Flashback: Fheldin's Youth (1/2)
-Long ago-
An untold number of years ago – before even the Rehkin clans found Arra and settled there, only dragons lived on Arra. What is now a world of lush forests and prosperous fields was once a barren world of ash and fire.
Living on this deformed world, near the heart of its core, an ancient dragon had build his palace below the ruins of the civilizations he had crushed. Dragon kind was a new race back in those days, and the puny mortals didn't know well enough to surrender.
All the local gods know that this dragon was once a human, though no one knows exactly where he came from. All they know is that Drakavar, or the one they called "Elshi-rothe" had found him and given him his foul power.
At first, this ancient dragon was content to lounge around in the heart of the world, but it only took him a few years for his tyrannical heart to grow restless. Soon enough, he thirsted for conquest once again.
Unfortunately, neither the armies of man, nor the local gods could stand up to his might. Thus, he burned world after world, and he left the ones who surrended as slaves to feed his voracious appetite.
No one knew his real name, since even he had forgotten it. However, by that generation, everyone began to call him "Lord Yelken", which means "Fire Tyrant" in ancient Draconic.
Eventually, Lord Yelken began to feel that his conquests came too easily. Where's the sport in everyone surrendering to him all the time?
With his life becoming increasingly dull, he ventured out of his lair less and less often.
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Over the years, Lord Yelken began to realize something important – something that could give some meaning to his life. 'I need a successor,' he realized. 'I want to have a child who can defeat me. Only then, can I be a true success! Only by having a worthy child will all of my conquests have any meaning!'
What better accomplishment is there than to give the universe a being better than yourself?
Once this thought was planted in his mind, it quickly took root, and he was never able to get rid of it again.
Unfortunately, the gods have already cursed dragon-kind at this time, so Lord Yelken was unable to find a dragon wife to bear his children. Without a dragoness to marry, his children will have thinned dragon-blood, and they'll be too weak to succeed his legacy.
'If can't have a few high-quality children,' Lord Yelken thought darkly, 'then I'll overwhelm the odds by having many children! I'll have as many as physically possible. I'll get lucky eventually, right? If I have thousands and thousands of kids, at least one of them will inherit my strong blood… right?'
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With this plan in mind, Lord Yelken began having his slaves construct huge monuments to himself, and he brought over huge droves of Rehkin clans to replant his world with life and make it more inviting.
With someone as powerful and oppressive as Lord Yelken, building a stellar, unbreakable empire was trivial. With a large, prosperous world, an army of slaves, and a treasury that could drown any country in gold, everyone wanted to make connections with him.
Soon enough young brides were sent to Lord Yelken in droves. Magicless or long-lived mages, rich or poor – Lord Yelken didn't care who was added to his harem. All he cared about was that they could bear his children.
Of course, all the people in the surrounding worlds knew by now that as long as Lord Yelken could be satisfied with beautiful new brides, and a generous tax, he'd protect their borders from invaders, and he wouldn't tear their cities down.
The brides themselves came to know that so long as they didn't get too greedy for their lord's affection, that they'd live long, prosperous lives – not wanting for anything.
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It was from one of these brides that a particular young dragon was born. Fheldin, his name was.
His mother was among the eldest of Lord Yelken's brides, but she died early on due to infighting in the harem. In those early days, most of the brides were sent to Yelken's side for political reasons, and they all sought to make the emperor fall in love with them.
The moment Lord Yelken spent more than a week with his mother, the poor woman was practically sentenced to death by the other concubines.
And so, little Fheldin was only a 1-horned dragon – a 30-year-old child – when his mother was murdered.
After that, the child spent most of his time hiding in the royal nursery – never stepping out, and never drawing attention to himself.
Of course, the sons of the concubines who murdered his mother… They were mysteriously found dead with poison in their cups one day. However, little Fheldin had faded so completely from the public mind that nobody thought to suspect him.
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The years came and went in a long, dreary slog.
One after another, Fheldin's older brothers grew old enough to open the doors to the nursery, and they gradually disappeared from the palace – no doubt finding clever ways to escape from home and becoming adults, according to tradition.
But Fheldin? Not once did Fheldin think about escaping.
Instead, the young dragon spent all day, every day secluded in the lowest training hall. In his hands were his mother's twin swords – unadorned hunks of iron that all of his brothers despised.
"Why's a dragon swinging around a sword? We have claws?" "Does he not even plan on escaping?" "It must be a hobby. It's clear that he's given up on becoming truly powerful."
His brothers would whisper things like this behind his back.
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The years go by, and even Fheldin's younger brothers start to grow old enough to escape.
As time went on, Fheldin became an object of ridicule by his family. They saw him as a disappointment who had no ambition. He was a lazy clout who only cared about "inconsequential hobbies".
In fact, when the bullying on Fheldin starts to get VERY severe, Yelken does nothing to stop it; he even encourages it.
In some small corner of Lord Yelken's heart, he was hoping that his disappointment of a son would be motivated to grow more powerful through necessity.
Alas, the young dragon never once reacts to his bullies. He calmly accepts the beatings, and he ignores the insults.
'Does this stupid little runt not have an ounce of anger!? When did I sire such a coward!?'
These thoughts would rage in Yelken's mind frequently over restless nights.
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Soon enough, Fheldin becomes the perpetually eldest child still living in the palace, and even his father has given up all hope of this son ever leaving home and growing up.
Feeling disgusted with this child, he stuffs the young man into the basement of his palace – far away from his other sons. Lord Yelken didn't want his unambitious leech to be a bad influence on his other children.
Yes. It's best to just forget about such a disappointment. He can always just sire more sons.
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Finally left alone, Fheldin is free to practice with his swords in peace. Day and night, the young man swings his swords, and he lets his power run through them.
The results from his training were taking a long time to manifest, but he faithfully believes that using weapons is the only way to get what he truly desires.
Fheldin's interest in swords stemmed from all the way to his childhood. He was just a little, 1-horned who could fit on his mothers lap at the time.
At the time, young Fheldin was holding his mother's swords – transfixed with their beauty.
"They're not that beautiful, you know," his mother had told him. "They're just common swords."
"That's not true," the child answered back. "Isn't the concept of a blade just beautiful? These things are able to take such a pitiable amount of Force and cause great damage. The mighty can be slain by the weak with these things."
"That small difference won't mean much to a dragon," his mother laughed. "Come on. Continue with your lessons."
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Despite his mother's urgings, Fheldin continued to think about swords. He'd even sneak them away from his mother's side and swing them around. He enjoyed the feeling of them cutting into wood, and the whistling song they made when they swung through the air.
However, he started to get bullied after he got caught with swords for the first time.
Fheldin was only a child then, so he ran to his mother's lap to cry out his grievances. What's so wrong with enjoying something? It's not like he's hurting anyone!?
Feeling sorry for her son, she set her child on her lap and began to tell him comforting words.
"You know, Fheldin," she'd said, "There was once an old dragon who used weapons to injure Drakavar herself…."
And so, the young, beautiful Rehkin princess told her son all about the tale of the White and Black dragons – Drakavar and Drakawyn.
They say that Drakavar was always vastly more powerful than her white counterpart. However, the old Dragon of the Earth was able to fight her evenly – all because of his special techniques and his great self-control.
Drakavar would cleave huge portions of the heavens apart with mighty blows, but Drakawyn had such fine control of his powers that he was able to pierce the thickest scales with the smallest prick.
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At first, Fheldin just thought these were interesting stories… but after his mother died, his interest in such techniques grew.
'I know I can't imitate such powers on my own,' Fheldin realized early one. 'I'll need a tool to help me concentrate my powers – make them sharper.'
Finding his mother's swords still locked away in her empty palace room, it's as if Fate was telling young Fheldin which path to take.
Even when his brother's bullying intensified, young Fheldin was tempted to lash out and crush his oppressors beneath his heel.
'No!' he'd tell himself each time these thoughts came back. 'I want to be like the White Dragon! Lord Drakawyn always said that anger is a tool that must be controlled.'
There's a reason why cats keep their claws sheathed. Just like your anger, you should only use it when it's time to strike. Keeping your anger on display all the time just makes your temper dull and useless.
With this in mind, little Fheldin bore with the abuse and mockery – only using his growing hate as motivation to train even harder.
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Deep in the belly of Arra, Fheldin never stops his training. Even when his father and siblings forget about his existence, he's still training. With no sun or moon down here, Fheldin quickly loses track of time.
His third horn eventually grows out, then his fourth horn. Any common dragon would be satisfied with such a height of power, since no kingdom or common god could stop them anymore.
However, just this much isn't enough for Fheldin. His appetite for power is so strong that he won't stop until NO ONE can beat him – not even his father.
After an untold number of years, his training with the sword finally starts to show progress.
Finally, Fheldin has learned to not only inject his power into the sword without breaking it, but his power has started to take the shape of a sword.
Before, when he punched with his power, there'd be an aimless explosion and large burn marks – the mark of a typical dragon.
However, he starts to notice that his practice swings are leaving smaller and smaller burn marks, and his strikes are leaving deeper and deeper gouges in the walls.
Elated at his success, he redoubled his efforts. Even after achieving his 5th Horn, he remained deep underground – determined to never surface until he'd perfected his technique.
Ever so slowly, another emotion besides hate occupies his heart. Now, he has hope – hope that even though his powers are weightless and weak compared to his father's, his strikes would at least be able to pierce his scales.
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After many more years, Fheldin finally emerges from his secluded rooms deep below the palace.
As he walked through the long palace halls, many of the servants thought he was a visiting dragon from another lineage, since he's been isolated in the basement longer than any of them had been alive.
Even his brothers didn't know who he was, and they tried to stop him many times from trespassing in their home.
After all, the only person who'd lived long enough to know Fheldin's face was Lord Yelken himself, and that man was always stuck in his chambers, preoccupied with entertaining his harem and making more children.
Nowadays, Lord Yelken had become so obsessed with women that he'd stopped managing his palace long ago. Yelken certainly doesn't notice that a powerful dragon is rapidly approaching him.
And so, being the only 5-Horned dragon in the entire palace, not a single one of his younger brothers can even hope to slow him down.
Without mercy, Fheldin cuts down anyone who stands in his way. So swift are his strikes that not a single messenger gets to reach his father's chambers to warn him of the intruder.