Drogen: Birth of the Drakregus: Drakregus Series, #1

By B.W. Goodwin

"I did not come here to argue against your religious dogma, nor to answer to your so called gods. I have come to rescue Natalia from those who would do her harm. Whether they be the gods you love so much or those who foolishly claim to be her family." Drogen, Son of Lisana

As the gods began landing consecutive blows against Drogen's parries, Balthazar came running from his hiding place, a massive war hammer held tightly in his hands. The war hammer was half as tall as he was, and upon it were engraved many thousands of runes, but one set stood out as being its namesake, "Unsterblich."

"He-he-he! Look, Uther, another toy for us to play with."

"I don't like him, Ether. We ssshould dissspossse of him quickly and play with the other one.He'sss much more interesssting."

"Right you are, Uther. Much more interesssting. I want to sssee what elssse he can do."

"The other's use of wind is nothing compared to ours." Ether laughed

Balthazar swung his hammer down toward Ether's skull, but as it fell, a gust of wind met his blow with stronger magnitude, sending Balthazar's war hammer flying back over his head. Although he was able to keep hold of its shaft, he was thrown off-balance, forcing him to step back a few feet to compensate. Uther was there to meet his retreat,and a gust of wind hit him like a brick wall as Ether righted himself and used the same force, suspending Balthazar in midair.

Drogen ran to Balthazar's aid but found himself being forced back by a massive gust that sent him reeling backward in position to see every last detail of what they were going to do to the one and only friend he had found comradery with during his time in Lundwurm Tul. The only father figure he'd ever known.

• Language: English
• Publisher: B.W. Goodwin
• Release date: Jun 10, 2024
• ISBN: 9798227645388

Book preview

Prologue

The winds cascaded through the mountains, descending into the expansive lower valley ensnared within its protective ring. As the winds dove deeper, they culminated into massive gusts, bowing the moderate vegetation throughout the steep, rugged mountain range. Even the eldest mesquite and cottonwood tree limbs strained against its relentless force.

The night air held a slight dampness within its midwinter chill, causing frost to settle upon the gardens that would provide food to the valley throughout the coming months, though it wasn’t necessary for any in the village to eat until spring when the fields would be planted once more.

As the sun made its final descent, dwindling quickly to naught, the temperature decreased, hardening the ground and forming ice atop the outlets and aqueducts filtering water throughout the valley. The instantaneous change produced an opaque fog.

Within Lundwurm Tul’s collective scape, twelve lanterns stood out in stark contrast to the moonless night. Each lay within its bracket outside the most decoratively jeweled houses gracing the landscape, the houses hosting each brood’s Elder.

Graven, eldest of the dragons, sat with his eyes distantly transfixed upon a mountain trail far to the south. The structure of his home was constructed expressly for that purpose. Along the southern recesses of the vast mountain range lay a deep cavern used for the singular purpose of birthing the next generation of dragonkin—an event two centuries in the making.

You’ve been staring at the same spot the whole of the day. Do your eyes not tire, Graven. I’m sure the others will inform you when the signal is cast. Why not come rest for a while?

Can you not feel it, Sephora. The time is fast approaching, and I can hear the hatchling’s coos across even this great distance. He is nearly born. I can just feel the intensity of the moment building to a beautiful climax. ’Tis as if the heavens are singing a symphony to welcome him into the world.

If ’tis just now reaching the final stages, why then have you been staring out the window the whole day? Furthermore, how can you tell the hatchling will be male if it has yet to be born? questioned Sephora as she procured a seat next to Graven, her silken skin drawing his attention, but only for a moment.

The knowledge of this is of no importance, but the future it holds for the others of our race is, stated Graven stoically

Do we even know the father’s name? Does no one else think it strange that Lisana became pregnant without any known suitors meeting her ridiculous qualifications? she asked with exasperated disbelief.

Intrigued, Graven moved his eyes from the window and looked into the doe eyes of his oldest friend, confidant, and lover. And what qualification did she set forth for her hand and loins?

They had to best her in combat. Many men and women tried, but none prevailed above her challenge, exclaimed Sephora, nearly yelling into Graven’s ear in her disbelief of the practice.

It sounds to me that you speak from experience, Graven said as a hearty laugh escaped his throat. I would expect nothing less from our most skilled warrior, he said while wiping joyful tears from his eyes. To answer your former question. We will know in time for we all have the traits passed down from our parents whether we be fresh from the womb or as old as the ground itself. For now, patience is our ally.

Graven stood up and gave his back a long stretch before heading for the staircase and the front door of his jewel-encrusted home near the heart of Lundwurm Tul. Sephora made no move to stop him as she could see through the dense fog the signal Graven hungered for.

The other Elders had waited by their windows for events to unfold, Graven knew. Many of them probably had not rested since the news of Lisana’s pregnancy and impending delivery had been imparted to them through Thane, Elder of the thirteenth brood.

Lisana had stopped coming to the dining hall many months prior, a fact none of the Elders missed and many of her suitors had asked fervently about. After two days, Thane reluctantly tracked her down through Lira; midwife of the brood. It was only then that he was informed of her condition. Lisana, through Lira, had asked Thane to keep the news quiet, but once she moved to the birthing chamber, he had to inform the others. Leading to three sleepless days and nights, for most of the other Elders, of nearly palatable anticipation.

The Elders gathered quickly upon the southernmost reaches of Lundwurm Tul’s boarder, coming together to start the journey south. Once conjugated, they shed their clothes and, in an instant, transformed into their true selves, taking to the sky to cover the ground as quickly as possible.

Over the two centuries of their self-imposed banishment, the road to the south had been undeveloped, leaving the road rocky and nearly indistinguishable to the naked eye as vegetation had overgrown and eroded many parts of the road. The same was true for the cavern that housed the broods’ birthing chambers.

Each of the Elders, with Graven as their leader, flew with abandon through the night sky toward the signal fire casting massive shadows behind its brilliant flame.

The journey that would have taken them many hours on foot had been covered in just under half of one. As they neared their destination, the Elders unfurled their wings, breaking the momentum and slowing them to a near halt before touching down lightly on the rocky outcropping leading up to the birthing chamber.

Atop the hill stood Thane, his draconic fire spewing like molten lava from his mouth and into the night sky. As the other Elders approached, their bodies transformed back into their unreleased forms, each throwing on a cloak, which Thane handed out as each came into view.

The black cloaks draped over their forms blocked out some of the winter air, though it was unnecessary. Where other races, including their oldest enemy, the gods, had difficulty functioning in extreme temperatures, they did not. Whether it was the molten core of a volcano or the arctic tundra mattered not to their scale-clad bodies.

Unlike the road, the mountainside path leading to the cavern’s entrance was partially defined. Many of the outward stones were masterfully crafted, but the project had been abandoned soon after its start in lieu of necessary repairs within the city proper. Only one of the projects in the southern reaches had seen completion, and it stood out in disaccord to all that enveloped it.

The gigantic ornately decorated iron door hung from the stone seamlessly, its weight making it impenetrable to any who would wish to harm those who lay beyond. The potent magic coursing through the door only allowed dragonkin through its massive visage. It could outlast the largest of onslaughts, and battering rams would fold before even a scratch was made upon the intricate door. Above all else, dragonkin protected their young even without an enemy knocking at their door.

Thane, leader of the thirteenth brood, bowed to the other Elders once they had all donned their robes. Good you were able to see the signal fire. I thought a show might be in order—to gain your attention through this confounded fog.

Removing his hood, Graven bent at the waist and gave a small smile to the youngest Elder as he returned to his full height. Lead on, Thane. We must bless the hatchling and learn of his name.

With a nod, Thane turned, but his usually chipper gate showed the distinctive marks of hesitation with each step toward the iron doors. A sign that greatly worried Graven and the others. As he reached the double doors, he threw them wide as though they were nothing more than twigs hinged to the mountainside.

The large anteroom heading the complex cavern would have awed even the ground-dwelling dwarves as the domed ceiling stood, at its apex, nearly a hundred feet from the ground below. Still, the most awing feature hung suspended by gold and silver chain from the ceiling—a gargantuan crystalline chandelier, which painted prisms of every color around the room.

Upon reaching the chamber’s center, Thane stopped in his tracks, forcing the Elders to follow suit. He looked around warily as though pondering the best way to profess his hindrances.

Lisana has given birth, has she not? Else you would not have shown your fire. Guide us to the birthing chamber, Thane, or is there something that you have yet again thought too trifling to disclose. Graven waited, but still no answer was forthcoming from the young Elder.

With a slight movement, Thane removed his cowl to reveal unabated worry upon his normally chipper face. His dark sunken eyes showed that exhaustion had nearly taken him, a feat for any of the Elders, who could go a full week without sleep.

Thane had usurped his title after the tragic loss of his father, a former clan leader. The tale of his father’s final stand had been a comfort for the young Elder, for in a show of true draconic strength, his father had stood alone against five gods and died with sword and shield in hand. He had killed three of the five gods before being defeated and, in doing so, had become a hero to all dragonkin and in death claimed the highest honor of all Drakregus.

Graven looked upon Thane with his azure eyes, which, if the tales were true, had the power to peer into another’s soul, intimidating him into speaking what was so very hard to say.

Truthfully, I know not whether it was time to call upon the rest of the Elders. It was at Lira’s insistence that I did so. She confided upon me that something strange is happening with this birth. Though this is my first experience, I must agree.

Lira has overseen hundreds of births. What could be so troubling she would insist our presence before the hatchling has come? Is Lisana even ready to give birth? asked Graven, irritation creasing his brow.

I fear that any explanation I give will not do justice to the current circumstance both Lira and Lisana face. So I’ll guide you to the chamber to see for yourselves.

The Elders looked at Thane, hoping he would go on, but nothing more escaped his lips as he walked forward in silence, opening the central door and stepping through into the tunnel beyond. They traveled for many minutes in silence, the air around them becoming thin and stale. Along each side of the tunnel, doors marked with their brood’s coat of arms led to each birthing chamber.

At the very end of the hallway stood four large iron doors with the thirteenth brood’s escutcheon. Thane opened the first door, pushing it open with ease. The moment the door moved away, the Elders heard a bloodcurdling roar escape the portal and echo down the hallway where the sound amplified and reverberated.

Beyond lay a circular room lit by oil lanterns, and candles both hung and sat upon the floor around the room. In the center of the room, which had been concaved to form a bowl, lay an immense dragon, her bloodred scales gleaming resplendently in the light.

Lisana let out a second roar as the Elders began filtering in around her, unabated disbelief crossing each of their faces as their world turned upside down. The Elders could find no words for what they were witnessing, for none, not even Graven, had seen a release during childbirth.

Lira felt only exhausted confusion as she talked to Lisana in a calm, soothing voice, attempting to comfort her before another agonizing contraction. Take a deep breath, Lisana. I know the pain is unbearable, but you mustn’t forget to breathe.

Lira looked toward the Elders for an explanation but saw the same look of confusion she’d been wearing since Lisana’s release occurred. If any can figure this out, it’ll be them, thought Lira, hopefully.

The minutes passed by slowly for Lira as she careful tended to Lisana’s massive form, made all the more difficult with her gargantuan head rolling and whipping about uncontrollably with every contraction. As the contractions gained severity, her roars of pain also brought dazzling white flames to bare against the cavern walls, turning the sandstone to glass.

Lira, after whispering to Lisana soothingly, carefully skirted around her body between contractions. She calmly walked to the Elders, bowing just as Lisana’s tail came barreling through the air toward her.

I have witnessed the birth of two generations, seen many centuries and lives brought into this plain, yet none of that experience has prepared me for this. Have any of the Elders witnessed something like this before? I see from your expressions of disbelief that it’s cloddish to ask. Can you tell me then if the hatchling will be born in its draconic form being that its mother has been forced to facilitate the change? asked Lira with mounting concern.

The Elders whispered to each other but found no insight forthcoming to answer Lira’s questions. Quickly, all turned to Graven for an answer, any answer that might help to explain the event unfolding in front of them. Graven thought the question over, for what seemed like an eternity, before shaking his head.

Though this is a new event, none have been born in their released form, not even I, professed Graven. However, this may very well be the day that my vast knowledge is proven useless. If the hatchling is born in our true form, then its power must be sealed for its protection.

I can’t say I like your summation, but given this has never happened before, it appears to be the best I can hope f—

A deep gut-wrenching scream cut Lira’s words short, and she rushed back around to Lisana’s head.

Will you stop squabbling! Th-the baby’s coming! screamed Lisana as molten white flames sprang from her mouth, showering the cavern walls in a blanket of fire.

image-placeholder

The wind cut through the pine trees, causing their needles to fall and litter the ground. The branches and tips of each swaying heavily as the torrents of wind ripped through the densely packed forest. The vast number of trees and shrubbery adorning the landscape cut the wind and its deep chill with each step Death took into Moongrove.

Death walked through the trees like a specter listening to the distant sounds of battle as they traveled upon the wind. Still he knew there were many more battles going on than he could hear against the harsh wind’s relentless gale.

As the battles around the forest grew in intensity, a band of orcs and goblins came with blazing speed through the trees, making their way to reinforce their lines.

Death stopped just as they came bursting through the trees around him, his dark figure casting a sinister shadow, even in the moonless night, over them. With their weapons drawn, they stayed back, looking him over with hesitation and uncertainty, halting their blades from coming to bare against his spectral entity.

His abyssal black hooded robes billowing with each gust of wind that swept through while his walk gave off the illusion of his body gliding across the earth as though it were a sheet of ice. From within his robes, Death pulled forth his most prized possession, a large straight-shafted pole scythe.

Looking at their opponent and the numbers they had brought, the confidence in their eyes grew, and the group spread apart to encircle death as best they could with the vast array of trees restricting their maneuverability.

With Death trapped between goblin and orc alike, he looked at the scythe in his hand and felt its power coursing through his veins. The power, a gift from its forger who had entrusted him with the lives of many. He held it aloft in his right hand while his eyes scanned the flat of the curved blade and the inscription upon it, Reaper of Souls.

The first attack came from the goblins, who had been hurled toward him by the orcs as cannon fodder in an attempt to ascertain his skill. With the practiced movements of a well-seasoned warrior, Death cut the goblins in half before they even hit the ground, his weapon and body working in a circuit and slicing through them like a machete through vines.

Goblin blood flowed over the orcs who had launched them into the fray. The blood flowing over their mail mingled with the dirt, grime, and dried blood from their previous conquests. Each orc wiped his face free of the hot sticky liquid before forming a ring around Death, staying behind trees and beyond the Reaper of Soul’s reach.

You mortals dare to challenge Death. Has your confidence grown so far in my absence that you think yourself superior, or are you simply ignorant of the foe who stands before you? Either way, you will greet the underworld through me.

A movement of his wrist had Reaper of Souls sailing out to its full length; as he felt its cylindrical shaft glide through his palm to its end, he gripped it tightly. With a swing and pull of his scythe, the first orc’s head toppled with its body following soon after to bleed out onto its final pine-needle bed.

Using the momentum of his pull, Death smashed another orc in the face, who had thought to take advantage of his preoccupation. The orc made to parry as Reaper of Soul’s hilt burrowed through the orcs nasal cavity and deep inside its brain with a sickening crack.

Death moved in the moment between the orcs’ disappearance and its comrade’s reappearance. In that split second’s time, he covered the ground to stand in front of where the second orc would appear, with Reaper of Souls blunt edge touching the ground.

As the orc emerged, Death pulled the Reaper of Souls up between its legs and split him from groin to crown in one fluid motion, cutting through its armor like paper without so much as a frayed or jagged edge. Not a gurgle left the orc’s lips as its brain and intestines spilled out of its halved corpse and its life’s blood flowed with the last beat of its dying heart.

Death allowed the momentum of his scythe to aid in his body’s rotation as he felt the other orc just behind him. He moved with intent, listening and feeling for the soul that would soon be added to his growing collection. His predatory reflexes peaking and allowing him to hear the large orc’s heartbeat above the distant battles and clank of its blood-soaked armor.

As the orc commander came out, he readily parried the first blow but was stunned as the sword flew from his grasp, breaking two of his fingers in the process. The scythe blade never slowed as Death scalped the orc’s head clean off just above its surprised eyes.

With a flick of his wrist, the blood flew from Reaper of Souls while a sigh escaped Death’s lips. He moved away quickly to escape the gruesome scene he had created before reinforcements arrived.

I must keep moving else a battle between gods be waged, turning Moongrove’s beautiful wood into a desolate lifeless desert akin to the forbidden plains.

Death strode into a clearing, the increased distance between the vegetation denoting his nearing the forest’s edge and his escape from those who moved to detain him. He’d lived in Moongrove for nearly a year without interruption, allowing his feral nature to take over for most of that time in an effort to hide himself and to delay the inevitable.

If only I could have escaped into the void to regain my strength, sighed Death within his mind. Why has that avenue been lost to me? And why do none of their souls come to me through the Ether. It’s in these times when I could use the power of those who have departed the other realms.

How he didn’t recognize their stench sooner, Death could only guess, but the noose around his neck tightened with each band of orcs he passed trying to escape Moongrove. The orcs had poured like rivers into the forest the night before in an attempt to flush him out. It appeared to be their only mission, and they were determined to complete it at any cost to them, or those they attacked, in order to draw him out.

Though impossible for him to die, whether mortally wounded, starved, or exsanguinated, among other gruesome ends. Death knew the body could endure far worse fates than death and decomposition, for his was a life of such tortures and pain.

Death had escaped many such fates since the beginning of time by jumping plains and finding other worlds to reap souls from the dead throughout the vast cosmos. But the path to those other worlds, and even the souls that would have added to his strength, were unreachable. He had thought to flee through the void between plains until Lucian had forsaken his pursuit, but the way had been sealed, and not even Death, with his vast and ever-growing power, could unravel the bindings.

Lucian ruled the others of his kind with an iron fist. He kept them separated from himself in order to prevent their undermining of his authority. Those who remained resistant against his rule were unceremoniously executed for their difference of view, and their names struck from all record by massacring any and all who followed them. The practice quelled any thoughts of future retribution from the rest, thus insuring the security of his rule.

Death had no doubt the orc invaders had been ordered to attack the Moongrove in order to draw him out. Grock, the goblinkin’s god, would have given the order. However, Lucian, who continued to pull the strings of his brethren, had undoubtedly orchestrated their pursuit.

Through the information Death had become privy to, he learned Lucian had become obsessed with his prophesized demise, which was delivered unto him by a Zephyrian seer. The prophecy eluded to the death of both his aspirations and his corporal form. Alas, those were the rumors Death had overheard. From what Death witnessed the last year, he believed the rumors true, thus making Lucian all the more dangerous.

His obsession made him pursue both Death as well as the eldest enemy of the gods and their ways, the dragons. The only enemy strong enough to destroy his legacy and claim the throne he fought every day to both maintain and expand. A power he would squelch until none could hope to oppose him.

Two orcs burst through the tree line behind him; the stench of their rotting flesh filled his nose as they broke free, brandishing twisted and bloodstained long swords, clearly taken from a recently defeated elf. The two orcs charged at him full force, not taking their eyes off his cloaked form. With both orcs charging the rear, Death bided his time before spinning around, making sure that they were well within range before making his move. The two orcs, their blades raised above their heads for a killing blow, didn’t see the spin coming, and it cost them their lives.

The force of his blow sent a concussive gust through the forest, felling the tree behind the orc assailants, whose heads toppled from their shoulders. Both bodies collapsed on top of each other as their life force drained unrestrained upon the hard-packed ground.

A third orc had chosen to lie in wait, but his presence wasn’t lost on the predatory animal known as Death. The stench of the wretch’s armor was unmistakable, and this orc pursuer, like the others, would not escape the same fate. Thinking itself undetectable, the orc pursued an opening in Death’s battle-hardened defense, but he was only playing upon Death’s hand.

In the blink of an eye, Death was gone from the orc’s sight. Unsure of where Death had gone, the orc moved deeper into the forest using the trunk of a tree to cover his back from a rear assault. It knew its mistake as the spectral Death dropped from the tree he’d backed up against. The orc, with nowhere to go, dropped its blade in fright, squealing like a pig.

With a finely tuned movement of his body, Death cut the orc in two at the waist, the top half of its body coming free. As its body toppled over, the two halves separated, and all of its guts spilled out onto the grass, behind which came the sound of a massive falling tree that Death had cut through when he finally relieved the orc of its life.

Bending over the orc, he used the creature’s breeches to remove the blood covering Reaper of Souls before inspecting the inscription upon the finely forged blade again, his thoughts traveling to a past he wished to return to. As he released his eyes from the blade, a giant white tiger appeared before him, its low guttural growl a deadly melody.

How far out do these battles go, Avren? Have the elves of Moongrove made it to their distant fortress, or was such a thing impossible against the swiftness of the orcan raid? Death inquired with rage simmering just below the surface of his subdued speech.

Yes, it seems that the nimble tree folk were warned in time to mount a retreat to the thicker wood. The orcs dare not follow them any deeper than they have, but we both know their true mission is to find you. The elves were just a bonus for the brutes. But even the dull-minded goblins wouldn’t press any deeper through elven territory, it would give their enemy all the advantage.

Their ability to overwhelm is admirable, though I hate to admit it. Still, I don’t remember them being so well organized when first I left. Has Grock been forming them into garrisons and squadrons in place of their traditional tribal mentality? asked Death.

It seems that this war band of orcs were trained by the gods themselves, though I believe it to be more Lucian’s doing than Grock’s. Like I said, they were sent here to lure you out of hiding, and from what I’m seeing before me, you most certainly took the bait, said Avren with her piercing feline eyes rising to stare into Death’s partially covered face.

What would you have me do, Avren! I didn’t wish for the elves to perish, for they are goodly creatures, same with the dwarves—though they are quite brutish—and so too are a majority of the other sentient races that form the fabric of this world. Their deaths are not something that I want to happen right away. This war has consumed too many on either side already, a countless number by my own hands. Those who live full lives give me strength while the young give me nothing but grief.

Calm yourself, Death. It seems you’ve been too long outside of this world. Have you grown sentimental? Your brethren, especially Lucian, continue to pursue you, and they draw nearer by the second. They, as I, don’t know where you’ve been. All I know is they seek to capture you and turn your power against the oversized lizards who once walked this plain with us. They have sent these orcs, their new pets, to find you, shouted Avren, worry lines creasing her feline face. We can talk about all this later. For now, we must run.

Avren looked up to Death with her wild blue eyes, waiting for him to give an order for her to follow. Death, with a rage and denial-filled voice, spoke once more, and his words brought an even deeper chill to the already biting winter air as though his voice carried the weight of existence itself.

Lucian will not use my power to destroy another living creature that walks this plane. Let him do what he will, for many have tried and failed to break me, but none were ever successful. And so shall it be again, if I’m captured. Know that before I am taken, many of his disciples will lay dead at my feet knowing beyond a doubt who I am.

Death thought back to the times when he had been beside the gods and their foremost leader, Lucian. It was amazing how one with such a pure heart as he could be corrupted so thoroughly by obsession.

All this because of prophecy. Such a waste of life, thought Death aloud, drawing a sidelong glance from Avren but nothing more.

From out of the corner of his eye, Death saw branches moving, so with his Reaper of Souls in both hands, he waited in anticipation for the next assault. He was ready for whoever came out. A glance at his trusted blade amplified the resolve in his heart and mind.

I wish I wouldn’t have heard you say that, brother. I was hoping you would lend me your power, you know, for old time’s sake. However, it looks like this meeting will be of a completely different nature.

Death didn’t even need to see the face of the one who had spoken from the tree line. The voice that he’d heard and raised upon this very plain of existence, that voice alone showed Death that the past had finally caught up to him.

Lucian walked out of the trees holding his hands behind his back. His snow-white robes flowed over his body without a wrinkle or stain, brightly shining even in the moonless night. Three steps brought once allies turned enemies face-to-face with each other for the first time in half a century.

Death’s thoughts formed a torrent of insurmountable rage. Before him stood the corruptor of the gods. The one whose obsession had destroyed his own good heart and, in so doing, had drawn the others into his obsessive ways. Only one solution came to mind; before the corruption could spread any further, he would kill Lucian. Bringing his beloved’s Reaper of Souls to bare, Death moved to strike first as the world plunged deeper into the aphotic night.

image-placeholder

With a deep growl, Lisana pushed, and Lira hurriedly maneuvered herself around to reach her rump. I can finally see the head … I-It’s a dragon head, Lira said with a squeak. Realizing the futility of saying so only after speaking since none could possibly hear above the roars and spray of dragon’s fire.

Finally, with a little maneuvering, Lira was able to grab the hatchling’s legs and head, clutching them firmly in her hands as another contraction sent waves of pain through Lisana’s draconic body. The hatchling moved farther from the birth canal each passing second, and with a final push, the little dragon came fully into the world. Transforming her fingernail into a razor-sharp claw, Lira cut the last remaining link between Lisana and her newborn child.

With the umbilical cord severed, Lira hurriedly washed and dried the hatchling, being mindful of the soft scales covering its body. In her haste, she had only taken glimpses of the scales she cleaned; it wasn’t until the light of a candle flickered beside the newborn that she truly saw the beauty of its hide. Yet another oddity added to the strangeness of this whole ordeal.

The majority of each scale was so dark, they dulled the light of the room, while the tip of each shone a polished bloodred, the same color as Lisana. And the colors of its underbelly were a transposition of its other scales.

Lira grabbed a clean and dry blanket from beside the washbasin to swaddle the hatchling dragon by holding its two front legs at its side and folding in the wings so they set comfortably against the hatchlings back. Then with great care, she walked the newborn over to the line of Elders, depositing the hatchling into Graven’s extended and waiting arms.

He took the babe in hand and started a chant, one that nobody else could hear above Lisana’s labored panting. As he finished his mumbling, he gave the hatchling a kiss upon its scaled head.

The spell of sealing has been activated. You must all place your seals upon the hatchling’s head. It will take the seal of all thirteen broods and a relative of blood to accomplish a full seal. Until such time as we Elders release the spell and manifest his first change as tradition dictates. We thirteen are the seals. Thus, his mother is the key.

Graven passed the babe to the next Elder in line, who unceremoniously threw back his cowl and roughly kissed the dragon upon the forehead before passing him down the line of Elders. And so it went until the babe found itself in the hands of Thane. With the final seal set, he passed the hatchling once more into the hands of Lira.

Lisana, it’s time for you to bless your child, but I think it would be best if you did so in your unreleased form.

With great weariness in her voice, Lisana groaned, If you believe it to be for the best.

Still in pain from the strain of labor, Lisana slowly sealed away her power, regaining her unreleased form. She stood naked in the middle of the room, a shiver running down her spine. Grabbing and removing the cloak from around his back, Thane, her brood’s Elder, stepped forward and enveloped her in it, covering her scale-clad form.

From under the cloak, Lisana held out her arms and took her beautiful baby, holding him tightly against her breast. Bending her neck slightly, Lisana placed her lips on the hatchling’s forehead. With the lock in place, the hatchling that had been born in its draconic form shifted from a whelp into a typical babe. Lira grabbed a chair from in front of the washbasin and brought it over for Lisana to sit on. Sitting down, she carefully laid the child in her lap and quickly swaddled its new form tightly.

So, Lisana, is the hatchling male or female? asked Graven, though he already knew the answer, and professed so whenever anyone chose to question it.

’Tis a beautiful baby boy, said Lisana as she looked lovingly into his eyes.

Lisana then held the babe out for the Elders to look upon his face, which just peeked out from under the blanket. The babe smiled back at their joy-filled faces as he let out a small coo toward them from under his black, red-tipped hair.

Now, Lisana, where might the father of the babe be? ’Tis tradition for the sire to pick the son’s name.

I’m sorry, Graven, but that is asking the impossible, for I know not of where his father may be. However, I have already picked out a name for the child who has been born in the true form of our people. Lisana professed, I know that ’tis against tradition for me to do so. However, given the circumstances, I would ask your permission afore I become too excited and state the name aloud.

For the third time that night, the Elders didn’t know what to do. Following tradition was out of the question, especially if the father wasn’t present. They themselves could name the child, but doing so seemed to them an even bigger taboo. Finally, they all came to an agreement on the matter, and looked to Graven to deliver their final verdict.

Very well, Lisana, you would know better than we what name suits your child for you know his father better than any of us can claim.

I was hoping that you would come to that conclusion. His name will be Drogen. With his name said aloud, Drogen cooed and purred, bringing a smile to Lisana’s face. And I do believe he likes it, she stated joyfully as she cooed back to her hatchling.

We wish we could have met his father, said Graven, drawing a nod from the other Elders. Who might he be, if you don’t mind my inquiry? I believe all of us would like to know.

I must apologize to the Elders of the brood, but I must keep this information secret for the sake of him and his father. You may not look upon him or me in the same light. Just know that he is not here with us anymore, stated Lisana, a small tear trailing down her face as she concluded the sentence. The tear dropped from her cheek and onto the face of her newborn, who stared up from his mother’s breast and once again coed, keeping eye contact as though he could feel her sadness.

Although their curiosity had been piqued by her declaration, the Elders didn’t push the matter any further. Instead, they respected her wishes and simply bowed to her in congratulations before exiting the cave so that she and her newborn could take much needed respite.

Lira remained behind until the last of the Elders took their leave. Going once more over to the washbasin, she poured the water out of the bowl and, with a spell, filled the bowl once more with fresh water. Lira breathed a line of fire into the fresh water, and the color changed to resemble flowing gold. Taking the cloak from Lisana’s back, Lira folded it once and threw it over her shoulder.

Lisana unbound her baby and let the swaddling drop to the ground while Lira poured dragon’s water over both mother and child. Both of their bodies developed a layer of skin, which obscured the scales beneath. Her midwife duties at their end, Lira bowed to the new family before following the Elders out.

Lisana sat with her babe for nearly an hour, silently purring and admiring his cherubic face. I wish that your father could be here with us, Drogen. I know it would bring him great joy just knowing that you have joined our world. It pains me greatly that he is unaware, though if he knew, it might be too hard for him to continue on the path he now faces alone, said Lisana with tears rolling freely down her face as she re-swaddled Drogen.

After a short time, she wiped her eyes and rose from the chair. In her mind, she pictured her bedroom and the sigil placed upon the floor. With a click of her fingers, they were transported back to their home in Lundwurm Tul. Disoriented from giving birth and the drain of using magic, Lisana stumbled forward, kicking out to find the bed with her foot.

Lisana then lay Drogen against the far side of her bed closest to the wall so that he was secure and had no risk of falling off. Completely naked, she crawled underneath the doeskin that lay upon the bed before grabbing and holding Drogen in her arms and falling fast asleep.

image-placeholder

Death came on vigorously, his beloved scythe leading the charge. However, Death’s overhead strike struck nothing but air as Lucian moved swiftly out of Death’s path. Swinging to match Lucian’s retreat, Death followed with deadly precision; but as though it were fully anticipated, the scythe sliced in a hair’s breath away from Lucian’s spine.

We’re not brothers. You may all be gods on this plane, but I have been around longer than any on this planet have lived, and this isn’t the only place I’ve been, nor will it be the last. I may be trapped here until this planet regains balance, but don’t mistake this to mean I will help with your obsessive pursuit of the dragons, Lucian.

Lucian lifted his legs into the air and lazily drifted upon it as though he were weightless, taunting Death with his relaxed manner in the face of mortality.

Come, Death, if we’re not your brethren, then who on this planet possibly could be? You led us against the dragons once before, slaughtering thousands of their kind. What could have changed to make you turn against your own kind? The reason why interests me above all else. Now if you choose to keep that information from me, know that I will enjoy forcefully retrieving it, if necessary, said Lucian with a cruel grin.

For it’s time that we end their lives with a quick and decisive furiosity unlike this world has seen since the dawn of our two kinds. I promise that if you aid me in my pursuits, their deaths will be swift … and relatively painless. However, if you choose to keep what you know to yourself, then all of those beasts, when found, will suffer for all etern—

Before Lucian could spout another word, Death let out a bloodcurdling feral growl, sending a shiver down Lucian’s spine and stopping his speech and air-swimming dead.

Death, with a renewed vigor, was upon Lucian again before he could fully react and had the blade of his scythe at Lucian’s throat, pulling down on the blade with one decisive stroke of his heavily muscled arms. Lucian’s eyes were defiant, and as the blade came down upon him, he sank to the ground, just barely rolling out of the blade’s path before it severed his head.

Reaper of Souls hit the ground and cut through it as though it was an extension of the air. With a quick side step, Death moved to the side, completing the movement and allowing the scythe to come up from the ground in one motion. He flipped the scythe into the air to lessen its’ momentum and caught it once more by the handle as it finished its third rotation.

Well, that was quite dangerous. I didn’t even get to finish my threat. Lucian laughed cynically.

Know that if you lay a hand on or kill any of their kind again, I will personally destroy you and every other one of you so-called gods before I’m done! shouted Death, malice and spite flowing off each bloodthirsty word.

That’s where you’re wrong, my old friend. You won’t be able to stop me. Tristain, Grindar, now! shouted Lucian. From behind Death, two more white-robed gods hurled themselves over the bushes and brambles.

Tristain and Grindar moved to grab Death before he could react. Avren intercepted Tristain before she could breach the tree line, launching her back. A cry could be heard from Tristain as Avren came down hard on her with an open maw.

With a quick side step, Death moved out of Grindar’s path, sending him flying past as he leveled off his scythe with Grindar in the same motion. Unable to stop his flight, Grindar’s death was assured. Reaper of Souls bifurcated him from head to foot. His corpse slid apart as it hit the ground to mingle with the recently deceased orcs.

You thought an ambush would work on me. To think you would rely on something so cowardly instead of facing me yourself. Or is it that you—even though you call yourself a god—fear the one constant known to all but two beings? You are brazen enough to only bring the two youngest gods to detain me? Do you underestimate my power, or is it that those two are the only gods that would follow you on a suicide mission? Now Grindar lays dead at your feet, raged Death.

That’s where you’re wrong, Death. I’ve more than enough power to be your equal, and with every passing day, I grow stronger. I have more power at my fingertips than you could possibly imagine, for I have worshippers that pray to me for all their worries and praise me for their lives. Their love of me is what has tipped the scales in my favor. The same can’t be said of you, Death. From where does your power stem? Not from worshippers, for who would worship the one who promises an end to all they love?

The friendship and love of a few can outweigh the worship of thousands. This is what no god, past or present, has ever understood until it was too late. Nay, even I didn’t understand until events put such things into proper perspective. Fighting for love and friendship will give you more strength than you will ever know, said Death as his expression turned sorrowful. I have witnessed the most savage of battles between gods, dragons, and countless other races since the dawn of time. I’ve grown weary of the senseless battles started over fanaticism, and even now, in a time when there is peace, you go out into the world thirsting for the blood of an enemy that wishes not to fight. With a sigh, Death continued, When will it end, Lucian? The dragons no longer wish for this. Why else would they have hidden themselves away? If you continue on this course, your life will most certainly end in dragon’s fire. Forget your pursuits and abandon your current path for those who seek to stave off prophecy will see it come to fruition.

You speak blasphemy for I am a god. I will never die. I will make you pay for your insolence, barked Lucian.

And how do you expect to do that? I’m at least as powerful as you are even without the worshippers you treasure above even your own kin, said Death.

Like this! shouted Lucian. Lucian snapped his fingers, and abyssal black chains appeared around Death. The chains moved and contorted like snakes, constricting around Death and making it impossible to move. His beloved scythe, which he still held in his hand, was pressed flat against his chest. There he stood, suspended in midair by the black abyssal chains as they squeezed him to near suffocation.

You use the chains of the abyss against me, oh how far you have fallen from grace, said Death.

Death knew the futility of his situation. The abyssal black chains that surrounded him were immune to his power. He knew that the torturous times ahead of him would be great; however, he had withstood many such things in the past, and he would stop the gods from finding and eliminating the dragons no matter the cost. With the little movement he had left in his body, Death looked down at the scythe that pressed against his heart and knew he could endure anything as he felt another heartbeat through Reaper of Souls.

Chapter one

Six years passed in the blink of an eye for Lisana and Drogen. The day of Drogen’s awakening and his first day of training had finally arrived. In those six years, Lisana had instilled much of her knowledge