Kingdoms of Ohm: The Lonely Dragon #1 ✓

A Feast of Flesh

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Mankind believes that a dragon's innate survival is forged upon the ideals of protection.

They throw themselves before the end of a blade to scare another.

They draw first blood.

They'd rather die in the heat of a fight than live in the shadows like a coward.

    Sounds derogatory. But only half of it is the truth.

    Az'hark's beliefs were indeed bound by such promises, but it wasn't animalistic or defensive. We understood that every life (even our own) is precious -- no matter the character, the despair, or the hate. Every battle is relentless because nothing, not even gold, can replace such a loss.

The worst fate a dragon could bear is seeing another fall dead before his or her claws, knowing they could've done something to save them.

    Aye, a dragon's war was never out of ruthlessness. It was out of love.

    Love thy neighbor. Love thy kin.

    But that soon began to challenge a part of me that I forgot I had. Yes, dear reader, every life is precious, but what am I to another? Should a belief built on sacrifice even be considered for creatures who promote primal lust over honor? They longed to have me rot, to clip my wings and turn me into their slave. To ruin me... just because of what I am.

Not because of what I own.

And so came a memory to remind me of this ideal.

"I know you lead by the goodness of your heart, Vaanku," said my king, Xikori, who pressed his claw upon my thrumming torso. "It's what makes you special. But all anyone else sees is a dragon who's lost his way. They won't take your word even if it's right. Oftentimes... their way is the only way, and if it results in your extinction they won't hesitate to ensure it."

I landed back into the forest and skidded to a halt. Why a part of me started to reconsider Xikori's words, I could not say. Maybe it was meant to warn me of a mistake I would be bound to fall for. Maybe it was best to listen to the past... turn around and flee into the night without the weight of those pests upon my shoulders. It would be ideal. Any dragon would do it.

And then came a second memory.

"Those who flee from submission and failure will be killed by the weight of their cowardice. But a creature who proves his worth to his captivator can be set free."

The image of an injured werewolf suddenly sank into my mind, forcing my eyes to slam shut. Now the thoughts poison my judgment. How could I disobey a promise I just made? What kind of self-centered coward would do something that cold-blooded? That choice, that need, it killed that draconic understanding of preserving life. Those ideals and considerations to defend another, to 'love thy neighbor' and yet still turn a blind eye -- it didn't settle so easily in my heart.

And I doubt I could make it try if I forced the urge.

I turned around, staring behind me at the molten shadow of my home, Az'hark, still barren and as quiet as it had been days before. My stomach began to quake in longing, as did my heart to return from whence I came. To see what became of my beautiful home, my friends, my king, my gift.

And my love.

I needed to know. It was my greed... my hunger. A blood-curdling crave that clawed at my hearthstone, enough to force a noble mind to drool. But the past had to wait. No longer was it my duty. No longer was it my calling. An entire pack of werewolves were in danger.