Queen Victoria's heart pounded like the ticking hands of an ancient clock. Every second was a torment as she clutched her fragile daughter, Luna, to her chest—her tiny breaths labored and weak. Years of yearning had led to this miracle: a child of her own, after countless herbal infusions, prayers, and rituals meant to strengthen her barren body. And yet, here she was—with a child so delicate that death felt closer than life.
She had always known that her marriage to Harold, the king, was forged in political convenience. She saw kindness in his eyes, but not love. She had never truly felt like a queen—not of his heart, at least. Still, she had dared to dream. Maybe Luna's presence could make them a family. Maybe Harold would finally see her, not just as a queen, but as a woman. But fate had other plans—far more tangled than any dream she dared to hold.
On the scorched plains outside the capital, Harold, the king and warrior, stood among the smoldering ruins of war. The dragon conflict had raged violently. His sword was heavy with blood, the skies blackened with ash. Dragons fell—majestic, ancient beings whose power rivaled that of the sun—and so did men. The battle ended in devastation, leaving only the Dragon King and Queen alive, along with their son, the radiant black-scaled wyrmling: Eryx.
Far from the battlefield, nestled in the isolated cliffs and shadowed gorges, the Dragon Queen Iris and her mate Idris stood beside their sleeping child. Eryx, glowing faintly with a powerful energy, pulsed with more than just life—he carried within him the legacy of his bloodline: the raw, ancient force of dragonkind. Iris looked to her mate with grim resolve. The humans would come. They would slaughter them. She would not let them reach their son.
With a final glance of shared sorrow, they took their child and soared through wind and cloud, to the lair of one of the few humans they dared trust: Diana, the Mountain Witch.
Diana was not noble. She was not trustworthy. She was driven by greed, bound by gold, and loyal only to opportunity. But she was cunning—and the only human who might betray her own kind in exchange for the vast wealth of dragonkind.
"I will protect the child," Diana said with a crooked grin. "But only if you give me all the treasures you've hoarded in your fire-lit caves."
"And something more," she added darkly. "The energy of dragons cannot remain in the air. It needs a vessel—a fragile one. One no one would suspect. A shell to contain your strength."
Iris hesitated. Idris clenched his claws. They knew what she meant. A human child would carry the core of their essence.
And fate had already chosen one.
In the dead of night, Diana slipped into the palace like a phantom. Luna—tiny, pale, breathing in whispers—lay motionless in her crib. Her golden lashes barely brushed her cheeks, her body weightless in the blanket of moonlight. She was the perfect vessel: innocent, weak, and yet… worthy of survival.
Within the hidden mountain cave, the ceremony began. Iris pressed her forehead to Luna's. Idris did the same. With a whisper like wind over flame, their strength flowed out—an energy neither magical nor mortal, but ancient and alive. The energy of dragons passed into the infant, her body convulsing with the surge. And with that, the two royal dragons collapsed—drained, fading.
Diana watched, lips curling. Power was always a tool. Eryx, raised with stories of hatred, of betrayal, would become her dagger in the dark. A weapon of vengeance.
She returned Luna to her crib, unsure if the child would live or shatter under the overwhelming force within. Her limbs glowed. Her face radiated light. Diana smirked. "If she survives, she'll never be the same."
When Queen Victoria returned to the nursery, her body was hollow with despair. Harold was behind her, offering comfort she no longer believed in.
"You never cared," she whispered. "Not for me. Not for Luna. Only for your crown. For treaties and kingdoms and walls of gold."
He reached for her. She turned away.
"I will find her," she cried. "Even if you do not. I will never stop searching for my child!"
But when she entered the room, her breath caught in her throat. The crib glowed. The baby stirred. Her eyes did not open, but her limbs, her face, shimmered with ethereal light.
Harold rushed in, his expression shocked. "Guards! Who has entered this room?"
"No one, Your Majesty!" the guards swore. "We've been stationed here since dawn!"
Summoning Orin—the trusted royal advisor and Harold's childhood companion—Harold stood in stunned silence as his friend examined the child.
Orin touched Luna's wrist. Her breathing was calm now. Her body was no longer weak.
"She is alive," Orin said, voice low. "And more than that—she's… changed."
Victoria fell to her knees beside the crib, sobbing in gratitude. But Harold stared at Orin, sensing the shadow behind the truth.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
Orin hesitated. Then met his eyes.
"I won't lie to you, Harold. Luna was taken. Not by accident. Not for ransom. She was chosen to hold something… vast. The energy of dragons—royal dragons. I have studied their ways, their ancient forces. She carries that power now."
Victoria gasped.
"Why her?"
Orin's voice lowered. "Because she was weak. Because she was dying. Because no one would suspect that she could carry the heart of dragons. But mark my words: if she survives, she will never fall ill again. She will be extraordinary. And if the dragon who gave this power still lives… one day, he will return for it."
"And when he does—" he paused, eyes falling to the sleeping child— "Luna will die."
Victoria crumpled over her daughter, holding her as if her arms could block fate.
Harold turned toward the open window, fists clenched.
"What do we do?"
"We wait," Orin said, solemn. "Till morning. And pray her body does not reject the force within."
And so, in the darkness before dawn, Luna's fate was sealed. Somewhere in the mountains, a child named Eryx, bathed in bitterness and grief, began his journey. One day, dragon and vessel would meet. And the world would tremble.
End of Chapter Two