Threads of Fate

Rhaegon: Year 578

The sky above the Northern Plains was a burning orange as the sun set behind the distant hills, casting long shadows across the Lion-Kin village. The air was heavy with the scent of wildflowers and the rich earth, but for Rhaegon, all he could smell was blood.

He had been hunting with his father when they saw the smoke. Thick, black plumes rose from the direction of their home, twisting into the sky like the coils of a great serpent. His father, Tharok, froze, his hand tightening on the hilt of his spear. Without a word, they broke into a run, their powerful legs pounding across the plains.

As they neared the village, Rhaegon's heart slammed against his ribs. He could hear the screams now—sharp, desperate cries that echoed in his ears. The smell of burning wood and flesh filled the air, mingling with the metallic tang of blood.

They reached the outskirts just as the first flames took hold of the lion-skin tents. The village was in chaos—bodies lay strewn across the ground, men and women cut down where they stood. Rhaegon saw warriors of his tribe fighting fiercely, but they were outnumbered. Human raiders, clad in rusted armor and wielding steel blades, slashed through the Lion-Kin defenders with savage brutality.

"Rhaegon, stay back!" Tharok growled, his voice low and fierce. He raised his spear, his golden eyes blazing with fury. "Find your mother and sister. Get them to safety."

Rhaegon's heart pounded in his ears, but he nodded. He didn't question his father—there was no time. With a final glance at the burning village, he turned and sprinted toward the central tent, where his family would be.

The scene around him was a blur of fire, blood, and death. Lion-Kin warriors fought valiantly, their roars filling the air as they clashed with the invaders. But the humans were relentless, cutting down anything in their path.

Rhaegon's feet skidded to a halt as he reached the tent. His breath came in ragged gasps, his chest tight with fear. His mother lay on the ground, her body broken and still. His sister, barely more than a cub, was nowhere to be seen.

"No..." Rhaegon whispered, dropping to his knees beside his mother's body. Her golden mane was stained with blood, her eyes staring blankly at the sky.

For a moment, the world around him faded. There was no fire, no fighting—only the cold, gnawing emptiness of loss. His mother's lifeless body felt like a weight pressing down on his chest, crushing the breath from his lungs.

But then a sound pierced the fog of his grief—the clanging of steel. He looked up, his eyes narrowing as he saw a group of human raiders approaching the tent, their weapons slick with blood.

Rage surged through him like fire, hot and consuming. Without thinking, Rhaegon snatched a discarded spear from the ground and stood, his muscles coiling with the raw power of the Lion-Kin. His claws dug into the wooden shaft of the spear as the first raider reached him, swinging a sword at his head.

Rhaegon ducked, the blade slicing through the air above him. He drove the spear upward, the tip catching the raider under the ribs. The man gasped, blood bubbling from his lips as he crumpled to the ground.

But there were more. Too many.

A second raider swung a heavy mace, catching Rhaegon in the side. Pain exploded through his ribs, sending him sprawling to the ground. His vision blurred as he struggled to breathe, the world spinning around him.

This couldn't be the end. He wouldn't die like this. Not while his family lay dead and his tribe burned.

Before the raider could deliver the final blow, a massive shape barreled into him with a roar that shook the air. Tharok, his father, had returned, his powerful frame slamming into the raider with the force of a charging beast. The man crumpled under the weight of the attack, his skull crushed beneath Tharok's massive paws.