Reign of Fire

## Origin

*This story is based on the history of one of the last surviving dragons, Mheldora, and his time during the rule of Dragons.*

*This story is part one of Three.*

## Reign of Fire

**A deep burning sensation** throbs in my chest. The heat wells up and makes it's way up my throat before cascading out of my mouth in the shape of white flames. The flames lick the bottom of the hillside I face and crawl up into the rocks. A few moments to many of my jowls blaring a white inferno, it becomes too much to bear as an itch radiates in the strings of my vocal chords.

I cough.

A white ball of incendiary mucous erupts from my maw and into the stones in front of me. I managed to keep a steady stream of flaming breath for a whole twelve seconds. That marks me up atleast twice as long as last time I practiced. Accomplishment washes over my face. Quite happy with myself, I unfurl my scaled wings and with one mighty flap I take to the clouds.

"Mother will be so pleased" I tell myself, excited to tell her that I can finally go on the Naming Hunt. Every 200 years or so, one of mother's brood seeks out a settlement that the mortals think is prepared enough to handle one of our royal ilk, and crushes it. If we succeed, we are granted the ability to take the settlement's name as our own, and use it to forge our lair. I'm quite hopeful that after I display this to mother Tyrragor, that she will let the Nameless Hunter be me.

The mountain up north comes into view through the clouds. The Drakeless, with their legless wyrm-like winged bodies swarm around the open mouth of the vast cave of the brood. I fly past the swarming wyrms, but am sure to give them a wave as I pass. The air resists my wings as I hold them open to slow my descent to the cold floor of the brood-hall. My claws hit the stone basin with a loud thud and clatter as I skid forward. Dull pain makes itself known to the joints of my ankles-- I need to work on my landings some more, but they work for now.

The inner amber-walls shimmer beautifully with the light of the red Sun outside, letting itself dissolve into a gradient of a sapphire blue. I tread happily along the path toward Mother Tyyragor's chamber, but as I do I head the clicking of tongues behind me.

"Well, if it isn't li'l Twist-horn." A self-assured voice booms.

"Orazel. I don't recall participatin' in a Namin' Hunt. Ev'n if I did, why'd I go for a place called Twist-horn?" I retort, trying to muster up what confidence I can.

"I need somethin' ta call ya, don' I?" Orazel laughs through his teeth. "Yer twistin' horn's yer only definin' feature, so that's yer lot. Better'n what they called me."

"I'll give ya that, Foulmouth."

"Ey, my breath wasn't that bad was it? Nevermind. Don't answer that. Anyways, where were ya little one?" he prods at my chest with his ruby red wingtip.

"Jus' practicin' my breathin's all! I can make it a whole twelve seconds!"

Orazel raises his brow, his gemlike scales catching the light and directing it at my eye. "Ya know you'll need ta do a lot more 'n twelve measly seconds ta succeed a Namin' Hunt, yea?"

My wings sink to the ground in an already for forfeited protest. "I-I know but..."

"Listen, Twist-horn. I know yer excited, but I want ya to succeed. Mayhaps you can try next year instead? I know ya have yer heart set on this year." he almost apologizes through his tone. "There's been some strange stuff happenin' with mortals lately. You know that. With yer little form and pale white scales, you'd stick out like a sore thumb, boy. If they sic one a those new fangled 'Gods' they got on ya I-... Well. I wouldn't want you to get to that point, is all."

My head bows to the floor. My eyes are fixated on the ground between my claws. "But..."

Silence from Orazel and myself deafens the cavity of the mountain. A small whimper escapes my teeth. Orazel sighs and nestles my forehead with his nose. "Come on, lad, don't look like that. You'll make an old dragon like meself feel horrible for crushin' a kiddo's dream. Here, I know. why don't we go ask ol' ma what she thinks, hm?"

The sadness I felt instantly flushes from by stance and is replaced with a near-bouncing excitement. "Really? For reals?!"

A pang of instant regret shoots across Orazel's face for but a moment, but I willfully ignore it. "Of course, boy."

We walk side-by-side towards Tyrragor's chamber as Orazel tells me the story of his Naming Hunt all those years ago, where he fought a stubby Haoss knight calling himself a 'Pahl-uh-dinn'. Mortals always have funny made up names for things. He tells of fighting the short man after cloaking the town in his black flames, driving the women and children inside their homes. Orazel gets a smile across his teeth when he gets to the best part. The knight lept up onto his nose but he must not have known that Orazel was the fastest of his brothers, because he opened his mouth and caught him before he even touched a scale on his muzzle.

Before he can finish we reach the opening to Mother's chamber. He whispers a word of good luck to me, as he knows Mother Tyrragor only tolerates the Named Dragons if she has to, and he sends me inside. As I enter I see Mother's gargantuan form take up her bed. She's almost as big as the room, and I'm only about as big as one of her claws. She said she got her name from conquering the whole landmass, and took the name from the what the Mortals called it. The red light seeping in from a hole up above reflects off of her shiny, violet scales.

"Mother...?" I call out to her.

Tremors sound from the ground around her as her head lifts from her resting position. Her several spiraling horns curve around her head in a way that remind me of a fancy crown I once saw a mortal wearing from a painting in Orazel's lair. Tyrragor's muzzle points roughly in my direction, her eyes still closed.

"Speak, child." Her voice booms, echoing throughout the entire cave.

"Mother! I was hopin' I could be tha next broodmember ta be selected for a Namin' Hunt! I've been practicin' my fire and I've gotten quite good at it! And, and my landings are-"

One of her eyes, which was half the size of my entire body, flutters open. The scarlet glow from it peers into me. "Slow down, child. I can only understand so much when awakening from slumber" she yawns out.

I pause for a moment to give her a few seconds to wake.

After a small intermission both of her eyes open and she lifts her head. "Well...? Out with it young one."

I stammer, "I-I wanted ta be the next Nameless Hunter."

She gazes at me in silence. The black scales around her mouth define the corners of her lips quivering. "Child, you still have atleast 400 years before you are ready for that. Could you not rest your bones and grow more first?"

"I really think I'm ready now! My body's bigger'n all my broodmates! That, and I can spit flames for twenty full seconds!" I lightly embellish. What she doesn't know won't hurt her.

"Young one. Durrann spit flame for four straight days at the castle of Durrann and it's people still did not waver. You will need much more than twenty full seconds. As a matter of fact-" And she stops when a stray Drakeless flitters up to the side of Tyrragor's head. It screeches something into her ear and her expression completely changes.

Her eyes suddenly become watery. Her bottom lip quivers. Tyrragor's jaw begins to shift side to side.

"Actually child. It seems as if you will be the next one up. The rest of your brood is dead."

The excitement from the first half of her statement is put to an immediate halt as the second half almost physically hits me in my gut.