harkwin glanced down and used the tip of his tail to flick away a few droplets of water which were clinging to his side—the melted remnants of a few snowflakes which he hadn't shaken off earlier. His scales were a plain, light-grey shade, with the occasional splotch of white which almost looked like snow, but was in fact just small patches of white scales that were a natural bicolour pattern. Whereas his sides and back were a light-grey shade, his chest was an off-white colouration which extended along his underbelly all the way to his tail, and that white colour covered his fore and hind paws too. Every dragon had their own colour and pattern, but Harkwin liked how he looked.

Overall, Harkwin reflected briefly, he was a fairly normal example of a young dragon. Four legs, two wings, serpentine tail, and for some reason a mad desire to venture out from civilization to roam and explore the unknown. Most would have satisfied their wanderlust by going on vacation into the countryside or by visiting the Outer Colonies, but he'd gone a bit further than that and joined an expedition to the inhospitable polar south. The would spend about a half year living here, and then most of the expedition would be packed up for a return flight to the City of Wings, as the polar summer finally ended and the long night began.

After a few more minutes of waiting, the expedition's various section leaders finished their meeting and dispersed to disseminate their information and orders to their own respective teams. By now the scouts had all arrived, bringing their full number to twelve (with their leader, Legrane, counting as thirteenth).

Legrane was a slightly larger dragon than average, and the scouts shifted so he could join their circle. "Everyone here? Good. We have no time to waste. Listen up, people! We have a storm coming and it will not be pretty." Without any delay, the scout leader went over to a control pedestal that rose up from the ground, right beside the sand pit they were all standing around. Sitting back on his haunches, Legrane used his paw to fiddle with the system and ripples suddenly flowed through the sand pit.

Grains of sand leapt up into the air and shifted about as if moved by an invisible wind, though constrained entirely within the boundaries of the sand pit. This was no simple contraption. The technical name for the sand pit was a light-field projector—a complex marvel of constructed magic and enchanted technology, using an advanced combination of stone and fire magic which caused colour-changing sand to display objects and other three-dimensional shapes. The sand shifted about into what appeared to be solid structures, forming a miniature model of the entire camp right in the sand pit.

Legrane paused for a moment to look around, making brief eye contact with every one of the scouts. "I hope everyone has had a good night's sleep, because there will be a lot of flying to be done today. This is the fourth storm that we have weathered through on this expedition, and it will not be our last. Now see here..."

The scout leader pressed a button to change the sand pit display. But instead of cooperating, the light-field projector suddenly sputtered and flickered. The miniature model of the camp rapidly ran through a full spectrum of colours before the shapes collapsed back into the blank formlessness of loose sand, and the machine went fully dark. Legrane growled and half-heartedly bared his teeth. "This blasted device! Engineering still has not fixed it? We ought to go commandeer their area and use their projector instead."

"Hah. I think the machine just doesn't like you, boss," retorted one of the other scouts.

Chuckles went around the assembled scouts, and Harkwin felt a flash of amusement. It wasn't entirely the fault of the engineering team—the dragons on this expedition had their frost magic to resist the cold, but some of the equipment had trouble with the low temperature environment even in the relatively warm area of the main command post,. Light-field projector systems relied on fire magic to heat up the tiny sand grains and change their colour, and exposure to extreme cold caused reliability issues.

Legrane took this entirely in stride. He activated the sand pit again and let the projector slowly start up. "Very well, then. While this thing is warming itself up, we shall take a moment of silence to remember those we lost to that first storm three months ago. I want everyone to respect the storms." The scout leader lowered his head in a bow. "Our moment of silence starts now."

There had been an aura of excitement and anticipation, but now the scouts all went quiet and sombre. Several of them also bowed their heads, as did Harkwin, following their lead. For all the adventurousness and thrill of exploring the far south, there was also a genuine danger to living here. Three months ago, just a few weeks after the Central Camp had first been set up along with a scattering of outposts, that first storm had taken them all by surprise.

That blizzard had been a humbling experience and a costly reminder that even dragons with frost affinity could still freeze to death. The polar expedition had started with a strength of one hundred and fifty, but that number had been cut down by ten. Of the ten who had perished, the majority had been in research outposts that lacked adequate insulation and heating to withstand either the fierce winds or the deep cold. However, there had also been three scouts who'd ended up lost in the storm. After a week, the storm had blown over and the frozen bodies of those scouts had been found buried in the snow, blown off course never to return home again. Harkwin hadn't been the one who'd found the frozen corpses of those scouts, but he'd seen their bodies carried back into Central Camp on slings, and everyone had attended the funeral where their bodies had been cremated. That had been an utterly miserable event which threw doubt and disheartenment into the entire expedition, but they'd all persevered in their goal.

At first the general consensus had been to assume (or perhaps to hope) that the first storm had just a freak event, but then five weeks later a second storm rolled over the polar expedition. This time they'd been more prepared and no one died. Waiting out the storm in Central Camp, Harkwin had spent a week shivering in the living quarters along with the other members of the expedition; but all things considered, it could have much worse. There had been a few cases of frostbite when the extreme winds had damaged buildings, but fortunately that had been in an outpost where a more sturdy underground structure had already been built. One builder had needed the very tip of her tail amputated after frostbite had threatened to become gangrene, but healers back in the City of Wings could probably regrow that when they all returned to civilization.

The third storm was where the expedition had finally been fully prepared. The teams at all but the most insulated outposts were recalled back to Central Camp, and supplies had been stockpiled as they huddled underground to wait out the blizzard. The buildings were reinforced against the winds, and the heaters were fuelled up to hold off the cold. Some of the members of the weather team had even dared to venture out briefly to take measurements during the storm, hoping to get some science before they ran back in minutes later, shivering and snow-covered.

And now a fourth storm was coming.

"Alright, enough remembering. There is much work to be done," Legrane said.

Harkwin raised his head from his bow, just in time to see their team leader adjust the projection, making the sand grains shift within their pit. The miniature model of the Central Camp had reformed properly and now at Legrane's command it shrunk down, instead becoming just a small marker as a map was displayed. The map resembled a view of what a dragon flying impossibly high above the world might have seen looking downwards, and it was properly detailed with geographical features such as cliffs, glaciers, icy fields of windswept permafrost, and snow-covered plains. Their current location in Central Camp was marked out exactly in the middle, surrounded by a vast sea of snowy white. There were also twenty other markers scattered all over the map, indicating outposts or research teams deployed away from the main camp.