The Dragonborn Romane & Geschichten

“The innkeeper recommended this guide. He knows Cinderbloom better than anyone.” The old man bowed slightly, but his gaze immediately slid past my shoulder toward Lulu, who was holding the baby near the bed. “Welcome to the city of fire, gentlemen,” the man rasped, his voice like grinding stone. “I’m your guide. They call me Dren.” I stiffened. Dragons were legends here. They were the ancient guardians who built this city thousands of years ago and their existence now was incredibly rare. Dren was one of them. The old man narrowed his eyes, staring at Lulu with unusual intensity. A flicker of recognition flashed in them.

During my time, however, I catch bits of information that pique my interest. While the Dragon King is the ruler of this land, there isn’t much known about him, or the Royal Family. I learned many things this eventing as I dusted cornices atop wobbling ladders. His name, Zarek Nightflame, rests heavily on my mind. No matter how much I try to ignore it, I find myself speaking it in silence, just to see how it feels on my tongue.

Dojo reeked slaughter, copper-thick, tatami slick crimson pools, our chests heaving thunder-sync, indigo hakamas spattered gore. "You fight like you're born to it," he growled, scarred jaw inches, porcelain fingers banding my wrist pull-close, obsidian devouring mahogany flush. Blood smeared his cheek war-paint, dragon tattoo pulsing throat wild. No fear in his stillness—predator sated, but gaze burned deeper hunger.

Then suddenly, a blast of horn cut through the crowd, instantly silencing the noise. "All rise for His Supreme Majesty, King Xerxes and Her Majesty, Queen Valera!" Everyone immediately rose to their feet and bowed. I looked up, trying to catch a glimpse of the man who had sired the Commander. He looked nothing like Draven. They shared no resemblance whatsoever. King Xerxes was undeniably a good looking man, possessing the sharp bone structure common among high ranking dragons. Despite being centuries old, he still looked impossibly young like he was barely fifty.

A water serpent would become a dragon if it caught the dragons pearl falling from heaven. If he would clutch an orb known as dragon pearl, which is said to grant it's bearer omnipotence. Only a dragon with four claws could possess an orb and lesser three-clawed dragons lacked the opposable thumb to hold onto it. If only he could get it he would have the ability to create things, making him a higher creature compared to Fox and wolves who were considered lesser entities.

New changes needed to be made and maybe this could one of them. Drake knew this new change, mixing the wolves and dragons, was dangerous. They both knew, but to live apart? It was too much. The new pack house would house both dragons and wolves with their bedroom on the upper floor. They would have to be careful of conflicts later on. Dragons and wolves had rival tempers.

She pushed the plate out the door, then made her way back over to her bed, where she picked up the book again. Catori skipped random pages until she saw the words, Desolation. (The land of BorrowsHood, later called Desolation, was where Nightwing settled, becoming the only dragon of his kind to have no family or battalion. Thriving off the land, sea and his brute strength, and living in a cave. Until over twenty dragons joined him, once again making him their king. They build the small area together, and expanding the land where they could. The males hunt, while the females of the small clan would take care of their children. Along with the baby, Nightwing tried to hide, and refuse to say wh

They were arrogant and cocky towards her kind. "Reading too many fairy tales?" Drogo snorts. "We are dwindling in number. We have merged together. We aren't exactly picky about which jobs to take. Besides, Paiste isn't known for his peacekeeping ways." Selene eyes Drogo. "Who?" "Do you not know your history?" Drogo questions. "Paiste, the dragon that brought destruction to Celtic villages for vengeance? He is a fire dragon and has quite a temper. He rules our small hive and has quite a vendetta against wolves and vampires. Your witch handed him the perfect revenge on a silver platter-no puns intended." Drogo smiles at his joke.

Where do I even start? "I'm not just a werewolf," I begin. "I'm Dragonborn. Hybrid of dragon and wolf, born in an age when dragons ruled the skies and magic flowed like water. That was 1,200 years ago, before humans even knew our kind existed." "Impossible," Neon says. "Nothing lives that long." "Dragons do. And those bonded to them." I pat Silverclaw's scales affectionately. "When a dragon chooses a mate, their bond extends life far beyond normal limits. Silverclaw chose me when I was barely twenty. I've been alive ever since."

“Maybe that really is my destiny.” Before anyone could respond, the ground at the edge of the valley shook violently. From the north, a massive surge of energy shot forward, cold and sharp like iron. Black smoke formed a vortex, and from within it emerged a tall figure with a body half human, half dragon. His skin was covered in black scales, and his eyes gleamed with deep violet light. Lucen Dorne. He walked casually through the air, each step sending ripples of energy like shards of glass. “You’re too late, Rayden,” he said in a hoarse but deep voice. “The true Saint Dragon has been born and is waiting for you in the Seventh Heaven.”