Drakenshold was not born, it was struck into existence.
Long ago, when the sky split and the stars bled, a single burning light fell like judgment. A meteor, vast and seething, tore through the clouds and slammed into the earth with the wrath of an angry man. The mountains screamed. Forests died in flame. And at the crater's heart, something worse than fire lingered.
Not death.
Not ruin.
But nightmares.
The meteor brought more than destruction. It carried eggs. Smooth, black, and veined with molten gold. eggs that pulsed with life not meant for this world. Dragon eggs. Twisted by whatever cursed sky had birthed them.
From that moment on, Drakenshold became a scar. A place cursed by dreams that whispered even in daylight, where birds never flew and time itself held its breath.
The Dark Masters were the first to understand the true danger. Ancient mages, once warlords and kings, they had seen what hatched from the edge of reality before. They knew those dragons. If born would not bring fire and sky-dominance. They would bring corruption. Madness. The end of thought itself.
So, they forged a barrier.
Not of stone. Not of magic as most understood it, but a soul-seal, powered by living essence. They bound the crater with blood and will, so tight that only a being with immense magical force, or a death wish could breach it.
Generations passed. The world forgot.
But the eggs did not.
They pulsed still, in the dark. Waiting.
The wind howled as Malrick, Orien, and Rayan stood on the cliff's edge. Below them sprawled the forbidden land, Drakenshold. Black soil, twisted spires, and in its heart, a crater that glowed faintly with an eerie, breathing red. Like the earth itself had not yet healed.
Malrick's jaw tightened. "I thought it would feel more… dead."
Orien's face was unreadable. "It's not dead. It's dreaming."
Rayan said nothing. But something tugged inside him. deep and ancient. A weight in the air, like the breath before a scream.
Suddenly, the wind shifted. The smell of iron. Of ash. And something else.
Burning wings.
From the crater's far edge, a shape rose. Vast. Serpentine. Fire danced along obsidian scales. A dragon, but unlike any tale they'd heard. Its eyes were voids, not of anger, but of memory. It circled once, then vanished into the crimson haze.
Malrick stepped back. "That's not a creature. That's a warning."
Orien turned to Rayan. "Can you feel the barrier?"
Rayan nodded slowly. His fingers trembled, sparks of blue magic flickering around them.
"It's old. But still alive. It's… judging me."
Then, from the ground near the crater's edge, a voice echoed. Not aloud. But inside them. A whisper in a thousand tongues.
> "One heart may enter. One purpose may survive.
The rest... must turn away, or burn."
The three companions stood silent.
Then Rayan stepped forward, toward the cursed land, as the barrier shimmered waiting.