Long ago, before the days of the calamity, the Fields of Treynor were a lush and bountiful land. Legend claims that the gods Ialdir and Ellaria created the first man and woman there. Even the elves of old saw it as a sacred place where their goddess first set foot in the mortal world. Historians and artists have documented its beauty for generations. But very few recall the true name of Isin’s Scar, and fewer could imagine it as anything but a land of ash and death. Remnants from the calamity such as old armor and destroyed buildings were occasionally found; a grim reminder of a forgotten age. Monsters ranging from undead to great beasts of old wander the dark hellscape. It was one of these monsters that Raegon and company were out hunting, a vampyre.

Disgust for the undead was universal among humans. Even the ideologically opposed kingdoms of Xacren and Ebonhold found common ground in their efforts to destroy them. But of the many forms of undead, vampyres were some of the most feared. Their speed and strength was only matched by their intelligence and guile. Their ability to absorb the skills of those they fed on was most terrifying. Raegon knew that if a vampyre was strong enough to slay his mother, he would have to be extra vigilant. Two days into the scar and a heavy fog set in. The fog was less of a mist and more akin to smoke as every breath felt like inhaling sand. It was clearly the work of dark magic.

“We’re in its domain now,” Horacio muttered as he trembled in fear.

“Good, let it come,” said Raegon.

As they traversed through the fog, the other soldiers grew increasingly weary. Even Raegon found it difficult to steel his nerves. Something about the fog was sapping their courage, trying to weaken them before they had a chance to fight. The carriage came to a sudden halt as the horses neighed loudly. No matter how hard the driver ordered them, they refused to move. The fog grew thicker with each passing second as the soldiers drew their weapons. Something was coming. They waited for what seemed like hours, but all they heard was pure silence. Raegon and Horacio leaped out of the cart along with several mercenaries and began to investigate.

“Do you hear anything?” asked Raegon.

Horacio shook his head. “Nothing. Not even the wind.”

Suddenly, clawed hands reached out of the fog and pulled several mercenaries in. Agonizing screams of pain broke the silence, followed by the sound of tearing flesh and feral screeches. One of the creatures leaped out of the fog on all fours. Its bat-like face and bone-white skin were splattered with freshly drawn blood. It snarled at Horacio, who froze like a deer caught in a hunter’s sight as it bared its fangs. When the creature jumped at him, Raegon quickly interposed and swung his axe into its chest. The force sent the monster flying back and broke its brittle ribs. Before it could retaliate, he severed its head and watched as it dissolved into ash.

“Horacio! Snap out of it!” Reagon yelled.

His friend stared into the fog with a blank expression. Another monster jumped out and pounced onto him. This was enough to snap him out of his trance as he quickly skewered it in the head with his rapier, silencing it for good. Raegon quickly pulled his friend off the ground and delivered a harsh slap to his face.

“I need that, thank you,” said Horacio.

“What are these things?” asked Raegon.

“Vampyre spawn. Their master must be close.”

The fog began to clear, revealing a path leading to the ruins of a village. A horde of vampire spawn shrieked over a pile of freshly killed corpses. It didn’t take long for them to notice and charge at them. The other soldiers dismounted and readied to attack. Raegon and Horacio took point and led the counter charge. What followed was a series of bloody and violent exchanges. The horde seemed never-ending, but with Raegon’s strength and Horacio’s speed they cleaved through with ease.

As they approached the center of the village, Raegon felt a magical force akin to an invisible hand pull him away from his friend. Horacio tried to grab him only for his grip to slip. He flew several hundred feet away into a small isolated circle as the fog quickly surrounded him. The last thing Raegon saw was spawn leaping out of the fog and attacking Horacio. He desperately called out to him, but it was as if his words were stopped by the fog. When he tried to run back, he was pulled away by an invisible force. It wasn’t long before he felt the presence of something powerful behind him.

“Don’t worry, my spawn will make quick work of him,” said a cold voice.

Turning around, he saw a tall, slender woman with white hair and snow-white skin. She wore an archaic noble dress and held a black spear with a menacingly barbed tip. As she smiled, he noticed two sharp fangs lightly stained with blood. The most unnerving aspect of her was her bright green eyes that looked just like his mothers.

“You’re the vampyre lord, aren’t you?” he asked.

“Yes, you may call me Vahzala. Survivor of the calamity, heir to the Sunsworn estate, and ruler of Isin’s Scar,” she declared. “You must be Prince Raegon, is that right?”

Her arrogant tone was enough to get his blood boiling. There was no doubt that this was the monster that killed his mother. He readied himself into an offensive stance.

“Ah, her memories were correct. You are quick to anger,” she said.

“You don’t know anything about her!” he yelled.

She gave him a mocking laugh. “Oh, I know a fair bit more than you do. You can thank your mother for donating her blood to me the way she did. Charging in like a hero to save your worthless friend only to meet a pathetic end.”

“Shut up!” he growled, gripping his axe tighter.

“If you’d like, I could show you how I killed her.”

Raegon’s fury finally overwhelmed him as he furiously charged forward. He swung at her face only for her to swiftly step away and strike his arm with the blunt end of her spear. It spiked with pain, but he ignored it and swung at her chest. She partied with the shaft and pushed forward with inhuman strength that sent him stumbling back.

“I see your arm still hasn’t healed properly. You’re predictable as a result,” she said.

The fact that she knew about his arm made him wide-eyed with fear. If she knew about his arm, what else did she know about? He channeled his remaining anger into courage as he took a defensive stance. Vahzala took his mother’s stance with her spear and unleashed a flurry of stabs. Though he recognized the technique, it was far above anything his mother could do. He managed to block several stabs before the one nicked him in the shoulder and drew blood. The barbs on the spear stung like venom.

“Your mother’s blood was like drinking liquid fire. But her skills were certainly worth the pain,” Vahzala said, licking her lips.

Raegon unleashed his own flurry of attacks. Every attack he made was parried, every blow he dodged was followed by a faster one. The vampyre’s supernatural speed and stamina were impossible to keep up with. No matter how fast she attacked, she never seemed to slow down. Every blow he took broke off a piece of his armor or drew blood. His strength was waning, but his tenacity dulled the pain enough for him to continue. He feinted an overhead attack and followed with a sweep to the leg. His axe tore through the vampyre’s leg, spilling black blood onto the ground. A brief flash of anger filled the vampyre’s eyes as Vahzala aggressively slammed her spear into his arm. He felt old wounds tear open as he let out a painful yell of agony and dropped his weapon. She grabbed him by the chest and lifted him off the ground with one arm.

“Your mother’s memories were right. You’re nothing more than a boy pretending to be a man.”

Raegon clenched his fist and channeled his remaining strength to punch her in the jaw. Vahzala froze for a moment, let out a mocking laugh, and threw him forward. He skidded across the ground and landed headfirst into the wall of a crumbling house. A surge of sharp pain coursed through his entire body as his ears rang. His arm grew weaker as a large gash of blood appeared on his bicep. His vision grew blurry and dark. He failed to avenge his mother, he failed to protect Horacio, and he failed his sister. He was no match for this monster, he never was.

“Mother, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t good enough.”

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As he closed his eyes, ready to let Isin take him, a faint glow appeared in the distance. Behind the smoky fog and embedded on a small hill of ash was a golden spear. His mother’s spear. A ray of light broke through the dark clouds, illuminating it like a beacon. Vahzala approached him and leaned down to face him eye-to-eye.

“Poor child, about to die all alone,” she mocked. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep you good company. I always enjoy seeing the light leave someone’s eyes.”

He knew if he were to run now, she would kill him. There was no way he could fight her with his mother’s skills. But perhaps he didn’t have to.

“You saw the light leave my mother’s eyes?”

She gave him a surprised look before smiling. “Oh, yes I did. I saw them fade when I drained the blood from her body.”

“With your fangs?”

She bared her fangs proudly. “Yes, with these. I can still taste—”

Raegon forced his arm directly into her mouth and slammed it shut. The fangs sank in deep, causing him excruciating pain as he forced her to drink his blood. As she reeled from his deception, he made a dash for the spear. Adrenaline surged through his body and gave him a second wind. Vahzala sprinted after him with her weapon raised high. Upon grabbing the spear, he felt a sense of euphoria unlike anything he had ever experienced. As the vampyre thrust at him, he pulled the spear from the ground and swiftly deflected the attack. With her guard open, he stabbed her with his mother’s spear and watched as her blood sizzled on contact.

Vahzala’s noble and regal form were gone. Her eyes filled with wrath upon seeing her former prey now having the upper hand. "You little brat! You think that spear will save you?"

Raegon took his mother’s stance and attacked her. Although he had never practiced with a polearm, he held the weapon as if it were his own. Vahzala on the other hand could barely defend against his attacks. Her form matched his own, though it was clear she was not used to his fighting style. Each of his attacks drew more blood than the last. As she bled, her features became more bat-like and feral. Her ears sharpened to points, her teeth grew jagged, and her hands became claws.

“I will rip out your heart like I did your mother’s!” she screamed.

Unlike before, his mind was stoic and his spirit was steeled. The vampyre’s attacks became predictable and slow, he knew he could win. All he had to do was continue his attack. As he landed a solid stab in her side, she let out a disturbing cackle.

“You’re a disgrace! To your mother and your sister!”

He began to recite his family’s motto. After slicing her hands and disarming her, she began to lash with her claws and forced him on the defensive.

“I can smell your doubts! You’re weak!” she yelled.

He ignored her words and focused on his mantra. “Iron Hearts…”

“Your reign will be one of strife and misery! You will never live up to your ancestors!”

Time slowed down, letting him see an opening. “Iron Spirits…”

“YOU WILL NEVER BE A WORTHY KING!”

“IRON WILLS!”

With one final thrust, he pierced his mother’s spear directly through the vampyre’s heart. Her feral thrashing ceased immediately as her expression froze in awe. She looked down at the spear before looking at Raegon. Her eyes changed color from Raegon’s green to a dark brown.

“You made the wrong mistake to hurt my family,” Raegon growled as he thrust the spear deeper.

“You really are her son. Your eyes are the same…” she muttered.

One one final gasp, she slid off the spear and collapsed to the ground. Her skin rapidly withered into ash, leaving only a skeleton behind. His adrenaline quickly wore off and the pain returned tenfold. He collapsed to his knees as his arm went limp. He had finally accomplished his goal. The monster that killed his mother was finally gone, she was avenged. Yet despite this, he felt empty. All the pain and suffering he went through felt meaningless. As his wounds rapidly took his strength, the harrowing truth slapped him across the face. Killing the vampyre would not bring his mother back. It would not allow him another chance to say goodbye. She was gone forever. He was not an Ironborn, he was a failure.

Tears rolled down his cheeks. Though he tried to force them back, they came like a torrent that wouldn’t stop. He never wanted to appear weak, especially not in front of his sister or his friend. But in the desolate loneliness of the scar, there was nobody to judge him. He let out a deafening scream of agony, a mixture of anger and anguish. As the wounds on his body took away the last of his strength, he began to close his eyes. He could feel the presence of someone approaching him. He expected to see Isin carrying their scythe, ready to whisk his soul away. Only that didn’t happen. The presence was warm and gentle like a summer breeze. He felt a hand brush gently through his hair as a voice spoke; His mother’s voice.

“Raegon, am I glad to see how much you’ve grown.”

He forced open his eyes and saw a transparent golden figure before him. Through his blurred vision, he could still recognize his mother’s face and her eyes.

“You are an Ironborn, you always were. Now rise, your time has not come,” she said

When he blinked and looked up, she was gone. In her place was a golden trail of light leading him to the village. The wounds on his body were sealed and he felt his arm move once more. Using his mother’s spear as a support, he followed the light until he reached what appeared to be a ruined temple. When he entered, he saw a broken statue of the goddess Ellaria. Her brilliant wings and spear seemed to shine even in the darkness. At the foot of the statue laid his mother’s body. Her armor was badly damaged and her face was drained of color. Yet despite the wear to her body, she was completely at peace. From a certain angle, it appeared as if she was smiling. Raegon placed her spear beside her and pulled out the black envelope. With shaking hands, he opened the envelope and began to read:

Raegon,

If you are reading this, then I have perished in battle. I suspect you would’ve refused to open this until you avenged me by slaying whatever took my life. Should that be the case, know that I am very proud of you. There are many who would swear to avenge their loved ones, but few who are willing to see it done.

The last few weeks have given me time to reflect on my relationship with you. There were times in which I was too critical of your mistakes and too harsh in tone. I convinced myself that this would make you a stronger person. But there is no substitute for experience. The loss of my father at your age made me wish you wouldn’t suffer the same fate. But fate has little concern for our feelings.

You may feel lost, confused, or angry. While I wish I were there to guide you, know that I will never be truly gone unless you forget me. I have been called many things: The Iron Valkyrie, Queen of Ebonhold, and even some…less flattering things. But the proudest title I ever bore was mother. Of all my accomplishments, none could ever fill me with the pride I felt upon seeing you and your sister’s faces for the first time.

I have no last requests, but I wish for you to forge your own path as a king rather than live in the shadow of the queen before you. Know that I always believed in you, even if I was never able to say it properly. Take good care of your sister, and do listen to her from time to time. I love you, now and forevermore.

Your mother,

Telecia Ironborn

Raegon held the letter close after he finished reading. A single tear fell down his face as he bowed his head in prayer before the statue. Despite never praying before in his life, it was all too natural. “Ellaria, mother of mankind, honor my mother’s soul and let her find eternal peace. Ialdir, father of mankind, protect us from those who would disgrace her memory. Isin, god of death, guide her gently to the next life.”

As he finished he heard footsteps approach from behind. He turned to see none other than Horacio, battered and bloodied. Cradled in his arms was a small boy no older than ten. He breathed a sigh of relief and walked up to him.

“Thank the gods you’re alive,” said Horacio.

“I’m glad you are too,” Reagon replied. “I tried to help you but that monster pulled me away.”

“It’s alright, as long as she’s dead,” Horacio muttered before turning his attention to the boy. “I found him hiding in a house. One of the spawn tried to hurt him and…they’re dead now.”

Raegon took a good look at the child. His appearance was unassuming save for a thin black scar across his throat. The boy clung to his protector’s shoulder, refusing to look at anyone as he stifled a cry. “Has he said anything about his parents? His name?” asked Raegon.

Horacio shook his head. “I don’t think he can speak. Probably has something to do with that scar of his. But I can’t leave him here, I’m going to take him home.”

“Back to Timberwood?! What will your father say?”

“I’m sure my father will understand when I tell him. As soon as we hit the crossroads, I’m heading straight home. All this time away has made me miss it dearly.”

“You mean you’re not coming back to the castle?” asked Raegon. He felt his heart sink with disappointment. “What about Aleria? What about the locket you asked her to return?”

“Tell her that I’m safe, and I’ll remain safe as long as I stay back home,” he explained with a frustrated tone. “As for the locket, I think she already knows what I meant.”

Raegon sighed. “Just try and visit once in a while, will you? The last thing I’d want is for you to upset my sister.”

“You and me both.”

The two shared a weak laugh. It was nice to know that even in the bleakest of times, their friendship stood strong. “If he doesn’t have a name, what are you going to call him?”

“I was thinking Cecil. That’s a fine name for a boy, isn’t it?” said Horacio.

“More than fine,” he replied. “Let’s bring the body back to the cart and say goodbye to this horrid place.”

Raegon grabbed his mother’s body and walked out of the temple. The remaining soldiers, seeing the body of the queen, took off their helmets and bowed their heads in solemn respect. Raegon placed her in a cart lined with blankets and draped one over her face. He felt a massive weight being lifted off his chest. His mother was coming home, and there she would be properly laid to rest. As everyone gathered around her body, Raegon recited his family motto. The soldiers repeated them even louder and prouder than ever:

“IRON HEARTS, IRON SPIRITS, IRON WILLS”