Trapped on Draconica
Sample Chapter
By Dan Wright
Not to be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system—except by a reviewer to be printed in a magazine, newspaper, or on the Web—without permission from the author.
By Dan Wright
Not to be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system—except by a reviewer to be printed in a magazine, newspaper, or on the Web—without permission from the author.
Prologue
The New Era
A sadder day for Draconica there never was.
It was in the land of Brittana that this historic event was taking place, just outside the capital city St Geordia. All that were gathered could hardly believe what was happening – many of them didn’t want to believe it.
Dronor – the last dragon – was dying.
For as long as anyone could remember, the dragons had always existed alongside the other races of the world in some way or another. As creators of Draconica, they were both revered and feared by the mortals. Dronor had been one of the most respected, for he had been both their watcher and guardian. In his prime, Dronor had been a force of sheer power. People said that he could scatter armies with one swing of his enormous wings and that when he breathed fire it was like a comet across the sky. However, Dronor was far from a monster – he was noted for his gentility as much as his ferocity. Often, he would take people for rides throughout the sky, or use his breath to create amazing firework displays. Dronor had used his powers to make sure that the weak would not be overpowered by the corrupt. Dronor had a vision of peace where all creatures could live together, and for the majority of his life he strove to achieve that.
But today, he struggled to breathe. His scaly skin was crackled and dry, his once powerful wings just leathery straps. Many could not believe that this was the same dragon that for so long they had thought invincible. But even the seemingly immortal must eventually be struck by the sting of death.
Amongst the hundreds gathered here, one man was particularly heartbroken. King Balaur, ruler of Brittana, stood with his four daughters before the creature. Dronor had asked him to gather here as he had one final gift to impart before he passed on. The mighty creature lifted his huge head, almost as big as an elephant. He moaned in a hiss as it was a struggle to move any limb. His eyelids cracked as they opened tentatively, revealing eyes that were once so bright and full of raw power, now like a star that has burned out the last of its shine.
“Balaur...” Once his voice boomed with commanding power, now Dronor’s voice was as decayed as he was. “How glad I am… that you are here… at my time of passing…”
The King moved ahead of his daughters, struggling to fight back his tears. He knew that a man of his statue should not be seen crying – but he was only human on the inside and this was killing him as much as the people around him. A hushed silence fell amongst the crowd. Balaur wiped his eye as discreetly as he could. Even hearing Dronor speak so weakly wounded him to the heart. “Dronor,” he stammered. “This… cannot be the end. What are we to do after you pass?”
“Everything… has its end…” Dronor wheezed. He took a long breath, his lungs no longer functioned in the way they used to and finding air was a near impossible task. “But, this does not mean… the end of Draconica.”
He had a bad coughing fit, which panicked the crowd. Fortunately the fit passed and he continued with barely functioning breath. “I have one… final task… to perform. The Princesses, bring them… to me…”
Balaur motioned his girls ahead. He knew that Dronor would never harm them – not that he probably could do much in his current state. The youngest of them, a dark skinned girl of three, nervously held back, clinging onto her father’s hand. “It’s all right, Erowin. He won’t hurt you,” Balaur assured her.
The children gathered in a line in front of Dronor. He lifted up his head and looked at the four young women in turn. “You girls… I have chosen you for what is to be my final gift... Knowing... that this day would come... I made contact with... the spirits of my closest... friends. They passed on their powers to me... so that I may, in turn, pass it onto you. I have chosen you girls, because in you I see hope for the new world. You all… shall be given… powers of the dragons.”
Balaur could not believe his ears – his daughters were to be granted power of the dragons? That was by far the greatest honour any human could ever be granted. “In you,” Dronor continued, “the power and legend of the dragons will never be forgotten.”
Dronor looked to the first girl, the youngest of the sisters, who looked the most nervous out of them. “Erowin,” Dronor croaked. “Innocent… and kind… The one who loves life… I grant to you… the power of the Forest Wyvern Arkana. You… can now be one with nature itself. May your generosity never wane.”
He turned next to the eldest, twelve years of age. She had a pout and seemed incredibly bored – the only one that didn’t seem the least bit sad for Dronor’s passing. “Zarracka…” Dronor continued. “Forceful… ambitious… yet cold and distant. Nevertheless, I know that there is good in you. I grant to you… the power of Frostella. Ice and cold are yours to command”.
“That’s it?” Zarracka moaned under her breath. “Stupid lizard.”
Balaur heard his daughters’ crass comments and whacked her on the back of the head. “Zarracka, show some respect!” he cried, astounded that she would have the audacity to say such a thing.
Thankfully, Dronor did not take offence to Zarracka’s petulance and moved onto the next daughter. Two years younger than Zarracka and by far the most beautiful of all the sisters – she would be admired by all men when she reached adulthood, Dronor had no doubt about that. “Rana… beautiful, bold and strong. I grant you the power of the Storm Drake Karana. You can now control wind and lightning. Use it wisely – for power like this must never be misused.”
Dronor turned to the last sister. Eight years old she was, but from birth, Dronor had seen that this girl was meant for great things. Of all the sisters, he had the most admiration for this one. Her determination and kind spirit almost reminded Dronor of himself in his younger years. If his lips could have allowed it, he would have smiled. “Daniar. Such fire and ambition, yet… you have also shown a caring and warm side. You always wanted to be like me... so I will grant you that wish. You have my power... of fire... I know… you will be the one that will bring peace to this world… one way or another.”
Daniar nodded. Much like her father, she was particularly saddened by Dronor’s predicament. She had grown up with the greatest of respect for dragons, especially Dronor.
“Dronor,” Balaur said, hoping that he was not interrupting Dronor. “For these gifts, we cannot thank you enough.”
“Think nothing of it,” Dronor breathed, “you have been my friend for so long – and I see your children as my own kin.” He stopped for a moment, having a sudden thought. “Yes... kin... of a dragon. So be it, I hereby name your daughters – the Dragonkin.”
With that, Dronor lifted up his mouth and exhaled a weak gust of air. His breath broke off into four pieces and changed colour - green, white, blue and red. The coloured air floated towards each of the sisters, bathing them. Dronor waited several seconds for the air to past and see if any of them suffered ill effects, which was always a worry for him. Nothing happened. Dronor was satisfied that his task was complete.
“It is done,” Dronor exclaimed. “Now… I pass onto the Afterworld… to meet with my brothers… and sisters – and my father.”
Balaur could hold his tears back no longer, they burst forth like leaks in a dam – though he kept his stature upright. He knew he had to be strong, for the rest of his people. “Then in honour of you, my friend – I hereby proclaim that, from this day forward, my family name shall be known as Dragonkin, as will my daughters.”
Dronor took one final breath. “Do not mourn me, People of Draconica. I have lived… a good life… I… I… I thank you all…”
And with that, Dronor’s eyes closed for the last time and his head dropped onto the ground, never to rise again.
Daniar buried her head into her father’s cloak, unable to hold back the tears. Balaur held his daughter close and stroked her hair.
A rumble shook the earth. The volcanoes of the Eye of Draconica began their annual eruption that lit up the sky with fire, signalling the beginning of the new Draconican year. But no one was in any mood to celebrate.
This marked the end of the Old Era – and the beginning of what would become the New Era by the people of Draconica. Dronor may have been gone, but his spirit would live on in the Dragonkin – who would indeed play a valuable role in the future of their world.
And it would all start, ten years later – on a small planet many years away, called Earth.
It was in the land of Brittana that this historic event was taking place, just outside the capital city St Geordia. All that were gathered could hardly believe what was happening – many of them didn’t want to believe it.
Dronor – the last dragon – was dying.
For as long as anyone could remember, the dragons had always existed alongside the other races of the world in some way or another. As creators of Draconica, they were both revered and feared by the mortals. Dronor had been one of the most respected, for he had been both their watcher and guardian. In his prime, Dronor had been a force of sheer power. People said that he could scatter armies with one swing of his enormous wings and that when he breathed fire it was like a comet across the sky. However, Dronor was far from a monster – he was noted for his gentility as much as his ferocity. Often, he would take people for rides throughout the sky, or use his breath to create amazing firework displays. Dronor had used his powers to make sure that the weak would not be overpowered by the corrupt. Dronor had a vision of peace where all creatures could live together, and for the majority of his life he strove to achieve that.
But today, he struggled to breathe. His scaly skin was crackled and dry, his once powerful wings just leathery straps. Many could not believe that this was the same dragon that for so long they had thought invincible. But even the seemingly immortal must eventually be struck by the sting of death.
Amongst the hundreds gathered here, one man was particularly heartbroken. King Balaur, ruler of Brittana, stood with his four daughters before the creature. Dronor had asked him to gather here as he had one final gift to impart before he passed on. The mighty creature lifted his huge head, almost as big as an elephant. He moaned in a hiss as it was a struggle to move any limb. His eyelids cracked as they opened tentatively, revealing eyes that were once so bright and full of raw power, now like a star that has burned out the last of its shine.
“Balaur...” Once his voice boomed with commanding power, now Dronor’s voice was as decayed as he was. “How glad I am… that you are here… at my time of passing…”
The King moved ahead of his daughters, struggling to fight back his tears. He knew that a man of his statue should not be seen crying – but he was only human on the inside and this was killing him as much as the people around him. A hushed silence fell amongst the crowd. Balaur wiped his eye as discreetly as he could. Even hearing Dronor speak so weakly wounded him to the heart. “Dronor,” he stammered. “This… cannot be the end. What are we to do after you pass?”
“Everything… has its end…” Dronor wheezed. He took a long breath, his lungs no longer functioned in the way they used to and finding air was a near impossible task. “But, this does not mean… the end of Draconica.”
He had a bad coughing fit, which panicked the crowd. Fortunately the fit passed and he continued with barely functioning breath. “I have one… final task… to perform. The Princesses, bring them… to me…”
Balaur motioned his girls ahead. He knew that Dronor would never harm them – not that he probably could do much in his current state. The youngest of them, a dark skinned girl of three, nervously held back, clinging onto her father’s hand. “It’s all right, Erowin. He won’t hurt you,” Balaur assured her.
The children gathered in a line in front of Dronor. He lifted up his head and looked at the four young women in turn. “You girls… I have chosen you for what is to be my final gift... Knowing... that this day would come... I made contact with... the spirits of my closest... friends. They passed on their powers to me... so that I may, in turn, pass it onto you. I have chosen you girls, because in you I see hope for the new world. You all… shall be given… powers of the dragons.”
Balaur could not believe his ears – his daughters were to be granted power of the dragons? That was by far the greatest honour any human could ever be granted. “In you,” Dronor continued, “the power and legend of the dragons will never be forgotten.”
Dronor looked to the first girl, the youngest of the sisters, who looked the most nervous out of them. “Erowin,” Dronor croaked. “Innocent… and kind… The one who loves life… I grant to you… the power of the Forest Wyvern Arkana. You… can now be one with nature itself. May your generosity never wane.”
He turned next to the eldest, twelve years of age. She had a pout and seemed incredibly bored – the only one that didn’t seem the least bit sad for Dronor’s passing. “Zarracka…” Dronor continued. “Forceful… ambitious… yet cold and distant. Nevertheless, I know that there is good in you. I grant to you… the power of Frostella. Ice and cold are yours to command”.
“That’s it?” Zarracka moaned under her breath. “Stupid lizard.”
Balaur heard his daughters’ crass comments and whacked her on the back of the head. “Zarracka, show some respect!” he cried, astounded that she would have the audacity to say such a thing.
Thankfully, Dronor did not take offence to Zarracka’s petulance and moved onto the next daughter. Two years younger than Zarracka and by far the most beautiful of all the sisters – she would be admired by all men when she reached adulthood, Dronor had no doubt about that. “Rana… beautiful, bold and strong. I grant you the power of the Storm Drake Karana. You can now control wind and lightning. Use it wisely – for power like this must never be misused.”
Dronor turned to the last sister. Eight years old she was, but from birth, Dronor had seen that this girl was meant for great things. Of all the sisters, he had the most admiration for this one. Her determination and kind spirit almost reminded Dronor of himself in his younger years. If his lips could have allowed it, he would have smiled. “Daniar. Such fire and ambition, yet… you have also shown a caring and warm side. You always wanted to be like me... so I will grant you that wish. You have my power... of fire... I know… you will be the one that will bring peace to this world… one way or another.”
Daniar nodded. Much like her father, she was particularly saddened by Dronor’s predicament. She had grown up with the greatest of respect for dragons, especially Dronor.
“Dronor,” Balaur said, hoping that he was not interrupting Dronor. “For these gifts, we cannot thank you enough.”
“Think nothing of it,” Dronor breathed, “you have been my friend for so long – and I see your children as my own kin.” He stopped for a moment, having a sudden thought. “Yes... kin... of a dragon. So be it, I hereby name your daughters – the Dragonkin.”
With that, Dronor lifted up his mouth and exhaled a weak gust of air. His breath broke off into four pieces and changed colour - green, white, blue and red. The coloured air floated towards each of the sisters, bathing them. Dronor waited several seconds for the air to past and see if any of them suffered ill effects, which was always a worry for him. Nothing happened. Dronor was satisfied that his task was complete.
“It is done,” Dronor exclaimed. “Now… I pass onto the Afterworld… to meet with my brothers… and sisters – and my father.”
Balaur could hold his tears back no longer, they burst forth like leaks in a dam – though he kept his stature upright. He knew he had to be strong, for the rest of his people. “Then in honour of you, my friend – I hereby proclaim that, from this day forward, my family name shall be known as Dragonkin, as will my daughters.”
Dronor took one final breath. “Do not mourn me, People of Draconica. I have lived… a good life… I… I… I thank you all…”
And with that, Dronor’s eyes closed for the last time and his head dropped onto the ground, never to rise again.
Daniar buried her head into her father’s cloak, unable to hold back the tears. Balaur held his daughter close and stroked her hair.
A rumble shook the earth. The volcanoes of the Eye of Draconica began their annual eruption that lit up the sky with fire, signalling the beginning of the new Draconican year. But no one was in any mood to celebrate.
This marked the end of the Old Era – and the beginning of what would become the New Era by the people of Draconica. Dronor may have been gone, but his spirit would live on in the Dragonkin – who would indeed play a valuable role in the future of their world.
And it would all start, ten years later – on a small planet many years away, called Earth.