Drakken Kings

Introduction

This is an original story by me. Inspirations from other works may be present and will be duly noted and copy preserved. Some inspirations may not be intended and will be deleted immediately if noted. 

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It all began over a millennium ago, during the final Drakken War. A war that lasted for centuries, waged between two forces that never saw the world through the same lenses.

The heavens rang above and the earth shook beneath. Blood and gore tore through the winds and tainted the ground. If one were to stand witness, he would think the earth would be scarred forever, and so it did.

In the critical moments of that long-lived strife, blood flowed like rivers, and masses of various beasts and fowls scoured the flesh-filled battlefield, feasting to their hearts' content on what remained of once renowned warriors, even lords. Though I must say, it would probably take forever for even such little critters to entirely consume the entrails of the revered Drakkens.

I was there to witness the end of that wretched war, and what came after. Turning left and right, the corpses of both fellows and adversaries rot and fade away. It was at that moment of my grief and pity, that I met him, a child born from the flesh and blood of what lay around me. A hatchling, that knew nothing of what went about before he peeked and clawed his way out of wherever or whoever's womb.

I remember that time, never have I seen such a stripling: bloodshot eyes that glared death despite a shine of innocence, scales and claws drabbed in pitch, and most unusual of all, it walked on two hind legs, instead of four, yet the identifiable bat wings were attached to his spine.

Who was he? Where did he come from? Why is he here? Questions bombarded my head, but most importantly, What am I to do with him? I was utterly baffled by my own questions that I could barely blink when it happened.

Blood-stained Drakkens swooped past me, stealing the young one away, but it seemed they meant no harm, but rather, the child seemed very important to them. Despite their bloody injuries and the streaks of smoke smeared on their lustrous scales, I could catch the faint gleam of one who had scales like emerald and resembled a serpent, an ancient one, and the other, seemed to be made of boulders, as if a mountain, whose rocky peaks had a hue of purple.

From this moment, it would take me two centuries to realize that I shouldn't have left that monster live. Monster, such as a convenient word once used by the mortal Humans to describe us, the ones who imprisoned them to a fate of exile and servitude for eons.