The night a future legend came into this world, it was howling and storming and it felt like doom was on its way. Leticia swore that she could hear the tortured screams of Outsider prisoners, and feel the cold chill of death. The wind blew down, and the ornate yet fragile candles shook, their thin flames flickering. Though it was safe in this large, solid home, on the Eastern Isles, rather close to the heart of the kingdom if one knew the right roads and ocean passages to use, only walls separated them from the fury of nature. She was always very superstitious, and the omens were not good at all.

Silent-faced servants came and went, not too many, but enough to be able to do the housework. A high, wailing scream pierced the air all of a sudden, the first sound of a small, blond-haired youngling. He was cradled in a scratchy blanket and held by his pretty mother. Normally full of laughter and happiness, her face was now haggard, and worried. She gripped the bundle in her arms, as if she would never let go. Her first child, already so perfect and destined for great things, had been late in coming, her husband was most likely trapped in the gale outside, and the omens of birth were the furthest from good; for a moment, she was terrified for her child. During that moment, she promised to herself, to her child, to everyone, that she would make sure her newborn son would never come under the influence of dark and terrible things.

In order to explain this Leticia's rather erratic and worried behavior, one must know of the deep-rooted superstitions - that were actually true - of that time. When a child, a first-child, is born during a night of turmoil, quite like this one, this first-child is destined for a pain-filled life. A life of personal sacrifices, of pain. The deities, and especially the dead and the shadows, those eternal enemies of the so-called Ever-Soldiers, know these things, and can make sure that it comes true. Most of the time, birth omens only partly came true. Some born on sunny, happy days-a rarity, sometimes-would have those characteristics ingrained in their personalities. Only those specific, those rare occasions, that those 'birth omens' would be actually fulfilled. Anyhow, a night like this was not the best time to come into this realm. Especially in Xeverron, and in a place where superstitions and beliefs are deeply ingrained.

A door clanged open, and a man with a drawn face pounded down hallways until reaching the sumptuous room. Looking upon the scene in front of him, his marvelous wife holding his son, a first-child, having actually managed to get there on time, he was filled with happiness and pride. The curtains were drawn, giving everything a warm feeling and look despite the storm outside.

He was dripping water everywhere, he knew that. The carpets were fine and didn't warrant such treatment. But he just could not help himself. Taking a deep breath, a proud feeling glowing in his chest, he went forth into the room, panting a little, and went to take his son, despite the soft admonitions of his Leticia.

"He is a fine boy already," he whispered, voice full of emotion. "What shall we name him?" he asked eagerly, turning to his wife after a few silent moments of drinking in this miracle of life. Now, usually, the father from higher-up families would choose the name, and lower-class families had the mother choose what her first-child would be called. In case of no compromise, the midwife or a close, trusted relative would have final say. However, to say that this family was slightly unorthodox was an understatement, and the man of the family firmly supported his wife's say. As well, he had no ideas for a good first-child name. This kind of thing only happened once, and one had to choose very wisely indeed.

"He is going to be as brave as those Legends, as sneaky and intelligent as a cursed serpent. As noble as those long-gone drakons of old, the learned ones that died out and were replaced by the vicious ones who waged war. I just know it." Her voice was full of emotion. This child would not be mistreated. Not at all. He would be the most spoiled, the most perfect child! 

One may notice that these two individuals were rather naive, but their sentiments and intentions were very genuine. That elegant woman, her long, golden hair pinned up loosely, wearing a soft silk nightdress, and this stately man, long, brushed cloak fastened just so, his dark hair cut short on purpose, both united in that sentiment, that exhilarating feeling of being a parent for the first time, meant well. It was made apparent in their earnest eyes, in the loving caresses that were bestowed upon that baby, in the adoring expressions that graced their faces.

"Then let us name him after the drakon, that rare, majestic, secretive beast. How about, Draken?"

After an eager nod, the youngling was bestowed his name, and the new father rushed out in order to finalize the details of a proper Naming Ceremony. Everything was going to be done just right. As the first-child, Draken, was being rocked to tentative sleep, having ceased screaming and wailing a while ago, with an old, soothing song, the person holding him had a fortified mind and heart. Delicately, reaching for a small jewelry box, she took out a crystal pendant, shining black now all of a sudden, and put it around the now-sleeping baby's neck. Although troubled by the strange color, Leticia Stellam Naivnoye was more reassured, more confident now, and was ready to face the future.

At around the same time, far away, at the other end of the Isle, the stormy-sea and cousin of the dread Black Ocean end, a menacing figure was clutching a servant-helper in the employ of the Stellam family.  His face was spitting mad, the features twisted by ugly scars even more contorted, a death glint in his eyes. Why, why, why??? He deserved this, this honor. Although he had been a loyal, continuous friend, and had long ago been promised as godfather to Trevant's first-child, here he was, ignored, stripped of a promise, left out on this night that he had been waiting for for ages... Why?

Deep in his gut, filled with guilt and remorse, he knew he had caused much pain by what he had done. There was not a day that went by without him apologizing for it, working to lessen the damage he had inflicted on his most dear. But still, rage filled him when he thought of being cheated of this moment. Imagine, finding out purely by chance that the family by the Main Street had just had a first-child! Gossip, how he hated that pitiful, hurtful thing, now even more so than ever. Shaking the servant-helper even more, he, in a low and dangerous voice, asked for all of the details. 

When he heard the chosen name, he was immediately shocked, for it was not the way of Trevant to show anything but hatred to these meddlesome creatures, drakons, but promised himself to attend the Naming Ceremony. He should have been there, with pleasant Leticia, adding in some words, for this was a special occurrence indeed. Yet he had been forgotten. And the worst part? He did not even know if he had been forgotten on purpose, or if his treasured friends had really erased him from their memories.

"Please, let me go..." gagged the servant, writhing and trying to free himself. With rage pumping through his body, and murderous thoughts in his head,  he  was sorely tempted to kill this pathetic waste of space right then and there. It would have been so easy, too. Just a quick snap, throw in the body so that the greedy waves could be appeased by sacrifices and human flesh, and be on his way. Yet, for a tiny second, he hesitated. Of course he was going to get near the boy, that was a given. But was he really worthy of hopefully being in his trust in the future if he, on the day he was born, a night, actually, already crackling with bad omens, killed someone from his household? 

Taking a deep breath, the man released his grip on the servant, but still prevented the terrified individual from escaping. Thinking for a moment, deliberating, he made up his mind and reached into his high, new-seeming boot. From there he pulled out a beautifully crafted ankle knife. It was plain at first sight, but anyone trained in the arts of fighting and weapons could immediately tell the value, and the craftsmanship, and the quality.

"Give this to the first-child, at this time tomorrow, as a gift for the Naming Ceremony. Tell no one where you got it from, and make sure not to nick the blade. It shall be his, and his only." The words were slow, deliberate, meaning in every sound uttered. The servant, whose name had never been sought, wanted nothing but to run away, and maybe if he was brave enough, tell them patrols to take care of this, this person, probably a war criminal, a cutthroat. Yet he knew the customs as much as anyone, and to refuse a gift now destined, as it already had been spoken, for a first-child would not only be treason, but would bring some revenge-minded gods and creatures upon him. He took it carefully, the sheath a little scratched, and ran through the black-paved streets, the rain and hail soaking his already-sopping form, and the strong wind buffeting him left and right.

Watching him go, the would-be godfather stood tall, fists clenched, turmoil raging inside him. His anger, his longing, his wish for things to be different. Zachariah Evillier, someone feared much in the underworld of this place, wondered how the child would be, and hoped to be close to him. He had never had children, and through much bad luck and events he had lived through, he probably never would. The idea of helping raise a child, though, especially one coming from worthy parents, had always appealed to him. If only things that day had not played out the way they had... A loud, ringing noise brought him out of his thoughts, reminding him that he had things to take care of. Picking up a black cane with a twisting silver snake encircling it, eyes made of precious stones called emeralds that came from lands far away from here, Zachariah gripped it tightly. He soon vanished from sight, lost in the warring weather. The ancient bell tolled on, as it had for ages and ages and would for ages and ages more.