Kingdoms of Ohm: The Lonely Dragon #1 ✓

Speak, Ez'kal

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It took four wretched words to silence us all.

They were insignificant to say the least, fueled by a primal fear not felt in centuries. Even as I stood by, a mere royal guard crowned in the finest armor — both wings drawn and my dark, blackened chest raised proudly — these candid words sent shivers down my poor spine.

"Our world is ending."

Call it inappropriate. Out of place, even. Death during an age of peace was impossible! Worst of all, this was spoken by a creature draped in all of Kantar's affection. Had they been told from the maw of a stranger, our growls of denial would have dismissed them. But here, time froze entirely. And every dragon in that mountain held their breaths, watching a new nightmare unfold right before their sapphire eyes.

As well as mine.

Notice the dragon in the center of the room? This blue drake was the messenger, Ez'kal, a prophet to the king (as some foreigners would say). He was unique to some extent: a white-and-blue scaly underbelly, soft amber eyes, and a brown scar drawn from the tips of his wing to the flared ridges beneath his throat. Experienced and ambitious, he longed for the adventures Ohm offered him, and it's mysteries.

And he was much older than myself — a couple decades above seventy if I wasn't mistaken.

Now, Ez'kal — alongside a coterie of others — were tasked with small missions: investigate the land of Ohm and bring back news of the world to the guild.

Six storm dragons flew out — four males and two females — laughing, cheering, and teasing one another as they soared away into the setting sun. They carried plenty to sustain them all: spices for trade, tubes of coiled rock as water pouches, dried deer meat, and little gift baskets to carry anything more.

Only Ez'kal returned.

The drake was battle-torn when we found him: bruised, battered, and bloody — a curse offered by the tip of a jagged flint spear. That charming smile of his was soon replaced by the whimpers of prey and the gurgling of his flesh spoiling the riches below.

But that wasn't the worst of it. Upon approach, we were assaulted by a slew of scents, the most notable of odors became that of mankind.

I wrinkled my snout. Your ancestors, dear reader, selfishly praised every 'imperfection' and their so-called 'intellect' as just. They reveled in every kill, and they always sought more. Greedy. Powerful. Remorseless. And they still think that they stand at the center of the universe.

Savages.

Like baby mosquitos in the spring, these 'insects' flutter their tail-less rears to every corner of Ohm, sucking up its life-blood without consent. Everything that they managed to find was instantly captured, or enslaved for further use. And, had a dragon stumbled in their path...

I shuddered. I pray to Kantar that no such fate befalls me.

The fire dragons had decreed that they'd regulate their growth, just to ensure every other kingdom could thrive as usual. But every decade after seemed to strengthen man's regime.

By the time I was a juvenile, word spread of ape-like prowess wrecking havoc at nearby territories. And now, as an adult male, it seems as if they've harnessed the very secrets of Ohm's mystery: recreating and destroying anything they could find. The very essence of magic was unlocked by their unforgiving hunger. And now, to this day, they remain unforgiving in their primitive nature to learn... and to kill.