Draken was gasping and spitting up blood and venom every few steps. His body was shaking uncontrollably and the pain was so unbearable, he could barely stand. Though he had excellent endurance, he was out of breath and had daggers plunging into his sides. 

Never had he been running at so high speed for so long. Never had he been in such pain. Never in his life had he been, in poison-seared clothes and wrapped in a dank cloak, forced to sneak around in such a place, following the unlikeliest of people. Never had he been anywhere but the Isles. And never he had gone so long without showing up at the ancestral home to the administrations and admonitions of his family. He was in turmoil and pain and was so close to collapsing entirely. Still the man called Rapier would not slow down.  

 They were inland now, in a vast city of spires that gleamed in the setting sun. The persons milling about were rushing, preoccupied with their own thoughts. They neither noticed nor cared about the two furtive figures. This was one thing common in all parts of Xeverron, whether for good or bad. No one spared a thought or even noticed outlaws or furtive fugitives, beasts or creatures of shadow. Live and let die - that was what they said. This unspoken law of conduct was one of the only things familiar in this new place.

He had woken on the ground, body on fire, thinking that it had all been a dream - and then it all came crashing back. The roar of the beast, the chase and the heart-wrenching revelation, the concluding fight. The tail that had pierced his body, and the very same tail that had thrown one of the people closest to his heart into the possessed waters, with no chance of an apology and a mending of sorts. 

This had been enough to send him back under, to crush his heart and chest until he could breathe no more, but the man looming in front of him would not have it. He was ruthlessly brought back to, and a vial of foul-tasting liquid had been pressed to his mouth. One quick word of introduction - Rapier - seemed to suffice, and without further ado Draken had found himself dragged up. 

 They had snuck aboard a ship that was dealing some underworld business, for no legal ships were allowed to bring the metals made to fight the creatures that sometimes lurked in these parts, and sat out the journey inland. Throughout the entire journey - the stumbling to the ship, the sloshing and nauseating voyage, the dash through this strange new city - the man had not spoken a word. Nor had he made any more mention of the 'trouble' that Draken was in.  

Draken had the stubborn character and temperament, and only Zachariah was able to tell him what to do without - mostly without - fight. Even with his family he was reluctant and took his time, and made sure it was done his way. But now he was in so much pain, and the only person he could trust was the one who'd who'd killed the beast and seemed to know what was going on. He was in shock, and in a very vulnerable place. His mind refused to accept the fact that Zachariah had lied to him, and absolutely refused to even consider that Zachariah was gone - gone for good. So, for the first time in his life, Draken had not had the strength or will to fight, to protest. He had let himself be lead by this expressionless stranger.

And now he was paying the price by being so weak as to collapse at any moment. The stranger, looked behind at Draken, who was leaning against a wall. Something he saw in Draken's pitiful state must have struck a chord with him, or made him pause and think, because a flash of sympathy, a quick and almost invisible one, registered on his face. The man took a deep breath, turned around fully, and quickly walked back to where Draken now sat on the ground. 

"Are you going to tell me anything? Or will you just keep on your trek without so much as a second glance or a word in edgewise?" His words were sharp and abrasive, and hoarse from a throat suffering from the effects of the mystery poison and a lack of drink. 

The man, clothes strange beneath the cloak he wore wrapped around him, blinked once, sighed, and slid himself down. 

"First of all, we are currently in one of the outskirts of the Nameless Capital. We will not be heading there just yet, but it's rather close by - if you know which roads to use. Second, we need to cure the poison festering in you at the fastest we can manage. 'Tis a so very deadly poison, and it testifies to your ability and endurance that you have not succumbed to it more. The Nightshade poison I forced in you counteracts the effect somehow, but I have seen tested and tried warriors crumble within an hour of that deadly venom entering their blood."

"How did you know how to slay that - bloody - beast, and how are you so knowledgeable about it, when I have not come across it through thousands of volumes on the most obscure of monsters? And how did you know where to find me, why have you been following me? What do you want?" He hissed that last sentence, fury and anger pounding through every word. 

Draken had no idea what to feel. His emotions were roiling, conflicting, and he did not want to think about anything. He was all alone, with no coin and no weapon - except for the ankle knife Rapier had given back to him on the sea voyage. Blacksmith apprentices, especially those who come from the Eastern Isles, have no trouble finding work and lodgings. Except he was alone, with deadly poison pumping through his body, rendering his body weak and mind feverish, with apparent trouble on his tail. The only way he was able to cope with anything was to push it away, to pretend he did not care and harden his heart the most he could. 

So, as Rapier cleared his throat and started talking once more, this was what he did. He pushed it all away, and refused to feel, refused to feel anything. He refused his mind the act of thinking of the past, of thinking of anything apart from this situation, here, away from the Isles, away from home. I do not feel anything except rage and the coldness of battle. He repeated this to himself, again and again, until his heart was blank and closed, and his breath was uneven no more. He spat up blood and venom, and turned back to Rapier, to listen to the answers. 

"Firstly, as to how I slayed the beast, you and - " there he hesitated, "your friend had already weakened it much. I merely used much battle experience to my advantage. If you had not so been weakened, and had had a little more formal training, I am sure you would have been able to do the same. As for how I know, I make it my business to know about such creatures. Besides, I have a ... personal connection to that beast, a connection I do not wish to talk about." This was met with a pointed stare at the sneering face of Draken, who honestly did not care anyhow. The only things he really needed to know was how he was connected with all of this, and what was the next step of action. So long as he could think a few steps ahead, he would not succumb to emotions that threatened to tear him apart.

"You may have read the obscure volumes, but this is a beast from legends, one not likely to appear in such compendiums. As for why I had been tracking you - that is a rather complicated mat - "

"Wait. You just wait. I am practically at your mercy here, and here you sit, lecturing me like an Outsider lord. I know it. I see it in your eyes, in your carefully controlled speech, in the tiny slips you allow yourself. If you are to explain it all and tell me what I must do - which you will, that I know - then at least speak in a more common tongue, in your own tongue. You know me, while I know nothing of you. Give me the courtesy of hearing your true speech." 

The admonition, spoken with slight disgust and disapproval, had managed to shock Rapier. Draken narrowed his eyes as Rapier was stopped mid-speech, always expressionless face registering true feelings of shock, surprise, a bit of...fear? and then, a dawning light of slight amusement. Draken was forever never really fitting in nor doing the right thing. But in this moment, he saw something he had never seen except in the eyes of a man he was trying to purge from his memory. Grudging respect. A bit of amusement and admiration, a sense that the man sitting beside him understood his humor, his temperament, the feelings and senses so hard to describe to those who did not innately know. 

"Very well," Rapier said quite haughtily, in the capricious and higher-caste voice he had been using from the very beginning of the explanations, "if you insist." Another throat clearing, and then he spoke again. But the words, the speech, was different, was more familiar in cadence and expression. The way he slurred the words, the way he talked and ordered his words - all of that was quite familiar to Draken, and contributed to the relaxation of a body that had been tensed ever since it had been woken from the first coma caused by the  halalosan - deadly - venom. 

However, though the speech was familiar to Draken and helped him relax ever so slightly, the 'explanations' did the opposite. First of all, they made no sense. Second of all, it all  was ominous, shadowed with darkened prophecies that surely - surely - did not apply to him. He was the first-child of the Stellam Matutinam family, a rather screw-up son but ordinary in the standards of the Isles. He was ordinary, that was all.

Surely the grand tale of a destined child born on a foretold night that was needed now to turn the tide of lost battles and deathless foes had nothing to do with him! Such grandiose tales and legends applied to those destined for history, those special ones that rose once in lifetimes. Not to a young apprentice of the blacksmith arts from the Eastern Isles, one who was destined for a life that just did not suit him. 

And Draken told Rapier so, knowing that this did not have anything to do with him in any way. He must have merely been mixed up in all of this, as it often happens to those unlucky who are caught in the crossfire of destinies and prophecies and wars. Being one such someone was more than enough. It was not plausible at all for him to be this destined child.

But that hope, that spark that this was all a mistake, was snuffed cruelly as he read the truth in Rapier's eyes. It was him. They all thought it was him, and that he was supposed to do some truly ballad-worthy acts.

"Look here. Do you by any chance have a crystal pendant?" 

"What sort of question is this? I am the first-child of the Stellam Matutinam family. Of course I was given the birthright!"

"May I see it?" Rapier pressed. 

Draken, like any born of the Eastern Isles, was justly offended, but still he was weak, weaker than he'd ever been, and it was much more simple to let this enigmatic man see the pendant that had been slipped around his neck at birth. 

When Draken, with difficulty for his arms were aching and of lead, pulled out the pendant of black crystal encircled by a dragon, Rapier gasped and made his justification known. 

"The crystal is black," he began, "just like in the book that first led me to you. It was a volume of prophecies, the ones that come true only once in many lifetimes, and as the years went on, it was made clear to me that the child mentioned in that book was needed, was necessary. I know people, and I heard reports of a child from the Isles having this very pendant. You see, there are a lot of persons, very important ones, that wish you found. And now I have - just a few seconds too late. I will take you to someone specialized in the healing herbs, and you will be cured of this venom, and as penance and payment for the life-debt, you will embark on this...undertaking with me. Yes, yes, you will. Because you know the laws of conduct as well as I, and you, whatever you think or say, are this person. You bear the name of the drakons, and you wear the pendant of black crystal. See, even now the ink of destiny forms on your arm. You are the person mentioned in the book, and you are the person that is needed right now."

Disbelieving, Draken pushed aside the cloak, and saw the ink spreading on his left arm, the ink that signaled that he was of an ordained destiny that was now starting to be fulfilled. Draken pushed himself up, and prepared to yell and disprove of everything the stranger had said to him. But he did not get far. The elapsed time, and the strenuous activities of the heart when it hears something it does not want to know, had taken its toll. Blood poured out of his mouth, and he collapsed on the hard ground in mid-yell. 

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This part is dedicated to @deepikagurung who gave me great advice on my stories and who voted on them.

Please tell me what you think, and if you like it, remember to vote! :)