The King's Dogma

I. OPALIA

The water rippled as gentle, ashen hands breached its surface. They released a black soot into it that bloomed like a cloud in it's depths. A distorted reflection shined back when the sunlight licked at the peaks of the ebbing waves. A pair of opalescent eyes gazed back, framed by blushing olive skin that was blotched with dirt and ash. She brought her hands to her face, rubbing the water into her skin. "That's better," she hummed. A tired smile formed on her lips as she wiped her hands on the washcloth nearby.

"You're finished with your work today?" asked a man, walking through the leather flaps that made up the door to the dim workshop. His voice was deep, aged, and held a weight to it. He groaned as he sat in a wooden chair which seemed to groan back at him.

She turned her body around to look at him. "Yeah. You're alright?"

A thunderous laugh and a vicious cough blurted out from his mouth. "I'm fine! Don't worry about me," he choked, "You're like you're mother with that, you know!" He continued to stifle his cough as best he could as he took a few sips of water.

She frowned and scooted a bit closer to him, resting her head on his thigh. He was warm and smelled of fresh coals. She knew she would have to wash her face again but it didn't matter. "I'm not goin' anywhere." He sounded offended. A huff blew out his nose.

"I know." She didn't know that. He was old, much too old. His fingers pulled off the sweat damp cloth that covered her forehead and he rubbed the birthmark that it was hiding. It was much lighter than her skin and never seemed to darken.

The mark of Flodea, they called it. A blessing from a Goddess who had never been seen before. In the ancient tomes, it says she died at the hands of the great dragon but her spirit lives on through the unicorns. It was a curse for her. Her following demanded the baby girls born under her blessing to be taken away and placed into covens. She didn't believe in it nor did her family. The covens couldn't check all the babies born and most families willingly sent their children off. Each mark was different. Her own resembled a twinkling star.

"They will find out one day," the old man wheezed. She knew that but she made it this far without accidentally revealing her mark.

"I'll fight anyone who tries to take me away," she said with a smug grin on her face.

"Opalia." He tensed up, giving her a light smack on the back of her head.

"I know," she sighed. The reality of the situation was she couldn't stop herself from being taken. It was tradition and they wouldn't take any chance to anger their gods. Most of them were living after all. Thankfully, the small amount of people that saw her never raised an alarm.

Draglann were tall and had horns on their head with scales scattered along their bodies. Their horns came in variety of earthy colors but mostly muted. Their eyes typically shades of crimson to gold and their pupils stilted like the great dragon they descended from.

Opalia was nearly half their size. She was a sick child and her family claimed it stunted her growth. Her eyes were an opalescent silver that captured a rainbow of colors like they were made of crystal and her pupils were horizontal and square like an equine.

Her grandfather was a muscular man in his youth but now he was fattening with old age. He had light brown horns that stuck out of his head similar to a ram. Dark brown scales spread across the bridge of his nose like freckles and sprinkled themselves along the top of his arms and hands. She always liked how they felt as they were much softer than his rough, overworked skin. His eyes were a golden brown color and his hair was pitch black, peppered with grey.

She inherited the color of her locks from her mother who inherited it from him. It was the only thing unusual for those who had her gift as they usually had pale hair. But it was comforting to hold onto something that was her mothers.