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From before, onwards, Quster and his tumultuous brother, Iramkae, survived their rivalry with one another, although not without the occasional squabble breaking the peace, none of whom exceeded the brutality of that faithful first. As time wore on, Quster maintained his slender body as he was born, though found himself to more easily push off Iram when the aggressive whelp overstepped his domain. The young violet could endure much more exertion in the scenarios in which mother had not been present, though still found himself frequently overwhelmed by the shear strength of his fiery sibling. Thankfully, that red Imar seemed less keen on Quster's demise now that mother had forbade it, but that certainly did not squander the dragon's natural tendency towards conflict. Miraculously, the violet whelp even managed to inflict a particularly nasty scratch across Iram's crimson belly; though that squabble ended in a stalemate between the two, both rather battered and scuffed.

Their mother broke them up when she had the rare luxury of oversight; she was constantly on the hunt in the increasingly sparse forest, the dry winter making hunger a constant pain among the three of them. She grew thinner and weaker by the week, even as both her living young grew, their appetites ravenous. In spite of the bleak pains ailing her, and better logic, she constantly checked on and made warm her final egg, remaining hopeful even as its development slowed to a pitiful crawl.

This day Quster, now only a few centimeters shorter than his brother, took it upon himself to gaze quietly across the nearby landscape- looking down at the broad expanse of trees down there, the rivers appearing as snakes crawling through the forest, and up to the curious clouds, arranged in shapes that could capture a whelp's imagination for hours on end. Down, he saw a large lake where the long, serpentine rivers originated, then flowed down to join many tributaries. The young dragon felt an odd affinity for the untouchable water down below- eyes locking with the small reflection of himself held within the shimmering surface. He naturally puffed up his chest and grunted, wishing to capture this visage of himself: a angular head and snout, lithe muscles and those little pricks of gold that were his eyes. His wings flutter with this fleeting sense of pride, then he sees something much more grand through the reflection. He looked now up with utter awe; this cloud up there appeared as a behemoth able to eat entire mountains, and that puffy, flowing mass a noble silver dragon come to butt with his elegant horns through the heart of the monster to devour the horde of pale-faced rabbits assembled behind it. Quster errantly wished he were that dragon in the sky.

Imar, impatient, yet stricken by curiousity, (And particularly humbled by his last conflict) peaked his head over the edge of their cliff-face home, little mind wondering what treasure trove of flesh and renown may lay under that annoying canopy of trees and the world out there. He also wondered, idly, about his father. Mother had only made passing remarks of him, and she seemed to see some of him in the brat Quster. He grumbles to himself, never catching as much as a glimpse of he whose blood ran within him. Perhaps he may ask when the time was right. His mind wanders back to the forest and the mysterious beyond. Any opportunity, any challange would be better than starving to death only a couple of meters from where you were born.

The current nest, as it stood, struggled to contain the two growing, bored dragons. Their mother, watchful over the two idle whelps, croons from above, perched above the scene atop a massive root portruding from the cliff's face, sounding to be unusually cheerful "Young ones, I feel the both of you to feel wary of your hungers and vacant minds. Come now and occupy yourselves with my tale. A dragon left without wisdom fares poorly in this world."

Quster is roused from his daydreaming with a small shake of his small head, idly bumping the itchy stubs on the back of his skull against a boulder, then dutifully slinks to be below the shadow of the blue giant perched above, his neck craned and his vision struggling to encompass all of her. It was a wonder that he may ever be as powerful as that. That was, if he may survive to be that age.

Iram was reluctant, to say the least. His first thought upon hearing his azul mother's demand was how far the drop would be off of this cliff, and if his developing wings could carry him just enough as to not break every bone in his body. Anything to rid himself of another story. Could she not allow him the freedom to weave his own tales? He grumpily licked his own nose and yawned, mother's voice now intruding "All of you. Shall I have to carry my audacious little Iramkae to his attendance?" The red one reluctantly turned from the cliff, and slowly strutted beneath her as well.

She begins, her green eyes lying on the both of her children assembled below "My young, this tale comes from the sires before me, passed from one generation to the next. Hold true to its meaning, and you may live to gift it to your young as I recite to you now."

"There once were six dragons whom looked over the old world, where the mountains were yet to be shaped, all of the forests only sprouts, and the seas still." To the two whelps, they were suddenly given a visage of a vast blue unlike that of the sky and the small ponds and rivers they knew. "Black, red, blue, yellow, green, and white. Their scales shone like none other, though their names are lost to time." All these vibrant colours flashed before that blue, ripples of water flicking by with the seven unfathomably large beasts flying by, making their rather expansive shelf seem to be no larger than a pebble arranged amidst a mountain. Her grim voice continues, "They lived longer than the mountains, and spread themselves amongst the three corners of the world, swift as the wind itself. Each took another as a mate. Black to white, red to blue, and yellow to green. For centuries they lived in harmony, feasting, mating, and sparring as they liked; producing a grand array of children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren as time crept her slow claws along."

Quster found himself entranced by the tale and the images his mother provided. Imar... less so. That one grew bored with the tale of implausible peace. He eyed the violet one's tail vindictively, and crept up behind him, readying a pounce. Noticing this, their storyteller abrubtly ceases the tale and makes an earth-trembling growl. Quster blinked, oblivious, and rather frightened. Iram scrambled back to where he had once sat, hiding his shame as the both of them focus back to their mother. Realising this attempt, he makes a small, indistinct hiss in the red one's direction, which was promptly returned. A snort from above ceases the distraction. Their blue matriarch pleased with the silence, continues "The original six all lived to be very old and prosperous."

" Yet, they failed to acknowledge the new developments of the world outside their own, and stubbornly stayed as their old selves, only growing apart from one another until they met their demise." Tone turning grim, she recounts one such event "A rift grew between black and white's bond, and either could not concede to the other on a disagreement over their shared territory in the snow-peaked mountains they settled upon. This rift grew to a rivalry, then conflict. The two lovers now fought over land that they had shared in harmony for hundreds of years. The both of them made futile attempts to reconcile, yet no temporary act could save them." A visage of bright, shining light clashing with black, cold fury passed over the two whelps- feeling almost as if they were arranged below the clash of titans. "One slew the other- though I'm afraid the decay of time has lost which finally triumphed. What is known, however, is that the survivor fell into a deep grief that they would never recover from." The gathering of dragons fall into silence, even Iram descending to ruminate on the tale. Their mother finishes "I shall save the other tragedies for the future, little ones. I can feel your hungers overwhelming your minds. Think on the story I have told, and if fortune smiles on us, I will catch a feast for you today. Be well, young ones, and know that your other will be your only security in these harsh times." She stood on her perch and raised her vast wings. With one final look back to her young, she departed.

Quster would have thought to say something in return if he knew this would be the last time he saw his mother.