The Dragon's Son

• Chapter 1 •

The lives we leave behind...

North to South, East to West stretched miles of vast blue skies. A brilliant white sun blazes millions of miles away, yet still, its light managed to warm the face of the earth, taking the edge off the distant northern wind, carrying with it the scents of freshly fallen snow and clean spruce mixed with pine. Pushing away from the scents of the distant mundane city, full of smog and nonsense chatter that the boy couldn't even try to understand even if he wanted to. The valley of Dragon's Den was very much a preferred home. Even with its dangers, like the Shadow Realm Gaps and wild creatures of myth.

I ran smoothly, jumping from rock to rock as I made my way up the rough trails that I had long since tracked into the side of my home. I was barefoot, but my feet, scarred by nearly nineteen years of running over the forest floor or scaling mountains, much like my hands. My nails were sharp and thick from the years of being chipped or broken on rocks or by my own teeth, which were all sharp at the edges. Not like those of a carnivore, but still prominent if you were to run your finger over them. My skin was darkly tanned, also marked with scars from different events, ranging from falls to Shade attacks, and dirt that had seemed to always be present. I had a mop of longish midnight black, oily hair that stuck up in every which direction. Muscle was very much prominent in my body. Making me look like a soldier of thirty years rather than an adventurous boy of 19. The only article of clothing I wore was pants. Everything else would get snagged or ripped in my adventures.

I reached my perch relatively quickly. I shifted a few of the rocks to the side and dropped onto the edge, letting my legs swing as I looked over towards the forest far below. I loved being this high. I loved the wind that cut through my hair and cooled my scalp. I loved being able to look down and imagine myself as some giant watching over the land. Or if I was feeling really good, I could imagine myself as a mighty dragon like my father, looking over his ever-expansive valley. This mountain is the only perch high enough to observe the low-reaching valley from ridge to ridge. Thus the valley's name of 'Valley of Dragon's Den'.

But today my mission was not to daydream. It was to watch. My father was due home today from his trip to Dragon City. He had gone to meet with the council over some Shade matter again.  I didn't care much for the topics of politics or the lessons my father tried to teach me over the ancient history the dragons, humans, and Shades had together.  It always put me to sleep listening to either of them and as of late, I think dad had realized my talents laid in other places. He spent more time with me in the woods learning how to hunt and sneak silently through the trees and underbrush than we had in the cave with lessons.  Granted, he did still force me to read before bed and learn math and science. My least favorite being math.  But then again, he often said that I was naturally good at it, even if I did have a strong distaste for it. 

I heard a sudden thundering noise, just before my eyes landed on a distant midnight blue form. My eyes lit up at the familiar up and down motions of the large horned wings. He was moving at a lazy pace and I couldn't keep from narrowing my eyes when he came close enough for me to see the large grin spread over his snout. His onyx-colored eyes holding mirth as he seemed to slow further.  He did a small loop around the top of the mountain before setting down on his large clawed feet and hands, as all dragons did. They could walk on two legs, but they very much preferred to walk on all fours for more stability. Standing straight on all fours, dad stood at six and a half feet tall. A good seven inches on me where I stood at 5'll. From the tip of his snout to his barbed tail, he was thirty feet long and from wing tip to wing tip, he spanned a total of 75 feet. One of the largest, and oldest, living pure dragons.  A feat that often had him held in respect, but by others, he was often considered an old, crazy recluse. Something I could not agree on. 

His scales showed his age, and so did his actions at times, and it often worried me. My father had been a small hatchling about two centuries after The War of Sky City. A skirmish over the rights to the floating islands that were believed to hold the ruins to Sky City. An ancient dragon city that was often depicted in children's stories in a time where everyone was at peace and a race of Immortals once existed called, The Cadren. That was nearly six centuries ago. And it was visible in patches of his scales that had long since stopped growing.  Leaving paler grey spots instead of his normal midnight blue scales that sparkled in the moonlight.