Ran'esven has only the faintest memories of his life before the Empty. He was a cub then, and this new adult body moves even more ungainly and awkward than when he was new-hatched.

He scents fear, very close, and turns. Two veyals, standing on their two scrawny legs and holding their funny sticks that glow. They look so much smaller than he remembered, the last thing before the Empty; then they loomed huge and terrifying. Now... hunger gnaws at Ran'esven's stomach, instead of fearful the veyals look delicious, rich in essence and waiting to be devoured.

The Empty quietly nudges his mind to relax, but his instincts are stronger.

Ran'esven pounces, powerful forejaws tearing into the throat of the first before it has time to speak or activate its stick. His shardmouths dive into the opening, seeking the hearty essence core within.

The second veyal shouts and fires its weapon, a feeble essence attack that sheds right off Ran'esven's thick scales.

He turns a snarling visage upon the attacker, but remains crouched over his kill for now, letting his shardmouths finish. Essence cores dissolved fast if not eaten fresh. There will be plenty of time.

Then the veyal is speaking, softly and comfortingly, hands held out as it backs away. The Empty stirs again within Ran'esven's soul, whispering that the veyal is no threat, that it is a friend, that it should be obeyed.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

But the Empty has no teeth. Its grip on Ran'esven has been broken, and he ignores its desires with ease. He is elprimus! Young and hollowed out, perhaps, but that is not enough to dull his pride so much as to accept subservience.

Not ever again.

Essence snakes up his shardmouths' tendrils, feeding pure power straight into his skull, and he lets out a roar of satisfaction.

The veyal turns and flees, screaming something into a glinting crystal in its hand. Ran'esven is faster. His legs hurl him forward, faster than even he is prepared for, and he stumbles into the side of a building. The veyal is left behind him, still shouting and screaming. It fires its weapon at him again, but its aim is bad and the bolt ignites the wall beside him instead.

Ran'esven whirls, still getting used to his adult body, but instincts are overriding his old memories fast.

This time, he does not stumble.

And when he is done, he raises his head to the sky and howls his victory, the sound vibrating through the ground and echoing to the moon, and his tendrils stretch out to listen for any echo of a reply.

The sound comes; a roar of anger, a call of welcome, a cry of longing. The voices are unfamiliar, but resonate straight to Ran'esven's core.

They are his people. That is enough.

He runs, leaving the terrible realm of the veyals behind, and as the first scent of the forest reaches him the Empty finally flees. Thoughts, sensations, and instincts flood into his mind, beginning to fill in the hollow spaces lost in the unknown years.

Again he calls to the forest, and swiftly his people answer, guiding him through safe paths toward their ancient home.

He is Ran'esven, elprimus of the seventh moon horde, and it is time for his life to finally begin.

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