When you were but a small babe, your mother had to watch you go through a very painful process of being branded by Grima. The Grimleal's ruthlessness didn't end with children; they cut your small hand and spilled your blood over the stone altar. It took all of your mama's will not to cut the dastards down while you screamed and cried through the pain. From then on, you were branded to be the lifeless puppet of some unholy god.

That night, after the horrid ceremony was over and you were fast asleep, Mama watched over you as she plotted. The moment your heart was declared fit for Grima, Mama wanted to escape the cult. (There were days when she said she wanted to escape even before you were born. She had a very dark and tired look to her face whenever she said that.) Over the next few days, Mama managed to sneak supplies―there was barely enough for the two of you―for a very long trip. Validar had just begun to notice the missing tonics and rations when your mother suddenly vanished with you.

The Grimleal's flaw was that they were too arrogant. They truly believed they were doing something good for Plegia's people when they slaughtered themselves. They truly believed that your mama wouldn't dare go against Grima's (their) wishes. They made a grave mistake to forget that your mother was the descendant of Katarina, the brilliant traitor who schemed her way into history.

Her treachery was never a question of if, but when?

Mama only stopped for brief respites to replenish supplies and to feed you. She traveled across Plegia's arid deserts, keeping you safely bundled from the harsh winds and unforgiving sun. She made it to the Ylissean-Plegian border, where you spent your first few years growing up.

The borders weren't a peaceful place. War was imminent on both sides and there was a lot of tension among the people. Though you spent your days in a cabin of sorts that belonged to an aging couple. Mama had her nose stuck in books half the time, you in her arms for a quarter, and out of the house for the rest. You spent your time gurgling happily until you said your first word: "Boog!" for book. Mama laughed so hard that she cried and it was probably one of the few warm memories you had.

Ylisse declared war on Plegia, forcing the occupants in that little happy cabin to vacate. You and Mama were separated from the nice old couple in the chaos and neither of you saw them again. Mama took you across the Ylissean countryside. You read from your books that Ylisse was a prosperous halidom that emphasized peace. Except, you saw nothing but dead grass and lonely fields. It was all strangely devoid of life.

Not that Regna Ferox was any better. When the both of you arrived at the gate, you thought you'd turn into a block of ice. It was cold, colder than the border mountains. Even Mama had a hard time adjusting to the bitter freezing temperatures.

Mama made you a very nice coat that was light but warm in the inside. She caressed your face and called you her "little hierophant" as she helped you put your new robes on. You weren't sure what that meant at the time, but you beamed at her with all your might in the hopes of keeping her warm with your bright smile.

Eventually you two adjusted to the omnipresent cold. And it was in Regna Ferox where you truly grew. All kinds of people, even those from as far as Valm (you weren't sure where that was until somebody yourmom pointed it out on a map for you), flocked to Regna Ferox. You learned from the people around you, from your wise mother who outsmarted the local mages, and from whatever books you could get your hands on. You had a particular liking for strategy games and books on war tactics, much to your mother's chagrin.

But then it all changed when a bunch of strange hooded people appeared and started looking for you. You see one of them demanding something from a neighbor who lived across from you when Mother suddenly grabbed you and pulled you into the house.

"How the hells did they track us here?" Mother muttered under her breath as she shoved you into the cellar and followed after you. "Go, move."

You didn't argue. She led you through the darkness towards a hidden tunnel. You crawl through it, trying hard not to sneeze or panic in the cramped space. Once you were outside, Mother threw you a heavy pack, apparently prepared for this kind of situation. She hissed at you to hide from the hooded people, and you did.

Not for long, apparently.

They grabbed you mid-run and stuffed you into a sack before you even got the chance to scream.

You heard Mother screaming for you before her cries were suddenly cut off. There was a soft thud and the sickening cries of triumph. You cried silently as the hooded people took you out of your home of eleven years to somewhere far, far away.

They led you in some caravan that you could never step out of, unless they stopped in cities. You hugged your mother's coat close to you for comfort.

When you snuck a peek out the window flap, you saw strangely familiar trees. Then you realized you were in the Ylissean countryside, from long ago. Now the desolate landscape of dead grass and gray skies had transformed into a living scenery, with green grass and trees that were alive and healthy and blue skies.

It'd been days since you last set foot outside. You informed the hooded people this, but they ignored you. Seeing that they'd become complacent around you, all the dark anger boiling in your chest spilled over your tongue.

"I am the vessel of Grima, the Fell Dragon," you growled, remembering Mother's silent weeping whenever she told you that, "and you dare defy me? Mark my words when I say that I do not forgive insolence. Stop the caravan now."

That got their attention. One of the mages in the room with you hurriedly went out to tell the driver. The convoy slowed to a stop. You kept up with your new transformation with a grin that barely restrained your dissatisfaction and eyes narrowed like a snake's. Good to know that they still had their loyalty to Grima.

"Do not follow me. I don't want to see your filthy human faces," you hissed as you slowly stood from your seat and stalked towards the door.

You were minutes away from freedom when you felt something sharp poke at your back.

"Nice acting," one of the dark mages sneered, "but I can tell that your mark hasn't activated."

You kept your panic in check as you scoffed. "You don't even know how to tell if the mark activated. Plus―"

You whirled around the sword, twisted the mage's arm around to his back, and forced his own blade to his neck with his own hand.

You leaned in to whisper in his ear, "―I am far more dangerous than you know."

Then you wrenched the sword out of the mage's hand and hit his head with its pommel. You rummaged through his things for any other weapons and found a Thunder tome. After stuffing the pilfered items into your robe, you stepped over the crumpled form and snuck out the caravan.

You ran. Not once did you look back.

The beautiful scenery flew past you as you pumped your legs and your heart hammered against your chest. The full force of the whole ordeal began eating away at your limbs, sapping you of your energy. You felt like your lungs would burst from overexertion if you didn't stop, but you dared not to.

You found yourself in the middle of a field as you winded down from your escape. Panting hard, you rested underneath the shade of a very bright green tree. It was unlike any other tree you'd seen in Ferox or in the border mountains. Mother told you that there were barely any trees in Plegia, and the ones that survived were of an ugly hardy species. Plegia was also home to the Grimleal, the very same ruthless people that you were born into and the same people who had done that to Mother. You felt very lonely and tired.

Your eyelids were heavy with leaden sleep.

You had a sudden urge to burn everything down.

Something cold seeped in your bones, but it wasn't like Ferox's familiar cold. This was a chill that struck you numb, took hold of your heart and soul, swallowed you whole. You couldn't move, couldn't speak. Trapped.

Something whispered to you, dark and primal. Your skin crawled when you heard a definite reptilian voice speak in some eldritch language you knew by heart, even if this was your first time hearing it.

We shall be as one. You are mine.

A fire scorched your insides. You couldn't see, couldn't breathe. Your head felt like it was about to explode.

Bend to my will, vessel. You are nothing in the face of darkness.

But you fought. You fought because you didn't want to become a puppet. You fought because Mother had always told you that your fate was yours and yours alone. You fought because you would never let anyone take that away from you, not even a god.

Pathetic human.

You blacked out.

Behind your closed eyes, Grima and nightmares greeted you.

When you woke up, a pair of curious blue eyes were studying you. A blonde girl in pigtails giggled at you, while a familiar blue-haired man offered a gloved hand.

"There are better places to take a nap than on the ground you know."

You smiled.