Page 2 of Elven Oath

My life has been shaped by decisions made in war rooms and on battlefields long before either of us were born.

Still, she is a mystery. Maybe she’ll be nothing like the cold, sharp-edged memories I hold of her people.

The elves I’ve known were nothing like the legends that say they’re graceful and wise. They were swift, ruthless killers that had no mercy.

I remember the night they swept through our stronghold like a wave of silver fire. I was only a boy, barely of age to join the fight.

My father stood tall with his wings spread wide, roaring commands as our warriors took to the skies blocking out the light of the sun. We were certain of victory. We always were. Too bad that we’d been wrong.

The elves had something new that night. Some dark magic or forgotten power that bound our wings, grounding us to our feet.

One moment we were soaring across the sky and the next we were falling. Crashing into the earth, completely helpless. They came with blades and with arrows that burned with a blue fire that we’d never seen before.

My father fell, not from the sky, but in the dirt with a resounding thud, surrounded by his warriors.

The memory of his roar echoes in my dreams, the sound of his last breath mingling with the cries of our people as we retreated from the field.

That was the night everything changed. We never regained our strength after that. Some never regained their ability to take flight again.

The Elves’ magic grew stronger, their influence spread, and my people became fewer, our numbers dwindling with each passing year. Less and less babies are being born. More and more dragons are becoming infertile.

That’s why this marriage exists. To stop the bleeding. To bring an end to the centuries of violence and hatred.

To hopefully appease the Gods so they allow us to have children of our own again. But I wonder, even now, if such a union can truly change anything. What if me and this elf woman don’t have any children?

I glance across the fire at Drago and Falkor, my oldest friends, their broad faces lit by the flames.

Falkor still has that easy smirk, as if everything in the world is a joke to be laughed at, while Drago’s massive frame hunches forward, his golden eyes gleaming with unspoken thoughts.

I know them as well as I know myself. We’ve survived battles together, the loss of a huge amount of our homeland, the fall of our kin. Yet here we are, sitting around a fire, pretending this marriage will solve all our problems.

I know they don’t believe it any more than I do. They know the war left scars too deep to be healed by a single treaty or a wedding between strangers.

They laugh and tease me about this elf bride, because what else is there? It’s easier to joke than to face the truth of what we’ve lost.

A distant sound pulls me from my thoughts and I scan the darkness around us, opening my dragon sight to see within the darkness but nothing moves.

This forest is ancient, and filled with creatures far older than either elves or dragons. I find some comfort in that. No matter how great our wars, how fierce our hatred, the world around us continues.

But as I sit here in the shadow of all that’s been, I wonder what will be left for our people. I’ve been trained for war my entire life. I know no other way to live.

I’ve been told that our survival depends on our strength and on our willingness to fight for every scrap of land, every breath of air.

Yet, here I am, on my way to marry into the bloodline of those who sought to take that very breath away from us.

Will I hate her when I see her? Will I see the faces of the elves who killed my father, who burned our homes, and left our people scattered? Or will she be something else entirely—something beyond the war that has shaped us all?

The fire crackles again, louder this time as Drago tosses another log into the flames. He glances at me, his eyes searching mine, though neither of us says anything.

Maybe he sees the weight of my thoughts, or maybe he’s lost on his own. I’ve never asked him how much he remembers of the war, of what we once were. Perhaps it’s better that way. We all carry our ghosts differently.

I can’t help but wonder what kind of ghosts this elf bride carries. What stories haunt her dreams? Does she fear the flames of my people like we do the cold magic of her kin? Does she resent this union as much as I do? Or has she, too, been taught that this is the only way forward?

I’ll find out soon enough. And when I do, I’ll have to decide whether to embrace this future—or to continue carrying the fire of the past within me.

Falkor leans back, resting his hands behind his head. "So, Aodhan," he starts, dragging my name out in a way that makes Drago smirk, "why don't you tell us again about that ancient prophecy? You know, the one about dragons being bound to elves in the old days. I still can’t wrap my head around that part where we supposedly needed them to have children."

I sigh, knowing full well he remembers. I’ve told them the story before, but Falkor loves to hear it. Mostly so he can make some crude joke at the end.

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