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 the hills of Firya. But for Edran, the flames had never truly died. They still burned quietly beneath his skin. Time had weathered his face and broadened his shoulders, yet the weight of that night clung to every step, each one an echo of loss. The bracelet his sister once wore now 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, Edran stepped forward to a table where two soldiers were seated, scribbling names into a ledger.
"Name?" the older one asked, not looking up.
"Edran," he answered, voice steady.
"Previous service?"
"No," Edran replied, "but I've hunted and trained."
The younger soldier looked up with a raised brow. "Hunted?"
Edran nodded. "Monsters. Daenoboars. Thornbacks. Things near the southern ridge."
The first soldier finally glanced up. "And dragons?"
Edran hesitated. "Not yet."
A faint smirk tugged at the corner of the man's mouth. "Then you've got a long road ahead. New policy, applicants need proof of strength. A hundred dragonkin kills. Minimum."
Edran blinked. "A hundred?"
"That's right," the younger one chimed in, this time without sarcasm. "Your best chance is with the Guild. Prove yourself there, and maybe we'll see you again."
Edran stepped back, stunned. He'd expected challenges, but not this. The uniform, 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 out from behind. Edran turned.
Towering above him stood a Lycan, lion-like in form, broad-shouldered, with a short black mane and a scar slicing through his feline muzzle. A worn scarf looped around his neck, crossing over his jaw. His bright yellow eyes gleamed with mischief, and a silver earring caught the light. His leather armor was scorched and scratched, worn from countless battles. As he grinned, long, sharp teeth flashed beneath the curve of his snout.
Edran stood straighter. "Just reading."
The Lycan chuckled. "You read like you fight? Slow and cautious?"
Another voice chimed in, smooth and teasing. An Adanel woman stepped forward, tall, striking, with long red hair that spilled over her shoulders like fire. Her leather outfit was elegant but clearly built for movement, fitted with silver buckles and reinforced seams. Multiple blades were strapped across her thighs, boots, and belt, each one polished and deadly. Her posture was relaxed, but her eyes were sharp, always watching. She wore a smirk that could slice your throat cleaner than any of her daggers, charming and dangerous in equal measure.
"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."
Edran looked at him, confused.. "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. Ever heard of it?"
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."
"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, then spoke in a brisk, slightly moody tone, impatient, but not unkind. "You want to join or not?"
"Yes! if you'll have me" Edran replied quickly, thinking this could be his chance to swiftly 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 back 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 in wonder. "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 like thunder in a summer storm.
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 one another, steps measured, tension mounting. Their swords clashed again with a sharp, ringing cry, steel singing its battle hymn.
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 tense, then slowly lowered his blade. The moment settled over him like dust. That wasn't just a test of reflexes, it was a measure of resolve.
Corven continued, "Had to be sure. We leave for the Drakelands at dawn. You ready?"
Edran nodded. "I'm ready."
Corven turned back to Edran with a tilt of his head. "Come on. Time to meet the fine company you've just joined."
He nodded toward the Lycan first, who puffed his chest and offered a toothy grin.
"That's Vex. Myr rank. Scout, tracker, also the loudest in any room."
"Don't forget 'charming,'" Vex added, flashing a silver earring as he smirked.
Next, Corven gestured to the red-haired woman leaning against the fence, twirling a dagger between her fingers.
"Kaela. Keslite. Blades, poisons, and more attitude than sense."
Kaela offered a graceful mock bow. "You forgot to mention devastatingly beautiful."
Behind them stood a towering figure built like a boulder.
"The big one is Tharn. Turoc. Another Keslite. He doesn't talk much, but he hits hard."
Tharn grunted in agreement, cracking his knuckles. "Words waste breath."
"And over there," Corven added, nodding toward a squat figure fiddling with a trap near the wall, "is Nibbs. Goblin. Myr rank. Knows every trap in the book, just don't trust him near your coin pouch."
"Hey!" Nibbs barked, not looking up. "That was one time!."
Corven gave a brief chuckle. "Alright. Get some rest. We leave at first light."
The party began to drift apart, Kaela flipping a dagger back into her belt, Vex stretching with a yawn, Tharn lumbering off toward the barracks without a word. Only Edran lingered.
He looked down at the copper badge in his hand, its worn edge catching the last rays of sun. His fingers moved to the hilt of his sword, and then to the frayed bracelet tied around his wrist. Twelve years had passed since the fire. Now, at last, he was moving forward. Tomorrow, the hunt would begin and his path for his dream.
-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 the threshold, the change in atmosphere was immediate. The air grew heavier, the morning sun dulled by an unnatural haze. Hills that once bloomed with green now blazed in hues of rust and deep amber. The land bore a harsh kind of beauty—forests stretched like woven tapestries over the valleys, mineral pools shimmered with strange light, and mountains rose in the distance like ancient sentinels, their peaks crowned with brooding storm clouds. Yet beneath the wonder, something stirred. Edran couldn't explain it, but the sense of being watched clung to him like a shadow he couldn't outrun.
By the third day, the skies turned restless.
A piercing shriek ripped through the air, raw and unnatural, echoing across the hills like a herald of violence.
"Above!" Vex growled, already reaching for his bow.
From the clouds burst a red wyvern, its scales burning with a molten sheen. Massive wings carved through the sky like blades, each beat leaving turbulence in its wake. Its arched tail bristled with hooked spikes, and smoke curled from its snarling jaws—each breath laced with heat and ash.
Corven didn't flinch. He turned to Edran with a calm voice that cut through the rising tension. "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 its talons tore through the ground where he had stood a heartbeat before. The beast wheeled in the air, banking hard, its mouth glowing with molten light.
"He's gonna get roasted," Vex muttered, wincing.
With a roar, the wyvern unleashed a fireball, blazing and direct. Edran's sword shimmered, light bursting from its core as the steel morphed into a radiant shield. Bracing himself, he planted his feet in the scorched earth.
Kaela's voice rose, half in awe. "That's not just iron… That's Keslite."
Flames crashed into the shield like a wave. The heat rippled outward, bending the air around him, but Edran stood firm. The shield held.
As the fire cleared, the wyvern dove in for the kill. Edran dropped flat, letting the beast soar over him. In a single motion, the shield reshaped into a blade. He twisted upward and drove it into the creature's throat.
The wyvern shrieked once, then crashed hard into the ground, dust and sparks erupting around it.
Corven approached at a measured pace, his eyes fixed on the fallen wyvern. "Well done," he said, voice low with a hint of approval. "First dragonkin kill. Not bad."
The others gathered slowly. Their gazes weren't on the beast, they were on the sword still gleaming in Edran's grip.
"Keslite," Vex murmured, a sharp whistle following his words. "Disguised as iron? That's rare."
Edran caught his breath, uncertain whether to speak. The heat of the battle still hummed in his bones. But no one pressed him further. Not yet.
Corven gave a brief nod. "Let's move."
They left the smoldering corpse behind, the silence that followed broken only by boots over cracked stone. As the hours passed, the land around them grew quieter, stranger. The sky dulled. The path twisted between jagged ridges and steaming crevices, the air dense with the smell of sulfur.
By late afternoon, they came upon a towering outcrop. Beyond it, a cliff-face loomed, carved by massive claw marks and lined with faded glyphs half-swallowed by moss and time.
Corven halted, raising a hand. "Mida's Grotto," he said. "Home of Gorthrax."
Kaela smirked, eyes gleaming with anticipation. "Now the real fun begins."
Tharn sniffed the air and grunted. "Gold smells close."
Edran didn't answer. His hand brushed the bracelet on his wrist, Daina's. The threads were worn, but he tied it tighter, grounding himself.
He'd heard the stories as a boy. Gorthrax: the beast whose wings darkened the skies, whose breath melted stone, and whose lair was bathed in gold, taken from kingdoms that no longer stood. And yet, here he was.
The cave mouth loomed ahead, wide, ancient, breathing with a quiet dread. A gust of warm air rolled out from the dark, carrying the scent of ash and something older.
Edran exhaled slowly, his heart thundering. He stepped forward, one foot into shadow. Whatever waited inside, he would face it.
Not just for the hunt, but for her.