His ambitions faded as that old identity gave way to one that was more powerful, more commanding.

The mercenary’s faint memories seemed so petty: now he could remember what it felt like to command his dragon, to destroy his enemies, to mate with his own kind when the breeding frenzy seized him. Now he knew he was one of the paramount beings on this world.

He was Valheru! He had no choice. He turned away from death and embraced the dream.

It is not a dream, whispered a distant voice that sounded like his own. It is an awakening, Lord of the Tigers.

Tomas awoke, his body bathed in perspiration, his heart pounding. He blinked in confusion for a moment, before recognizing his surroundings. The body lying next to him stirred, then his wife returned to her slumber. Rising slowly, he moved to the large window carved out of the trunk of the massive tree that held their quarters. The soft, ever-present glow of Elvandar entered the bedchamber as he drew aside the curtain and gazed upon the forest that had been his home for most of his long life.

The sheen of that glow made of his body a study in shadows and highlights. Muscles still tight beneath youthful skin marred only by a few battle scars, Tomas’s appearance had remained unchanged for more than a century. Even when unarmed he was among the most dangerous beings on this world, for his power was far greater than physical strength: it came from the dark energies that lived at the heart of a race vanished centuries ago. The Valheru.

A soft hand touched his back, familiar; affectionate. The Elf Queen spoke softly, ‘What is it, my love?’

Tomas’s blue eyes continued to stare into the glow of Elvandar, where most of his wife’s subjects lay asleep. Softly he replied, ‘It was a dream. Nothing more.’