New story! Again!

This is getting repetitive.

Change of some words, mainly;

Avera Kadabra to Avada Kedavra.

And

Farther to father.

Just want to point out, farther is actually a word so it didn't turn up on my spell check, and is definitely not the worst spelling around.

But thank you TheHollowClown, and I guess hornet07, for picking me up on it.

Re-edit, found out what Thurkrookaaz, and consequently all Elder Scrolls dragons, name means.

Thur Kroo Kaaz
Overlord Sorcerer Khajiit

Decided to change it to something a bit more on what I want him to be like.

The First Day.

A flash of green light, the sound of someone crying out in pain. A beautiful being entered his vision, telling him everything will be fine, no-one would hurt him. Words yelled, the door bursts open in a small explosion, a figure that looks barely Human.

"Stand aside! Harry Potter... Must. Die!"

The final moments of a hopeful defiant, "No! Take anything, take my life! But please, please! Spare Harry! Spare my son!"

"Avada Kedavra!"

A flash of green light, another scream of of pain, a lifeless flower falls to the ground.

Power overtakes the child, baby, barely an infant. An ancient power, a blood of an ancient family rushes to protect him, cover him, defend him from all who would harm the child.

Another shout, full of anger and hatred, "Avada Kedavra!" A flash of green light, the ancient power, enhanced through a willing blood sacrifice, deflects the unstoppable, turns the relentless against it's maker. A cry of pain and surprise, the darkness retreats, leaving a figure wraithed in a shadowy cloak. It bends down, the hood obscures the view. An echoing voice, hollow but welcoming.

"My master has great plans for you, little one."

It reaches forwards, laying a finger on the child's forehead, above the new scar. The baby moves, squirms, it's skin changes. Scales, wings, teeth as sharp as any sword. Small still, but changed.

Forest green eyes stare at the figure, glowing slightly in newly active, powerful, Magicka. The being stooped low and picked him up, cradling him delicately. Before vanishing in a swirl of purple, a tear in the fabric of the universe, taking the baby dragon with him.

The Sixth Evening Star.

A dragon sat before a adult Orsimer, smaller than it's brethren by a third the size. The dragon's tail tucked under it leg to stop it from thumping the ground in excitement while it listened to the Orsimer tell a tale.

"And then, Goraan, as the dust settled and the great Dragon Alduin, the World Eater, had fallen for the last time. Then, and only then, I had found you... My son." The Orsimer leaned forwards, his smile broad and gentle with love. "And I, Larak Gro-Buruk, could not ask for a better child to call my own, Goraankendovlok the Everlasting, son of Larak the Dragonborne, mightiest and strongest of the dragons of all of Nirn!"

Goraan's eyes were wide open in awe throughout the whole story, until a memory made it's way towards the forefront of his mind. Larak noticed the change in emotions, for he knelt before the small dragon.

"What is it, Goraan?" He asked softly.

"It is just, I remember a flash of green Magicka, from somewhere, father. It, caused pain, I believe, and death."

Larak Gro-Buruk leaned back, bringing his hand up to scratch his chin in thought, before he replied, "Pain and death? Green? I do not know of any spell that could cause such an effect."

Goraan nodded distractedly, trying to remember something else, "And... a Harry? Harry of the Potters?" Goraan shook his head, "It does not matter, father, it seems as if it were a world away, now."

The Eleventh Evening Star.

A child rushed towards the Orsimer, black hair rustling either side of a lightning shaped scar that barely glows the darkest of mortal colors.

"Father! Father! Look what I have found, out in the forest!"

The Orsimer turns away from the hearth, towards the child's voice, hearing the the tones of his completely black dragonic son. Turned fully around, he sees a random child, that looks neither Nord nor Imperial, in his home, running straight for him, shouting the same tones as his son, in the same voice and the same enthusiasm as when he had first learned to fly. The child slips as he gets to the Dragon-borne, falling backwards as he passes the Orsimer, with a startled yelp that reminds him too much like his son to be coincidence.

Larak reaches out and catches the giddy child, still laughing merrily. He had been in this village for near eleven winters, he knew all who lived in it... But not this boy who spoke as if his son.

"Goraan?"

The child giggled happily, looking up at the stunned face of his father.

"'Tis me, father! Goraankendovlok the Everlasting!"

Larak shook the surprise away, before sweeping Goraan off his feet in joy.

"From whence did this happen, my son?"

"I merely wanted to become mortal, like you, father! While I walked throughout the forest, I felt it stuck more strongly than normal, and then this happened!"

Larak laughed his humor and joy out loud at that, "I am no mortal, son. Or did you forget the Elixir of Youth? But now, we must find a new name for your new status!"

Goraan smiled wider, upon which Larak took note of. Tapping his chin in thought, Larak sent a long look over the child that had flames flickering through his hair.

Clicking his fingers, Larak shouted, "Krokendovlok! Yes, Kro will do nicely!"

The Two Hundredth Evening Star.

A pair of adults, neither looking over one and twenty, stood on the stone walls of the fortress-stronghold of Hydranisk. One Orsimer and the other an odd Nord-Imperial hybrid.

"I must depart, father, there are rumors of a necromancer, calling himself the 'Lich King'. The rumors say he amasses an army of the undead to make war on Tamriel, maybe now the people could unite under a common banner instead of fighting themselves to Oblivion."

The Orsimer snorted derisively, "Unlikely, they did not unite when the dragons had returned, they are still not united with the dragons hunting their people four, ten and two hundred years later."

The Nord-Imperial hummed thoughtfully, "That was because they had you, I believe. If you were to, say, take a lovely woman until my return from this, they may react differently."

The Orsimer glanced out the corner of his eye at the hybrid, a lopsided smirk making it's way onto his face, "Ahh, I see what your trying to do." He stated, pulling a finger out to wag at the Nord-Imperial, "But, it makes sense." The Orsimer dropped the finger back down to his side while he looked across the plains in front of the stronghold, "I can not keep you by my side forever."

The Nord-Imperial seemed to inflate with the Orsimers words, before the man was slapped across the head by said Orsimer. "That does not mean you can run around lollygagging! Or to inflate your ego, either!"

"No, father." Replied the Nord-Imperial.

The Orsimer smirked victoriously, "Well? Get to it then!" He yelled, stepping back to allow the Nord-Imperial to jump over the wall.

The Two Hundredth and Twenty First Evening Star.

Krokendovlok watched the pond almost lazily, he hadn't seen his father since the 'Necromancer Incident'.

He'd won, in the end. He'd brought all of Tamriel under a single banner against the Lich King's undead armies and destroyed the Necromancers Keep. He'd also met another Dovahkiin, a charming Khajiit by the name of Za'sien. Together, they had managed to storm the Lich King's private room and slay the Necromancer.

And now, fourteen years after the last of the fighting had died down, he could already see the provinces take up arms for long thought dead grievances.

Actually, it was just the peoples of Cyrodiil and Skyrim making small skirmishes against the Falmer and each other.

Kro attention snapped towards the sound of a portal opening. There, over to the right of the pond, stood a figure he had seen, somewhere, before.

They were clad in a billowing cloak, as black as a starless night. A hood obscured their face, seemingly dragging the light into the dark of the hood, refusing to let it back out again for him to see.

A voice, hollow and echoing, but welcoming as well, "You are ready, little one, to return."

The figure approached the shocked Dragon-Man, realizing where he had seen the figure before. In a dream but not a dream, magic that was not Magicka, the green of life that gives only death instead. Warm words spoken with a hollow voice. A name, his but not his, shouted, screamed, died for.

"To return?" Kro asked the being, he could not tell if it were man or mer, male or female.

The figure nodded smoothly, "Yes, to your home, where you were truly born."

Kro stood up, he was slightly taller than the figure clad in starless night's, "Where I was truly born? I am afraid I do not follow your words."

"I took you from your home, before death could take you, and now you are to return."

Krokendovlok snorted lightly, "You have peeked my interest, if I may, may I take my satchel with me? It was given to me, and it's value-ability is unquestionable. Especially when it creates whatever I wish, with enough Magicka."

The figure nodded once again, if a bit hesitantly, "You may, but where you will go, I will need to revert you back to a Human child... but expect it to turn up below your bed after eight years, your Magicka will be the same, but it will be forced to be weak by outside means. Your dragon form will also be hidden until the eighth year, which will be your ninth birthday there. Everything else must stay."

"What of my father?"

"His destiny is to travel to another world as well, different to the one you will be going to, Lord Sheogorath is under my masters command and will be sending your father there. He was most pleased with the demand."

Kro sighed, took a deep breath, cast one last look across the pond, before turning back to the being. "One last question," the being tilted his head in acquiesce, "What is your name? Wanderer of the Starless Night?"

The being chuckled, it's hollow voice seemingly filled with mirth, "I am known as Fallen Beneath Fleeting Dreams, my title is Echo of Confident Future."

Kro chuckled right back, "A mouthful, I am sure, Fallen Beneath Fleeting Dreams. May the sun forever shine on your back, and the blessings of the Divines guide you down your path."

Fallen Beneath Fleeting Dreams bowed solemnly, "It is time, Krokendovlok the Everlasting. May you find many great and glorious adventures down your new path, and new friends to enjoy your new time with."

Kro also bowed, "I will look forwards. But, for now, I must be reborn."

The being clicked it's fingers in one dramatic flourish, and then all Kro new was darkness.

Oh, boy. Here I go again, making another story.

Hope you enjoyed, whoever decides to read this, it was... confusing, to write.

The name changed to;

Vahlok Drem Faad

Guardian Peace/Patience Warmth

In that order, please tell me which order sounds the best, and I'll re-edit it to that one instead.