Firstborne

1. Dying Wish

Wes knelt in the green brush under a canopy of maple, oak, and birch trees stretching into the clear sky. A cool wind rustled his long, black dreadlocks. Nearby, a crystal-clear stream splashed with trout and catfish, while crickets chirped in harmony. Wes lay flat with his bow in hand, ready and poised. Ahead, a rustle: a doe emerged cautiously to drink from a waterhole. Wes drew an arrow, aligning it with the bowstring, and held his breath as he aimed. The arrow sliced through the air and struck the doe, which collapsed, blood flowing from the wound. Its chest rose and fell in shallow gasps, eyes clouded with pain.
Wes approached the fallen creature. He knelt beside it, fingers trembling yet tender as he stroked its head, feeling the delicate warmth of its fur against his palm. He ended its suffering with a swift, practiced twist of its neck.
As he paused, memories surged. He was a boy again, his laughter mingling with the joyous cries of his dragon, Riazin, whose vibrant scales shimmered like a mosaic in the dappled light. Their footsteps pounded through the underbrush, harmonizing with the symphony of chirps and squeals that echoed among the towering pines.
The present reclaimed him, and he cast a somber glance back at the lifeless doe. With a heavy sigh, he grasped its forelegs as he dragged it towards his campsite. The ground crackled beneath his boots, the forest floor strewn with brittle twigs and dead leaves.
Reaching a tall, ancient alder, Wes set to work. His calloused hands moved with a practiced ease, peeling away the rough, outer layers to uncover the smooth, silvery bark beneath. The coolness of it was a stark contrast to his warm, sweat-slicked fingers, and tiny slivers occasionally nicked his skin, a series of ephemeral pinpricks that he barely noticed.
Back at the campfire, Wes meticulously skinned the doe, carefully cutting away fur and muscle. He placed the meat on a spit over the flames, watching as the skin crackled and bubbled, releasing a rich aroma that mingled with the scent of the forest. The rhythmic hum of the turning spit was a comforting sound, reminiscent of Riazin's fiery breath cooking their meals during hunts from his youth.
In his mind, he saw Riazin's vivid orange flames licking the meat, searing it with an intense heat that filled the air with a mouthwatering scent. Snapping back to the present, Wes could hear the hiss and flare as tiny droplets of fat dripped into the fire, adding to the sensory symphony around him. The forest seemed to hold its breath, wrapping him in a cocoon of warmth, light, and memories.
Wes leaned in to inspect the roasting meat, the heat kissing his face. Once cooked, he pulled a piece off with a stick, revealing tender, succulent layers beneath the crispy exterior. Juices dripped down his hands as he tore into the flaky flesh with sharp teeth, savoring the flavors. After finishing his meal, he raised his hand and, with masterful control, extinguished the fire.
As day surrendered to night, the fire Wes had started began to flicker and writhe, the flames behaving as if possessed. He leaned forward, eyes narrowing with suspicion. The blaze twisted and turned, morphing for a fleeting moment into a dragon's eye—fierce, all-seeing. It glared at him from the heart of the inferno, its gaze penetrating and ancient.
"Wes," a voice, resonant and ageless, rolled out from the flames, making him jolt. It was a voice that carried both authority and familiarity, echoing through his memories.
"Elwynn?" Wes whispered, his heart pounding like a war drum.
The flames leaped higher, their dance more vigorous, and from the smoldering embers, a form began to take shape. It was an elf mage. Even in the wavering light, his elven features were striking—sharp, ethereal, and filled with a celestial glow. "Wes, this realm needs you," Elwynn's voice was urgent, almost pleading. "Azraelkor's vision reveals a looming darkness, a threat to all races. I walk among you as an elf, sent by Azraelkor to guide and redeem the lost: mortals. You cannot forsake your destiny any longer."
Wes's fists clenched involuntarily, old memories surging. "I left that life behind," he growled. "Stop pestering me."
"Your destiny isn't so easily discarded," the elf intoned, unwavering. "The fallen races need a guide. Azraelkor believes only you can overcome the darkness."
Wes' jaw tightened, battling the turmoil within. "Why me? What makes me so special?"
Elwynn's gaze softened. "It's not a matter of being special, Wes. Your past, your sacrifices—they make you the beacon of hope this realm desperately needs."
The flames flickered again, shifting to reveal scenes of chaos: villages engulfed in flames, people fleeing in terror, shadows spreading like a malignant curse. The visions faded, leaving the elf's determined gaze to fill the void.
"Do you see, Wes?" Elwynn's voice was firm, yet laced with urgency. "This is what awaits us if we do nothing. The darkness will consume everything we hold dear. You must stop running. Confront your fears. Complete your Firstborne training. I understand the pain, the hopelessness, and even the guilt that rages within you. The time has come to step out of the shadows and into the light." The elf's form dissolved as the flames settled back to their natural state.
Wes stared into the now ordinary fire, its earlier magic gone. He exhaled deeply, then extinguished the flames and began packing his few belongings. As gray smoke cleared from the highest reaches of the air, Wes looked up and noticed the masked silhouette of a gargantuan creature. He planted his legs firmly into the ground and assumed a battle ready position. Carefully, he reached for his quiver, readying his bow. Wes squinted his eyes, slowly making out the creature he was engaging. The mysterious being hovering in the sky became clear as the smoke settled from a harsh whirlwind started by it: it was Katine.
"Wes, Scarlett requests to see you," Katine uttered.
Wes' fingers slightly loosened on the bowstring, his gaze locked on Katine. His arms began to lower, the tension in the bowstring easing. The tip of the arrow dipped gradually, moving away from the creature. His shoulders relaxed, and his grip softened as the bow and arrow descended. "Of whom do I owe the pleasure of seeing that witch?" he asked.
"You owe no one but yourself," Katine replied.
"My former master and I haven't spoken in years. Now she decides she wants to talk—how convenient."
"Maybe visiting her will give you the answers you seek. She bears no ill will towards you."
Wes shook his head. He crossed his arms. "Is that so? Did it ever cross your mind that maybe I'm the one who holds a grudge against her?"
"Why are you so defensive, Wes? Hearing her out won't hurt."
"Hurt? It'll tear open old wounds. I don't want to face that again."
"Staying angry won't change the past. Is this how you want to spend the rest of your life?"
"Enough, Katine. I am no longer Scarlett's student. You don't know what it's like. It's not your pain to bear."
"You're right; it's not my pain. But isolating yourself won't bring him back."
Wes' posture stiffened, his muscles tensed and twitched. "You don't know what you're talking about," he spat, his voice low and trembling. "Don't you dare bring him into this. You think you understand? You think facing her will make everything right again? It won't! Nothing in this world can undo what has already been done. Not magic, not Scarlett, not you!"
Katine's eyes widened. "Wes, I'm not trying to diminish what happened. But living like this, consumed by anger and grief—it's destroying you."
"You have no idea what it's like! It's not your pain to bear. You're not the one who has to live with it every single day. Just leave me alone!"
"No, I don't know what it's like and I can't fathom it. But confronting what troubles you might bring you some peace."
"And what if I don't want peace? What if I just want to be left alone?"
"Then you'll stay trapped in misery. A prisoner of your own mind. You owe it to yourself to try."
Wes turned away, his lips quivered. "I don't know if I can... It's easier to stay angry."
As he said this, an image of his fallen friend surfaced in his mind. Riazin's squeals, his reckless bravery—everything that was lost in a heartbeat. Unconsciously, he grasped at the pendant hung around his neck that held a single fang of Riazin. His anger flared like a volcano, but beneath it, a profound sadness and sense of loss churned, threatening to engulf him.
"Easy isn't always right. Think about it, Wes. What would he want for you? Do you think he would stand to see you this way for the rest of your days?"
Wes tightly balled his left hand, the veins beneath his skin becoming more pronounced, pulsing with a frenzied rush. "No," he muttered under his breath. "Very well. I accept her invitation."
Katine locked eyes with Wes, her gaze intense and piercing, before letting out a screech that echoed through the trees. With a swift turn, she spread her wings and took flight. Wes watched as her silhouette grew smaller and smaller, each powerful wingbeat carrying her farther away.