The Prince of Fire and Ash

There weren't always dragons in the valley. But when they arrived, the whole continent took notice. Beastly creatures donned in scaly hides that cast foreboding shadows across the lands they scorched.

Stirrings were reported to the north, in the continent of frozen tundras, Aicios. Then the first attack struck Aedaths eastern borders, the kingdom of Gurith. Flames reportedly spewed forth from the kingdoms many valleys, like channels of magma. All that remained inside were swept away, burned and buried alive. Each day the reports grew at a concerning rate, telling of vast destruction and merciless carnage.

Those in Vrosea knew the threat well, they anticipated it. Stores filled with supplies and barracks that were armed and ready. Soldiers, boys no younger than ten scurried to find their places, whilst the older veterans prepared the trebuchets. Vrosea had never had to defend itself until now, and the men were understandably on edge. Lord Korstead stood proudly upon the castles battlements, smiling as his gaze roamed over the fearsome creatures that set fire to their farmland, incinerating every village and settlement in sight. Just beasts, he'd described them as. Mindless and driven purely by instinct. Slowly they burned the land, encroaching on the castles borders and yet they did not attack. Up until that point, Korstead had thought the attacks were random. Just crazed dragons looking to spread discord, but no. One in particular soared high above the rest, breaking through the cloud bank every so often to let forth a growl or roar. The others would then change direction, or fly higher. It was strange behavior, almost calculated. Korstead shifted his focus back to the others, now seeing the pattern in which they burned the land. Citizens were given time to flee, only empty homes and fields put to the flame. It wasn't at all like the reports from Gurith. A clear path lay before them, steering the frightened people toward the coastal ships instead of the castle grounds. Any hopes of harboring innocents had been dashed. His smile faltered.

The commander approached the battlements, calling out almost desperately, "Lord Korstead, the dragons-"

"I am aware!" Korstead snapped, turning to snatch the spy glass from his somewhat terrified vassal.

Through the lens he turned skyward, catching a glimpse of that one peculiar dragon and cursing beneath his breath.

Oh, he had anticipated the attacks, certainly.

Yet, what they hadn't anticipated was the return of one long since lost to them. For upon the back of the strange obsidian dragon, perched the young Selkie. Finally revealed from beneath the cloud cover and wearing, with pride around her shoulders, what appeared to be her mothers fur cloak. Felicie Leuron, the rightful heir to Vrosea. Her striking gaze burned with anger. No. It was pure, unfiltered rage. She'd decided on her path and he now stood directly in the middle of it. The young selkie had grown considerably, a woman in her own right and now she had it, a shot at revenge.

Korstead dropped the spy glass and stumbled backward when the dragons below ceased their attacks and turned toward the castle, landing just out of range of the weaponry mounted upon its walls. They surrounded the area, chattering, growling and hissing. All until they turned their attention to the sky above them. Down it soared, great midnight wings and razor sharp teeth protruding from it's snarling maw. The obsidian dragon landed before them all, crimson eyes locating Korstead instantly before it let forth a tremendously loud roar. Creatures normally located from across other continents slithered and crawled out alongside the dragons. Fetivens, Straaliks, Serker hounds, Foglings, Aurotaurs and even Grimesoals had heeded the call. This wasn't a simple attack from rogue dragons, it was calculated, with a single purpose. To gain back the throne within those stone walls.

It was war.