Tears Of The Last Dragon

The sky over Aethervale-South had been swallowed by a four-day darkness, a shroud so thick it choked the sun’s light and left the village of Eldwood trembling. The air hung heavy with the scent of ash and fear, carried on winds that howled like the dying breaths of the earth itself. For four days, the people had huddled in their homes, their archery skills useless against an enemy they couldn’t see until it was too late. The VOID had returned.

It loomed on the horizon, a colossal shape that defied the night—a gorilla-like monstrosity with limbs thicker than ancient oaks, its fur a void-black that seemed to drink the light around it. Its roars shook the ground, each sound a jagged wound in the air, spawning rifts that tore open like festering sores. From these rifts spilled the Vocans, lightning-fast creatures with the same gorilla-like build but smaller, their claws glinting like steel as they darted through the shadows. They moved too quickly for the eye to track, a blur of death that left villagers screaming as homes burned.

In the center of Eldwood, a young archer named Elite stood tall, his bow trembling in his hands. His dark hair was matted with sweat, and his green eyes scanned the darkness with a mix of defiance and dread. He was a dragon-tamer, one of the few chosen to work alongside the last dragon, a creature whose fire had kept the VOID at bay for a century since Brave Leo’s fall. Elite’s leather armor bore the scorch marks of past battles, a testament to his courage, but tonight, that courage wavered. The Vocans were faster than ever, their numbers swelling with each rift.

“Hold the line!” Elite shouted, his voice cracking as he nocked an arrow. Around him, a dozen archers from Aethervale-South drew their bows, their arrows tipped with dragonfire resin—a gift from the last dragon itself. The resin glowed faintly, a desperate hope against the encroaching terror. But hope was a fragile thing, and the Vocans were relentless. One darted forward, its claws slashing through the air, and an archer fell, his scream cut short as blood sprayed across the dirt.

Elite loosed his arrow, the dragonfire tracing a brilliant arc through the darkness. It struck a Vocan square in the chest, and the creature erupted in flames, its high-pitched shriek echoing as it collapsed. But for every one he felled, two more emerged from the rifts, their speed outpacing the archers’ aim. The VOID’s roar grew louder, a sound that pressed against Elite’s chest like a physical weight, and he stumbled, his bow slipping in his grasp.

Above the chaos, a shadow wheeled through the sky—a massive form with scales that shimmered like molten gold even in the darkness. The last dragon, its wings beating with a thunderous rhythm, descended toward Eldwood. Its eyes, ancient and weary, glowed with a fierce light, and its jaws opened to unleash a torrent of fire. The flames swept across the village outskirts, engulfing Vocans in a blaze that lit the night for a fleeting moment. The creatures screeched and scattered, their speed no match for the dragon’s wrath, but Elite saw the truth in the fire’s dimming glow. The dragon’s breath was weaker than it had been a decade ago, its strength fading with each battle. A fated death loomed, whispered in the old tales, and tonight, it felt closer than ever.

“Elite!” a voice called, pulling him from his thoughts. It was Mara, a mystic from Dracolys-East, her robes stained with soot as she ran toward him. Her hands glowed with a faint spellblade light, a small comfort against the Vocans. “The child is coming! We need you at the birthing hut!”

Elite’s heart sank. He knew of the prophecy—the child born under the four-day darkness, tied to the last dragon’s Tears and Brave Leo’s reincarnation. The mother, a woman named Liora, had been in labor for hours, her cries mingling with the village’s screams. The mystics had gathered around her, chanting prayers to Devol, the ancient creator of the Forbidden Garden, but the Vocans’ attacks had driven them inside. Elite nodded, slinging his bow over his shoulder, and followed Mara through the burning streets.

The birthing hut was a small structure at the village’s edge, its walls reinforced with dragonwood. Inside, Liora lay on a pallet, her face pale and slick with sweat. Her dark hair clung to her forehead, and her breaths came in ragged gasps. Two mystics knelt beside her, their hands pressed to her belly, channeling magic to ease the birth. The air was thick with the scent of herbs and blood, and the distant roars of the VOID shook the walls.

“She’s strong,” one mystic said, her voice trembling. “But the child… it fights to be born.”

Elite knelt beside Liora, taking her hand. “Hold on,” he whispered. “The dragon’s here. We’ll protect you.”

Liora’s eyes fluttered open, meeting his. “The dragon… it’s dying,” she rasped, her voice barely audible over the chaos outside. “I feel it. And the child… he’s tied to it.”

Before Elite could respond, a Vocan’s shadow flashed past the window, its claws scraping the wood. The hut shook, and a rift tore open just outside, spilling three more Vocans into the night. Their speed was terrifying, a blur of motion as they leapt toward the hut. Elite drew his bow, firing through the window, but the dragonfire arrow missed as the creatures dodged with unnatural agility. One Vocan crashed through the wall, its claws slashing toward Liora.

Elite threw himself forward, his body a shield between the beast and the mother. The Vocan’s claws raked his arm, drawing a deep gash that sprayed blood across the floor. He grunted, shoving the creature back with his bow, and Mara stepped in, her spellblade flaring as she drove it into the Vocan’s side. The beast shrieked and collapsed, but two more pressed forward, their eyes glinting with malice.

The last dragon’s roar split the air, a sound of rage and sorrow that shook the hut’s foundations. Its fire poured through the broken wall, engulfing the remaining Vocans in a blaze that left only ash. The heat washed over Elite, searing his wounds, but he held his ground, his vision blurring from pain and blood loss. The dragon’s head appeared in the window, its golden eyes locking with his, and for a moment, Elite felt a surge of strength—not his own, but the dragon’s, channeled through their bond.

“Protect the child,” the dragon’s voice rumbled in his mind, a telepathic whisper that carried the weight of centuries. “He is the last hope.”

Liora screamed, her body arching as the child emerged, guided by the mystics’ trembling hands. A boy, his skin marked with a tortoise-shell pattern, his eyes already open and glowing with a faint lightning light. Ten, they would call him, a name whispered by the dragon itself. But the joy of his birth was drowned by Elite’s collapse, his body slumping to the floor as blood pooled beneath him. The Vocan’s claws had struck true, and his life faded with the dragon’s weakening fire.

Outside, the VOID’s roar grew louder, its rifts multiplying across Aethervale-South. The last dragon lifted into the sky, its wings beating heavily, and its fire lashed out again, driving back the Vocans. But the flames flickered, a dim echo of their former glory, and the dragon’s flight was labored. Liora, clutching Ten to her chest, wept as the mystics tended to her wounds. The child’s lightning eyes stared up at the dragon, a connection forming that neither understood.

Mara knelt beside Elite, her hands glowing as she tried to heal him, but the damage was too great. “He gave his life for you,” she whispered to Liora. “The dragon chose him for this.”

Liora nodded, her tears falling onto Ten’s face. “Then we’ll honor him,” she said, her voice steady despite the pain. “This child will carry the dragon’s legacy.”

The hut fell silent, save for the crackling of the dragon’s distant fire and the VOID’s relentless roars. The four-day darkness pressed closer, and the village of Eldwood lay in ruins, its archers scattered or dead. The last dragon circled above, its golden scales dulled by exhaustion, and the prophecy weighed heavily on the air. Ten, the child of darkness, was born into a world on the edge of collapse, his fate tied to a dragon doomed to die.

As the night deepened, a new rift opened directly above the birthing hut, its edges pulsing with the VOID’s black energy. Vocans poured forth, their speed a deadly dance, and the dragon’s fire struggled to hold them back. Liora clutched Ten tighter, her heart pounding as the mystics prepared a final spell. The battle for Aethervale-South had only begun, and the child at it

s center was both its hope and its curse.