A/N: This is a rewrite, so the content has changed in a way that is relevant to the story. Thanks for sticking with me guys.
Mother. Shyvana couldn't remember the face of the one she called mother. The Demacian farm-girl who birthed the half-dragon. Raised in a small town, the woman had sheltered her offspring for the first five years of her life, but had relinquished guardianship when it became clear the girl was unable to reside peacefully in a human town.
Her pale skin and the horns that sprouted from her head betrayed her draconian heritage. Not that the villagers knew what she was. To them, she was simply an abomination. The result of a kinship between a human and a monster. What kind of monster, they never bothered to discern, for the townsfolk were intent only on driving the thing away, lest it bring calamity.
So at the age of six, Shyvana found herself living with the dragon clan of the Ironspike Mountains.
"If anyone ever asks about your mother, just say she died," her father instructed. "From now on, you are a dragon. Not a human. Nobody must find out. Do you understand?"
Shyvana would nod dumbly without understanding. Sometimes, if she was good, her father would bring her a gift from her mother. He visited her often, and the gifts were enough to pacify the child, keep her from asking too many questions.
Inwardly she knew she was a little different than the others. The other kids had skin of bold, vibrant colors. Hers was a pale, muddy. They had long intricate horns that grew just above their ears. Hers were short little nubs. They were much bigger. She was small, almost as small as some of the children two years behind her.
Yet that didn't bother her too much. As much as they teased her, Shyvana could tussle with the best of them, her size granting her a natural agility that she used to her advantage. All was well. She was a bright student and excelled in fighting.
"She's definitely yours," her teachers would beam to her father. "A little bit a loner, but definitely yours."
He was one of Ironspikes' most expert combatants, after all. It went without saying that Shyvana would grow into a skilled huntress, even if she was a little…unique. Still, nobody minded that her skill was a few hues off, her horns just a little too small, and that she stood two heads below the other children her age. Nobody seemed to mind, that is, until the incident.
At ten years old, it was time for the dragonlings to learn transformation in order to control their powers. The trick was to believe, her instructors affirmed. To embrace dragon form, all one had to do was believe they were the magnificent celestial beasts, and their bodies would morph, taking to their true forms.
Struggle as she might, Shyvana could not do it. She watched helplessly as her peers transformed into majestic dragons while her body stayed remarkably… the same.
"Don't fret. Some people are a little bit slower," her teachers insisted. "Your father couldn't transform until he was almost twelve."
Two weeks passed. A month. Then half a year. Eventually, Shyvana confided in her father. She was met with a stern warning.
"Shyvana, never transform on your own. I don't know what your true power is, and if I'm not there, I might not be able to help you."
It was true, for half dragons were but the talk of myths. Her father had never expected the union to bear progeny. Despite that, his warnings were for naught, for the next day Shyvana discovered the essence of her dragon form.
Her school mates had gone too far this time. One of them had dared to grab her horns.
"They're so tiny," a bunch of them had jeered, cornering her in broad daylight.
"Are you sure they're real? You can't even transform."
At first she evaded the group, but even she could not fight off her four tormentors. Where were the adults when you needed them? Wriggling as they pinned her down, one had wrenched her horns to test their authenticity.
Shyvana exploded with fury. Nobody touched a dragon's horns. Horns were sacred body parts reserved for only one's mate. They had callously violated her. Screaming with indignation, Shyvana tore from their grasps as her body distorted into her dragon form. She growled, pinning the culprit beneath one hand as the others began to scream.
"Help!" they shouted, "A mutant!"
Adults came streaming from nearby establishments, rapidly forming a crowd.
"What is that?!" someone shrieked, for Shyvana's dragon form was nothing of the ordinary.
Instead of transforming into a large, uniformly colored being, Shyvana had morphed into an ashen beast with mixed colors of her skin and hair, half the size of a normal dragonling.
"Gross! Its arms are wings!"
It was true. Instead of the four legs and two wings of a dragon, she had two arm-wings and two legs. Half-dragons, it turned out, could not transform into true dragons, but into these winged mutants, she later found were called "wyvern." It was then that Shyvana realized exactly why her father had forbidden her from speaking of her mother and transforming on her own. People could be so cruel when it came to differences.
"What is that thing?"
"It's a mutant! It should have been culled!"
"Wait! I know what that is! I read it in a book once! It's a Halfling!"
The circle around her widened as the crowd took a step back.
"Blasphemy!"
"It's forbidden!"
"Kill it!"
"That mutant has my son! Someone help!"
In shock, Shyvana slowly morphed back into the form of a small, frightened girl. Tears flowed freely from her eyes. A blanket suddenly wrapped itself around her body as Shyvana felt firm hands lift her from the ground. She looked up, consoled to see the face of her father.
"Hold on tight."
He began to run. The crowd watched silently as the Halfling and her father escaped. Finally, a stern voice broke the silence.
"I'll go after them."
Everyone turned to see the clan warden donned in battle gear.
"We mustn't allow our blood lines to be tainted and our secrets to fall into the hands of the humans."