Darkness.
A heartbeat—slow and steady—pulsed through enveloping warmth. Kaelrith's consciousness stirred, memories rippling as he woke. Faces and moments flashed in the void. He remembered Elior, the human scholar, dying helplessly at the hands of ruthless foes. Those final moments lingered in his mind: the agony, the humiliation... and then nothing.
But now there was something. His limbs felt confined, his senses muffled. Where am I? he wondered. I'm not dead…
Instinct surged within, fierce and primal. A deep vibration resonated around him, whispering an ancient truth. These confines weren't chains—they were a shell, protecting him, nurturing him.
An egg? Realization struck. Have I truly been reborn ?
A sudden, powerful urge gripped him: to escape, to break free. Kaelrith flexed and pushed. His small body pressed against the inner walls. The barrier cracked, then shattered.
He spilled onto cool stone, coughing in the sulfur-tinged air and gasping his first breath in this new life. Steam and smoke curled around him, lit by the orange glow of magma veins threading the cavern walls. Kaelrith lifted his head. Weak, newly-formed wings crumpled at his sides, and ruby-red scales reflected the faint volcanic light. His vision swam for a moment before sharpening—clearer than any human's.
Shakily, the young dragon got to his feet. Instinct guided him to draw a deep breath. The air burned in his lungs, fueling the fire in his belly. He threw back his head and let loose a resonant cry, the sound rolling off the cavern walls. It was not a full roar—his body was too small for that—but power thrummed in it all the same.
"I am Kaelrith Vael'Dragonis," he announced to the darkness, voice surprisingly strong for a hatchling. "Last of the Great Flame!"
The echoes of that declaration still rang when Kaelrith noticed ancient carvings along the cavern walls. Staggering forward, he traced a claw over the worn stone. The carvings depicted a great dragon, wings spread, sealing an egg within a mountain. Beneath that image were rows of kneeling goblins etched in profile. Strange runes surrounded the scene—an inscription in both draconic and the crude scratches of goblin tongue.
Kaelrith's eyes narrowed as he deciphered the message. It spoke of a blood-pact, sworn by goblin ancestors to the Great Flame herself—his mother. For two millennia they were bound to protect the egg and serve the one within when he awakened.
A pang of emotion struck Kaelrith's heart. "Two thousand years," he murmured, comprehension dawning. Mother saved me… and they kept their promise. His mother had fought fiercely for his life before he had even breathed his first breath, entrusting him to the care of these lowly creatures. The weight of that sacrifice and loyalty settled on him, equal parts sorrow and gratitude.
Sudden movement at the edge of the chamber snapped Kaelrith from his thoughts. The soft scuff of feet on stone, hushed whispers—he was not alone.
Kaelrith turned, posture defensive, wings flaring instinctively though they were still damp and weak. In the archway that led deeper into the mountain stood a cluster of goblins. Their green-grey skin was painted with ash and marked by fiery red tribal tattoos. They gaped at the dragon hatchling amidst broken eggshell and steaming mist.
As one, all but one of the goblins dropped to their knees, foreheads pressed to the ground in awe and fear. Kaelrith felt an invisible wave radiating from his own being—a natural aura of dominance carried in his blood. Even newly born, his draconic presence was overwhelming to lesser creatures.
Only a single goblin remained upright, trembling but resisting the urge to bow through sheer force of will. He was taller than the others, with a lean, scarred frame and unusual crimson eyes. He stepped forward carefully, then knelt on one knee in a gesture of respect rather than subservience.
"Great Flame… the prophecy is fulfilled," the goblin said in a rough, quavering voice. He placed a fist to his chest. "I am Grak, last chieftain of the blood-pact line. We have kept faith through two thousand winters for this moment. Command us, and we shall obey."
Kaelrith gazed at the goblin leader—Grak—with a mix of curiosity and ancient pride. Instinct urged him to assert dominion; these beings were his to rule by the pact and by right of power. Yet along with dominance, an echo of memory whispered of diplomacy—perhaps a vestige of Elior's influence on his soul, or simply wisdom inherited from his mother's teachings. These goblins had preserved his life at great cost. They were owed a measure of grace.
His wings settled against his back and he lifted his chin regally. "You have served my bloodline faithfully, Grak," Kaelrith said, voice echoing in the chamber. "Rise. Your guarding is over. Together, we will rebuild from the ash and ember and shape a new destiny."
Grak lifted his head, hope and devotion shining in his crimson eyes. He rose to his feet and bowed deeply. "By your flame, my lord, we shall carve your legacy into this world," he vowed.
The other goblins dared to lift their faces at the sound of Kaelrith's voice. What they saw—this small dragon wreathed in tendrils of smoke, eyes burning like hot coals—sent thrills of reverence through them. They began to chant in low hissing tones.
"Kaelrith… Kaelrith… Kaelrith…"
The name of their dragon, passed down through generations of story and song, filled the cavern at last made reality.
A swell of purpose ignited within Kaelrith. He took his first steps toward the cave's threshold, the goblins parting to clear his path. Before he crossed out of the hatching chamber, he paused and turned back to the craggy interior one last time. The broken shell of the egg that had sheltered him glinted wetly on the floor, lit by the magma's glow.
For a brief moment, sorrow and determination warred in his chest—sorrow for the world and family he had lost, determination to claim the life that had been bought for him in blood. He exhaled, and a tongue of flame flickered past his lips, dancing in the air. The heat warmed him, giving strength to limbs that still shook from newness.
"Two thousand years I slept," Kaelrith whispered, the words carrying only as far as Grak's ears. The goblin chieftain watched silently, standing at his new lord's side.
Kaelrith drew in a deeper breath, feeling fire coil within, and then exhaled a small jet of flame toward the ceiling. The burst of light and heat lit the entire cavern in a brief dawn. The goblins behind him gasped, some shielding their eyes, others reaching toward the flame in worship. Their quiet chant rose to a triumphant cry.
"Kaelrith! Kaelrith! Kaelrith!"
As the echoes faded, Kaelrith's amber gaze hardened with resolve. "No longer will I remain in shadow," he declared softly. "My fire has been reborn—and it will burn until the world trembles at the name of the last dragon.