1. Chapter One

Torra: a bustling commercial town of splendor and tranquility. Beneath its clear crystal-blue skies lies a vast ocean, its sparkling beauty stretching far beyond what the eye can see. A town known for its spectacular sights, Torra was lavished with buildings of polished white stone and dazzling crystal towers, but the true spectacle and crown jewel lay at the very heart of the town: a gorgeous fountain mounted with a statue of its great and beloved guardian. Among the splendor of Torra came the rush of everyday commerce. Humans, along with their wingless draconic counterparts—the Dragoons, shared their lives in peace. Children were tucked away in their homes under the caring protection of their mothers, while many of the males stood vigil to keep out any intruders. Traders and merchants, human and Dragoon alike, lined the streets shouting their wares to the citizens passing by. Lives flourished.

That is, until the war had reached their land…

Garlant’s face glowed in the light of the fire, turning his deep blue scales a brilliant orange in the open flame. Beads of sweat rolled down his face. With steady hands firmly gripped upon the sliding anvil, he slowly pulled out the scalding-hot plates of armor from the furnace. From there he thoroughly examined each piece, measuring them with delicate precision. He became so focused on his work that he failed to notice the brown-scaled figure watching him from across the room.

“That’s quite the impressive armor set you have there,” the spectator said with a beaming smile. The voice startled Garlant almost enough to make him jump and nearly drop the armor from his hands. His head snapped around and his eyes locked to see the features of a very familiar face. Sharp and angular, sporting a pair of twisted black horns.

“Oh Valdir, it’s you,” Garlant said with a fluster. “Don’t go scaring me like that.”

“My apologies,” Valdir chuckled. “I just happened to notice you here.” Valdir continued to watch as Garlant then took his newly forged armor piece by piece and submerged them into a bucket of cool water.

“Well, it’s done,” he said as he wiped the sweat from his forehead. He sat back and admired his work.

“You truly have a gift in the art of smithing,” Valdir commented.

“Thanks,” Garlant replied.

Valdir was one of Garlant’s closest friends, an excellent sparring partner and a noble warrior for whom he admired for his great courage. His rough barklike scales were adorned with shining black armor from head to tail. He belonged to a group of battle-hardened Dragoon soldiers known as the Juggernauts. Together led by a powerful militant figure they fought long and hard, and to this day they have never lost a single battle. Valdir was among the best of the best, for he was one of four elite members of the Juggernauts who’s shown exceptional skill and prowess from the others. He and his brother Eridor, also a Juggernaut elite, were known for their tactical use of a spear in the field of battle.

“Who knows, with all those sparring sessions you could very well be leading us into battle someday,” the elite said to the blacksmith. Garlant couldn’t help but smile at his comment. Garlant was a young Dragoon, only seventeen years of age. Though still in adolescence, he spent his early years immersed in weaponsmithing and martial arts style combat, holding on to that lifelong dream of going out on the battlefield, fighting alongside the best warriors. When he wasn’t sparring he would often isolate himself and spend his time meditating and honing his skills in secret. Through the years he had been told wondrous stories from the great elites, of their unbreakable valor and their numerous victories, all of which only made the curious young Dragoon more eager to reach that goal. And the greatest warrior of them all, was none other than his father Ziggurat, the founder and proud leader of the Juggernauts. A huge bull of a dragon, Ziggurat was as intimidating in his appearance as he was powerful. His brutish form bore scales of the deepest red, cracked and heavily scarred by the forge of war. His enlarged features were a testament to his fearsome demeanor, from the curled black horns that dominated his head, to the huge muscles that bulged from his chest and forearms. His lower half slowly tapered into a winding, spike-studded coil. A brilliant military commander, he was a dragon who combined both immense physical strength and intellect to achieve victory.

The smithy doors opened, spilling forth cool ocean air and streaming light into the room as three more Juggernaut elites marched into the blacksmith shop, each of them clad in battle armor. One of them was a slender-built, silver-scaled Dragoon. Slyph was his name, a skilled strategist and excellent tank sniper. Another was Eridor, a golden-scaled Dragoon whose eyes shone with a driving force. Leading the two was the second in command, a maroon-scaled Dragoon named Sieg.

“Ah, we’ve been expecting you guys,” Valdir said.

“Attention!” Ziggurat commanded. His voice boomed like thunder. “I believe you all know why you’re here,” he warned. Fierce yellow eyes glared at his comrades. “The age of war is still upon us, and though our ancient enemies have vanished, there is a new one lurking amongst us. We don’t know what it is exactly that we’re up against, but heed my words. He is one, but we are many. This is the time of victory. We will stand and fight!” The crowd jeered. And then he closed the meeting with the Juggernaut motto: “If fate conspires us to die today, let us do so with honor!” After a celebratory meal most of them had soon left the room for final preparations. Ziggurat and the four elites stayed behind and continued their discussion. Garlant couldn’t help but listen in on their conversation.

“So it seems we’ll be fighting on forbidden grounds,” Eridor said. “They say anyone who’s ever set foot on that land has never returned.”

“Yeah, and our enemy Shadowflare is said to assume various forms,” Sieg added. He always seemed to have a certain look in his eyes that conveyed a sense of long experience in war. He was no stranger to the battlefield as he sported countless battlescars; one of which rendered him near blind in his left eye. “They call him a harbinger of death,” he continued. “I’ve heard that he even corrupts his victims’ bodies with his life force.” He crossed his arms in concern. “Clearly we’re in for one hell of a fight.” Everyone nodded in agreement.

“Slyph, ready the tanks,” Ziggurat commanded. “We’ll be leaving shortly.”

“They’re already set and ready to go sir,” Slyph replied.

“Excellent.”

As the room was being cleared, Garlant walked up towards his father. With a deep breath he asked, “Hey Dad, could I come with you?”

“I’m sorry son, not this time,” Ziggurat sighed, almost regretting those very words. “I know how much you want to fight, but Shadowflare may be an even bigger threat than we thought. I still wonder though, Zalaria has yet to return. I hope for our sake she’s okay.” He gave a long sigh and placed a hand on Garlant’s shoulder. “Listen it’s just that, I don’t want to lose you.”

“I understand,” Garlant replied. Despite Ziggurat’s powerful demeanor, something deep in his mind always seemed to be bothering him. Often times Garlant would find him isolated in a state of worry, afraid even. Ziggurat, afraid? Garlant always wondered. Perhaps it was his beloved wife Midna. Poor Midna. A beautiful young Dragoon she was with a will like iron. A few years after giving birth to her son, she fell severely ill. Day by day she grew increasingly weaker, and no amount of healing could save her from meeting death’s embrace. It was only a few nights later she had finally perished. And Ziggurat, he wept in silence.

As Ziggurat spoke those words to his son, he was reminded of his dear Midna. He could see her iron will develop inside Garlant’s young heart. He reassured his son with a smile, a smile that said “ you are the pride and joy in my life.” His eyes were kind and his heart filled with warmth. It was for that reason where Garlant truly felt that Ziggurat was a father figure. “You have indeed grown strong my son,” Ziggurat spoke. “I’m sure your mother would be proud of what you’ve become. But now, it’s time we head off, but rest assured we will return victorious. Make that a promise.” And with that, Garlant watched his father depart.

Garlant met with the others outside in the center of the town. Some of the soldiers, like Slyph, rode atop the massive Armagons; lumbering biomechanical behemoths, each one equipped with various artillery weapons from powerful plasma cannons to rapid-firing gatling guns. Crowds of townsfolk bid their farewells to the Juggernauts. The masses then began to part as a grey figure among them had stepped forward.

“Make way for Elder Sohryu!”

The elderly Dragoon was dressed in a lavish blue robe wrought with gold trimming. He approached the soldiers and knelt before them. His beady eyes met with theirs.

“We all wish you a victorious battle and a safe return.” he said softly.

“Thank you, Elder Sohryu,” Ziggurat nodded. “Let’s move out!”

With that said, the Juggernauts bravely marched off into the horizon. Garlant looked up towards the skies, a single question on his mind.

“Zalaria, where are you?”