The Dragon Prince: Breath of Hope

Chapter 1- The Boy Below

Long ago, Xadia was one land, rich in magic and wonder. In the old times, there were only the six Primal Sources of magic: The Sun, The Moon, The Stars, The Earth, The Sky, and The Ocean.

But a thousand years ago, a human mage discovered a new type of magic - the seventh source. Dark Magic. It used the essence within magical creatures themselves to unleash dark power.

Horrified by what they saw, the elves and the dragons put a stop to the madness. They drove every last human to the west. And so, the continent was divided in two. In the east, the magical lands of Xadia. And in the west, the human kingdoms. For centuries, the King of the Dragons himself defended the border. The humans called him Thunder, for when he spoke, no matter his form, his voice shook both the earth and sky.

Despite his appearance, Thunder could change shape, as all dragons could. His power allowed him to take on the form of a human, an elf, a powerful sky beast, or even something in between.

But ten years ago, the humans used unspeakable dark magic to slay Thunder. Then, without mercy, they killed his only child, his heir, the Dragon Prince.

Now the world stands on the edge of all-out war.

~#~

The chains hurt, but after so many years, they didn't hurt as much. His scales under the shackles had been rubbed off years ago, leaving a soft, tender, and raw patch of skin below. He clung to the wall, his arms held above him with enough freedom to touch his face, but not reach anything else.

His hair, short, and a chestnut brown, parted over two silvery-blue horns, a mark of his true nature, while his wings hung limply behind his back from their lack of use.

As he stood, bound hand and foot, his gaze moved slowly towards a thin crack in the wall. It was too far away to see out, but enough that he could get a shard of light accompanied by a slight breeze.

He couldn't remember what the outside looked like. He couldn't remember the colour of the sky or the feeling of the ground below his feet. This was all he could remember for years. This dark, dry, empty room, and the chains. How long had it been? Most of his life certainly, but how long was that? How old was he? He didn't know. He didn't have the hope, will-power, or drive to care.

The sound came back. It made him look up, but he felt weak from the lack of food and nourishment. It was him. As if it would be anyone else in this place. However long he had been here, that person had been here too.

The man who entered the room walked with his back straight and a staff in hand. His clothes were dark grey, but immaculately kept, and his eyes held an arrogance that only someone of power had.

Lord Viren looked at his captive, tapping his staff on the side before placing it on the table. He stepped over and grabbed the boy's face, lifting a small cup to his lips and letting the water flow into his mouth. Knowing this would be his only water for the next several days, the boy tried not to waste a single drop. Unfortunately, he still felt some dribble down his chin and drip onto the floor. He almost sobbed at the loss, but once the cup was empty, his captor moved to the side and picked up a needle. He pushed it between two scales on his arm, and into his body, taking yet another vial of blood.

The prisoner hissed, and his tail slapped against the floor at the pain, but he said nothing. Talking now would mean punishment, and he couldn't take another week without food.

Viren took three vials of blood in total. Then, the mage clipped his already short talons to the point where they bled, ensuring he kept the cuttings in a small pouch. Finally, he plucked a few hairs from his head and stored them in his silk handkerchief.