Chapter 1: Dawn

"Aaaagh!" Raynor cried out in terror as his eyes flashed open. Raynor looked around the dark room he was in, gasping in fright at what he thought were shadows of his killers. His heart beats like the drums of war as he withdraws to the headboard of his bed to distance himself.

He gasped at the crack of embers in the fireplace. It sounded like bowstrings snapping their arrows loose.

He paused, waiting oh so silently. Raynor took a moment to take a calming breath and waited for his eyes to adjust to the lighting of the room. Soon after he calmed himself, he would recognize it as his own bedroom.

The shadows of killers were naught but the shadows of the pots and vase he had in his room. After this night, he would see them disposed of immediately; what use were those pottery if they only serve to scare him.

"By Asuryan," He groaned.

Horrifying ceramics aside, he paused to reflect on what happened.

Raynor had known that he was not impervious to nightmares, especially for those whose line of work were in the battlefields. But what this nightmare bothered him most about is the fact that he had no memory of such a nightmare after he had calmed himself.

"Why can't I remember?" He groaned again, clutching his head.

Reality and illusions clashed with one another when he opened his eyes and what he saw in the illusions horrified him.

But when reality broke the mist, he forgot what he was so horrified about.

Knock, knock!

"Gah!" He cried once more as he broke his thoughts. He looked towards the door across the foot end of his bed, and gawked at the door as if it would burst open revealing dozens of daemons out for his head.

"Milord?" Petra, his head maid, called out of worry.

That very soft voice filled him with both relief and frustration. The dread in his guts slowly melted away.

Of course it was Petra, he grumbled good-naturedly. The woman had made it her mission to disturb his sleep before the sun even rose above the horizon.

"Milord, are you alright?" She called again. "I heard you screaming in there."

"It is nothing, Petra," He finally replied. "You may enter."

The door opened to reveal a dark-hair she-elf dressed in her pale dress adorned with golden symbols that represent her station as the main head of all the maids and servants within Raynor's services. She had the same air as any elf should be: proud yet humble.

Despite that, she burst through the door with less dignity for her station.

Then again, she acted more like a surrogate mother of his more than she acts as a servant.

"Milord! Are you alright?" She asked, the tone of worry more prominent. "The guards outside said that they heard you scream."

"It was nothing but a nightmare. I'm fine, woman." He scoffed as he stood. He leaned against the post of his bed, hoping to hide that his legs shook like newborn lambs.

"A nightmare?" She questioned as the doubt was clear on her pale face. "What nightmare could cause you to scream aloud in the morning?"

"It's nothing to think about," He said dismissively.

But it was clear that Petra was not satisfied with the answer, "My lord-"

"Enough!" He shouted, miraculously standing tall without the post to lean on. He felt a deep guilt in his heart as he saw the woman he saw like a second mother flinched at his voice.

Sighing, he approached her, grabbing her by the shoulder, and said, "Petra, I. . . I appreciate your concern. Forgive me but this is not something I would speak of; not right now. Besides, it's nothing but a dream I have no memory of."

Petra stared into the eyes of her liege and he back at her.

Most servants wouldn't dare look at the face of their wards, but Raynor has been raised by her since his birth; the idea of her bowing her head to him was something he had told her to forgo once before. He didn't wish to take that order back.

Why? He said it was an honest way of seeing each other than looking at either their feet or the top of their heads.

She sighed and backed away. Raynor smiled in relief at her for she was willing to drop the subject.

"Very well, milord," She said. "First order of business, then."

His smile dropped.

Petra clapped her hands loudly. The door opened again and in came a flock of maidens with what was his armor and clothing of the day in their arms.

Raynor pouted; even though royalty weren't supposed to pout, it wasn't very majestic of them to do so. That said, the women holding his onto effects were all assorted maidens that Petra had chosen as her retinue to help her with her day to day activities.

But they weren't to be pass off as harmless, either.

Petra once served as one of the Handmaidens under his mother who defended their homes from the dark cousins in the west. When she was given leave and served as his wet-nurse – an honor given by his mother since they were sisters of sorts – she had practically made it her next duty to protect him with all the skills she acquire from her service within the handmaidens.

And ever since she made her retinue of maidens, she made sure that they all were skilled warriors meant to protect him all the while helping with Petra's duty with Raynor – which includes dressing him.

"Petra-"

"Come, come, ladies." Petra said, ignoring the pleading tone of her liege. "The Prince would not dress himself now."

It was useless for him to struggle. The ladies encircled him and began to dress him. He grumbled and moaned all he wanted, the fight was already decided. If he didn't know any better, Petra was using the aforementioned skills to her leisure; taking advantage of his guard being down only to surround him before he could complain.

"Ack! You know, one could call this an assault on the royal person," he complained as he was being pulled to and fro by the gaggle of elf maidens. He could have sworn that someone's hand stray to close for comfort near his unmentionable places.

"Hmm," Petra replied as she watched from the outside of surrounding maids, her eyes gazing at each hand critically like a hawk.; which he began to doubt since he swore someone made a swipe for him again.

"I can put you into the dungeon for this! An act of treason!" He cried aloud when his frustration began to boil over. "For crying out loud, I had learned to dress myself centuries ago. I didn't suffer in mud-filled trenches just so I can be dressed by others."

"Fascinating, milord." She said in disregard. She knew he didn't mean what he said, it was just how he is every morning. The maidens that were new to the job were first hesitant when he does this, but nowadays they, too, tune him out during their work.

It is true that the lord is capable of dressing himself, but then he would usually wear garish clothing that he had from the army. A prince like Raynor should be adorned in the most fashionable of clothing and armor, to signify his pride of his station.

Then again, Raynor is not like other princes in Petra's honest opinion. That is both a compliment and a criticism; Raynor's oddity has caused so much trouble lately. His straightforward method and philosophy has not made him rather popular with the Councils of Nobles. She blames the lifestyle of Lothern and their warriors' upbringing.

After all the grumbling and harmless complaints, Raynor endured through it all. The maidens stood back when they were finished and admired at their handiwork.

"You look marvelous, milord!" Petra exclaimed happily.

He rolled his eyes and approached the mirror to be the judge of that. He gazed upon himself and saw that he still looks somewhat the same; a pure-white robe that is framed or covered with golden regalia. The red and gold patterns of the dragons on his robe glowed like stars which should draw the eyes of anyone who looked closely. The only thing that stood out was. . .

"Um, Petra?" He asked as he held up some sort of object with lots of feathers on one end. "What is this?"

"That is a fan, milord." She replied as she took the object from his hand and tucked it back in the sash on his waist. "This is quite in season, I heard."

"Of course. This must be the season where I finally dust my book shelves, then? Otherwise, what do I need it for?"

"Surely, you jest, milord. And there are plenty of things you could use it for: You could use it to cool yourself, swat pest away, and so much more if you could put your mind to it."

"Hmm," He only grunted. He knew better than to argue, but he didn't really see him using for further use down the line.

"Oh, may I take this time to introduce someone." She gestured to one of the maidens. The woman approached, her face pale as snow and hair dark as raven's feather. Her eyes had the most alluring pair of emerald that stare at the Prince with pride... and something else.

"This here is one of my most promising apprentice," Petra practically purred in joy. "She has shown much progress in her training and see her as possible candidate to be my replacement."

"A pleasure milord. I am named Clara Windsol," She curtsied, but her eyes never left him. "I look forward to working... close to you."

He didn't know why, but the woman's voice made his spine tingled. It sounded so... sensual. He shook his head to clear the thought before he addressed her.

"Ah, yes. Indeed," He said. "I must commend you for being this stalwart in your training, even to earn Petra's recommendation and praise." He leaned forward to whisper theatrically. "Which is really hard to come by."

She chuckled, which sets off that same feeling that Raynor felt before. "I try my best, milord."

"Then keep on the good work," He said as he watched her back away. He turned back to Petra and saw the knowing glint her eyes she was directing at him yet her face was neutral.

"What?" He asked.

"Oh... Nothing, milord."

Raynor only rolled his eyes at her. He turned away and headed towards the balcony door. He paused before it, his hands frozen on the handles.

Petra looked towards her lord and sighed. Again, his same routine like before. If him grumbling in the morning against being dressed was somewhat amusing, this was one she didn't favor him doing.

She waved at the other maidens to leave. When the last one left, she followed after but paused at the exit. "It is not your fault, milord. You've done what you can." Was all she could say as she closed the door.

Raynor didn't respond. He was too lost in his thought to hear them leave, but it didn't matter at the moment.

With a great sigh, he willed himself to push the wooden doors. Slowly, it swung open and revealed to him a view he tortured himself to everyday: the ruined city of Caledor; his home.

He walked out into the porch and leaned against the railing to gaze upon what he knows to be a result of his own work.

He sighed again. "Another day in Caledor. Just. . . another day."

He allowed himself to drown in his guilt; the blame he shouldered willingly for the destruction of his home. Such dark thoughts plagued his mind since he came into the position as newly elected prince of Caledor and he wouldn't let it up, unless he receives a sign from the gods telling him that what he is doing is right.

Yesterday, it was a great eagle that soared in circles above the castle. The day before that was a small tremor from the Dragonspine volcano. Of course there weren't always signs he sought for, but even then he would still willed himself to go out and do his work. Yet, those days weren't his happier days.

At this point it had become his superstition that he would routinely follow. He gazed up into the sky, eyes darting around searchingly. "Please, give me a sign."

Nothing happened. Raynor dropped his gaze now more saddened than before.

Whoosh! A huge wave of wind kicked up! The prince was nearly blown off the porch, but managed to grip onto the rail at the last moment.

Raynor looked up into the air and saw a dragon flying around. It roared as it somersaulted, dived, and ascended despite its huge size and weight. Its wing flapped loudly like thunder, and each flap would kick up a dust storm.

Raynor thought the beast was madly rampaging until he saw a rider atop of it. No, it was two riders. The beast made a pass at where he was and saw them. They were both she-elves. One in her adulthood and the other was too young to even think about riding a dragon!

"Whoo!" The young woman cried in joy as she steered her steed.

"Higher! Higher!" The little girl cried loudly as they sailed farther away.

When they were in the distance, whooping and roaring along with the dragons, their merry noise and chaotic mess left with them.

Raynor paused to fully register what he'd just seen. When his mind caught up, he broke into a laughter that nobles would surely say it was unbefitting of his station.

After his laughing fit, he dusted himself and looked up to the sky. "That's one way of getting me to work, huh? Well, the city won't rebuild itself," He said as he walked back into his room.

His mood then plummeted when he saw his reflection in the mirror from before. The dragon did more than just kick up dust and chaos, it seems the ruined whatever hard work Petra and the maids did to his clothing.

"Darn it. She' not gonna be happy about this," Raynor said, pouting all the way out of his room.