Author's note: This is a backstory for Rythian and I own nothing. Please review if you like this!
The dark sky loomed over the floating island of pale rock. A young boy sat on the edge of the stone, as if waiting for something. He was tall for such a young boy, with dark brown hair and striking purple eyes. His posture was slouched, arms hugging his knees to his chest. The way he stared out into the un-star lit abyss was wistful, the cold light of the un-stars reflecting off his pupils. A deep rumble startled the boy from his dreaming. He stood, stiff from sitting, and began to walk back to the strange structures behind him. It was a city, cold and lifeless despite the bustle in its streets. The black material that it was made of contrasted starkly with the almost teal white stone that it rested on. The inhabitants of the city were the only color difference between the white and black. Their purple eyes imitated the boy's, or was it the other way around? They were unnaturally tall and thin, legs disproportionately longer than any other part of them. Above the city streets on a slight hill lay an extraordinary, but bleak, palace. On all sides of the palace rested columns of obsidian with runes of fire hovering above them. They trailed white beams of light into the palace, obviously fixed on a point. The boy walked through the dark arching gates of the palace into what could only be described as a courtyard. He hurried past the stubs of pale lichen that decorated the dead garden, increasing his pace as an even louder rumble echoed out from the palace. The large obsidian doors swung open for him as he walked past, the simple black cape he wore swishing behind him. He entered the throne room and sunk to his knees, the ease of the motion proving its familiarity. With his head bowed and the hurt in his eyes hidden the boy looked so young, so innocent. Before him, resting in a matrix of white light, sat a dragon. Her slender scaled neck and sleekly triangular head were clearly feminine, with the same purple eyes as her subjects, for clearly this was The Queen.
"Mother." The boy hissed in a language like gravel. The dragon smiled, revealing needle sharp teeth.
"Rythian." She responded, her tail curling around the throne to caress Rythian's cheek. It was clear that he was doing his best to not flinch away.
"You called me?" he asked, the calm of his voice hiding his disgust. The Queen looked hurt and pulled her tail away.
"Yes. Tomorrow, as I'm sure you're aware, is your tenth birthday. This is a very important birthday, it's the day that all young endermen come of age." The Queen seemed pleased by this. "This means that you will have a ceremony, and I have something special planned. After all, the prince of the End deserves a proper ceremony."
"Yes mother." Rythian nodded, to all the world appearing as excited as he should. But internally he dreaded to think of what his mother could concoct to make his ceremony 'special.' The Queen flicked her tail delicately, clearly telling him he was dismissed. He headed to his room in the palace, identical in its bland color scheme and minimalistic style. All that separated it was the size. He sat on the bare stone of the floor and, checking that he was alone, pulled out a scrap of cloth from under a loose tile. He gazed at it as though it was pure gold, and in a way it was. The fabric in the boy's hands was red, a color he had no name for. It shone brightly in a land where black, white, and purple were the only colors to be found. He ran his hand over it reverently before placing it back in the floor. "I'll find your name." he whispered to the fabric. "I promise."