Prologue

King Dacien of Drasne was far from bowed with age. Scars littered his form, yet he stood strong, steel-backed and voice rumbling like stone. His eyes were clouded as wildfire smoke over blue skies, fogged not with age but with muddled thoughts and concepts. But when vengeance spoke in his presence iron was born from those depths and few could stand his gaze.

One of those brave few would be Az, royal assistant to the king. That was perhaps the only reason he was still in the room.

He quietly closed the study door behind them, sealing off any talk of what was sure to come, and stood as Dacien stormed about the room, rage infused in every inch of his body.

"Those bastards," he hissed, hunting for a target. "Hysia-"

His fist slammed into the wooden desk, making the oak creak and parchment fly off.

Az took a careful step away as Dacien paced, fury rippling over his form. "They murdered the last goodra of the swamp and thought we wouldn't notice? That we wouldn't find her corpse, stripped of teeth, horns, and tail?"

Sertave growled his own response at those words. The hulking dragonite was eerily quiet, as always, but his grey eyes followed all in the room without hesitation. He kept his wings and tail close to his sides, but it was impossible to ignore the power of the beast, taller than any man and able to reach the heavens without effort. Dacien glanced up as his dragon, gaze softening. Sertave made a crooning sound.

Dacien sighed and looked away, hand falling to his side. Without looking, he curled his fingers around the pommel. The exposed sword glittered in the light, twisting as Dacien rested his arm against its hilt.

That blade, that damned blade, the one made from hellfire and shaped in hoarfrost. Az hated the way it called to him, dragon scales glittering on the hilt like eyes, but its attention was never focused on him. For that, he was thankful. Az gritted his teeth and drew his gaze upward, locking onto the cerulean eyes of the king.

"What will you return?" Az asked, voice tight. He had seen Hysia's corpse, blood against the green of the swamp she had protected all of her life. Hundreds had come to mourn her, but that had not changed the fact she was dead, torn from the earth.

Dacien spun, hand tightening around the pommel of his sword. The blade seemed to sing at his touch, humming in the way only steel could. Az averted his gaze, and King Dacien's clouded eyes focused for a moment to crinkle with laughter. "The man with the flower," he teased, voice just rough enough it could be taken for mocking, "raised by the Hisoúe, the cruelest of all mankind, and yet fearful of a sword."

That was enough. "Floette," he said sharply, "is not a flower."

Dacien seemed apologetic - for how much Az would take from the rough tempered king, there was a line, and it laid solidly with that of Floette. "My apologies."

"Accepted," he replied automatically. There was no point in stirring up past wounds and ancient blood feuds. Dacien's eyes softened at his voice, and Az felt his own annoyance fade away. "My king."

"You have no need to call me to call me king," he said, voice like a whisper. "I am a friend, and I hope you are one, too."

Az straightened up. "Dacien," he answered, lips quirking.

The king grinned at that, enjoying the singular moment of peace. There were times, no doubt, that it was not obvious. Differing personalities, thoughts and emotions run in the opposite direction. But at the heart of it, away from the anger and bitterness of the past and the conflict and guilt of the present, they were but two who had risked much to lead together. Sertave made a soft sound, jerking Dacien's attention back to the pain and the present.

"You asked what we will return," he murmured, fingers still tight around the hilt. "What we will give to those that killed Hysia and stained her land with her own blood. What would you suggest?"

Az could feel Sertave's narrow gaze land on him, the beast's chest glowing faintly from fire. "A battle back," he answered, steeling his voice. "Blood for blood."

Light glinted on the edge of the sword scabbard and King Dacien's lips twitched, a smile edged with more emotion than could be measured. Wild hunger, born from the light of his heart and painted by the shadows of what had been done.

"It is high time Roland received a dragon of his own," Dacien murmured. "And Belaset has always yearned to see the tide of war change. Too long have the Hisoúe flaunted their strength. I am not old yet."

The king seemed to straighten as his own words, inner steel unfolding as wings behind his back. Sertave growled in approval, watching the years melt away as King Dacien, tamer of dragons and conqueror of the Wildlands, returned to the body his mournful self had inhabited. The guilt of Hysia's death faded to embers, waiting until the moment they would be needed to reignite the fires of rage and power. Now was not the time for dark eyes and hunched shoulders. It was now they had to show strength, the fire that drove them on.

"They want to claim the dragons of our lands? To steal that which has its own heart, blood, life?" With a ringing clash of steel on steel the king drew his sword, its edges singing the song of steel and lives lost, the light reflected by its blade showing the way forward. "Then we shall show them just who they provoke. We shall show them the power of the dragons who rule the land and skies, the burning blood and unchecked power that drives us forward!"

And then he smiled - that same wicked, sharp-toothed smile that had gotten him into this mess, all full of jagged edges and blade-like humor. "The Hisoúe have challenged us for the last time," he rumbled. "That was their final mistake. Az, create the document. After this offense, nothing will stand in our path. Too long have they mocked our ways, stolen our land and dragons, and hidden behind your bastard of a brother. Perhaps they have won a battle. But we, the Drasne, the Dragonwalkers of this land, the warriors of fire and scales instead of cowardly shows of light, will win the war."

Az bowed his head. "And so we shall," he murmured.

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This is what happens when you get two writers talking about worldbuilding and the Great Kalos War. This story is co-written by A Wordsmith and Dragonridr21- we decided this story needed to be told so others could enjoy it rather than languishing in our messaging inboxes. Most chapters will be longer than the prologue and each chapter will switch between characters. Please enjoy and review!