Raya and the Dragons (RATLD Fan-fiction sequel) [IN DEVELOPMENT]

[Prologue]

The wind was blowing in through the cracks in the wood of the port. The pace was fast, hurried and nervous. The chainmail twisted in the moisture like shrimp escaping from a fishing net. Suddenly, the step stops in front of a door. A woman raised her hand, and just before touching, she bites her lip, while she inhales deeply and in unison with the order to enter that dark and twisted room.

—Lord Commander, I bring news from across the sea! —said the armed woman behind the door frame.

—Go ahead, General Dimaia ... tell me. —whispered a shadow at the end of the room, in a black robe and a voice that made every inch of her skin tremble with terror. The black robe was worn, undercooked, and misshapen. It was hanging, like a cape hangs from a person. —What news do you bring me?

—My men are already in position; they have achieved to get into the real guard. We wait for new orders? —Dimaia was somewhat nervous, hesitant and expectant at the words of that shadow, that still staring at the sunny and hot day outside, through the worn glass of a small window. He was turned and it was difficult to see his face. On the right side of him, a chin carpeted with a thick blanket of hair that covered much of his chin peeked, out shyly from the poorly braided fabric hood. On the other hand, a long and narrow sword that shone like a star shining in the night over the water of a river, ripped the air as if it had own life.

—Yes. Do that the half of the rest of the men head for the ships. The rest of you stay here and wait for my signal. I will open the way for you. — he ordered between the shadows of that room on the wet port.

—Yes, my lord! —the door was closed, while that gloomy and ghostly black silhouette, in a room timidly illuminated by the light that entered through the cracks in the wood, returned to his concentration.

The silence invaded the cabin with a strong and heavy feeling of coldness and dread. The silhouette remained there, quiet. It was like a spectral flame, even it seemed to disappear by seconds. The breeze from the wind, coming through the slits in the damp wood that were supposed to be the walls, gently flapped the cloak of the black cloth suit like a banner in front of a lonely wheat meadow.

The shadow, that was sitting on a large wooden table, stood up; while a piece of a thin torn sheet was hanging of it. He seized the hilt of his sword and wielded it firmly until he sliced ​​with almost masterful perfection a piece of wood that was at his side, while, with his voice, he flashed a scream so loud that it made the wood of the ground tremble on the water of the port.

—Kumandra... —he whispered lightly with some gargle in his voice. It seemed as if he were dialoguing with his memories, because his past haunted him like the wake of a burning torch, and that story was represented by the blazon of fire and the pain that was hidden under his skin, and that was detached from his body like a sweat of annoyance, burden, and anger. He had promised that, if he ever returned to Kumandra, it would be to see it buried beneath her feet.