Ep 16. Confessions of the Historian: A Legacy Returned
Dragonlord Vulka. The latest son of the first dragonlord, and the only dragonkin who would take the mantle to continue the kin’s survival after inheriting the former lord’s position.
In a withering world ruled by mankind, the dragon would stand alone in a star of malice. No brethren would save his cause. No ally would support his hardships. No, we would but chip away at his kin, piece by piece.
We’ve sworn the dragonkin’s survival. But how that survival looked, was up to us to decide.
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A hatchling’s cold body dropped before the dragonlord’s feet. Her head was missing, her body covered in burns and cuts.
“…Why? Why continue this madness, Felicir? We’ve surrendered long ago. The kin that harmed your kind has long perished!”
“You ask the oddest questions, dragonlord. The girl was spotted much too close to a village. And…”
The winged figure descended with a crooked smile, looking down on the dragon.
“The strong do as they please with the weak. There is no reason to be found in this principle.”
Vulka gritted his teeth, his tightened fists trembling in anger.
Wings that mocked the legacies of demonkind.
Arrogance that belittled the authorities of a dragonlord.
If he could do as he pleased, he would’ve ripped the human before him into a million shreds. But…
“What’s the matter? Go ahead. Kill me as you’d like. So we can burn the rest of your kin, and you along with it.”
“…Your efforts are in vain. I will do no such thing.”
“Hah. Will you now? How long will you continue to sit idly, watching your kin subjected to unreasonable torment?”
The individual’s hypocrisy choked the dragonlord better than any noose. To listen to their tormentor say such things, but still be unable to act, tortured him more than anything else.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
‘We will endure. No matter the cost.’
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“Lord Vulka…you can’t be serious!”
“I’ve already made my decision.”
“There’s not even a hundred of us left anymore. We do not grow in numbers as humans do, you know this better than any of us! If we continue like this, the kin will…”
“Perish.”
“…”
“And that is why I must do this.”
“Lord Vulka…we’re no longer the hatchlings you think us to be. The kin can fight, you need but allow us! Please, reconsider!”
“And allow our history to repeat?”
“…Repeat?”
“A long time has passed, but I remember it like the last moon. My mother, too, challenged the divine together with the kin. Countless demonkin joined the conflict, and I was left behind to care for the young that remained.”
“…”
“None of them returned. None.”
“My lord, I…”
“The divine’s grasp on our throats has only grown tighter. We cannot allow history to repeat itself.”
“Then what of the dead children? What of the countless hatchlings that never saw the day of light, only because the divine deemed us descendants of sinners? Your death will solve nothing. They will continue to pit the children to their doom. If we at least resist before it’s too late, we may yet survive.”
“…You are wrong on one point. The reason they discriminate us is not because we are descendants of those who challenged their authority. No, it is because we are their descendants that they cannot kill us completely, for the demonkin’s legacy binds them against doing so.”
“Then…?”
“It is because of the heart that yet beats within this body. The heart of the first dragonlord – of my mother. They cannot condone its existence, for it is the last remaining threat that can yet bring down the divine. If we but rid ourselves of it, the deities will leave us be.”
“…Lord Vulka, the heart was our only legacy. You said so yourself!”
“I did. But a legacy that harms the kin is a legacy better left forgotten.”
“…”
“We must not seek vengeance. The dragonkin…they must all come to see me, and the heart within me, in scorn and contempt. So that the old brood’s will is never remembered…that their deaths are never mourned or honored.”
“But Lord Vulka, you are still…our lord. Even after your passing, there is none who could replace you as our king.”
“No. From this moment forth, I am not your lord. From this moment forth…the dragonkin will never again remember that they had a lord. Neither their first, nor their second. I am but a tyrant who sought to rule the dragonkin with powers beyond my control.”
“…Vulka!”
“I leave the heart in your capable hands. When death greets me…hide the heart, in a place where the kin will never find. So that no misfortune befalls our children again. So that no kin suffers for our legacy again. That is my last request to you.”
It was a request. No speech subjected the dragon to do as their lord wished, nor was it an order that one had to dutifully carry out.
It was the wish of their eldest, of the kindred dragon that had raised the current kin.
“…As you wish...elder.”
After the dragonlord’s death, his corpse was placed in the deepest pits of the dragonkin’s home. The heart, however, was never gouged out of his body. His corpse was frozen to forever remain in place within the homes of the dragonkin, the heart protected by the numerous devices that were meant to deter the kin from reaching it.
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It was a grave, but it could never be mourned as such. He was to be remembered as a tyrant, the grave to be a seal. If it could deter the future kin from going near the first lord’s heart, then the means would justify the ends. The second lord would gladly accept his dishonor if it meant the kin’s survival.
But perhaps, in the distant future, if there eventually came a curious future kin, equipped with both will and aptitude necessary to realize what lied within these pits…then surely, they’d lead the dragonkin back to its former glory.
Or so the dragon believed.