Vrael
Prologue:
We can remember this memory long forgotten, hidden in a dreamy haze that lies before us.
In a time much before yours, there was peace. Men, dragons, and elves lived in harmony. Dragons have no beginning and no end, and neither do the elves, for they both suffer as the land does.
But the elves made a dynamic mistake. A young elven hunter hunted down and killed a dragon, seeing it as no more than a… well… animal in the forest. The dragons were outraged and eventually forged a war with the elves.
The elves were shocked from the dragons' reaction. Why? They had not known, for then there was no way of communication between the dragons and other beings. And so the elves fought. At first to defend themselves and their land, but then they attacked the dragons for nothing more than survival.
Thus, it was a very long (five-year) and bloody war, with both teams losing more and more simultaneously, and which both sides later regretted. Until Eragon, the first Rider, found a dragon's egg and hatched it himself, secretly, making the first bond between dragon and elf present. He named his golden dragon Bid'Daum after the custom of the ancient language.
When Eragon's dragon grew to a good size, they traveled together to the dragons and convinced them to live peacefully with the elves. And so both races formed treaties to ensure their safety and peace.
Thus established the Riders.
And now I tell you the story of a young boy, an elf, an adventure, and… something else.
Chapter 1: About a Boy
"Again, father?" , said the boy, pleading with his eyes.
His father laughed. "That's tonight, boy. I'll carry you off to bed."
As his father carried him off to the bedroom, the boy asked nodding, "Who was my mother?"
His father hesitated. He was nine. How could he understand? But he had to know sooner or later.
"She was a beautiful woman, and she loved you very much. But she died while giving birth to you, also giving you your real name."
"What was that?" the boy asked, suddenly wary and awake.
"You'll know. Be patient. But you will always be my Vrael" The boy's father snuggled him warmly. Vrael smiled, asking no more questions, for he was a patient, calm boy, never asking for more than he can get.
And the boy fell asleep in his father's arms before he even reached the bed.
Narindel was an average elf city. But unlike Ellesmera, elves lived in trees. The trees often reached to the skies, ending at about midway to show the white clouds. It was always bustling with energy: elves here and there climbing the ladders up to chat with neighbors, sitting on the "porch" and gazing at the midnight stars. It was a beautiful city, more than anyone can ask for. Everywhere you look, you see trees, elves, or animals, all beautiful in one way or another. Although it was bustling, it had this lucid calmness, always around, everywhere, as so stories say. Except when Men seeking trade come and leave through there. Then, there seems to be a tight air, and all eyes go to the Men. No elf in Narindel ever trusted a Man. Why? Legend knows. But that happens rarely. And if it does, life goes on.
Vrael and his father lived in a small, mediocre house just out of the bustling. His father works as a sword-forger, and spends most of his time in his workshop. Vrael was cautioned to go in there because of the sparks coming out of the swords, but, as Vrael grew older, he watched his father at work and even fought with him. Although then, he woke up with bruises all over his body. But by seventeen, it was his father who woke up sore, and Vrael waking up smugly.
Vrael never had many friends. He walked often in the city by himself, but nobody really took much notice of him. He used to stand out of the community a little: most elves had light features, but Vrael had hair as black as the moonless midnight sky, but eyes so hazel-bright, that they looked orange. Or maybe it might have been because he was left-handed. Barely used his right for anything important.
Now at seventeen, he was a man. Tall, well-built, and healthy. He never recognized women in a "certain" way. All he really cared about was his father and his home…and the mountain.
After seventeen years of roaming around Narindel, he was getting jaded from these everyday sights. So he ran into a mountain after exploring in the forests. It was called Bid'Daum, after the first Rider's dragon (Vrael knew everything about the riders after he had heard the story so many times).
He went there almost every night, his father believing he just went out for a stroll. But in fact, he was with the stars. He lay at the foot of the mountain and look at the stars above the mountain peak.
It was the sight for the calm. All he did was just…lay there, gazing at the stars. Why? Nobody knew…except me. He had to think. To think about things he hadn't thought about before in the presence of Narindel. It was as if it was blocking his thought from the world.
What he thought of?
Everything. You tell me.
At that time, his father was also suffering from spontaneous seizures, making him fall, bite his tongue, and shake uncontrollably. All Vrael could do was watch, which pained him. He soothed him with his words during them, praying they would help. So sometimes, Vrael had to stay with him, limiting his trips to Bid'Daum.
But, one night, he went to the mountain, his father resting from his powerful seizures. He lay in his normal spot, and looked at the stars-
"Ow!"
Vrael felt something hard under his head, interrupting his thoughts. He sat up, and looked at what he had been laying on.
He saw a glowing green stone.
His heart skipped a beat.