Chiastolite
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In the days of my father there was much disaster. No one was safe. Our homes and farmlands ravaged by an unstobble force. It was not war or natural forces that threatend our live stock and villiages. No, there is nothing natural about them.
Yes, you heard me right. I said "them". The monsters, for that was what they are, are in no way natural. Beasts with hides tougher than armour that shines like a freshly polished sword. They stand higher than our tallest castles and wider than our greatest flagships. They were unstopple.
Until twenty years ago.
Twenty years ago my father, King Truylos de Burgos, made a deal with the devil.
This beast was different from it's brethren, for it could speak. It even had a name! It called itself Senor Chiastolite. My father hoped to reason with the creature and gain protection against the others. The dragon agreed to protect the kingdom with no protest. But under one condition. When twenty years had passed it would demand payment for it's services. My father, the desperate fool that he was, agreed to the terms.
He forgot to specify what sort of payment the beast had in mind.
Now I sit on the throne with a dragon in my court demanding the payment it is due.
"You want what?!"
"Your son. You obviously have no use for him." The dragon growled.
With the beast so close I could see it's veins glow like red hot coals.
"My youngest son? But he is but a boy. A child!" I protest. Narrowing my eyes I ask, "What possible use could you have for my son?"
That was the wrong thing to say.
The dragon flared it's wings, smoke billowing from it's fangs. Snarling, it made it's case clear, "What use? USE?! He is a hatchling, not a tool to be used and discarded! Your brood is large and each has their place except him. Your youngest, your smallest. He is weak of body so you deem him useless and neglect his needs."
The beast huffed thick blue smoke into my face. When did it get so close?
"He does not starve, his death would be a blight to your name. He is clothed, for to dress him in rags would be a disgrace to your image." The dragon's glare hardens ever more. "You care not for your son or the kingdom you were entrusted with. Only for YOURSELF!"
The dragon's final word was a roar so loud it sent me crashing to the floor in a shaking pile, my crown rolling across the floor.
With a final huff the dragon left.
I never saw my youngest son again after that day.
Worse yet, my brother stole my crown.