The Dragon's Angel

Prologue

The whole forest was alight with revelry and cheer as the noble families from the Lunar Kingdom prepared to come down for their yearly visit to Efril. The natives had a week-long holiday that they celebrated for these royals, called the moonlight festival, in which the king and queen and their court would ride down the mountainside from their secluded castle in elegant horse-drawn carriages.

The entire small village was nestled comfortably inside the massive, spiraling trunk of the Grandfather Tree, and was home to many ancient wood elves and their descendants. Among these centuries-old inhabitants lived a relatively young wood elf girl named Esme Rowan. Esme detested the royal family, and sometimes she felt as if she was the only one who held this sentiment. Though she knew that most of her neighbors and friends also secretly hated the authoritarian moon elves, they would never dare to step out of line for fear of facing dire consequences. On top of that, no wood elf in their right mind could turn down a good celebration, especially when it was government-funded and completely free for them to enjoy.

Esme almost resented the other wood elves for this betrayal of their true feelings, but ultimately she realized that she couldn’t even blame them. Despite her distaste for the fanciness of the upper class, she found it almost refreshing to see everyone so happy. Normally, the villagers just fished and hunted and lived off the land, never really getting a taste of the lavishness that was associated with royal life. The only time they normally interacted with the moon elves was when they were being policed by their guards who patrolled the areas around the kingdom. But when the Aethra family actually came down to visit, their gentry preceded them with thousands of lights, beautiful decorations, and hand-carved oak tables and chairs imported from artisans of foreign kingdoms.

The sprawling branches of the Grandfather tree were draped with silks and lace, the lights making it seem as if a whole population of fireflies had moved into the forest. Lush blue carpets crafted from the finest materials were rolled out through the village, so that the king and queen would have a sort of runway to parade down when they arrived. The decorations were fit for a palace, and the High Forest nearly became an outdoor version of one during these festivities. Esme almost didn’t recognize her own hometown, the draperies and decorations looking so different from the ones the wood elves would use for their own more personal celebrations. While the gentry had done an excellent job of transforming the small village, it still felt like a waking dream to her.

While passing through the curtains of soft, blue velvet that hung from the tree branches above, Esme saw a glint of light that caught her eye. Following the source, she found an elderly elf sitting by a fire, carving small totems with a traditional-looking knife. Tilting her head, Esme stepped closer, investigating the intricate detail of the woman’s crafts and admiring them.

“What do you seek, my dear?” the old woman spoke up without even lifting her head, startling Esme. Her voice was soft and smooth, like it had been worn thin by her age. When she looked up at the younger girl, her eyes were milky white, fully blind.

“I’m not sure… I just saw your fire and thought that I would see who was here. I noticed your carvings, what are you making?” Esme was both impressed and enamored by the complex figures the old lady had crafted from simple pieces of wood, seeing that most of them took on shapes of different woodland creatures.

“Spirit totems. Here, take this with you, and let it guide you along your path. We all need a spirit animal, after all. I think that this one is choosing you,” the old woman cryptically spoke, which confused Esme, but she assumed that this woman had to be at least 700 years old. If she was nearly 400 years her senior, who was she to argue with her?

“Oh! Thank you… I think? I’m not sure that I quite understand…” Esme was puzzled, but she held her hand out to accept the totem from the older woman. She could see that it had taken on the shape of a dragon, and it was carved from a paler wood like birch or yew. Turning it in her fingers, she could see the small details that the woman had scorched into parts of the design, making it look like the distinctive scales and wings. Esme was amazed to see how realistic this elder had made the totem, and smiled to herself at the thoughtful gift.

“It’s beautiful, I-” when Esme had glanced up to tell the woman she loved it, there was no woman left to thank. She had vanished, along with all of her carvings, leaving Esme alone with the fire. Shaken to her core, Esme’s eyes widened and she scrambled away from the area as fast as she could. While she had heard of shamans, witches, and other magical beings before, she was always warned to stay away from them. Wood elves were simple folk, and they took more kindly to nature and used their bond with animals and plants to survive. Magic was more of a specialty of the High Elves, the ones who had split into the separate tribes of sun elves and moon elves centuries ago. Esme ran all the way back to her house, a small log cabin by the riverside with fish hanging over a cooking fire in the front yard.

“Mother! Mother, are you home..?” Esme was breathless, her panic easing slightly when she saw her mother sewing up some shirts in the kitchen. Her mother, a tailor, was almost always repairing or creating clothing. Their home doubled as the headquarters for her small business.

“Goodness, dear. You look like you’ve seen a ghost! Are you alright?” Shasari Rowan was a serious woman, but she could tell that her daughter was rattled by whatever had just happened to her.

“No! I stopped to talk to an old lady and she gave me a gift, but when I tried to thank her, she had vanished. I’ve never seen anything like it, but it was so strange… it was like the witchcraft you’d warned me about when I was little!” Esme was bracing herself on a kitchen stool, trying to regain her breath and calm herself down as she regaled her mother with her story. Shasari allowed a tiny half-smile, watching her daughter animatedly explain herself.

“Esme, please. I told you those things when you were little so that you wouldn’t wander too far from the house or the village. Nobody around here has done magic for centuries, aside from the court wizards in the castle. But they never even leave the castle’s walls. We’re safe here, I promise you. She must’ve just wandered off and you were daydreaming for too long again,” she held a hand out and Esme took it, shaking like a leaf.

“But mother, look! I have proof!” Esme placed the totem on the table. It had a very thin leather cord attached to the top that made it into a necklace. When she laid eyes on it, Shasari went completely pale.

“It can’t be. Unless…” setting her sewing project aside, Esme’s mother stood from the table, walking over to the fireplace. She pulled a small iron box off of the mantle. Opening it, she pulled out a totem, similar in material and design to the one that Esme had presented. But this one was a wolf instead of a dragon, and had a more worn-looking cord.

“Esme, I think that I saw the same woman. Granted, I saw her about 300 years ago, right before you were born. It’s said that she’s a shaman who gives you your greatest gift, but also bestows upon you your greatest curse. She very rarely comes down from the mountains, but they tell stories of how she answers prayers we don’t even know we have. For me, you were my gift. I wanted nothing more than a daughter, but no matter how much I tried I could never have one. And then you came along, but only after I met this woman. She gave me the wolf totem, and pretty soon I met a charming young man from the neighboring kingdom, and we fell in love. But he also disappeared right before I had you. It broke my heart,” Shasari sat back down, putting her head in her hands.

Her mother didn’t say it, most likely because it was too painful or embarrassing to talk about, but once Esme was born and her father disappeared the money troubles began. The royal family had replaced their family with a tailor they said had appeared at the gates from the sun elf palace. They used him as a double agent, so he began to make their clothes as well as supply them with inside information. The Rowans couldn’t compare, and started losing even more business. They had been nearly destitute ever since.

“I don’t think it can be that bad… you said you had me when you were given this totem, then maybe something good will happen to me as well. Even so, if it's been three centuries, wouldn’t the one who came to you have died by now? An elf can only live so long, Mama. Please, don’t worry about me. I’m going to go get some rest and try to shake this off,” Esme, while still confused and upset, was relieved that it wasn’t just her mind playing tricks on her. If it had happened to her mother, and her mother was still around, then she would probably be fine. Reassuring herself, Esme fell into a deep sleep and readied herself for the upcoming festival.

Esme awoke to the sound of guards banging on the cabin door. Bolting upright, she quickly ran down the stairs, still in her nightgown. She didn’t see any sign of her mother, so she flung the front door open, wondering what all the commotion was about. As fast as she had opened up the door, the guards seized her. Panicking, Esme struggled and tried to kick and flail her way out of their strong grip.

“What’s the meaning of all this? Unhand me this instant!” Esme was shouting, still attempting to free herself from the bulky guard who was holding her arms tightly behind her back.

“Esme Aila Rowan, by order of the Crown of the Silmari Empire, you’re coming with us. You are now the property of the Aethra royal family. You’ve been promoted to a consort for the Prince, and you will be taken to the castle to prepare for your transition into the new Princess,” a guard who wasn’t securing Esme spoke, reading from a freshly inked scroll.

“I demand to know what’s going on! What about my mother? Why have I been chosen?” While she rattled off questions, Esme’s bright green eyes brimmed with tears as she was dragged from her home.

“Your mother struck a deal with the prince before sunrise this morning. It was a trade of sorts. He would restore her as one of the royal tailors and pay her even more handsomely as long as she could somehow compensate him. She had no money, so she gave you to him instead, and said something about protecting you. The promise of heirs was too good of a deal for the Prince to pass up, especially since he hasn’t been able to find a wife yet. So he accepted her plea and agreed to shelter you, out of the kindness of his own heart,” the guard snickered at his own comment, knowing very well that the prince hadn’t found a wife because he was a wicked man, but that the king and queen were still desperate to continue their lineage.

Esme, realizing that her mother was the one who had sold her out, began to sob. Glancing in through the door that had been left ajar, Esme could see her mother curled up on the floor by the fireplace, hugging her knees to her chest and sobbing.

Clearly she regretted her decision, but it was too late. The price had been paid with her own blood. Shasari had chosen to remove her greatest curse, the burden of poverty, by relinquishing her greatest gift. And though it broke her heart, she also thought that she was doing Esme a service by freeing her of whatever curse she could acquire from the totem. However, Esme was wearing it around her neck when she was taken away, and the curse would follow her as well.

Years passed, and Esme was molded into the perfect wife and princess for the kingdom. Her new husband, Morthil Aethra, was over half a century older than her. He was tall and gaunt, with pale silvery skin and platinum blonde hair that made him look almost like a ghost. Most moon elves had similar coloration, and a more ancient name for them was the Silmari, or silver elves.

They were starkly different looking than wood elves like Esme, who had long, flowing raven hair and eyes as bright green as the fresh grass in the spring. Her warm, tanned skin was a stark contrast to the paler and milkier tones of the moon elves. While Esme wasn’t nearly considered short, especially for her people (who tended to be smaller for elves), the moon elves were so excessively tall that they seemed almost like giants around her. Morthil was a looming 6’ 7” to her own 5’ 6”, which made her stand out among the royal court. More notably, Morthil valued Esme about the same as he would any trophy or prize that he had collected throughout his life. He enjoyed having her around just to say that he had a wife, and an exotic one no less, but beyond that he really had no care in the world for her. To him, it was just an unhappy arranged marriage, and that was almost the only thing that they had ever both agreed on.

Ultimately, Morthil was a hedonistic and greedy man, never satisfied with anything that had been given to him. Because of this, he often sought out pleasures in places he wasn’t even supposed to go. Frequently, he had his share of affairs with maidens or wenches who were too intimidated to say no to him. Meanwhile, Esme remained in her tower at the palace, staring out the window and wanting nothing more than to return to her little cabin in the woods.

She found herself watching smoke rise from the chimneys on the houses below, protected within the comfortable stone walls of the palace. Despite the different scenery, the cottages almost reminded her of her own village. Knowing there would never be a time that she could leave the castle made her sad, but she’d already resigned herself to this life. It wasn’t bad by any means, in fact she had more luxury now than she’d ever imagined she would growing up. However, there was the threatening expectation hanging over her head that she was to produce an heir, but they had experienced no luck with that up to this point. She worried that if she was unable to give the prince what he wanted, the royal family would have her exiled or executed.

Eventually, Esme managed to convince the prince to stay at home long enough for her to become pregnant, and she was satisfied enough with the idea of having her own child that she could ignore her husband’s unfaithfulness to her. Not that she particularly liked him anyway, and they had at least reached a mutual understanding that they would be good parents to their children, even if they didn’t care to be together as husband and wife.

When she learned that it would in fact be a little girl, Esme’s whole world lit up in a way she hadn’t felt for decades. Her life suddenly brightened, and she now spent her days in the tower knitting blankets and clothes for her daughter the same way that her mother had done for her. Now she understood what Shasari had meant when she said that she was her greatest blessing, looking back sadly on the bittersweet memory as she daydreamed about what having a child would be like.

When the baby was finally on the way, Esme begged to be alone with her handmaids in the tower. She hated the idea of the royal doctor and her disinterested husband being present in the room, and instead opted for being surrounded by people she trusted. However, when her daughter arrived, Esme was distraught.

The baby came out looking absolutely otherworldly.

Opalescent white hair that had the sheen of a pearl, shimmering silvery skin, and Esme’s own green eyes but with silver and gold flecks in them. Beyond this, the baby had soft downy feathers lining her shoulder blades, like a young bird. She was beautiful, but her qualities were unnatural in a way that didn’t resemble either of her parents, and Esme wasn’t sure why. But then she thought back to the totem, to the old woman that she had seen decades ago, and realized that this was meant to be her curse. Like her mother, she had been gifted with a daughter, but she was never going to fit in with royalty. While most of her traits could have passed for those of a silver elf, her feathers and eyes made her stand out compared to the rest of the kingdom. Beside herself, Esme took matters into her own hands.

Wanting to protect the baby from the prince and his family, Esme swore her handmaids to secrecy and told them to inform the prince that the baby was stillborn. Arranging a discreet meeting, Esme gave the girl to one of the guards and paid him to take her off into the woods. Crying, she watched helplessly from her tower as her only daughter was taken away from her as she had been taken from her own mother.

Chapter 1

When Hamura returned to the mountains, she hadn’t expected to be ambushed. Just outside of her cave, a hunting party of moon elves awaited her return. The cliff had been extremely difficult to scale, but the group eventually made it up the perilous terrain, scrambling for footholds and handholds. After they had finally reached the top, they set a trap for the huge dragon that they had seen circling the skies for months. Placing a gargantuan net on the ground that the court mages had enchanted, the dragon would see nothing but leaves and twigs in its place. The hunters took cover in some bushes and brambles, covering themselves with foliage to blend in and keep watch.

Dragon teeth and scales were selling for hundreds of gold coins on the market, especially because there were so few left alive. Most of them had already been hunted to extinction, and the others that remained had isolated themselves to lonely caves in the farthest reaches of the map, much like this one had. They had once been fearsome creatures, many of which used elemental magic and had terrifying demeanors.

But some, like Hamura, had no interest at all in scaring people.

Despite wielding a breath weapon of frost, she would rather hide herself away with her horde of treasures than spend her time trifling with the affairs of humans and elves. She had never seen what appeal her brothers or sisters found in terrorizing villages or staking out dilapidated castles. Instead, she traveled the realm, flying to the edge of the world and back on her journeys and collecting trinkets and oddities along the way. An adventurer in her own right, she still envied the mortals that could see places that she could not, like the underground tunnels and mines that had been abandoned by the dwarves ages ago. The snowy white dragon longed for something more, something exciting, something fulfilling.

She wouldn’t have to wait very long.

As she alighted on the ledge outside of her cave with a great thud, Hamura shrugged her wings and folded them back down against the sides of her body. Her white scales, coated with ice like glistening daggers, shifted in the light of the sunset and scattered small beams over the rocks beneath her feet. Her eyes, as deep blue as glaciers, flitted around to scan the area. She didn’t see anything out of the ordinary, but dragons were territorial and possessive creatures, and she had many treasures that she guarded fiercely. Because of this, she kept a giant boulder in front of the entrance of her dwelling, as a sort of failsafe to prevent stray creatures from wandering inside and making off with her belongings.

Stepping forward to roll it out of the way, she found herself suddenly snared in a large trap, but it was one that was meant for a beast much smaller than her. The elves had vastly underestimated her size, never having seen a dragon in person before, only ever spotting her in the sky. Becoming enraged, Hamura stretched her expansive wings, snapping the cables that secured the invisible net and causing it to flutter to the ground beneath her talons. Huffing indignantly, the towering dragon raised her long neck, making the elves feel microscopic.

Hamura chased the elves away from her home, shooing them down the craggy peaks by flapping her wings and causing the wintry gusts to kick up a fierce snowstorm at their backs. They began stumbling, trying to beat the powder and ice down the face of the rocks. Just when she thought she was free of these pests, she saw another hooded figure in a thick black riding cloak scurrying down the other side of the mountain, holding a bundle wrapped in what looked like a burlap sack.

Assuming it was a thief who had come up with the hunters and snuck off out of sight, like many burglars before him, she began following after him. He had a considerable head start and was a decent way down the mountain before she caught up to him on foot. Her body was much bigger and was more equipped for flying, not awkwardly maneuvering down mountainous slopes.

“Stop, you filthy thief! Drop the bag of my things and I won’t hurt you,” Hamura shouted in the dragon tongue, the ancient language of her race; to the elf in the cloak, it simply sounded like a menacing, bellowing roar. The guttural cry echoed through the skies, shaking the trees and sending birds and insects scattering. The only sound that could be heard afterward was the labored breathing from the terrified elf, running for his life from the dragon who was pursuing him, knowing full well that she could bite his head off if she so chose.

And then, there was a piercing scream.

The elf had caught his foot in a bear trap, and as this happened, he dropped the bag he had been holding and continued trying to run away. He tripped, toppling and tumbling the rest of the way down the cliff. At the end, Hamura wasn’t sure that he looked entirely alive.

Well, that’s what he gets for being a thief, she thought to herself, walking over to pick up the bag he dropped beneath a tree. The only thing that gave her pause was the fact that she heard crying. It sounded like a baby, and it seemed incredibly close. Using her snout, she shuffled aside the material of the bag to inspect its contents. Hamura took a few half-steps back and snorted out some snowflakes in disbelief.

The bag hadn’t been full of treasure. Not hers, at least. There was a small girl, no more than a few years old, swaddled in hand-knitted blankets and laying on top of a white silk pillow that was embroidered with green lace. The snow dragon was horrified, not only that she had accidentally killed the elf, but that now there was a child involved, too young to even defend itself. She gathered up the material of the bag between her teeth, slowly and carefully so that she didn’t hurt the tiny girl.

She walked back up to her cave, using her tail to slide the boulder aside just enough for her to squeeze in. Leaving it open for light, she gently sat the girl back down in the corner of leaves, feathers, and other soft things she had used to construct her own comfortable nest. Unwrapping her once more, Hamura examined the child to see where she had come from.

She had short, pearlescent hair, almost the color and sheen of Hamura’s scales, but slightly more vibrant and rich. Her skin was alabaster, with a silver shimmer to it that only appeared when the sun hit it just right. The eyes, Hamura noticed, were more green than sea kelp, with flecks of gold and silver throughout that made them look like jewels.

She’s… beautiful. But she doesn’t look like the rest of them, Hamura pondered. She was puzzled, to say the least. The shine of her skin and hair suggested that she was a moon elf, but something was wrong about the coloration that made her suspicious. In her thousands of years in the realm, she had only ever seen this type of thing a few times. Turning the girl halfway over with the side of one large claw, she confirmed her suspicion.

Seraphim, Hamura gasped, seeing her feathers, laying the child on her back as softly as she had tilted her up. It was the ancient word for the angels, one that wasn’t spoken much because this rarely occurred anymore. When angels walked the earth, they had affairs with mortals, just like the gods did. But the genes could remain dormant for a few generations, giving rise to children like these.

The seraphim, the class of angels who had the most dealings with mortals, became the namesake for these children. Also called seraphs, they were incredible hybrids of their mortal parents and the immortal angels. Because of this, their magic and natural prowess were generally much stronger than any elf, human, or other creature. They were faster, stronger, and more fierce than most people, but it came with downsides too.

Many of these half-angels were exiled or worse because their genetics gave them traits like wings, extreme height, or even naturally occurring auras. Some groups of elves and humans in this realm had denounced magic, so when they saw a baby born with unnatural qualities, they would abandon it to die. Otherwise, they would have to hide it away so that nobody would know they were harboring magical beings, especially in this area since it was a crime that the royal family would execute someone for.

Hamura knew what she had to do. This baby, defenseless and alone, was a lot like her. If she didn’t raise her, she would be isolated and without a real family. This idea broke the dragon’s heart, so she set to work immediately. Using her smaller front legs, more akin to arms if she hadn’t been a quadruped, the great white dragon began crafting things to babyproof her cave.

She built a big crib, because she was pretty sure she had seen human babies and children in those before, and she cut off one small corner of her cave with criss-crossing branches, forming a playpen of sorts to keep the child from toddling out of the cave and over the ledge. Her plan was foolproof, or so she thought. Glancing over once she was done, she saw the child crawling, blankets and all, toward the mouth of the cave that still had a slit open beside the rock.

No! Bad baby!, Hamura exclaimed in her own mind, icy eyes widening in panic as she stomped over to the cave entrance quickly and snagged the baby’s diaper on one fang. Carrying her over to the pen, she lowered her inside and brought over the bundle of blankets.

She used the large sheet of burlap as a floor mat, protecting the girl’s hands and feet from the cold stone. She then used her claws to carefully spread the many handcrafted blankets, making the child her own warm little nest. Finally, she nudged the pillow from the bundle onto the top, a comfortable place for her to lay her tiny head.

As she watched the girl interestedly, she noticed that the blankets each had 3 letters sewn on to them in some sort of monogram. Hamura couldn’t read human languages, much less elven because of all the frills and extra symbols, but she realized this must have been the child’s initials before she left home. Seeing that there were three, the dragon decided to give the girl three names.

Lilli, like the delicate-looking flower, but styled in the dragon tongue. Riari, a traditional angelic name. And Osir, from the dragons’ word for a willow tree, as tall and graceful as she expected this girl to become. The naming convention wasn’t quite as traditional as most humans or elves, but it would do. At least she had a name. With a razor-sharp talon, Hamura carved the name into the stone of the cave in the draconic script, right beside the girl’s playpen, so that she could learn to read and write it when she was old enough.

Innocence, harmony, grace. Things she wanted this child to have when she was grown. Hamura would raise the girl until she was ready to go off on her own, just as her mother dragon had for her.

Teaching her magic, and how to speak draconic, was just the beginning of their story.