Prologue

The Eastern continent of Racrodii was shattered, as it had been for many centuries beforehand. In the world of Ryudaea, it was often referred to as the lowest of the three lands. Gaea’s elves in the West were reclusive, but their culture had been thriving for as long as anyone could remember. Though it was uncommon to see them venture outside of the continent they called home, they had also never truly made enemies of the other two. The humans of Renn lived in relative peace now as well, though there had been a time in the early centuries when unrest had produced civil war. But with the dark times behind them now, Renn’s world had become brighter. It welcomed citizens of both Gaea and Racrodii into its borders, and unlike either of the other two continents, the entire landmass was considered a single, unified country. 

In the case of Gaea, the separate countries within simply considered themselves to be allies. They convened once a year, maintained trade as necessary and went about their business outside of that. For Racrodii, though, the lack of a unified government was much less peaceful. It was a continent of war, one that had seen multiple names for just about every country within its borders. The only outstanding exception to this rule was Grai, a country at the Southern end of the continent that spanned all the way from the border of Renn to the coastline at the East. Grai was not a wealthy country, but its state was a far cry from the warring shores of Delss or the cursed ice of Bidun in the North. Grai was hot, but its soil was rich, and it saw rain far more often than the inland portions of the continent. All it had really needed was a true leader to maintain the country, and at present, most of its citizens would agree they’d found one.

Canetis, or as many referred to him, Lord Canetis the Brown, had risen to power in the early tenth century. Though he’d been born an orc, a ritual performed on him at the age of 30 had bestowed upon him power far beyond what he’d known before: The power of a drake. He was a full drake, though smaller than most like him. He now stood at a height of nearly 250 centimeters, whereas before he’d merely been 186. It was a marvel that he’d gone through the ritual without losing his sanity, as most drakes did, and if those who’d performed it had their way, they’d have replicated their process many times over after their success with Canetis. If they could succeed on a slave, then of course they could grant themselves that draconic power too. Canetis had made short work of them to ensure they never would.

Despite his lack of fondness for the way he received them, the powers served him well. He aged much more slowly, and had physical strength far surpassing any orc. Upon unlocking his magical alignment, hellfire, he learned that he could use it through his breath, much like Bahamut the White had at the world’s dawn. He was not arrogant enough to believe himself a true dragon, nor was he timid enough to belittle the strength he had. Canetis’ 30 years of slavery had tought him many lessons, humility among them, but survival and comradery above all others. For a decade Canetis waged his own personal war on the slave trade of Racrodii, and at the end of that path, the people of Grai would have no other for their Lord. 

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

Canetis was a just ruler, and upon hearing of his actions, even the royalty of Renn extended communication to Grai’s borders. The Rennan king, Amhar Pendragon, became a dear friend of Canetis, whose political advice and kindness would guide the drake through many long years of struggle and unrest. Even the king’s royal guard, the Drakma and Muriisi, would often visit Grai to see Canetis. The clans would aid him if ever he required it, but if not, they would still provide a detailed report to the king on the status of his friend. It brought Canetis joy to drink a round or two with Trina Drakma, a woman with a legendary fire in her soul, or to receive a book from Cole Muriisi as a present one summer’s day. Canetis often gave them arrangements from the local florist, Cyril Rust, to repay them for the companionship they provided. Though he’d had friends among his fellow slaves in his formative years, for the first time in his life, Canetis felt that his company was right, his life finally balanced.

It all started when Cyril got sick. Within weeks, the man had lost the ability to leave his home, and though Canetis had personally ordered the best medical care available to treat him, it was all for nought. Healing magic couldn’t cure viruses. Cyril lived for 9 days after being well and truly bedridden, and in his sleep one night, his dying heart beat for the last time. Canetis grieved, as anyone would. His wife, an orc woman named Faeha, saw him grow distant as the months crawled on, which didn’t help the growing arrogance of his son. Then, one fateful evening, at the setting of the white sun in the sky that had once been the dragon Bahamut, Canetis received news that the Pendragon line, their royal guard with them, had been overthrown. 

Canetis did not leave his home for 4 days following the message. After a while, he allowed himself to come back out for an hour or so at a time, and the needs of his country outweighed the importance of his mourning, but a part of him felt that it had died with his fallen companions. The only known survivor, as he’d come to learn, was the daughter of king Amhar, Cara Pendragon. Canetis offered his home to her if she would ever need it, but she had already retreated to the remote portion of Gaea that had loved Amhar as well, a country called Ailei in the West. Eventually, the drake did mend his broken heart enough to carry on and lead his people, but Canetis never again received messages from the Rennan king. In truth, he didn’t even know the new one’s name.