Drakaryn's earliest years were a blur of hunger, blood, and fire. He had survived the first Cull, but survival was a tenuous thing, constantly under threat. The cavern that had once been his nest teemed with life—or what remained of it. This was no isolated clutch; it was part of a group clutch, a mingling of eggs from many dragons across the Aurindral Dominion. Bloodlines were of little concern at this stage. The young were raised together, and few ever learned who their mother or father had been.
For all Drakaryn knew, the elder who now towered over him, her molten iron scales glinting in the dim cavern light, could have been his mother. But he doubted it. She carried no tenderness in her gaze, only a cold appraisal as she watched him and the other fledglings.
Her voice, deep and guttural, echoed through the cavern. "No more free meals," she rumbled, her teeth flashing in what could have been a grin or a sneer. "Today, you learn to hunt."
The young dragons, numbering less than a dozen now, shuffled uneasily under her gaze. Their bodies were larger, leaner, but still far from the towering forms they would one day become. Drakaryn had outgrown the fragility of his hatchling days, his emerald and gold scales hardened and his claws honed through countless scraps with his clutchmates. But hunting—the act of taking a life beyond these walls—was a different test altogether.
The elder, who the younglings simply referred to as Vraxia, led them to the cavern's mouth. Beyond it stretched the vast Valtheris Expanse, a world alive with danger and opportunity. Rolling hills of jagged rock, dense forests shimmering with ambient mana, and open plains teeming with life greeted them. Drakaryn's sharp eyes caught glimpses of movement—deer-like beasts with crystalline antlers, flocks of razor-winged birds, and, far in the distance, the hulking forms of predators that could challenge even a full-grown dragon.
"Hunt or starve," Vraxia growled. "Those who return empty-handed… won't return at all." Her gaze lingered on Drakaryn for a moment longer than the others, her molten eyes narrowing. "Go."
The fledglings scattered, each racing into the wild with a mix of excitement and fear. Drakaryn moved swiftly, his claws digging into the soft earth as he bounded toward a dense grove of trees. His nostrils flared, catching the scents of prey and predator alike. His mind raced, recalling Vraxia's brutal lessons.
Watch the wind. Stay low. Strike quick and true.
Ahead, he spotted movement—a sleek, four-legged creature with a shimmering pelt that caught the sunlight. It grazed near a mana spring, its crystalline antlers pulsing faintly. Drakaryn's mouth watered at the sight. The creature was beautiful, otherworldly, and undeniably prey.
He crept closer, his muscles coiled like a spring. The creature's ears twitched, perhaps hearing the saliva drip from his mouth or sensing danger, but it was too late. Drakaryn lunged, his claws sinking into its flank. It let out a piercing scream, its legs kicking wildly, but Drakaryn's jaws closed around its throat, immediately breaking its strong neck. The life drained from its body as the mana spring bubbled softly beside them.
Drakaryn dragged the carcass back to the cavern, his chest heaving with the effort. The weight of his kill didn't bother him; it was the piercing gazes of the others that made his scales prickle. The first few fledglings to return had already claimed their spots, gnawing on their prey with a mix of pride and relief. A few returned empty-handed, their expressions tight with fear not daring to challenge Drakaryn for his kill.
Vraxia wasted no time. The first failure, a pale-blue fledgling with a limp, was struck down the moment she stepped into the cavern. Vraxia's claws pierced her chest, ending her with brutal efficiency. "Weakness," she snarled, licking the blood from her talons, "has no place here."
Drakaryn forced himself to keep his gaze steady, even as his pulse thundered in his ears. He had survived another trial, but the lesson was clear: there was no room for failure.
Vraxia walked around the cavern taking the choice pieces from the fledglings earning. She walked by Drakaryn and bit off one of the crystalline antlers, leaving him the other, and continued collecting her tribute from the other fledglings who came after.
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Over the next few years, the fledglings honed their skills under Vraxia's merciless guidance. The hunts became more complex, the prey more dangerous. Vraxia pushed them further with each passing season, her sharp eyes catching every misstep.
"Too slow," she would bark, slamming a tail into an unfortunate youngling and sending them sprawling. "Too soft," she hissed as another hesitated to deliver a killing blow. Her punishments were swift and often fatal, but as the years passed, they grew less frequent. The surviving fledglings learned—adapted.
Drakaryn learned faster than most. He was no longer the weakest, nor was he content with merely surviving. He began to thrive, not just on the hunts but in the subtle hierarchy forming within the clutch. He avoided unnecessary fights, conserved his strength, and struck only when it mattered. While others wasted energy posturing, Drakaryn observed, calculated, and waited.
By the time Drakaryn reached his fiftieth year, the viciousness among the fledglings had begun to taper. The numbers had dwindled to just five, each a formidable creature in their own right. The fights were less frequent now, not because the danger had diminished but because they had learned restraint—a necessary skill for survival in the larger world.
Vraxia's tone shifted, her scornful barks giving way to something resembling approval. "You are no longer fledglings," she declared one day, her molten gaze sweeping over the group. "You've earned your place here. But remember this: the world will not care for your strength. It will always demand more."
Drakaryn often found himself standing at the mouth of the cavern, staring out over the Valtheris Expanse. The winds carried the scents of distant prey, the whispers of rival dragons, and the faint hum of mana that pulsed through the land. He had survived where so many others had fallen. But survival was no longer enough.
As the sun set over the jagged horizon, Drakaryn's claws dug into the earth. Somewhere out there lay the next challenge, the next test.
He was now a predator.
A dragon.
A survivor.