There were so few left. The race of Ancients was dying out, victims of the growing population of humans, and there seemed to be no hope for their survival. They would be lucky to see the arrival of the next millenium if the prophecy was not soon fulfilled. Then Shuri, the oldest female began to brood. The males competed for her affections, displaying their scales and competing in aerial acrobatics. She made her choice quietly and went to Thrace, the youngest, strongest male while the others were sleeping.

Six lunar cycles later, she left for a new world, leaving behind a single multi-coloured egg. Half the size of normal eggs, and a strange colour as well, the males would have destroyed it before a runt was hatched. Runts were a danger to their race. Unable to fly and therefore unable to hunt and reach the upper caves the ancients called home, they were destroyed before hatching. The females refused to allow the destruction of this egg though. They reminded the males of the prophecy, and were reluctantly allowed to bring the egg into the hatching grounds, where they worked in shifts, breathing gently onto the colourful shell.  

The time of the hatching arrived, and the ancients gathered around the egg. The females began crooning to the youngling who was battling to break out of the rocking shell. As the crooning became more urgent, the egg cracked in half, and the face of their ancient enemy appeared. The youngling looked human, and yet it was different. It stumbled from the egg on two legs, pale green skin shiny from the placenta. Deep blue eyes looked around at the females who had stopped crooning when the egg had broken. Then a silent scream filled the minds of the ancients as it fell forward onto the sand. Its shoulder blades appeared to burst from its back, growing rapidly to cover it in wet turquoise folds. They dry quickly in the heat from the hatching grounds, as does its body, deepening in colour to match what are obviously wings. It stands again and the ancients watch in silent awe as hair, a shade lighter than its body and wings, begins to grow from its head. It smiles a human smile, but its eyes are draconic and hungry. The ancients hear its silent cry for food, and a female, Shorlu, steps forward. She has never bred, but her instincts are strong and she responds to the cry. Her body starts producing a calcium rich milk and a nipple grows beneath a wing. She lies next to the youngling and it climbs up her great body to feed. As it does so, the collective memories of the ancients flood its young mind, teaching and learning. From now on its memories will form a part of the collective, emotions will be seen but not felt. The unending knowledge of the ancients is poured into its young mind as milk is poured into its body. Its hunger satisfied, it raises its head, and into the waiting silence, it utters three words.

"I am Aslora."