Chapter 1 - Valeron

The golden light of dawn filtered through the dense canopy of Goldenroot Grove, casting a warm glow over the small village of Sproutvale. Birds chirped softly in the trees, their melodies harmonizing with the gentle rustling of leaves. It was a serene and peaceful morning, one that promised a day of calm and simple pleasures. Yet beneath this tranquil surface, an undercurrent of anticipation thrummed through the air, for today marked the beginning of Sproutvale's annual harvest festival.

Valeron Greenleaf sat by his bedroom window, looking out at the forest that surrounded the village. His room was modest, furnished with handcrafted wooden pieces and adorned with various trinkets he had collected over the years. The window was slightly open, allowing a soft breeze to ruffle his messy hair. He gazed out at the lush green of the forest, feeling a deep connection to the world outside.

Valeron was an elf of striking appearance. His lean, athletic frame was clothed in green and gold, colors that blended seamlessly with the natural surroundings. His teal eyes, glowing softly in the morning light, were set in a face of ethereal beauty, typical of his elven heritage. Faint, intricate tattoos etched across his high cheekbones and along his jawline pulsed gently with an inner light, though they held no special power. He was Lightless, or so everyone believed.

As he watched the village come to life below, Valeron's thoughts drifted to the festivities ahead. The harvest festival was always a time of joy and celebration, a moment when the entire village came together to revel in the bounty of their hard work. Yet for Valeron, it also brought a familiar sense of unease, a reminder of his perceived inadequacies. "Valeron! Breakfast is ready!" The voice was warm and comforting, filled with paternal love that Valeron cherished. With a sigh, he stood, stretching his lean frame before making his way downstairs to the kitchen.

The kitchen was a cozy and rustic space filled with the aroma of freshly baked bread and herbal tea. Eamon Greenleaf, Valeron's father, stood at the hearth, his tall figure silhouetted against the morning light streaming through the window. Despite his advanced years, Eamon cut an impressive figure. His silver hair was slicked back in a neat queue, and his beard was well trimmed. His face radiated strength and vitality. His eyes, a warm amber color, seemed to glow with an inner light, akin to the dawning sun itself..

Eamon turned as Valeron entered, a warm smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. "Good morning, son," he said, his voice deep and reassuring. "Did you sleep well?"

Valeron nodded, taking a seat at the worn wooden table. "I did, Father. Though I must admit, I'm a bit nervous about the festival preparations."

Eamon's expression softened as he set a plate of warm bread and a steaming mug of tea before his son. "The festival will be wonderful, as it always is," he said, taking a seat across from Valeron. "I hear Darion has been working on something special for the occasion."

At the mention of his best friend, Valeron's face brightened. "Yes, he's been very secretive about it. I can't wait to see what he's made."

As they ate, father and son discussed the day's plans and the recent news in the village. Eamon spoke of the preparations for the festival, hinting at Valeron's role in helping with decorations and organizing the events. The conversation flowed easily, a testament to the close bond between them.

After breakfast, Valeron's gaze was drawn to a partially open door down the hallway. Inside, he could see the gleam of polished metal – his father's old Kingsguard armor. The armor was a relic of Eamon's past, meticulously maintained but never worn since the death of Valeron's mother. It stood as a silent reminder of the strength and duty that had defined Eamon's earlier life.

Valeron had often wondered about the stories behind that armor, the battles it had seen, the oaths it represented. But like many aspects of his father's past, it remained a mystery, wrapped in a silence that Eamon seemed reluctant to break.

Stepping outside, Valeron took in the vibrant life of Sproutvale. The village was a picturesque settlement, with cottages made of timber and stone, their roofs covered in lush moss and climbing ivy. The streets were narrow and winding, lined with colorful flowers and bustling with activity. Children played games, and the sounds of laughter filled the air, creating an atmosphere of joy and community.

Villagers greeted Valeron warmly as he made his way through the streets. He exchanged pleasantries with friends and neighbors, stopping to help an elderly merchant arrange her stall and chatting with others about their preparations for the festival.

As he walked, Valeron couldn't help but notice the subtle glances and whispers that followed him. He was well-liked by most in the village, but there was always some who kep an undercurrent of doubt and, sometimes, wariness. Being Lightless in a world where so many possessed extraordinary abilities set him apart, and not always in ways he appreciated.

His wanderings eventually led him to a building seemingly built of soot and brimstone, it's mounted signage was swinging feely in the wind with it's words visible to all, Fireforge & Son. This where his best friend was hard at work. The forge was a sturdy building, constructed from stone and wood, with a large chimney that billowed smoke into the sky. The clang of metal on metal could be heard from a distance, a testament to the hard work being done inside.

It was a sight to behold. As an Sapphire Drakari, his friend's entire body was covered in scales that shimmered in varying shades of blue, from deep sea hues to bright, jewel-like tones. His draconic head was adorned with small, backward-sweeping horns, and his eyes were a brilliant, piercing topaz. But most impressive were his wings – large, leathery appendages folded neatly against his back, capable of unfurling to an impressive span.

He was working alongside his father and the owner of this establishment, Thrain, a stout dwarf with arms like tree trunks and hands calloused from years of metalwork. Thrain's dark hair and beard were neatly groomed, with intricate braids woven through both, adorned with small metal clasps that clinked softly as he moved. Despite the difference in their species, the familial resemblance between the pair was evident in their shared intensity and craftsmanship.

"Morning Darion! Morning Sir," Valeron called out as he approached the forge.

Darion looked up from his work, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "V! Just the person I wanted to see. Come, take a look at this."

Valeron approached the forge, marveling at the intense heat and the skill with which Darion and his father worked. Thrain acknowledged Valeron with a nod, his eyes never leaving the metal he was shaping.

Darion held up a beautifully crafted rapier, its blade glinting in the light of the forge. "What do you think?"

Valeron examined the rapier, awe spreading across his face. The blade was thin and elegant, perfectly balanced for swift, precise movements. But it was the hilt that truly caught his eye. Intricate steel vines seemed to grow from the pommel, twisting and intertwining to form a protective guard. The craftsmanship was exquisite, each section and tendril rendered in painstaking detail.

As Valeron's fingers closed around the hilt, he felt as though he were grasping a living thing. The metal was warm to the touch, and the vine-like structures fit his hand perfectly, as if they had grown there just for him.

"Dari, this is... incredible," Valeron breathed, unable to take his eyes off the weapon.

Darion's scales seemed to shimmer with pride at the compliment. "Thank you," he said with a grin. "But that's not all. Look closer at the pommel."

Valeron tilted the rapier, and gasped softly. Set into the base of the hilt was a vibrant blue scale, unmistakably one of Darion's own. It caught the light, sending flashes of sapphire dancing across the blade.

"A part of me," Darion said softly, his voice taking on an unexpected tenderness. "So you'll always have me with you, V. No matter where you go."

Valeron looked up, meeting Darion's gaze. There was something in those soft eyes, something more than just friendship, that made Valeron's heart skip a beat. But before he could fully process the moment, Darion cleared his throat and stepped back.

"Anyway," Darion said, his usual jovial tone returning, "it's yours. You can wear it for the festival and... well, for whatever comes after."

Valeron was touched by his friend's gesture, a lump forming in his throat. "Thank you, Dari," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "This means more to me than you know."

Darion shrugged, trying to play it off, but the pleased glint in his eyes betrayed his feelings. "Don't mention it. Just make sure you use it well."

Thrain, pausing from his work, approached the two friends. "Aye, Valeron," he said, his gruff voice carrying a note of approval. "This lad's been workin' hard on that. Put a lot of heart into it. Use it wisely."

"I will, Sir," Valeron replied, feeling a deep sense of gratitude. "Thank you."

As the day progressed, Valeron and Darion worked together to prepare for the festival. They hung colorful banners, set up stalls, and helped arrange the central square for the evening's festivities. The air was filled with excitement and anticipation, the villagers bustling about with an energy that was contagious.

Throughout it all, Valeron was acutely aware of the rapier at his side. Its weight was unfamiliar but not unwelcome, and he found himself touching the hilt often, fingers tracing the intricate vines and brushing against the scale set within. Each time he did, he felt a warmth spread through him, a reminder of the bond he shared with Darion.

As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the village, Eamon gathered the villagers in the square. He stood tall, his presence commanding attention without effort. The amber hue of his eyes seemed to glow brighter as he raised his hands, calling for silence.

"Friends and neighbors," Eamon's voice rang out, clear and strong. "As we prepare to celebrate another bountiful harvest, let us take a moment to give thanks for the blessings we have received."

A hush fell over the crowd as Eamon closed his eyes, his face turning towards the fading sunlight as he reached out touching the very light that fell over the village. Slowly, orbs of golden light began to form in his palms, growing larger and brighter with each passing second. The villagers watched in awe as the orbs rose into the air, splitting and multiplying until dozens of glowing spheres hovered above the square.

With a gentle gesture, Eamon sent the orbs floating outward. They drifted over the crowd, casting a soft, ethereal glow over upturned faces. Children laughed in delight, reaching out to touch the spheres of light as they passed.

Valeron watched, transfixed, as the orbs began to dance in intricate patterns overhead. They swirled and swooped, leaving trails of sparkling light in their wake. It was a display of beauty and control that left the entire village in awe.

As the light show reached its crescendo, the smaller orbs suddenly burst into thousands of tiny, glittering motes that rained down upon the crowd while the rest bobbed gently. Valeron felt the warm touch of the light on his skin, like the gentlest caress of the sun. For a brief moment, he thought he felt something stir within him – a flicker of warmth in his chest. But as quickly as it had come, the sensation faded, leaving him feeling oddly hollow.

The village erupted into applause as Eamon bowed humbly and stepped down from the raised platform. Valeron saw several people approach his father, clasping his hands and offering words of praise and gratitude. Despite his age, Eamon showed no signs of fatigue from the display. Some villagers whispered that it was his connection to the sun that kept him strong and vital, healing his body and staving off the ravages of time.

"That never gets old, does it?" Darion said, appearing at Valeron's side. His wings rustled slightly as he shifted, a sign of his excitement.

Valeron nodded, unable to find words. He was proud of his father, of course, but the demonstration had only served to highlight the stark difference between them. As the excitement of the moment began to fade, Valeron felt the weight of his perceived inadequacy settling back onto his shoulders.

Darion, ever perceptive, noticed the shift in his friend's mood. "Hey," he said softly, nudging Valeron with his elbow. "Don't let it get to you. You have your own strengths, V. You can't beat yourself up."

Valeron attempted a smile, grateful for Darion's support even if he couldn't quite believe the words. "Thanks," he murmured. "I just... sometimes I wonder if I'll ever find my place here. If I'll ever be able to contribute in a way that really matters."

Darion's expression grew serious, a rare occurrence for the usually jovial young man. "You matter, Valeron. To me, to your father, to this village. Don't ever doubt that." He paused, then added with a grin, "Besides, someone has to keep me out of trouble, and that's a full-time job in itself."

This time, Valeron's laugh was genuine. "As if anyone could keep you out of trouble, Dari. I'm pretty sure you attract it like a lodestone attracts iron."

As night fell, the village square came alive with music, laughter, and the warm glow of lanterns. The festival was in full swing, with villagers dancing, feasting, and reveling in the joy of community. Valeron found himself swept up in the celebrations, dancing with friends and sampling the delicious foods laid out on long tables.

Yet even as he participated in the festivities, a part of Valeron remained watchful, alert. Every so often, his gaze would drift to the dark line of trees that marked the edge of Goldenroot Grove. Something felt... off. A tension in the air that had nothing to do with the excitement of the festival.

As the night wore on, Valeron's hand often strayed to the hilt of his new rapier. The touch of the vine-like guard and the smooth scale set within brought him comfort, grounding him amidst the swirling emotions and growing unease.

The first rumble came just as the musicians were striking up a lively jig. It was low and distant, easily mistaken for thunder. A few villagers glanced up at the sky, but the stars twinkled brightly in the clear night air.

"Strange," Valeron murmured to himself. "Not a cloud in sight."

As the music picked up tempo, so did the rumbling. It came at irregular intervals, sometimes so faint it was nearly lost beneath the sounds of celebration, other times loud enough to rattle the plates on the banquet tables. The vibrations seemed to travel through the ground, up through Valeron's feet and into his chest.

A cool wind began to pick up, carrying with it the scent of ozone and something else – something wild and ancient that Valeron couldn't quite place. The tree branches at the edge of the clearing swayed and creaked, their shadows dancing eerily in the lantern light.

"Looks like we might be in for some weather," an old farmer commented, eyeing the treeline warily. "Don't recall the wind coming up like this before a storm, though."

Valeron nodded absently, his eyes scanning the sky. There was still no sign of clouds, but he could have sworn he saw a large shadow pass momentarily over the stars, like a great bird in flight. But no bird could be that large...

The music faltered as another rumble shook the ground, this one loud enough to set the lanterns swinging. A hush fell over the crowd, the celebratory mood giving way to nervous whispers and uneasy glances.

Valeron sought out his father in the crowd, finding Eamon already looking his way. The concern in his father's eyes only heightened Valeron's sense of foreboding.

A sudden gust of wind extinguished several lanterns, plunging parts of the square into darkness. In that moment, Valeron heard it – a sound that couldn't possibly be mistaken for thunder. It was a roar, primal and terrifying, that seemed to shake the very air around them.

The rapier at Valeron's side hummed, as if responding to some unseen threat. He gripped the hilt tightly, his heart pounding in his chest as realization dawned.

This was no storm approaching Sproutvale. It was something far more ancient, far more dangerous. And somehow, Valeron knew, it was coming for them.

As panic began to spread through the crowd, Valeron stood rooted to the spot, his eyes fixed on the night sky. The harvest festival, once a symbol of peace and plenty, was about to become the backdrop for a confrontation that would shake the very foundations of Sproutvale and set Valeron on a path he could never have imagined.

The roar that shattered the night sky was unlike anything Valeron had ever heard before. It was a sound that seemed to resonate in the very marrow of his bones, primal and terrifying. The festivities in the village square came to an abrupt halt as all eyes turned skyward, searching for the source of that bone-chilling cry.

For a moment, all was still. Then, with a thunderous crash that sent tremors through the ground, a massive shape burst through the canopy of Goldenroot Grove. Trees splintered and fell as the creature of legend revealed itself, its scales gleaming like polished obsidian under the moonlight. Its wings, vast and terrible, beat the air with enough force to extinguish nearby lanterns and send festival decorations scattering to the wind. Its tail was forked with each end baring a stinger that dripped with shadow.

Panic erupted instantly. Screams filled the air as villagers scrambled for safety. Children cried out for their parents, merchants abandoned their stalls, and in the chaos, the creature's roar rose above it all, a sound of hunger and rage that froze the blood in Valeron's veins.

Its massive head swung from side to side, its eyes glowing with an unnatural red light. It snapped at fleeing villagers, more playful than predatory, as if this were all some grand game. With each swipe of its tail or beat of its wings, more of the village was reduced to rubble.

Valeron stood frozen, his mind struggling to process the scene before him. He had no doubt, this was a Dragon. His father had told him dragons were rare, almost mythical creatures since the Dragonfall. To see one now, here in peaceful Sproutvale, seemed impossible. Yet the destruction unfolding before his eyes was all too real.

"V!" Darion's shout snapped him back to reality. The Drakari was using his wings to shield a group of children, ushering them towards safety. "We need to evacuate the village!"

Nodding, Valeron shook off his paralysis and sprang into action. He ran through the square, guiding panicked villagers towards the surrounding forest. The rapier at his side seemed to pulse with energy, responding to the chaos around them.

As they worked, Valeron caught sight of his father. Eamon stood tall amidst the panic, his hands raised towards the sky. The golden light of the orbs began to draw into him, as his light began growing in intensity until it rivaled the glow of the full moon overhead.

"Everyone, to the forest!" Eamon's voice boomed, magically amplified to carry over the din. "Quickly now!"

The dragon, seeming to sense a challenge, turned its attention to Eamon. It let out another ear-splitting roar and lunged towards the Sunspeaker, jaws wide and claws extended. Grey smoke dripped from its maw as it moved to exhale. A stream of darkness fled it's mouth towards its enemy.

Eamon raised his hand in instinctive defence, creating a shield of pure sunlight. "Why are you here, why now?" The questions this raised ran through Eamon's mind but this was not the time, his shield drained his light rapidly. Each flash of black flame cracking the very foundation of his defence.

Time seemed to slow for Valeron as he watched the massive creature push his father back. His hand gripped the hilt of his rapier, and without thinking, he began to run towards Eamon, desperate to help.

But before he could close even half the distance, Eamon's shield exploded outward in a blinding flash. The dragon recoiled, screeching in pain and fury as the light seared its eyes and scales.

Eamon's voice rang out again, this time directed at his son. "Valeron, stay back! Help the others!"

Torn between the desire to aid his father and the need to assist the fleeing villagers, Valeron hesitated. The dragon, recovering from Eamon's attack, seemed to notice him for the first time. Its red eyes fixed on Valeron with an unsettling intensity, and for a moment, the young elf felt a strange connection, as if some unspoken communication passed between them.

The moment was broken as Darion grabbed Valeron's arm, pulling him away. "Come on, V! We need to go!"

As they ran, helping stragglers and guiding people towards safety, Valeron couldn't shake the feeling that the dragon's attention remained fixed on him. Every time he glanced back, those glowing red eyes seemed to find him, regardless of the chaos surrounding them.

The village square, so recently a scene of joy and celebration, had become a battlefield. Eamon stood at its center, a beacon of golden light holding the dragon at bay. But with each passing moment, the creature grew bolder, its attacks more focused.

Valeron and Darion reached the edge of the forest, where a group of villagers huddled in fear. Among them was Mira, the baker's daughter, clutching a small child to her chest.

"Is everyone here?" Valeron asked, his eyes scanning the group.

Mira shook her head, her face pale with fear. "Elder Alaric is still in his cottage. He couldn't make it out in time."

Without hesitation, Valeron turned back towards the village. "I'll get him. Darion, stay here and keep everyone calm."

"V, wait!" Darion called, but Valeron was already running back into the fray.

The dragon's attention seemed divided between Eamon's persistent attacks and its own desire to wreak havoc. It smashed buildings with its tail, crushed market stalls under its massive feet, and occasionally snapped at fleeing villagers. But always, always, its gaze would return to Valeron.

As he neared the Elder's cottage, Valeron saw that part of the roof had already caved in. He called out, "Elder Alaric! Are you in there?"

A weak voice responded from within. "Help! I'm trapped!"

Valeron rushed into the cottage, navigating through fallen beams and scattered debris. He found Elder Alaric pinned beneath a heavy wooden beam, unable to move.

"Hold on," Valeron said, assessing the situation. "I'm going to try to lift this."

He gripped the beam, straining with all his might to lift it. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, almost imperceptibly, he felt a surge of strength flow through him. The rapier at his side hummed, and suddenly, the beam felt lighter. With a final push, Valeron managed to lift it enough for Elder Alaric to crawl free.

"Thank you, my boy," the Elder wheezed as Valeron helped him to his feet. "I thought I was done for."

"We're not safe yet," Valeron replied, supporting the old man as they made their way out of the ruined cottage. "We need to get to the forest."

As they emerged, Valeron's heart sank. The dragon had moved, cutting off their direct path to the forest. It was engaged in a fierce battle with Eamon, who continued to hold it at bay with bursts of searing light. But Valeron could see that his father was tiring, each blast of energy coming slower and with less intensity.

"We'll have to go around," Valeron said to the Elder. "Can you make it?"

The old man nodded grimly. "I may be old, but I'm not ready to be dragon food just yet."

They began to skirt the edge of the village, staying close to what remained of the buildings for cover. Valeron's eyes darted constantly between their path and the ongoing battle, his heart pounding with fear for his father and the village.

Suddenly, the dragon's head swung towards them, its onyx eyes locking onto Valeron once more. With a speed that belied its massive size, it lunged, jaws opening wide.

Valeron saw the dragon coming, knew he couldn't outrun it. In that moment, his only thought was to protect Elder Alaric. He pushed the old man aside and turned to face the oncoming threat, drawing his rapier in one fluid motion.

As the blade cleared its sheath, it erupted with a brilliant dark light, so intense it was almost blinding. The dragon recoiled, more surprised than hurt, its attack aborted.

Valeron stood, rapier raised, its light pulsing in time with his racing heart. He felt a surge of power unlike anything he had ever experienced, as if the very essence of light itself was flowing through him.

For a brief moment, dragon and elf regarded each other, a silent communication passing between them. Then, with a deafening roar, the dragon reared back, preparing to unleash its shadowy breath.

Valeron, acting on instinct, drew in the very shadow around him and swung his rapier in a wide arc. A crescent of pure white burst from the blade, slicing through the air towards the dragon. But as it left the rapier, the light seemed to warp and twist, taking on a darker hue. By the time it reached the dragon, it was a sickly mix of light and shadow.

The impact was catastrophic. The dragon howled in pain as the energy struck its scales, but the attack didn't stop there. The corrupted light ricocheted off the dragon, tearing through nearby buildings and sending shockwaves across the village square. Valeron watched in horror as his attempt to help caused even more destruction.

"Valeron!" Eamon's voice cut through the chaos. "What are you doing?"

But Valeron couldn't respond. The power coursing through him was overwhelming, beyond his control. The rapier in his hand vibrated violently, light and shadow swirling around the blade in a frenzied dance.

The dragon, enraged by the attack, renewed its assault with even greater ferocity. It smashed through buildings, its tail sweeping away entire structures as if they were made of straw. Its roars shook the very ground, and gouts of flame erupted from its maw, setting the village ablaze.

Eamon raced towards his son, golden light gathering in his palms. "Valeron, drop the sword! You can't control it!"

But Valeron couldn't let go. The power had him in its grip, as surely as he gripped the rapier's hilt. He could feel it building, knew that another explosion of energy was imminent.

"Father, I can't—" Valeron's words were cut short as another burst of corrupted light erupted from the blade, this one even more powerful than the last.

Eamon, seeing the danger, did the only thing he could. He threw himself at Valeron, tackling him to the ground. As they fell, Eamon's hand closed around the rapier's hilt, just above Valeron's own grip.

There was a blinding flash, a sensation of searing heat, and then... nothing. The rapier went silent, the swirling energies dissipating in an instant.

Valeron lay on the ground, gasping for breath, his father's weight pinning him down. The sudden absence of power left him feeling hollow, drained.

Eamon rolled off his son, the rapier now in his hand. Its blade was dull, lifeless. "Are you alright?" he asked, his voice thick with concern.

Valeron nodded weakly, unable to find words. The reality of what he had done, the destruction he had caused, was beginning to sink in.

A thunderous roar reminded them that the danger was far from over. The dragon, momentarily forgotten in the chaos of Valeron's outburst, was circling back towards them.

Eamon stood, placing himself between Valeron and the approaching beast. "Stay behind me," he commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument.

As the dragon descended, Eamon raised his hands once more. The air around him began to shimmer with heat, golden light coalescing into a shield that enveloped both him and Valeron.

The dragon's flames washed over them, but Eamon's shield held firm. Valeron could feel the intense heat, could see the flames licking at the edges of the golden barrier, but they remained unharmed.

When the assault subsided, Eamon went on the offensive. He thrust his hands forward, sending a concentrated beam of sunlight directly at the dragon's eyes. The creature shrieked, temporarily blinded, and veered off course.

"In the face of despair…" Eamon said to himself, his voice strained with effort. "I will be hope..." His eyes glowed with the force of a thousand suns, readying himself for whatver was next.

Valeron looked around, truly seeing the extent of the devastation for the first time. Sproutvale, the only home he had ever known, lay in ruins. Fires raged unchecked, smoke billowing into the night sky. The cries of the injured and the terrified filled the air.

And it was all his fault.

"Father, I'm sorry," Valeron choked out, tears streaming down his face. "I didn't mean to—"

"Not now," Eamon cut him off, his tone softening slightly. "We'll talk later. Right now, I need you to run. Get to the forest, find Darion and the others. Make sure everyone is safe."

"But what about you?" Valeron protested.

Eamon's eyes never left the circling dragon as he replied, "I'll hold it off. Buy you all some time to get clear."

"I can't leave you!"

"You can, and you will," Eamon said firmly. "RUN"

With a final, anguished look at his father, Valeron turned and ran. Behind him, he could hear the sounds of battle resuming – the dragon's roars, the sizzle of Eamon's attacks, the crash of falling debris.

As he reached the treeline, Valeron paused to look back. Eamon stood alone in the ruined village square, a solitary figure wreathed in golden light. Above him, the dragon wheeled and dove, a creature of shadow and flame.

In that moment, Valeron felt smaller and more helpless than he ever had before. His attempt to help had only made things worse, and now his father was fighting alone against an enemy that seemed unstoppable.

With a heavy heart, Valeron plunged into the forest, praying that his father's strength would be enough to save them all from the dragon's wrath.