Page 3 of Elven Oath

I’ll still tell him anyway. The story, after all, is part of our legacy, and it weighs on me as I prepare to fulfill its ancient promise.

"It’s not a prophecy," I say quietly, my eyes still on the fire. "It’s history."

"Yeah, yeah," Falkor waves a hand. "History, prophecy, whatever. Just tell me."

I shift my weight, leaning forward and clasping my hands together. The fire flickers between us, and for a moment, I feel the pull of the past, as if the story is already here, sitting with us by the fire.

"In the beginning," I start, "dragons and elves were not enemies. They lived together in harmony—two ancient races, each with their own gifts. The elves had their magic, their connection to the land, while we dragons had our strength, our flight, and our fire. But there was one thing dragons could not do on their own."

Falkor raises an eyebrow, always the skeptic. "Have children?"

I nod. "Yes. Back then, it was said that dragons could only reproduce with the help of the elves’ magic. The bond between a dragon and an elf was sacred. It wasn’t just a marriage; it was a merging of souls. Only when the two races were bound together could new life be created—half-dragon, half-elf offspring, children with the power of both races."

Drago shifts in his seat, his deep voice rumbling out. "So... without them, we would have died out?"

I nod again, my eyes fixed on the fire as it snaps and pops. "Exactly. The elves’ magic made it possible for us to survive, to thrive. And so, for a time, there was peace between our people. Every dragon had an elf counterpart, a partner bound by more than just flesh, a partner bound by the soul."

Falkor, who had been unusually silent during this part, leans in. "But what happened? If we were all cozy with the elves back then, what changed?"

I look up at him, feeling the weight of the answer, the same answer that has haunted our people for generations.

"Greed. Power. The same things that always destroy peace. Some of the elves began to see the bond as an opportunity to control the dragons, to wield their power for themselves. They thought that by controlling the birth of dragons, they could control the dragons themselves. The council of Elders in the old world didn’t take kindly to that. They broke the bonds. The dragons withdrew, severing their ties to the elves. And that was when the wars began."

Falkor whistles low, shaking his head. "So, we needed them to survive, but they tried to own us. Classic."

Drago lets out a long breath, his expression hard. "And now we’re going back to the old ways, marrying them again, trying to bring about what? More half-breeds to save us from extinction?"

I shrug. "It’s not exactly the same. We’re not bound by magic anymore—at least, not the way we were. This marriage is a political arrangement, nothing more. But it’s based on those ancient ties, on the hope that maybe, by reconnecting with the elves, we can find a way forward. Maybe even a way to restore our numbers. It’s not magic, but it’s the only chance we’ve got."

Falkor chuckles again, but it’s softer this time. "Still, it's hard to believe we were ever bound to them like that. Elves and dragons, tied by the soul. Sounds like something out of a bard’s song."

"Doesn’t change that it’s true," I mutter, my voice more distant now. "It’s in the old books, Falkor. It’s who we were. And now..." I trail off, staring into the fire again. "Now we have to decide who we’re going to be."

The fire crackles in the silence that follows. Falkor and Drago seem content to let the story sink in, though I know the questions they won’t ask aloud.

How much of that history is repeating? How much of what’s happening now is just another cycle in our long, bloody history with the elves?

And when I meet my new bride, will we be bound in the same way? Bound by soul, by fate, by the legacy of our people? Or will we just be two strangers, thrown together by the decisions of those who came before us?

The ancient book says the soul bond is permanent, unbreakable once made until we die. But in all this time, I’ve never seen it. Not in my lifetime, not in anyone I know. Those old ways are long gone—aren’t they?

I close my eyes for a moment, feeling the heat of the flames on my skin. Bound by soul, tied to an elf. It seems impossible.

And yet... Here I am.

“Just because it’s in a book, doesn’t make it true.” Falkor says with a raised brow.

I don’t comment as I turn my eyes back to the fires glow. I’ve got to admit, the same thought has crossed my mind a million times. Honestly, I’ve never questioned it until a few weeks ago when my mother said something about things never being exactly as they seem when I was on a rant about the elves starting the war over greed.

When I asked her what she meant all she’d say was our ancient texts were written by our own people. Not by someone who had no ties either way.

It’s something to think about.

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