Chapter 2:"First Turtle War"

I am Vahaemorys Narnareon, a direct descendant of the illustrious Narnareon and the heir to a powerful dragon lord lineage. From a young age, it became evident that I possessed an extraordinary amount of magical potential, a gift that set me apart from others in my family. To them, such immense power was a trait worthy only of dragons.

At first, my father harbored doubts about my origin, but by time he came to accept me as his son, thanks to my filial acts and commitment. Despite my family's acceptance, the world outside saw me as an anomaly due to my unique appearance, considering me a product of an illicit affair concealed by my mother even though they wouldn't dare to say in public.

My identity solidified as Vahaemorys Narnareon, "The Irregular," a title that both defined and isolated me. However, my mother stood by me, showering me with love and kindness that set her apart from my father and the others harsh judgment.

At the tender age of three, I achieved fluency in both High Valyrian and Rune, a feat that earned me great acclaim considering my peers. This success was owed to my youthful mind and tireless efforts. I had already begun formulating a plan to escape Valyria before its impending doom, though I remained ignorant of the current state of affairs and whether the Targaryens still held sway in the land.

Through some mysterious means, I gleaned a glimpse of a time far ahead of Doom, a period marked by the onset of the First Turtle War between Valyria and Rhoynar. Despite the conflict, my parents, the reigning Dragon Lords of Valyria, were spared direct participation in the war, as their role was to provide guidance through a magical candle, a privilege reserved for those in their esteemed position.

It was apparent that my father played a pivotal role in inciting the war, having ordered the slaughter of the revered Old Men of the River, colossal turtles held sacred by the Rhoynar as consorts of Mother Rhoyne herself. Amidst the turmoil, I dedicated most of my time to studying forbidden books, a pursuit forbidden to one of my tender age.

At the age of five, deemed old enough to bond with a dragonling, I accompanied both my mother and father to the vault where dragon eggs and untold riches were stored. I had my heart set on a dragon companion, desiring a loyal buddy rather than a colossal dragon. As we approached the immense crypt, my gaze fixated on a sword adorned with a dragon head at its hilt. My mother observed my curiosity and assured me, "It will be yours when you are of the right age, my child." In response, I giggled with joy.

Entering the chamber where the dragon eggs were kept, it was evident that the sight would overwhelm any ordinary human. The eggs were varied in color and shape, each possessing its own unique allure. With a smile, my father presented me with an opportunity, stating, "You may choose one, Vahaemorys. Only one. If you inherit the dragon blood of your father and mother, you might have a powerful dragon." I feigned surprise, though my attention had long been captured by a particular egg. Its hue was ash, less vibrant than the others, yet its size and presence held a mysterious charm. Without hesitation, I chose that egg.

My father, however, expressed concern, noting, "That is the oldest dragon egg, one that has remained unhatched for a long time. I hope it will be alright." My mother approached, voicing her doubts, "My child, is this truly the one you desire? There are more exquisite eggs to choose from." Despite her reservations, my choice remained unwavering. A glance towards the other eggs, and I confirmed my decision. Satisfied, my mother led me to the hatchery while my father returned to our family tower.

Entering the cave, which they called the hatchery, my mother left me with a servant and ventured deeper into the cavern, clutching my dragon egg. Though I knew her intentions, I feigned innocence about why she would leave me here while taking my dragon egg with her. The elderly servant then explained, "My Lord, a child of your age is not allowed to enter the hatchery."

What I expected become the reality. It was a trade—a life for a life. You see, the dragon eggs were preserved from hatching through a ritual that turned them into stone. To awaken the life within, a catalyst was needed. I suddenly understood the situation and I couldn't help but silently ask for forgiveness for the sacrifice that would be made in my heart.

An hour passed, and my mother returned with a newcomer in her arms. This dragonling was ash-colored with two golden-hued bulges on its head. He was adorable and filled with playful energy. My mother approached me, concealing something behind her back, with the dragonling perched on her shoulder. She asked, "My child, can you extend your right hand?" I complied, and she gently pricked my hand with a needle. I remained stoic, surprising even her. She then smeared some of my blood onto the dragonling's head.

In that moment, a spiritual bond began to form between me and the dragonling. However, my inner strength was so powerful that it felt like the dragonling submitted to me. Gradually, the dragonling approached me, curiosity gleaming in its eyes, yet still with a trace of respect for the strength it sensed within me.

With a smile, my mother inquired, "What will you name him, my child?" I brought the dragonling to my shoulder and declared, "Igneel." Her reaction was one of mild surprise, for the name sounded foreign to her. As I gazed into the eyes of my new companion.