The Ring Thief - Chapter 0 - Prologue

 Prologue

Eotera’s pale moon was blanketed by a tapestry of dancing stars and singing winds. They hung over vast, carcass-peppered deserts that bled along the breaking dawn. Indeed, the moon’s immortal beauty was ever removed from the dry, fraying reality of life beneath it. Not the prayers of the crying, nor the wails of the dying could penetrate the thick wall of heaven’s beauty. Where the night’s cold sky painted a brilliant portrait of hope, festering blood and mangled corpses caked the sands and streets below, in a city known as Lune, home to the draconian race, and named after their patron deity, Lunas. Under her watchful gaze, human apostles, adorned in plate armor, filed over oceanic piles of dead descendants of dragon kind. Under devotion to their pantheonic deities, it mattered not whether those they paraded against were young or old. As the beastly soldiers climbed up the streets with their unshaven beards and greasy hair, unclean from months of marching to the golden city, they came across hundreds of sinners. Each of whom they quite fondly slayed with gleeful smiles scarred across their dirt and sweat-drenched faces.

The city's central road, once a bustling golden highway, lay barren and broken. It’s only inhabitant: a stuffed doll that rested at the side of a dead draconian child. It sat and beheld hordes of humans forcing themselves into the halls and homes of the innocent. Its buttoned smile turned to a frown as a soldier’s foot crushed it on his way out of the city. Gold coins poured from his clumsy armful of gems and jewelries, taken from the raid. Sweat dripped from his temple as he approached the open gates of the city, where countless human and draconian bodies lay bloodied, mangled, and dead.

Leaping over several piles of corpses, and dodging protruding swords and spears as he went, he dared not consider the screams of the few remaining draconians who suffered under the blade behind him. About a mile from the looting warrior, towards the upper district, a female draconian and her child sat in a closet. They waited with shallow breaths and widened eyes while more apostles looted their home. A whimper came from the boy as he listened to the sound of clashing steel and tearing flesh in the kitchen below. The inexperienced draconian guards of the keep were no match for the might of Kingswatch’s finest.

The matron, a dark-scaled draconian adorned in a soft blue dress, looked into the yellow eyes of her crimson-scaled son. She smiled in an effort to comfort the child, but her heart choked when the boy’s trembling eyes glazed with tears. 

“Everything will be okay, Taenith. Have faith,” she muttered before placing a cold kiss on his forehead. Warmth filled his heart, but only for a moment. That transient comfort was soon replaced by fear when the sound of screams and clashing metal echoed from the main hall below.

The mother pursed her teary eyes. Knowing her partner had fallen, she felt the strings in her heart strain and break apart. Their kingdom was burning in the fires the humans wrought. It had only been a few hours, but their violence had claimed the lives of not only her friends, but her family as well. 

“Where’s dad?” The young draconian asked shakily through her embrace.

Holding him closely to her breast, she cradled the boy and squeezed gently.

“He’s just running late. Don’t you worry about him,” she smiled. Vibrant shades of blue reflected through the ocean of her tears as she loomed over the boy, comforting him the best she could.

“Lunas will protect us,” she rubbed her son’s forehead with a shaky hand, watching through the tiny opening in the two-fold door they were hiding behind. She knew no one was coming to save them. The draconian army had failed to repel their invaders. All she could do now was wait until the worst was over with. 

“When?” he asked. His draconic maw quivered.

“When we need her most,” she smiled and pulled a hand to the silver necklace laced around her gray neck. Unclasping it from herself, she ushered it to the child. Looking over it for a moment, he saw that it boasted the image of the goddess, Lunas. Taenith looked in awe at the silver dragon. Her wings sprouted brilliantly with stars sewn into her smooth glossy scales that stemmed across her entire body. 

“Why do the humans hurt us?” he asked, taking the pendant in hand. More thundering footsteps could be heard from the stairwell. 

“Hush now, love,” his mother muttered before grabbing a cloth blanket from the laundry basket next to them. She quickly spread it out and threw it over them.  

“Lootin’ time boys!” A human shouted from outside the room. Moments later, she could hear them pounding against the locked wooden doors. 

“Stay behind me, okay?” his mother whispered as she carefully laid her son behind her. 

“Mom?” The boy asked when her hands left him. His yellow eyes swelled.

“Yes?” She responded as calmly as possible, but nervous cracks surfaced in her voice while she spoke.

“Will Lunas save us now? She should save us...” he whispered. Seconds later, the bedroom door burst open and slammed against the carpeted floor. 

“She will, she will...” she turned briefly to rub his head before shushing him once more. Taenith’s heart settled until the heavy footsteps of the apostles permeated the room. Upon the chest of both soldiers was the crest of Lunas, the goddess of love and peace. 

“Jackpot,” one of the men chuckled as he stowed his sword and began rummaging through the dressers. Clothing, family portraits, and other invaluables crashed to the floor while he haphazardly stuffed necklaces, jewelry, scrolls, and anything else that shined into the pack at his side. All the mother and her child could do was watch through the fabric of their frail cover while their room and belongings were torn to pieces.

“Lunas, please,” she prayed.

“These dragon whatevers really know their shit when it comes to money,” the second apostle, a man with a noticeable beer belly protruding from the sides of his armor, laughed as he picked up a diamond jar from a nightstand. 

“See, told ya. Shit'll last us forever,” the other cultist, a taller man with flowing brown hair escaping from his helmet, replied as he tore pearls from a necklace.

“Long live the Grand Paladin,” The larger of the two chuckled and tossed the jar into a leather sack. Looking over the now empty table, a frown smeared across his chubby face. Then curiosity dragged his gaze to the closet. Seconds turned to hours as his steps came closer to the draconians' hiding place. The mother's heart pounded as she pursed her eyes shut, praying for the men to go away.

“Ready? We got more rooms to hit before the others come,” the taller knight said with a large bag of jewels hefted over his shoulder.

“Sure, sure. Just checking something,” the fat one replied. As he approached, the mother began to utter another prayer. However, panic quickly settled in, and her words stumbled over each other.

Pushing Taenith further behind her, she quickly went limp. The door opened.

The apostle drew his sword, using its tip to uncover what lay beneath the blanket. He gave a depraved, toothy smile, and a droplet of spit splashed against the hardwood floor. 

“Well well. Look what we have here.” The knight’s tongue smacked against his greased lips, and his soulless gaze lingered over the female, who pressed her back firmly against her child in a desperate attempt to keep him hidden from view. The boy winced at the pressure. 

“What's that?” The taller apostle approached. 

“More scaleskins.” They smiled in unison with a look she could only imagine a demon would wear. 

“P-please don’t hurt us...” she uttered, her maw trembling. Tears ran down her cheeks. “We can’t hurt you.” She spoke in her native tongue, but the language fell on deaf ears.

“Eh. What’s she saying?” the taller apostle tilted his head.

“I dunno.” The fat apostle raised his sword. “Who cares?” With one fell swoop, he slashed into the frightened mother. Her blood sprayed across the back of the closet. 

Both apostles laughed and turned to leave before the taller one noticed a clump behind the bloody mess. “Hold on…” He extended his sword and moved the corpse to the side, revealing her son, shaking and covered in blood. His eyes were sealed shut. 

“Shit, it was a mother. Your call Howzer. Wanna kill it?” the tall one asked with a sarcastic frown.

“Mom?” the child yelped. He slowly opened his eyes to see his hands were stained in blood. Tears burst from him as he looked upon his mother’s lifeless corpse.

“Have faith, son…” Were the words that came to mind at first. However, it quickly became obvious that no god was coming for them.  

No one was.

Days Later

“Eat.” The man the boy had come to know as Howzer said as he threw down a piece of some strange meat. Grease splattered over Taenith’s legs before it sank into the steel floor of his cage in a congealed mess of fat and blood. Once the soldier walked away, Taenith threw the sludge pile outside and cowered in the corner. The prison was small, too small for a being of his size. It was originally meant for hunting dogs or the like, not a growing draconian.

“So, have you decided what to do with it?” Litner asked over a campfire beside two tents.

“Gonna sell it. I know a guy from Kanda who’s into this sort of thing.”

Litner laughed and took a swig of booze. Howzer soon joined in on the drinking binge.

Taenith couldn’t understand their tongue, which only widened the alien feeling seeping into his heart. The only reminder he had left of his home was the silver pendant in his hands.

“Lunas...” he muttered through clenched teeth as he gazed into the dragon’s silver eyes. The goddess of peace, of love, had let his mother die. Her blood swelled in his hands because of her. 

She lied.

The name echoed in his mind and he found himself clenching his fists together until his own blood fountained from his palms. “Liar!” The boy threw the talisman to the dirt outside the cage.

“Hey! Shut up over there!” Howzer yelled in a drunken stupor. In response, the draconian growled and kept to himself. A single tear fell from his face and onto the cage floor as he lay with his knees pressed against his chest. “Mom...” he whispered, more tears rolled down his cheeks and maw.

A hole felt like it opened in his chest as he understood the powerlessness of himself. Looking up into the vacant sky offered him some hope. The stars, boundless in power and might, smiled upon him while he laid in a pool of his own tears.

 About an hour later, the campfire began to die down, leaving the entire campsite in near-darkness, save the few torches placed around the campsite. Once he knew his captors were asleep, the draconian approached the front of the cage. If he was lucky, he could escape without notice. Taenith growled as he tried prying the iron lock open with his juvenile hands. He attempted to jam a nail into the device but to no avail as it threatened to snap off. 

Sighing, he cradled himself in defeat before a faint shimmer caught his eye. At first, he ignored it, believing it to be the pendant he had discarded. But upon further investigation, he could see that it was in fact the key to the cage. Eyes widened, he realized the human must have dropped it after giving him food. The boy's heart raced with newfound hope as he quickly wove his tail through the bars and out of the cage. With a small twist, he looped the keychain on the tip of his tail and briskly retrieved the item. He then hastily jammed it into the lock and forced the door open. For the first time in days, he could unfold his barely sprouted wings and stretch his legs. He turned to flee the camp. Then he hesitated. His heart filled with sudden chaotic and hateful feelings, beckoning him to take vengeance. He could simply run away and be free of this torment. But when he glanced back at his captives’ camp, he knew simply escaping wouldn't be enough. Not for him.

Without making a noise, Taenith snuck over to the dwindling campfire and grabbed one of the swords they left sitting there. It was large for his size, and heavy. He examined the short, curved blade, and could see his reflection snarl back at him, urging him to kill. Without hesitation, the draconian lugged the sword behind him, creeping over to the tent of his mother’s killer. Opening its entrance, Taenith instantly noticed the snoring devil resting over a bed roll with a cloth blanket wrapped over him tightly. 

Heart pounding, the draconian summoned all his strength to raise the scimitar in his hands. He lunged forward. The groggy apostle yelped for a moment as the blade punctured his throat. The boy screamed violently while he clumsily forced the edge deeper, ensuring the kill. Blood sprayed across Taenith’s maw, and waterfalled down Howzer’s chest, soaking his cloth blanket and pillow. 

“Howzer?!” the voice of Litner shouted from the neighboring tent. Taenith hissed and retrieved his sword. It felt strangely light now with the adrenaline gushing through his veins. Thoughts of murdering the next apostle filled his mind until he noticed a glimmering silver light from around Howzer’s neck. The apostle’s blood pooled onto a pendant much like Taenith’s, covering Lunas’ majestic image in a glimmer of sanguine beauty. 

Taenith’s throat swelled and he felt a sinking sensation fill his stomach. He vomited over the bedroll and cried. 

His mother’s words of religious wisdom plagued him. 

“Have faith.”

Grasping his chest, Taenith turned from the bloodied man and fled from the tent before Litner could gather himself from his drunken state. With only the clothes on his body, Taenith ran towards the high grass of the fields and disappeared into the night, leaving his faith behind.  

The crescent moon frowned down on him.