Twelve years had passed since the fire swallowed Vaelridge. The seasons had turned, kingdoms rebuilt, and the world carried on—leaving only whispers of a forgotten village in Firya's hills.
But for Edran, the flames never truly died. They still burned quietly beneath his skin. Time had weathered his face, broadened his shoulders, but the weight of that night lingered in his gait—every step a silent echo of loss.
The bracelet his sister once wore clung to his wrist, frayed but cherished. Each morning, he tied it tight before buckling his father's sword to his hip. It wasn't ornate—just a balanced, reliable blade—but it carried weight. Memory. Duty.
Greimdall rose before him, just as it had when he was a child. The banners still flew above the walls, and the guards still stood proud in gleaming armor. His heart beat faster at the sight. A boyhood spark flickered again. Even after all he'd seen, all he'd lost, this place still called to him. He still believed in the strength of its soldiers.
The recruitment square was loud with eager voices and clanking armor. Young men and women crowded the line beneath white-stone arches. At the front, a pair of soldiers sat behind a wooden desk, recording names beside the monument of Greimdall's fallen.
When his turn came, he stepped forward to a table where two soldiers recorded names.
"Name?"
"Edran."
"Previous service?"
"No, but I have hunted and trained" Endra replied swiftly
"Hunted?..." Asked again the guard
Edran nodded. "Monsters. Daenoboars. Thornbacks. Things near the southern ridge."
The second soldier glanced up. "And dragons?"
Edran hesitated. "Not yet."
The first soldier smirked. "Well then, you've got a long road ahead. New policy. To apply for soldierhood, you'll need proof of strength. A hundred dragonkin kills, minimum."
Edran blinked. "A hundred...?"
"That's right," the first replied, less mockingly now. "The Guild's your best shot. Prove yourself there, and you might stand a chance."
Edran stepped back, stunned. He had expected challenges—but not this. The uniform, the order, the honor… it was no longer earned through loyalty or skill. Now, it had to be bought in blood.
Still, he clenched his fists and nodded. He would do it. Whatever it took.
— BREAK —
The Hunter's Guild sat along the crumbling edge of Greimdall's outer district—less a barracks of glory and more like a tavern that had grown armor over the years. Cracked stone walls, faded banners bearing fractured sigils of past conquests, wooden beams darkened by time and smoke with skulls of dragonkin lined as trophies, and a pair of broken swords hung above the entrance like forgotten relics.
As Edran stepped inside, he was greeted by the scent of sweat, old ale, fire oil, and blood. The air was thick with voices, laughter, curses. Zcyrt'eks whispered in their guttural tongue, cloaked in swamp-soaked leathers. Lycans laughed and arm-wrestled over mugs of frothy ale, their boisterous voices rising above the din. Adanels sharpened blades in practiced silence, while Goblins weighed bags of gold, boasting of their latest hauls. At the far corner, a pair of Turocs compared their battle scars, pounding the table with pride. This was no disciplined military hall Edran had once imagined. It was chaos, barely contained.
Ranks in the Guild were clear: Copper at the bottom, followed by Iron, Silver, Myr, Keslite, Orocalcum, and finally, Dragon—the rarest rank, only awarded to those who slew an elder dragon alone. Most never climbed past Iron. Those who did usually didn't live long.
Edran walked to the front desk where a woman sat—a sharp-eyed Adanel with streaks of gray in her braid. Her uniform was faded, her expression bored but knowing. She raised an eyebrow.
"New blood?" she asked without looking up from her parchment.
Edran gave a short nod. "I want to register."
She slid a form across the desk, where Edran wrote his name. Then stamped a bronze-colored badge with a seal. "Copper rank. Means you're green. Small contracts only until you prove yourself."
Edran examined the badge, its edges worn smooth by countless hands.
"What about climbing ranks?" Edran asked
"Slay enough dragonkin, take harder quests, or get invited by a higher-ranked party. You want to go fast? Find someone reckless." Then She leaned back, eyeing him again. "You're not the first wide-eyed kid with a sword. Most last a week."
Edran didn't answer. He simply nodded, pocketed the badge, and turned toward the quest board.
The wall was cluttered—parchments overlapping, some so old the ink had bled. Bounties, escort missions, beast hunts. One poster featured a wyvern sighted near the Drakelands Bridge. Another warned of a Grok migration outside Firya. Edran scanned them, uncertain where to begin.
"Hey, copper! Looking lost." A voice called to Edran from the distance.
He turned. A tall Lycan with a silver earring and a scar across his muzzle grinned down at him. His leather armor was scratched and scorched. His eyes were sharp and amused.
Edran stood straighter. "Just reading."
The Lycan chuckled. "You read like you fight? Slow and cautious?"
Another voice joined in—an Adanel woman with long red hair and a smirk that could cut. She crossed her arms, twin daggers at her hips.
"We're looking for someone to join a hunt," she said, eyeing him up and down. "Extra muscle. You interested?"
Edran hesitated. "Depends. What rank are you?"
The Lycan grinned wider. "Myr. She's Keslite."
That made Edran blink. "Then… why do you need a Copper?"
"Because we're not looking for a hero," the woman replied. "We need someone cheap who can carry few things for us. And maybe take a few hits while we do the hard part."
Edran frowned. "What's the contract?"
"Big one," the Lycan said. "Elder dragon. Gorthrax."
His blood froze. "Gorthax the hoarder? That's… that's a high-ranking quest."
"you're right," the woman added, gesturing toward the front desk. "But our captain is… persuasive. The clerk likes him."
"Still," Edran said, narrowing his eyes. "Seems risky for someone like me."
"You'll get your share," the Lycan said, then tapped the hilt of Edran's sword. "Besides… you look like you can handle yourself."
The woman studied him for a moment. "You want to join or not?"
"Yes—if you'll have me," Edran replied quickly, thinking this could be his chance to quickly climb to his goal.
The Lycan snorted. "Feisty. I like him."
The woman rolled her eyes. "Our captain makes the calls. He likes trying out new recruits. We'll take you outside. See what you've got."
She turned and started walking. The Lycan nodded toward the door.
"Come on, Copper. Time to prove that pretty blade isn't just for show."
Edran followed them toward the exit, tightening his grip around his father's sword.
— BREAK —
The afternoon sun bathed the guild yard in golden light, but one corner remained cloaked in shadow—beneath a crooked tree, where a man leaned against the trunk with arms folded. His armor was dull, marked with dried scorch lines and shallow cuts. A black goatee framed a mouth set in a tired half-grin. A short cloak draped over one shoulder, its edge frayed.
His eyes locked onto Edran the moment he stepped into the yard.
"So," the man said. "This is the Copper you picked?"
The Lycan shrugged. "Looks like he might last more than a week."
Edran tilted his head. "What's the test?"
The man stepped away from the tree and into the light. His presence was quiet, but the air around him tensed. Without a word, he drew his sword—and lunged.
Edran barely had time to react.
Steel met steel.
The first strike came fast—too fast for a casual test—but Edran's reflexes kicked in. He shifted his stance, parried cleanly, and slid to the side. Another strike came low—he blocked, then countered with a precise arc of his blade.
They circled. Blades sang.
Then, in the middle of the motion, the man's eyes caught on something—just along the hilt of Edran's weapon.
Worn etchings. Balanced steel. A single name, carved with quiet care: Daina.
The man paused, stepping back with a raised brow.
"Fine blade," he muttered.
Edran, still catching his breath, gave a small nod. "My father made it."
The man gave no further comment. Just a slow nod. He sheathed his sword and stepped forward, holding out a hand.
"Corven. Keslite rank. I lead this band of misfits. You're in."
Edran blinked, still slightly tense, and slowly lowered his weapon. The weight of the moment settled in—this had been the test.
Corven continued, "Had to be sure. We leave for the Drakelands at dawn. You ready?"
Edran nodded. "I'm ready."
Corven turned back toward the others. "Right then. Time to meet the rest of your fine company."
He pointed to the Lycan, who puffed up with pride.
"Vex. Myr rank. Tracker, scout, and big mouth."
The Lycan gave a sharp grin, revealing a fang. "Don't forget charming."
Corven gestured to the red-haired Adanel woman.
"Kaela. Keslite. Daggers, poisons, and attitude."
Kaela gave a mock bow, her smirk never fading. "You forget 'beautiful,' captain."
Next was the hulking figure behind them.
"Tharn. Turoc. Keslite rank. He smashes."
The massive Turoc grunted and cracked his knuckles. "Words waste breath."
"And last," Corven said, pointing to a squat figure inspecting a trap contraption. "Nibbs. Goblin. Myr rank. Knows traps. Just don't trust him with your gold."
"Hey! That was one time," Nibbs grumbled.
Corven chuckled. "Get some rest. We head out at first light."
The group dispersed with casual chatter. Edran remained a moment longer, fingers brushing the hilt of his sword.
Tomorrow, the hunt would begin.
— BREAK —
At dawn, before departing, Edran stepped into the crisp morning air behind the guild. In the quiet alley near the back entrance, he caught sight of Corven discreetly handing a small heavy pouch to the front-desk clerk from the day before. She glanced cautiously around, quickly hiding the pouch in her robes. Edran narrowed his eyes but kept silent.
The party departed soon after. They left Firya through the eastern stone bridge—one of only two known crossings into the Drakelands. Mist clung to the base of the stone arches, and the bridge itself was carved with faded runes, long forgotten.
As they crossed, a shift in the atmosphere was palpable. The air grew denser, the sky dimmer despite the morning sun. Hills once green with life now turned to deep rust and amber tones. The terrain held a brutal kind of beauty—vibrant forests blanketing valleys, glimmering mineral pools, and distant mountains that tower into the skies like ancient guardians. Though storm clouds often loomed at their peaks, they only enhanced the awe-inspiring grandeur of the land.
Something watched them. It was a feeling Edran couldn't shake.
On their third day in, a shriek tore through the sky.
"Above!" Vex shouted.
A red wyvern dove from the clouds, its wings slicing the air, claws extended.
Corven turned to Edran. "Your turn, Copper. Let's see what you're made of. Don't worry—we'll step in if you get cooked."
The wyvern came fast.
Edran rolled aside as talons tore the ground where he had stood. The beast wheeled around midair, then came back, maw glowing orange.
"He's gonna get roasted," Vex muttered with a wince.
The wyvern let loose a ball of fire—blazing, direct.
But in that instant, Edran's sword flared with light.
The blade morphed, shimmering as it formed a radiant shield. Edran braced himself, feet digging into the blackened dirt.
Kaela gasped. "That's not just iron. That's… Keslite."
Flames slammed into him like a wall. Heat rippled outward.
But he stood firm.
The shield held.
As the fire cleared, the wyvern dove to finish him off. Edran dropped onto his back, letting the beast pass above him. He swung upward—shield shifting back into a blade—and struck.
The blade pierced the creature's throat. The wyvern shrieked once before crashing into the ground.
Corven approached, slow and impressed. "Well done," he said. "First dragonkin kill. Not bad."
The others, still staring at the sword, exchanged looks. Vex gave a low whistle. "Keslite... disguised as iron? That's rare."
Edran caught his breath, eyes flicking between them.
But no one spoke more.
They moved on.
Hours passed, and the land grew quieter. The jagged path led them between cracked stones and steaming crevices.
Eventually, they reached a large outcrop, behind which stood a cliff-face opening carved with massive claw marks and faded glyphs.
"Mida's Grotto," Corven announced. "Home of Gorthrax."
Kaela smirked, eyes gleaming with greed. "Now the real fun begins."
Tharn grunted. "Gold smells close."
Edran swallowed hard, his wrist brushing against the bracelet he always wore—Daina's. His grip tightened around his blade. He'd never seen Gorthrax, only heard stories—of wings that darkened skies and flames that could melt stone.
And yet, here he was.
Ahead, the cave yawned open, waiting.
And his heart thundered.