Dragon Kingdom

When I was a child, my grandma used to tell me stories. At the time, I never gave

them much thought. Thinking they were just that… stories. Growing up, I soon realized that they weren’t lofty fantasies and fairy tales, but memories of her past,memories of our ancestors before our world turned to shit. You see, what comes

from legend, no matter how exaggerated the story becomes, there is always a sliver

of truth. You just need to weed out the fiction from fact.

My grandmother used to tell me stories of the Chosen One. The one who would save

us all. When I was younger, I used to believe that what she said was true. That eventually someone would be born, just as the Oracle predicted. Someone who

could save our souls and bind us back to our magic. Once I grew up and saw the world unfolding around me, I no longer believed in salvation. The chosen one seemed

to be more of a prayer than reality. Some dream we wanted desperately to come true. Something for which we all prayed and prayed. Something in which we needed

to find hope when there wasn’t any left.

When our ancestors turned their backs on us, how were we expected to believe in this so-called salvation? Especially when all we witnessed was death and carnage

ever since the great war. Nothing except pain and poverty. I used to believe the stories, used to pray for the mysterious chosen one that would rid our world of its evil.

Now though, I see it for what it really is, just a dream of hope. Some out of reach fairy-tale. A story to create hope. Hope is dangerous; it makes you believe things will get better. I stopped hanging on to hope when I witnessed firsthand that it caused nothing but heartache.

When the uprising happened twelve years ago, all Fae creatures fought alongside the elves and the angels trying to right the wrongs of our ancestors from the great war, trying to restore the balance back to where it was meant to be.

My parents were among those who fought bravely. I was nine at the time. My grandmother hid me in

the bunker under our house, promising to watch over me if they didn’t return.

Only when we came back up, the world had changed, and so did my life. My parents

were gone. Not a single person who fought in the war survived. No Elves, no Fae, no Angels. Even the humans were mostly wiped out, including the Oracle. Her death

was the biggest blow because with it, we lost not only lives, but our magic.

I was part of a dying species. There were hardly any Fae left. A few hid, but we tried our best to keep to the shadows, trying to go unnoticed. I had never met another Faeother than my grandmother, yet I refused to believe we are the only ones left. We were on the bottom of the food chain now, next to humans. Ruled over by the Dragon Kingdom.

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