Eighteen years ago.

The little boy ran, ran, he could not stop, he must not stop, doubt meant death, delay was disaster, failure, tragedy. He wanted to cry, give up, and scream curses to the four winds, but he could not, he had to run, ask the soldiers for help.

The city of Cormin was not so large, it had a wall and a castle, the lord of the city did not have such great treasures, it was not prepared for the attack of a dragon, much less one like that. It had fallen in the middle of the night from a sky less black than its fire, or its heart.

The boy felt the heat of the flames on his back like his father's blacksmith's furnace, no matter how far he ran from the city, the heat did not diminish. Sometimes he seemed to see an intense light that reached him and illuminated the path. But he did not look back. The dragon slayers' camp would be a few hours' march away, perhaps they were even on their way, surely they could see...

"There's no point in running"

The sound of hooves against the stone road and the clinking of armor gave him hope, exhausted, he stood waiting to see a battalion of brave soldiers charging towards the city.

The sound came from behind.

The dragon slayers had been in the city from the beginning, of course, why else would they camp so close? Now they ran in retreat, defeated and frightened, they passed by his side without barely looking at him, like one more of the cobblestones on the road.

He looked back, there was nothing left to fight for anyway, the huge dragon had not left stone upon stone in the city, only a flaming wasteland that very slowly gave way to the darkness of the night. And in the center of the destruction, like an iridescent mountain, the dragon king contemplated his work.

No tears came out, the lump in his throat did not let him scream, he fell to his knees finally surrendered, without taking his eyes off the horrible scene. He was only seven years old. Just enough to understand, albeit late, that they had not sent him to seek help, but they had tricked him into fleeing, of course neither his father, nor his brother, nor any of the many brave men of the city could even distract the monster. They had all been burned so that he could escape.

He woke up in an old and dusty cot, smelling of sweat and horse manure, the sun peeked through the entrance of a poorly closed and worse installed tent. His legs hurt, he felt dizzy, his eyes burned, but he was alive.

A man in armor peeked through the entrance, seeing him standing, he called his captain. In an instant, a tall man in light armor entered with the helmet under his arm.

—Boy —He said— The goddess has protected you, you survived the Dragon King, many of us did not, unfortunately.

—I... —the boy was still confused, the pain and dizziness prevented him from thinking— others? —He asked with a voice as hollow as the hope he harbored, barely a thread of voice.

—I'm sorry kid, we've been looking for survivors for almost three days, I don't know why, but that monster wanted Cormin reduced to ashes, if his majesty hadn't scared it away maybe it would have destroyed all the nearby towns.

Three days... he had slept...

—Please... if I could have...

—Oh, that's right, Sergeant! bring some bread and water. The boy must be famished.

A few minutes passed in which the captain asked him a few kind but definitely clumsy questions. How did he feel? Like a damn giant dragon had just destroyed everything he knew and had gone three days without eating. But he still hadn't been able to cry, maybe he was too weak...

The man who entered with the bread and water was definitely not the same one who had left, this one wore an imposing armor of mythrill and his skin was a dark bronze tone that contrasted with his light, almost white hair, the other soldiers greeted him but he indicated them to return to their own. Although the boy had never seen him, he knew immediately, it was King Alistor of Artemia. The elf king who was said to have killed a red dragon by himself. Master of the sword and fearsome sorcerer. Why would he be the one to bring him food and water?

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—Son, I truly am ashamed to come to you with this humble stash. —The king gave the food to the boy, who ate almost without looking at him— We have... no, I have failed you as a king, as a soldier, and as a man for not having been able to protect your city, we knew a dragon would come, and we prepared, we still don't know what it was looking for but... it doesn't matter, we didn't imagine the power of that beast and it defeated us all. I myself am alive thanks to my daughter. I cannot compensate you for such a great loss, your loved ones and the life you had will never return.

The young boy looked at the king with empty eyes, but completely dry.

—I want to give your life a purpose. See that you have a place among my men, perhaps as a stable boy you can earn a living and be a knight someday. If you achieve it, I will put these lands in your name, besides —he took out from his clothes a gold coin, a very different one from those that circulated among the merchants, although the little one had only seen them from afar, he put it in his hand and closed his fingers around it— If we meet again, return it to me and I will give you whatever you ask for, but don't do it until you are older and know exactly what you want.

—Your Majesty... I am the son of a blacksmith, from Harteren of Cormin. I would like to serve your dragon slayers by taking care of their weapons. If you allow me.

He was too small even for a stable boy or water carrier, but if there was nothing else in his eyes, an overwhelming determination could still be seen. So the king nodded looking at the captain who witnessed everything without knowing what to say.

—And your majesty, I thank you for my life.

The king turned his head ashamed of himself and left the tent without saying anything else. A thousand years of life and learning, and a boy of seven years at most had just taught him something he would never forget.

Today.

The castle of Artemia was filled with activity as the chosen date approached. Runa ran all over the city giving so many orders that one might think she was already the queen. For Frey, it was a harbinger of what his role could be if that happened. His role in planning the wedding had been limited to approving a few things, small concessions offered by his fiancée. Of course, he also had to take care of Eri. The little girl had not been interested at all in accompanying her mother choosing flowers or dresses, instead she constantly got lost every time the princess concentrated on some detail, so as disappointing as it was, Eri was a daddy's girl.

While Runa spent all her time in the company of Queen Eyren turning the kingdom upside down, Freydelhart, relieved of command until the wedding, spent his time training, Eri watched him move the sword from side to side, change his weight and his pose, fighting an imaginary enemy one step at a time. Eri had seen dances at that party but this was different, it made her dad look strong and controlled, his eyes looked at a point no matter how he moved.

Minutes later, Freydelhart glanced to his left out of the corner of his eye, without stopping his kata, Eri had gotten hold of a training sword, short, in her hands it was the same size as dad's greatsword. Eri was strong, the sword did not weigh her down but she moved clumsily imitating him, sometimes she moved too fast, sometimes her arcs were too wide. But little by little she was doing better. Runa was going to be furious, but Frey didn't stop.

That afternoon, Frey visited the castle's blacksmith shop, and began a task that would take weeks, but he started with a gold coin, unique in its kind, a treasure from his childhood.

—Anyway —He said to himself as he melted it— What could I ask the king if he has already given me his greatest treasure, and I already have mine?

He shaped it, remembering how his father did it. The memory was distant, but it had brought him back time and again during his early years in the dragon slayers' army. By evening, the blade of a steel dagger veined with golden lines was almost ready; there was still work to be done, but he was confident he could finish it before Eri's naming ceremony.

Years ago, he had made a gift for Runa. He was already prepared for their wedding. The kings were right. He had to do it now. He had insisted on waiting until the war with the dragons was over. But perhaps he wouldn't live to see that day, for many reasons.

He returned to the courtyard, sweaty and covered in soot. Runasthera was truly furious. Eri had been left in the care of her grandfather and King Bestolf, who had allowed her to continue playing with training swords.

—Orc head! Brainless troll! Who in their right mind teaches a five-year-old girl to play with swords?

—Runa, my daughter, don't be angry with Frey. King Bestolf and I...

—Don't defend him —she said with authority— Frey, I caught her imitating your unicorn stance. And you were probably in the forge, just look at yourself. If you give a sword to Eri...

She looked into his eyes. Those eyes that, even in the worst moments, showed a determination comparable to the monstrous size and power of the dragon king.

—I'm sorry, Runa. I won't deny it. I was proud of my little one. I promise that what I plan to give her will be harmless.

—I love hearing you say that. I think I'm just jealous that she always follows you everywhere.

—You don't have to be. When it's time to sleep, she always seeks you out...

—I told you, Bestolf —interrupted King Alistor— they're very irritating parents.

—Ha! I wish mine had been like that. And you can't imagine, when Erina was that age, we once...

The sky darkened.