Ayco
The last of the Dragonborn, a clan of the Great Dragon Alcalron, had abandoned their origins in the West during the Dragon Wars and for over two centuries had called Akuresh their home. They once resided atop the vast Kiyama mountain range, in their grand castles and temples, as great protectors of the nation, devoted to the emperor. However, for nearly a century now they've exiled themselves in the caverns of beneath their once sacred home, as torturous penance for their ancestors' sins. So close to home but still not worthy of taking their place in their honoured halls.
The children of their clan told of a prophecy, where an unrivalled warrior of the Dragonborn would rise up and redeem their sins freeing them to return to their sacred settlements and to their rightful place as Akuresh's protectors. His late mother had recited the prophecy so many times to him a night, Ayco could now recite it perfectly even in his sleep.
Ayco remained in his home as tradition dictated, while he waited for the ceremony to commence. He knelt in his room in the pitch back, his kaezium sword resting across his lap. He looked up, gazing past the roof and the rocky ceiling of the caverns and to the surface of the mountains imagining their true home. The grand castles, towers, temples and villages that he'd read about his whole life. He yearned to see them, wander their halls, abandon these caves of penance and return to their true home. But they couldn't, not yet. That future relied on his shoulders and with every passing second it's burden felt heavier, like an endless anchor on his heart and soul.
Ayco reinforced his resolve and his grip tightened to steel on his knees, threatening to rip them from their sockets. Fear and doubt were not luxuries he was permitted. He would go through with the ceremony and set out to redeem his clan, as was now his purpose since his family's failure. He would succeed where his brother and fore-fathers had failed or would soon join them.
The door to his room crept open and light slipped in banishing the darkness and Ayco's isolation. It was time. His wife appeared in the door, as beautiful and immaculate as ever. As she smiled softly down at Ayco he couldn't help but respond with his own. With what could occur in the next hour, he took a moment to appreciate his wife's beauty. Like himself, she had the pale, porcelain skin of Western Eshina, her long, snow white hair was as silk-like as ever and her ruby eyes shone like a pair of blood moons. Despite nearly every one of the Dragonborn of Alcalron possessing the same white hair and ruby eyes to him none were as stunning to him as Era.
Ayco grabbed his sword, a long greatsword, that most would find impossible to hold never mind swing, and lifted it with ease as he stood.
"The ceremony will soon be ready. I was told to start the preparations," his wife informed him calmly. Ayco analysed her, noticing something was off and then his heart sunk an inch. She hid it well but without a doubt she was anxious, worried for him. Ayco forced a grand smile upon his face, rested his blade across his shoulders and joined his wife, wrapping a comforting arm around her as they wandered to the bathing room of their private quarters in the vast house of the Drakones family, clan head of the Dragonborn.
The preparations to the ceremony were quiet simple. The chosen would be washed and would take an alchemic tonic that temporarily boosts their sensitive and affinity to Retsu in hopes it'll increase their chances of bonding. Ayco had forgone the final step, he was either worthy or would follow in his family's footsteps with honour, no tonic would determine his strength.
Like always Ayco had to be careful of his size as they strolled through their home, that just wasn't adapted to his sheer size. The Dragonborn were by no means small people, in face they were one of the biggest races in Reiokeni with the male average height standing around six foot and most women standing just a few inches below that. Ayco was just monstrous even by their standards, even next to his wife who stood over six feet he towered over her, being well over two metres tall himself. Carefully but swiftly they entered the bathing room and Ayco accepted his wife's offer to be washed, undressing and resting upon a stool crafted especially for his body. As hot water rushed down him, cleansing the dirt and sweat from his skin, Ayco let his body relax. The thick, steel-like muscles that covered every inch of him rippling beneath his skin. As water crashed down over his head, he pushed away his long hair and looked up to his wife.
"There's no need to worry Era," he said, noticing the growing tension within his wife's body. "I will not fail."
Despite her tension not dispersing, a humours smile cracked across her face. "My dragon, I've been worrying about you since our wedding."
Ayco chuckled. "It's hard believe that it has only been four years. Feels like a lifetime has passed since we were eighteen."
Era finished washing his body and claimed hold of a towel to dry off his body. "Well no matter what, in my eyes it has been a lifetime I've loved living."
He quickly dressed into fresh attire and his wife quickly took back control of him, to make him more presentable. As she brushed back his hair and then gently ran a finger along the strong jaw that his bloodline favoured so much. "As handsome as ever," she grinned, "a worthy face of Alcalron's Chosen."
With him declining the rest of the preparation steps there was nothing left but to leave for the temple. Strapping his sheathed sword to his back, he left his family's compound his wife by his side and they wandered through the Dragonborn village.
Carved and built deep within the giant Kiyama caverns, shadows naturally engulfed their villages, fended off only by warmly lit lamps and candles scattered along every street and building.
His home was quieter than usual the morning with most of his people already finding themselves at the temple, with only the essential workers being exempt to make sure the settlement stays in operation. Despite Ayco's pleas, the few they did pass, never failed to stop whatever they were doing to bow, usually adding 'chief, chieftain, clan head or Lord Drakones' in with their greeting. Ayco hated it, they were all the Dragonborn of Alcalron equal in the young man's eyes no matter their strength, not everyone was destined to be a warrior. As more villagers kept bowing and honouring him it became increasingly difficult to restrain his internal grumbles. If he was being honest he hated having to have anything with being the clan head, it was never meant to be his life or future, but with his brother's death it was now his responsibility so he must simply accept with cards he's been dealt and push forward for the sake of the Dragonborn.
As they continued their journey to the temple, he couldn't help but notice how everyone stared at him with overwhelming faith and admiration, today even more so than usual. The pressure in Ayco's chest abruptly swelled but he refused to let it show or affect him. He was their last hope, the one they believed to be their saviour in the prophecy and finally free them from these caverns. He'd be damned if failed them. For too long had they all suffered and because of their sins the nation now also bled. Today he would either succeed or fight to his last breath, his final heartbeat.
Resolve hardened his face and claiming his wife's hand they stormed onwards. To the ceremony.
There were five Dragonborn villagers across the caves of the mountain range, combined their population totalled just above ten thousand. Today they'd all gather in the capital village to watch him. He could imagine them all now, the great masses of thousands lined up on either sides of the temple, leaving an empty path for him to walk down. At the end, upon the altar, would be the Founding Blade of Alcalron, his greatest gift to their clan, forged from his very body and soul. The kaezium sword, 'Primordial's Wrath'.
On paper the ceremony, or more accurately stated coronation, was a simple thing. He must claim hold of and bond with the Founding Blade and become Alcalron's Chosen, hero of the prophecy. 'Simply', Ayco found himself internally grumbling. However, in reality it wasn't even close to the word. If the blade didn't deem you worthy as its wielder it rejected you, a violent process which pretty much always ended in the warrior's death. That was what had happened with his grandfather and father as well as a dozen others. His elder brother had too been rejected however, had been strong enough to miraculously survive the violent and brutal eruption of draconic Retsu. However, with the unbreakable resolve of their blood he then rose and tried again. It was the last thing Ayco ever witnessed his brother do. That was over five years ago now, and since a few warriors had tried their worth upon the blade but like always anyone outside the Drakones blood who attempted to claim the sword of Alcalron where dead within moments, barely able to get a firm grip on the handle. As a result the clan turned their faith and hopes to Ayco, one of the Dragonlords, eldest of the Drakones and the new clan head. If he failed then they were truly lost.
No pressure.
Ayco had no idea what to expect when he grabbed hold of the blade. Only the ancestors of his blood have ever been able to claim the Founding Blade and they had never left any scripts or memories behind to help their descendants. Stating simply you were either worthy or not. He'd change that if he succeeded, his descendants would not deal with such ridiculous traditions.
His village wasn't too big so they soon came to the base of a vast series of steps that travelled forty feet high where the temple of Alcalron rested. A beautiful, grand and open structure of pillars and sculptures. It's architecture was breathtaking and a painful echo of their home above the mountains. Even from the bottom of the steps, Ayco could hear the noise of thousands of Dragonborn. With heavy and purposefully steps he climbed up to the temple and marched through its gateless entrance. There were no doors or walls in the temple of Alcalron, all were welcome and no one would dare steal from or harm the Great Dragon.
Like Ayco had imagined the temple held thousands, gathered in the of hundreds of rows of stone pews. At the centre of the temple was a grand aisle that led him directly to the altar, an artistic sculpture of dragons. The mythological sword rested upon the stone surface, elevated by a pair of stone dragon claws. Ayco locked eyes with his fate, watching as the Primordial Wrath dared anyone to try and claim it, test their worth. Ayco was going to take that dare.
As he took his first step into the temple, it eerily turned silent and instantly everyone's gaze was upon him. As tradition stated his family were allowed to greet and speak with the chosen in privacy at the temple gates before the ceremony began. His younger sister and brother met him. While both considerably shorter than him, sitting a bit above average height for their sexes, they both still shared the looks of the Drakones bloodline.
"Ayco," his brother greeted. Ayco noticed the boy trying to hide a tremble beneath his white and crimson robes and failing to stop his lip quivering. He could tell his younger sibling had been suffering visions of the elder brother all day too. The boy feared to lose another brother.
"Don't fret Oro," Ayco said placing a firm hand on his shoulder and putting on his most comforting smile. "I will not fail."
"You won't or you can't," Oro said, holding back a whimper.
"It doesn't matter," Ayco stated firmly. "I will return to your side."
Ignoring the difference in height and bulk, his younger brother was practically the mirror image of Ayco with exception that his hair was always cut short. However, their physique wasn't the true thing that set them apart. Instead it was the fact that the youngest son of Drakones was that he was no warrior, unlike his two older brothers and fore-fathers. Oro had tried, arguably just as hard as Ayco and Ladon had, but he just didn't have a warriors soul or talent. But despite their father's annoyance, Oro's difference had never been an issue to Ayco or Ladon. Their younger brother had instead leant different talents, he became an exceptional leader and scholar. So much so that without him the village would be in a sorry state. Ayco doubted he could've pulled off leading as well as training to be the Chosen without his younger siblings aid.
Reluctantly Oro nodded and stepped aside in line with Era behind Ayco.
Ayco turned to his little sister, now an official priestess of Alcalron and his Dragon Queen Enumes, already beginning her mastery in the incantations of the Great Dragon. Unlike their younger brother, Tia presented herself with no fear, if she felt any at all she hid it perfectly.
"Return to me," she said with a soft smile. "And save our people."
A grin burst across Ayco's face and he ruffled the girl's hair that she'd definitely spent a lot of time preparing. She shot him an annoyed glare. "Of course," Ayco declared.
His little sister joined their brother and Era and with all his family now behind him the ceremony could begin.
An ear-shattering horn boomed across the temple shaking them to their cores, its roar that of a dragons. It was the roar of Alcalron, an echo of pure draconic power. The elder of the clan emerged by the altar and made her way down the aisle. Everyone waited silently and patiently without complaint as she slowly traversed her way to Ayco. As she reached him, Ayco fell to a knee before his great-great aunt. Despite the woman aging far beyond a century and living through even the exile of their clan, she carried an authority and aura that their greatest warriors could only dream of. In her prime she was stated to be one of the greatest dragon priestess the world has ever known.
"It is time, little dragon," she stated, her tone calm and soothing.
"I am ready Elder Drakones," Ayco stated firmly, his tone void of doubt or worry. He would survive. If not for himself then for all ten thousand lives relying on him. He would not fail.
With a motherly smile the elder nodded and led them all away. Instantly rows of priestesses and clerics on either side of the temple began their choir, singing the anthem of Alcalron. The melody was beyond beautiful, practically echoing within itself and touching every molecule of the room. The harmony was heart pounding and a perfect blend of angelic, powerful and tribal, personifying the Dragonborn. It felt as if every single one of ancestors were empowering and guiding every stride Ayco took as he approached the future of their clan, leaving him no path other than victory.
Ayco's stride hesitated, it was for barely a moment unnoticeable to everyone else. His brother and father had received been guided by the same melody and ceremony and yet they'd failed. Would he be different? … Yes. He had to be. His whole life he'd been called the strongest of their blood, now it was time to prove it. For his family, for the Dragonborn, for Akuresh.
As they reached the end of the aisle, kneeling before the few steps up to the altar where the six Dragonlords, clad in the magnificent, black dragon armour.
Along with Ayco their clan had seven in total and they were the greatest warriors of the Dragonborn, wielding kaezium weapons imbued with the Path of the Great Dragon and its Dragon Arts.
The elder headed straight up the stairs and stood behind the altar however the rest of them stopped. Ayco knelt between his fellow Dragonlords and his family knelt further back, just slightly ahead of the crowds. Ayco unstrapped his sheath and removed his blade placing it before him like the rest of the Dragonlords had. They waited, everyone in complete silence, for their clan's melody to come to its conclusion. After it ended the clan wasted no time. Two dragon clerics approached Ayco, dressed in pure white robes. They knelt before him offering out their hands, requesting his weapon as to claim to the Founding Blade you must relinquish you're previous arms. Without delay Ayco raised his blade, its name 'Dragon's Roar' and placed the giant greatsword upon their arms. Giving credit where it is due, despite the strain Ayco noticed in their muscles, the cleric carried away his blade without a grunt nor slowing under its weight. Everyone watched as they carried the kaezium dragon blade behind the altar and towards the blazing forge, that burned hot enough to scorch flesh and bone to ash in moments. Ayco could feel its warm touch all the way at the base of the altar. The grand smelter was built into the cavern wall at the back of the temple, it's body sculpted into a gaping dragon maw. The clerics tossed Ayco's dragon blade within the forge then retreating rapidly before the flames could consume them as they leapt up vigorously to consume their new meal. Ayco watched as his kaezium sword slowly turned molten and melted down to where it would then be reforged into a new weapon for a future Dragonborn warrior. The way of Akuresh. The way of their clan.
Once his old weapon had finally melted away from sight and the amber glow across the temple settled, the elder approached and guided Ayco to his feet and up to the altar.
Instantly Ayco felt his nerves and anxiety surge however quickly steeled them. They were no traits of a Dragon lord and certainly had no place within Alcalron's Chosen. Fearless. Powerful. Unbreakable resolve. That was what he must become. No, that was what he was.
As the elder withdrew back and knelt where Ayco once had between the Dragonlords, Ayco found himself alone before Primordial's Wrath.
Like his old sword, the weapon was a greatsword however, astonishingly, was an even bigger in both length and size. The weapon was beyond mesmerising, a masterful crafting of the deepest black. A forgery of kaezium and what is said to be the claws and scales of the Great Dragon Alcalron himself. His greatest gift to the Dragonborn, the Founding Blade blessed with his own draconic power along with the gift to imbue his power into further kaezium weaponry.
Primordial's Wrath's blade was pure black steel so finely forged that Ayco could see himself perfectly in its shining surface. It's guard were dragon claws reaching up and out to claim hold of the blade as well as protect the wielder's hands, or in Ayco's case hand. The more he gazed upon the sacred weapon the more he realised this was the only true sword that can be called Dragon blade.
Without hesitation and before is resolve could crack, Ayco stepped forward and claimed the Founder Blade's handle, his fingers tightly gripping the crimson wrapping and holding it up before him. Instantly the weapon reacted, latching onto the Retsu inside him, trying to consume it for its own. The Dragonlord resisted. Ayco's world became an epitome of pain, it took every bit willpower he possessed to not let his agony burst out from throat in a fit of screams. In the distant corners of his senses he heard the crowds gasp and noticed his family and the Dragonlords stagger back. Crimson and black draconic Retsu burst from the sword and Ayco's body in the form of tendrils of lightning and thick flames. Eventually the pain became too much and overwhelmed Ayco completely. His body quaked like a mountain-levelling earthquake. He screamed, the sound and strain so raw it felt like his throat was burning in the temple forge. However, Ayco's voice wasn't the only one that emerged from his maw. An ear-bursting dragon's roar coated his screams tearing through the air of the temple and booming across the entire village. Its ferocity, rage and intensity dwarfed that of the temple's horn. It was as if Alcalron was speaking through him.
The more Ayco attempted to dominate and overwhelm the weapon's Retsu with his own the greater the agony and strain became. It was like trying to dominate and cage the ocean. He collapsed to a knee. Suddenly Primordial's Wrath truly began to fight back, like a savage beast obliterating its cage and everything around, it quickly began to threaten Ayco's life.
Ayco tried to push back but it was futile. This wasn't working. He was going to die. He was going to fail everyone.
Ayco collapsed, his grip helplessly spasming and releasing the sword and he fell numbly against the floor. The sword never followed him down, instead ominously hovering in the air where Ayco had held it, it's body outlined in a crimson glow. It still continued spewing out dangerous volumes of draconic Retsu that was beginning to run rampant without Ayco's resistance and soon threatened to attack the audience in the temple. Gasps and cries radiated from the crowds and through the cracks in his ringing ears Ayco could just about hear the Dragonlords and priestess preparing the intervene.
He'd truly failed.
Ayco, lay lifelessly upon the ground just like his elder brother once had. Rejected but not dead. But then Ladon had risen and reclaimed the blade. Ayco remembered the scene like it was yesterday. The vision still haunted his nightmares as the draconic Retsu ripped into his brother's body scorching, twisting and mangling it beyond recognition. He remembered his brothers screams, so deafening and tormented, Ayco hadn't known humans could produce such a sound.
Suddenly, Ayco slammed his dominant hand into the cold stone floor and pushed his body up.
He'd never admit it and wish dishonour upon his brother, but on that day he truly he wished his brother had just stayed down, accepted defeat and came home to them. He may have failed but at least he'd be alive. But he hadn't and Ayco now understood why. He forced himself back to his feet and towards Primordial's wrath. They had a duty, a responsibility. No matter the consequences. He just hoped his family could understand too as he forced them to watch the same horrifying scene again.
Ayco stumbled upright, and despite the agony and terror he'd just felt, he grabbed the weapon's handle without hesitation.
Pain.
'Don't stop,' he commanded himself.
Agony.
'KEEP FIGHTING!' He fought back against the weapon with his own Retsu both resisting and melding into the weapon's power.
Agony. Power.
'YOU DARE STOP. YOU DARE GIVEUP!' He roared at himself. He fought through everything and the world became a blur as it felt as if he'd ascended to a different plain of reality.
Then a foreign voice boomed inside his head. 'RISE!' it commanded. The voice was inhumanely deep and carried immense power and authority. It was draconic.
Suddenly, Primordial's Wrath stopped fighting against him and instead it felt as if they were merging, their Retsu joining in symbiosis. He and the boundless power became one.
Ayco roared. But not in agony. Not in fear or strain. His battle roar, coated with the call of Alcalron himself announced his victory.
The draconic Retsu dispersed into nothing and the temple returned to silence. Ayco staggered forward, almost collapsing. Then he rose. Slowly and steadily, Ayco turned back towards his people and raised the Founding Blade high.
The temple erupted in cheer and cries. Priestess erupted into their melody with even greater passion before, bathing the entire temple. The Dragonlords stepped forward and raised their own weapons high in salute.
He was Alcalron's Chosen, the first in nearly a century. And he, Ayco Drakones, would save the Dragonborn.