Mighty dragons raced through the skies.

Hurricane-force winds struck his face, yet the rider sat confidently astride the neck of his scaled ebony mount; his to command by will alone. Arcane arts kept him firmly in place, and exultation energized every fibre of his being as the Dragon Host rode out in search of conquest.

Never in the long history of the Valheru had the entire Dragon Host risen united.

The entire Host, save one. Dark emotions turned quickly to rage. The white-and-gold rider was absent. Ashen-Shugar: the only dissenter within the Host.

But the absence of the father-brother did not signify. The Valheru had answered his call, and Draken-Korin had taken his rightful place as leader of the Dragon Host.

He watched mad energies race through the skies above the dragon riders, flashing colours of blinding brilliance as energy vortexes and tears in the fabric of space and time exploded into spectrums invisible to mortal eyes, but perfectly clear to his Valheru vision.

His vision shifted; memories fading as others resurfaced. The cavern, once the Lord of the Tigers’ seat of power, was dark. That didn’t concern him since his vision was far sharper than any mortal’s, but he missed the warmth of torches and … Where were his servants?

He tried to lift his left arm and pain tore through his shoulder. He had not felt pain like this since …

Images cascaded through his mind as he relived the memories of ages past.

He felt his first breath and heard a contemptuous mother curse him as her servants carried him away. Elven slaves brought him newborn to a clearing in the warm, damp forest, and without any tenderness left him on top of a large rock. To live or die by his own strength.