The forest stood trapped in a silence so complete it felt carved from something older than fear. No wind stirred. The leaves hung heavy, and not even a single bird dared to break the spell. In that suffocating stillness, only two figures remained—one, an elder whose eyes had weathered a hundred battles, the other, a dragon child cloaked in fresh blood and the heavy scent of violence, his body trembling on the edge of something wild.
The old elf drifted down from the highest branches, his descent softer than a memory. The earth itself seemed to soften for his feet, swallowing every sound until only hush remained. He gazed at Dravion for a long moment, and then let his eyes settle on the torn ground where blood stained the roots and bone glimmered beneath the moss. Where his own son, his hope, had fallen. Behind those ancient eyes flickered something deeper than rage—grief as raw as dawn breaking over a field of graves.
"You don't even understand what you've done, do you… child?" The elder's voice slipped into the quiet, soft as dusk, yet weighted with a sorrow that needed no anger to make it sharp.
There was no fury left in him. Only that exhausted ache that arrives when everything you've cared for is already gone.
Dravion stood motionless, wild golden eyes searching the old elf's face for meaning. Words refused to form. He wasn't silent out of pride or arrogance—he simply didn't understand. Not yet. Hunger, pain, broken scraps of memory, they spun through his mind like leaves in a storm, none of them settling.
The elf read it all in an instant—the beast locked inside the shape of a boy, power without a name, grief that had never learned how to speak. He knew forgiveness wouldn't mean anything. Not here. Not now.
"I killed them… I think…" Dravion's voice barely scraped past his lips, trembling, thick with bloodlust and bewilderment. "Now my body wants you. But you… you're strong… grrr…"
His tail curled in close, claws flexing deep in the dirt. He looked torn between the urge to strike and the urge to vanish—a child hounded by instinct, yet his feet refused to move. There was nothing left of flight in him now.
The old elf lowered his gaze in quiet acceptance.
There's nothing left of humanity in this one, and yet… not a mindless beast either. Is this what it means to be dragonborn? To be lost between memory and hunger, too strong to pity, too young to control it? He watched every tremor in Dravion's frame, every twitch of god-blood in muscle that didn't know restraint.
Suddenly the world shifted. The elder blurred—a flicker through the empty air. Dravion spun, claws flashing up on pure instinct.
CLANG!
Steel smashed against scale, the shockwave ringing through the clearing. Sparks leapt from the clash, pain knifed up Dravion's arm, but his grip only tightened, talons sinking deeper into the earth.
A thin, joyless smile ghosted across the elf's lips. He studied the wildness burning in Dravion's eyes, the raw power that had torn through his kin. This was no child. This was the echo of something the world itself should fear.
"Back!" Dravion roared, his voice ragged and savage, shaking the silence. His tail lashed out, muscle and fury snapping at the intruder.
The elf's gaze sharpened, the wind answering his silent call—forming a barrier around him, thin as mist but twice as quick.
BOOM!
The tail struck. The shield fractured. The elder skidded backwards, boots carving deep scars in the blackened soil, blood smearing his lips as he fought to remain upright.
"Not bad… for a whelp…" he murmured, wiping blood from his chin, his eyes never leaving Dravion for even a heartbeat.
If another one of his kind arrives, I'm finished. The clan is finished. His mind raced behind the mask of calm, every muscle tensed for the next onslaught.
He circled, reading the dragon's movements—dodging low, then high, every attack growing sharper, more unpredictable. Patterns emerged, then broke—until Dravion lunged in sudden silence.
A bone-jarring crack. His kick landed, slamming into the elf's ribs. The world reeled, the old man tumbling through ash and mud, blood running hot down his tunic as the wind halted his fall. He spat crimson, staring in disbelief.
He's learning. He's watching every move. I'm running out of time…
The forest blinked. Dravion closed in—
A knee drove into the elf's jaw, snapping his head back, blood arcing through the air. Dravion was on him before the ground even caught up.
"I hate this!" Dravion bellowed, his wings cutting the air, his voice raw with confusion and fury. "Why does everyone keep coming for me?!"
The elf's eyes snapped wide, blazing with green mana, old age burning away in a surge of power. Wounds closed, muscles surged, his blood thick with ancient magic. The scent hit Dravion—sweet, almost divine—his stomach twisted, hunger gnawing, but something colder held him back. Not this one. Not now. This is not prey. This is a warning.
A memory clawed up, ancient and fractured—a vision of wings stretched across endless void, a roar that shattered the bones of stars. Just a flicker, gone too quickly, but the ache it left behind was real.
I have to fix what's broken… patch the universe before—
A scream of wind—
SHHRRRAAAAKK!
The elf's voice sliced through the chaos, cold and absolute.
"Enough, child. Focus."
Silver flickered past, wind and steel whispering close enough to taste. For a split-second, Dravion thought he'd lost his arm—pain flashed, vanished. Only a warning. Pride and fear warred in his chest. His eyes blazed gold, jaw set hard as iron.
If I hesitate, I die here. I know that much now.
He dove forward—no more questions, no more confusion—only hunger and the animal urge to survive. Claws, teeth, wings, the taste of blood thick on his tongue, every heartbeat pulsing with the need to endure. The world had shrunk to this fight, this moment, where silence and violence wove together and refused to let go.