The sky wept over the dead.
Rain fell upon the Iron Plains, a land scarred by a war that had raged for centuries. A war not of men, but of gods and monsters.
On one side stood the Dragons — ancient, proud, masters of the sky and fire. They saw humans as insects, unworthy of the world they shared.
On the other stood Humans — ambitious, resilient, wielding magic and steel, led by kings who craved power and land.
And caught between them were the Spirits — beings of nature, neither good nor evil. They did not take sides. They only watched, slowly fading as the war choked the land with smoke and sorrow.
But this battle… this battle was different.
A man stood tall amid the carnage, his magic sword glowing with pale light. He was Kaelen, a warrior born of human and spirit blood — the last of his kind. His eyes, the color of storm clouds, were fixed on the magnificent beast before him.
A Dragon Queen, scales dark as midnight, wings torn and bleeding. Her name was Valeriya. And she was his one great sin… and his only love.
"You should have stayed in your mountains," Kaelen said, his voice tight with grief.
"And you should have stayed out of my heart," Valeriya's voice was like thunder, filled with pain.
They had loved in secret. Their union was forbidden. And now, it had sparked a war that would reshape the world.
With a final, sorrowful roar, they clashed — light against darkness, spirit against scale.
Hours later, silence.
The rain washed the blood from the grass. The Dragon Queen lay still. The half-spirit warrior had fallen beside her.
And in the shadow of her broken wing… a child cried.
Wrapped in a white cloak, with hair black as a starless night streaked with silver, the baby boy lay untouched by the rain, as if the storm itself dared not harm him.
A woman stumbled through the field. Elara, a human healer who had followed the army, moved weakly among the dead, searching for anyone still breathing.
She heard it then — not a moan, but a whimper.
Pushing aside a broken spear, she saw him.
Her breath caught. A baby. Here? In this field of death?
She knelt, her hands shaking as she lifted him. The white cloak was soft, impossibly clean.
The child looked up at her. His eyes were strange — one silver, one dark. They held a depth that was ancient… and lonely.
"By the forgotten gods…," she whispered. "What are you doing here?"
She felt a pull in her chest — a fierce, sudden need to protect him.
"No one is left for you," she murmured, holding him close. "No one but me."
She did not know he was the son of a Dragon Queen and a spirit warrior.
She did not know his birth had ended a war.
She only knew he was innocent.
And he was hers now.
Naming him Arin, she carried him away from the rain, the ruin, and the echoes of a battle that had only just begun.
Elara held the child tightly against her chest as she moved through the mist and rain. She was just a human — one of many caught in a war that was not truly theirs. The Dragons saw her kind as pests, invaders stealing land that once belonged to the skies. The Human Kingdoms, in turn, saw dragons as monsters — relics of a savage past that needed to be erased.
And the Spirits? No one had seen them in years. Some said they had fled to hidden realms, disgusted by the endless bloodshed between flame and steel.
But as Elara looked down at the child — at Arin — she felt something stir in the air around him. A hum. A presence. Like the whisper of leaves or the echo of a forgotten song.
Spirit-touched… she thought, though she dared not speak it aloud.
She remembered the tales her grandmother once told her — of a time when humans, dragons, and spirits lived in balance. When the Great Trees still stood, and Spirit Wells dotted the lands, brimming with magic. But that was before the War of Ashes. Before the dragons scorched the forests and humans slew the last of the Great Elders.
Now, only hatred remained.
Elara did not look back as she left the battlefield. She did not see the glint of a massive, half-buried dragon scale — black as night, yet shimmering with a deep crimson sheen. Valeriya's scale. Nor did she see the faint, fading glow of the spirit-blade that had once belonged to Kaelen, now buried among the dead.
She did not know the child she carried was a forbidden union given life — a bridge between two warring worlds, born in the heart of conflict.
She only knew the world was cruel.
And he was innocent.
As the sun began to set, painting the sky in hues of orange and violet, Elara reached the edge of a small human village — Oakhaven. It was a humble place, filled with woodcutters, farmers, and a few retired soldiers. Here, the war felt distant… but not forgotten.
She adjusted the child in her arms. His strange eyes — one silver, one dark — watched everything. He was quiet. Too quiet.
"You are safe now, Arin," she whispered. "No one will know what you are."
But deep down, she wondered…
What are you?