The year is 5,939 A.S. Queen Jasper, in all of her tyrannical glory, reigns over the SkyWings as she wages a fiery, barbaric war against the SandWings. A young dragon, born from a tryst between an IceWing and the SkyWing king shortly before his marriage to Jasper, flees from persecution in the IceWings alongside his mother. But, as soon as he arrives in the SkyWing Kingdom, he is bombarded with letters from a desperate IceWing diplomat descending into madness...setting him off on the search for a lost kingdom.
Prologue[]
It had been a good long moon, one filled with first being antagonized by Queen Siberia's court, then a long trek through snowstorms, over rivers, and up high mountains. Ragnarok and his mother, Sharp, had arrived only a couple of hours earlier - it was nearly midnight now - and were greeted with several judgmental stares from the town guard. Which was to be expected, of course! Any other tribe besides the IceWings or the SeaWings would be maimed on sight, especially SandWings.
Ragnarok towered over most of the citizens that were still out and about at this hour. He wasn't that large, but he was taller than his mother, maybe even his father. He didn't know what King Empyrean looked like, but from the way his mother described him he was fairly attractive and had glowing amber eyes. Coupled with the deep velvet scales his mother had said were "simply glowing," Empyrean must be as shiny as one of the moons. In all honesty, he wondered if he would even meet Empyrean. Something inside told him that he wouldn't, but his mother told him he would- he was so confused.
Sharp turned to him. "We'll be staying with a trusted friend of mine. She was actually one of the prisoners I'd dealt with back in the day, under Empyrean's command," his mother said. "She's loaned us one of her estates until we can get on our feet. You'll probably make several friends so if you invite them over, just make sure to keep the house clean, okay?"
Ragnarok nodded. His mother continued to talk and talk; usually he'd be one for talking but he was completely exhausted from their travels. The pair arrived at the house. It was a large, framed with pine and roofed with thatch. The panels were made from white nogging and the windows had curtains and glass, which were not common if you weren't nobility or royalty in the SkyWing Kingdom. Sharp unlocked the door and a burst of warm air came out of the house; someone had been here recently, and they had lit the fireplace.
That was strange, no one leaves a fireplace on when they leave a house unless they're aiming to burn their own house down. Sharp didn't say anything about it, she quickly took off her leather satchel and hung it by the door. "I'm off to see what she left in the kitchen. Make yourself at home, son," Sharp said as she breezed out of the room.
The room was relatively small, a staircase beside the door and a fireplace on the side of the room opposite to the front door. A table was in the middle of the room, an oil lamp on its oaken surface. But the lamp was not the only thing on the table, there was also a scroll, neatly furled and tied with a dark blue ribbon. On the ribbon was a golden medallion, decorated with the symbol of the IceWings. Ragnarok made no hesitation to unfurl it, and he noticed his name written at the top. Just his name, not his mother's. Who would be writing a letter to him, of all dragons?
As his mother flew into the room with a bowl of what smelled like rabbit soup, he hurried upstairs before she could see what he held. "Ragnarok? Going to bed so soon?" she questioned.
"Yes, mum. I'm just tired, and I want to see where I'm going to be living for Three Moons-knows-how-long," he replied.
"Fair enough."
Ragnarok poked his head around a few doors; one of the rooms, a large bedroom, he presumed his mother would take. There was a small library and a balcony, and then a couple of other rooms, one that was small, most likely for a smaller dragonet, and another a tad bit larger. He decided to take this one.
The room had a neatly-made bed, the covers dyed red and the pillows plush and pure white. There was a small candle beside the bed, and he managed to choke out a small flame. He gave a few coughs afterwards; mind you, a hybrid whose blood was half fire-breathing dragon would either have no flame whatsoever or very little at all. A small wooden desk was opposite of the bed. A wooden stool sat before it, and he eagerly sat down and unfurled the scroll, reading its contents with wide eyes.
Little did he know, he'd just unleashed a cascade of events upon himself.
The First Letters[]
Dear Ragnarok,
- It pains me to be sending this letter to an exile, but you're nothing more than a dragonet - it's not your fault your father's a SkyWing, much less a king - and I believe you'd take this letter well. Your mother would most likely tear it up, calling it nonsense, and there's another IceWing in the SkyWing Kingdom but he's too grumpy and quiet to even care for an old dragon's concerns. And a SkyWing, well of course I wouldn't send it to a SkyWing, they're all too busy worshiping Queen Jasper and Crown Princess what's-her-name to even care about their allies.
- Now, about me: you do not know my name, as I know that your mother raised you in the lower classes after she left a high-ranking job and fell down in the ranks. I was a diplomat before a rather feisty SandWing took a wing and a hind-leg from me as I returned to home after a particularly lengthy trip to the SkyWing Kingdom, under Queen Sleet - keep your history lessons in mind, she was Siberia's mother. My name is Wolfsbane, and I know I don't have much time left before I eventually die from either starvation or some other calamity.
- What I'm about to tell you cannot be explained in one simple, short scroll. If you must, hide this from your mother. She would only be in it for the wealth; I'm in it for the history and to recover things lost. Once I know you're on board, I will explain everything. I need a reply within the next moon. If you do not reply I will assume that you're not aboard. I don't have much time left.
1 week later...
Dear Wolfsbane,
- It's a miracle I've managed to send my letter. Mother is always over my shoulder. She's way too overprotective of me. You described her intentions about literally everything so accurately...did you know her at one point?