If I Had A Heart...

A crackling chuckle emerges from the pale emperor's throat and the note of fragility does not escape Drashiel's ears. Such notes do not suit his father. Yet, Drashiel hopes that Isardis will return to full strength soon and that all traces of the disease will swiftly fade. He does not like seeing the man he seeks to emulate in such a condition. But then, the Armada were not easily slain.


"Then you will become a King."


There was something veiled in those words, something the yearling could not quite grasp but he cast the feeling aside. He would become a King. And he would show those that sought to deny him that he was a creature of great worth. A dragon amongst wolves. To be respected and awed, not cast away and forgotten. He would become legend. He would not slip quietly away into the cruel night and would leave the stain of his sweat and blood upon the earth of Alacritis.


"No longer do you train with Rogue?s, Drashiel; of course, you may best them, learn from their demise; but do not absorb their word,"


The boy nodded. He'd tasted the flesh of rogues and now it was time for something sweeter. He had trained with his brother Raw as well as the Marquis of Arcanum. Roman had offered to train him as well in the arts of battle before the plague had invaded her body. They had allies now, numerous ones and it would be in the interest of their triumvirate to learn from one another.


?You train with me now.?


Fire seemed to coat his words and Drashiel felt it. That spark, that deadly flame that made his father so feared. A jolt of excitement jarred through him his maw curving into a grin though that was the only show he made. He would keep his composure out of respect for his sire and act as a disciplined student to his new master. He was to learn and his being would be put into that task.


"I am ready, father. What is the first thing you ask of me?"


"Speech"