The Reckoning

There weren’t always dragons in the valley. At least not before The Reckoning. The infamous night when an elite occupying force swept over the land of Nova, taking over the vibrant city of Fry. Men were dispatched, women were taken as wives and children were forced to perform manual labor. The little girls were put to work as maids and house servants, but the little boys, they were different. They had the genetic disposition to be fighters. To be tactical. To be trained. The city of Fry, once a bustling trade stop along the crystal river now lay under ash and smoke from the great invasion which would forever be known as The Reckoning. Now, under commands from barbaric warriors, walked a boy. His arms full of lumber, his face covered in soot. A tear trickled down his cheek, revealing a streak of the boyish complexion hidden beneath the grime. He labored with each step, willing his feet to keep moving so he wouldn’t be trampled. Little did he know that he would be the key to the salvation, or eradication of his people. His name was Jex.

The Reckoning was what history would label that fateful night when Fry was overrun. The night that the last free region was occupied by the Kultans. The Kultans were a swarming horde of nomadic people who dwelled in the mountains. Legend was, the Kultans would ride down from their mountain fortresses during fall seasons in order to restock for the long winters. They rode to all corners of Nova, from the plains of Jarok to the coasts of Morrow, sacking every village and city they came across leaving nothing but a pile of rubble. They would take the women as wives and force the children into servitude. The girls would end up in households cleaning laundry or preparing meals and the boys would be used to grow the army, entering rigorous training as soon as they recovered from the invasion. Then the Kultans would march on to the next city, taking their spoils with them. At least that’s what Jex had always been told by his father. So when they came to his city of Fry, he assumed it would be the same. They had always left Fry alone due to its trading influence on the other regions, but the winter on the year of The Reckoning was foretold to be the longest and harshest of the century. The Kultans could not return to the mountains this year. Fry was the richest village in the region, and due to its location on the river it was the most hospitable.

That eve, when the Kultans appeared from the tree-line, Jex was playing with his pet feeble, a small-ferret like creature with wings. Just as his feeble flew off, he heard the thunderous roar of horse’s hooves crashing through the forest. Their gold-plated horseshoes pounding the earth. As he ran back home to warn his family, the Dragons had already encroached the city, fighting in every intersection as well as the houses.

The Dragons were the small but lethal group who had been spearheading the Kultan invasions for centuries. They wielded swift weapons, their long blades curving into golden hilts. They were known to have superhuman strength and the stamina of six men. They were agents dedicated to chaos, focused only on speed and dominance. They were not allowed to wed or pro-create, so their family lines ended with them. That was one of the many sacrifices these fanatical commandos made in order to become the most feared fighting force of their era. Dragons were legends. Dragons were nightmares.

The Dragons arrived well ahead of the army to do most of the damage. Then, after they eliminated the town’s leaders and crippled their defense capabilities, they raised the gates for the approaching horde. The army then moved in and eliminated those who remained fighting. By the time Jex got back to his house it was fully engulfed, the flames matching the rest of the city. The wind left his gut as he was scooped up by a Dragon sprinting towards the central square. He bounced over the shoulder of the soldier, his arm bound by the unhuman grip of this man. He screamed but to no avail. As he looked to the ground, he noticed the gold-plated hilt of the soldier’s sword, hanging from his right hip. On the hilt was the engraving of a dragon with a dove in its mouth, alerting all who encountered this man to steer clear. He was one of the elite. The Dragon tossed Jex in with a group of other boys who sat by the fountain in the central square, guarded by three hulking soldiers who must have been seven feet tall. The fountain used to be where Jex would play with his friends before supper, but it was now his prison. Jex’s captor then sprinted into an alley and vanished.

Jex heard the deep, steady bellow of the battle horn, notifying the army to pack up and move out with him in tow, but it never happened. Instead, he was instructed to get to his feet as he was led in a long line of boys to carriages at the city gates. The carriages were crude yet majestic, made of timber only found in the mountain peaks and riveted together with gold. As he arrived at the carriage, a soldier filled his arms with lumber. They were unloading things, but why? Didn’t the Kultans raid cities and then move to the next? He had never heard of them setting up shop after a victory. Where was his family? Did they escape? Were they in one of the rubble piles that littered the city? He had to find out, but he couldn’t escape. He caught a break when on one of the trips he caught a glimpse of his house, or what was left of it. The smoke was still rising from the heap of wood and ash that was once his sanctuary. He peeked over his shoulder and his heart sank. Lying at the base of the pile was his father’s crude sword, melted and warped from the fire. Next to the sword was a cooking pot with soup still in it. By this time, he and his family would have just been finishing supper. He didn’t see any other signs of his family in the wreckage, but he didn’t need to. He knew his family was gone.

As he attempted to stifle the tears flowing from his eyes he walked into the boy in front of him, colliding headfirst into his back. He looked around, wondering why the line had stopped moving until it was revealed. A behemoth of a black horse, standing at least ten feet tall, paraded to the village’s central fountain. On the horse was a colossal man with jet black hair that fell past his shoulders. A long goatee and jagged scar across his right cheek shaped his face. This had to be the Kultan general, the reason Jex’s world was now upside down. The man wore black armor with gold trim and gold chain mail underneath. Jex's blood boiled hot. He thought it was odd the man did not wear a helmet, but then again he didn’t need to. Surrounding the horse were four Dragons, two on each side. They donned their fabled crimson leather armor with gold fastners. Durable enough to withstand damage, yet light enough to allow them to move with ferocity and swiftness. On each of their hips rested the same sword Jex saw a moment before, with its long blade curving to the gold hilt at the base.

Next came the prophetic moment that led Jex to his present circumstance. The moment that fueled his burning desire for vengeance. The man in the black armor rode past the line of small boys, looked directly at Jex as he stood crying with lumber in his arms, and laughed. He let out a hearty cackle that would haunt Jex’s dreams for the next seven years. It was in this moment when Jex knew he would never forget the man with the black armor's face. He would take his place in the Kultan ranks, and then pass the training to be chosen as a Dragon. He will wait patiently for his opportunity to strike, years if he has to. Jex will avenge his parents. Jex will have the retribution he is owed.