Chapter 2: Chapter 2: The Dragonheart
Draven ventured deeper into the forest, each step carrying him farther from the village and closer to the unknown. The trees grew taller, their twisted branches interlocking above him, creating a canopy so thick that only slivers of sunlight penetrated. The air was cool and damp, filled with the earthy scent of moss and fallen leaves. Yet, despite the eerie stillness, Draven felt an inexplicable sense of belonging here, as if the forest was welcoming him into its ancient embrace.
His mind churned with the events of the previous night. The power he had felt in the tavern, the way it had surged through him like a living thing—it was unlike anything he had ever experienced. He knew it wasn't a fluke. Something inside him had awakened, something primal and powerful. And he had to understand it, to find the source of that power.
Draven paused by a small stream, the water bubbling over smooth stones. He knelt and splashed his face with the cool water, hoping to clear his thoughts. But the unease remained, gnawing at him. The villagers' stares, their whispers… They were afraid of him, and perhaps they had reason to be. He didn't know what he was capable of, and that uncertainty terrified him more than he cared to admit.
As he stood, wiping his face on his sleeve, a flash of movement caught his eye. He turned quickly, scanning the dense undergrowth. At first, he saw nothing—just the shadows of the forest, shifting with the breeze. But then, there it was again, a glint of gold in the dim light.
Draven's heart skipped a beat. He took a cautious step forward, his eyes narrowing as he tried to make out the source of the light. The golden glimmer danced just beyond the trees, as if beckoning him. Without thinking, Draven followed it, his feet moving of their own accord.
The further he walked, the more the forest seemed to change. The trees grew thicker, their bark rough and gnarled, and the air became heavy with the scent of ancient wood and damp earth. It was as if he was walking into another world, a place untouched by time.
And then, he saw it—a clearing ahead, bathed in an ethereal glow. Draven quickened his pace, his heart pounding in his chest. As he stepped into the clearing, the sight before him took his breath away.
At the center of the clearing stood a stone altar, weathered and cracked with age. Vines crawled over its surface, their leaves glowing faintly in the light that seemed to emanate from the altar itself. But it was what lay upon the altar that drew Draven's gaze.
A heart-shaped crystal, about the size of his palm, pulsed with a golden light. The Dragonheart.
Draven felt a pull toward it, as if an invisible thread was drawing him closer. He hesitated for a moment, his mind racing with questions. What was this place? How had he found it? But deep down, he knew the answers didn't matter. The Dragonheart had called to him, just as the voice in his dreams had called his name.
He approached the altar slowly, his eyes never leaving the crystal. The air around him hummed with energy, a sensation that was both exhilarating and terrifying. Draven reached out, his hand trembling as it neared the Dragonheart. The moment his fingers brushed its surface, a shock of energy shot through him, and he gasped, his knees nearly buckling under the force of it.
Images flooded his mind—of dragons soaring through the skies, their roars shaking the very earth; of a great battle, where fire and steel clashed in a deadly dance; of a man, tall and proud, standing at the head of an army, his eyes blazing with the same golden light that now pulsed within the Dragonheart.
Draven tried to pull away, but he couldn't. The Dragonheart held him fast, its power coursing through him, filling every corner of his being. He felt the energy burning within him, a fire that threatened to consume him. But even as he struggled, a voice echoed in his mind, the same voice from his dreams.
"Draven… You are the last of the Draconic Bloodline. The Dragonheart is your birthright, the source of your power. Embrace it, and your destiny will be revealed."
The words reverberated through him, resonating with something deep inside. Draven stopped resisting, letting the power of the Dragonheart flow through him. The fire that had threatened to consume him now filled him with a strength he had never known, a power that felt as natural as breathing.
And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the sensation faded. The light of the Dragonheart dimmed, its glow fading until it was just a simple, translucent crystal resting in Draven's hand. He stared at it, his mind racing to make sense of what had just happened.
But before he could process it, a deep, resonant growl echoed through the clearing. Draven's head snapped up, his eyes widening as he saw a massive figure emerging from the shadows at the edge of the clearing.
A dragon.
Its scales gleamed like molten gold in the fading light, and its eyes glowed with the same golden hue as the Dragonheart. The creature was enormous, its wings folded against its sides, its tail swishing slowly through the air. It moved with a grace that belied its size, each step making the ground tremble beneath its weight.
Draven's breath caught in his throat as the dragon's gaze locked onto him. For a moment, they simply stared at each other, man and beast, as if each was trying to assess the other.
Then, the dragon lowered its massive head, bringing its snout level with Draven. The air was thick with tension, and Draven could feel the heat radiating from the creature's body. He stood frozen, unsure of what to do, every instinct screaming at him to run. But something kept him rooted in place—an unspoken connection, a sense of understanding that passed between them.
The dragon's nostrils flared as it sniffed the air, its golden eyes narrowing slightly. Then, with a low rumble, it spoke. Its voice was deep and ancient, carrying the weight of centuries.
"You are the one… the last of the Draconic Bloodline."
Draven's mouth went dry. He had never heard a dragon speak before, but somehow, he understood every word. The voice resonated in his mind, just as the voice from his dreams had.
"I… I don't understand," Draven stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.
The dragon's eyes seemed to bore into him, as if searching for something deep within his soul. "The Dragonheart has chosen you, as it chose your ancestors before you. The power of the dragons flows through your veins, Draven. You are destined to be the Dragon King."
The words struck Draven like a physical blow. Dragon King? Him? It was impossible. He was just an orphan, a nobody. How could he be destined for something so grand, so terrifying?
"I can't be…" Draven shook his head, backing away from the dragon. "I'm not… I'm not who you think I am."
The dragon let out a low, rumbling growl, its eyes narrowing. "You cannot deny your destiny, Draven. The power within you has been awakened. You must embrace it, or it will consume you."
Draven's heart pounded in his chest, the weight of the dragon's words pressing down on him. He could feel the truth of them, even if he didn't want to admit it. The power he had felt in the tavern, the connection to the Dragonheart—it was all real. And it was a part of him, whether he liked it or not.
But the thought of embracing that power, of becoming the Dragon King… It was too much. He wasn't ready. He didn't even know where to begin.
The dragon seemed to sense his turmoil, and its expression softened slightly. "You are afraid," it said, its voice gentler now. "That is natural. But fear will not protect you from what is to come. The world is changing, Draven. Darkness stirs in the hearts of men, and ancient evils are awakening. You are the last hope of the Draconic Bloodline. You must rise to meet your destiny, or all will be lost."
Draven swallowed hard, his mind reeling. The weight of the dragon's words pressed down on him, filling him with a sense of dread. He had always felt that he was different, that he didn't belong in Frostwood. But he had never imagined that his destiny could be tied to something so immense, so terrifying.
The dragon stepped closer, its massive form towering over Draven. "Take the Dragonheart," it said, nodding toward the crystal in Draven's hand. "It will guide you on your journey. But remember, the path ahead is fraught with danger. You will face enemies who seek to destroy you, to claim the power of the dragons for themselves. You must be strong, Draven. Stronger than you ever imagined."
Draven nodded numbly, clutching the Dragonheart to his chest. He didn't know what the future held, but he knew one thing for certain—his life would never be the same again.
The dragon seemed to sense his resolve, and it let out a low, approving rumble. "Good. The journey ahead will be long and difficult, but you are not alone. The power of the dragons is with you. Embrace it, and you will find the strength to overcome any obstacle."
With those final words, the dragon began to back away, its golden eyes still fixed on Draven. "Remember, Draven," it said as it melted into the shadows of the forest. "You are the Dragon King. Your destiny awaits."
And then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, the dragon was gone, leaving Draven standing alone in the clearing, the Dragonheart glowing softly in his hand.
Draven stood there for a long moment, his mind whirling with everything that had just happened. The dragon's words echoed in his ears, and the weight of the Dragonheart in his hand felt heavier than ever. He knew that he couldn't go back to his old life, not now. The power within him had been awakened, and there was no turning back.
Taking a deep breath, Draven turned and began to make his way back through the forest, the Dragonheart tucked safely in his cloak. He didn't know what lay ahead, but he knew one thing for certain—he would face it head-on, no matter the cost.
As he walked, the forest seemed to close in around him, the shadows deepening. But Draven didn't feel afraid. The power of the Dragonheart pulsed within him, a steady, reassuring presence that filled him with a sense of purpose. He was no longer just an orphan, no longer just a nobody. He was Draven, the last of the Draconic Bloodline. And his destiny was calling.
Gifts
-- Gift
received Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone