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Inspiration; Inspired by Final Fantasy XIV: Heavensward. I looked at the character of a Dragoon and how they are meant to kill dragons. In my story, my Dragoon was abandoned by their kind and instead, raised by dragons.
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I had always been different from those around me. First of all, I was neither dragon-born nor a dragon-kin for that matter. But they were those I called my family. The only ones who showed me any kindness. I was much shorter in height than my friends, they towered over me but yet, always treated me as their equal. I was happy, until their arrival.
We learned about the tyranny of the dragoons and how they slew our kind for nothing more than a sport. I thought made me sick. I worked hard, I studied every night, I trained harder, all to prove myself to the elders, so I could join the ranks. I dedicated a quarter of a century to ensure the extinction of the dragoons. My time had finally come to prove I was worthy. The day he stepped into my realm.
My first inkling was to raise my own lance at the sight of him. Anger seethed in my blood. I wanted him dead, but he never raised his weapon. Instead, he held his hands up in front of him, cladded with armour. I had no doubt it had been forged from my fallen kin, with his helm resembling one of our own kind, dyed a deep plum colour. His scent turned my stomach, the unmistaken stench of dragon blood.
"I mean you no harm," he spoke in a soft yet cautious tone.
"Liar," I spat back instantly, thrusting my weapon in his direction, with a few simple steps back he dodged the attack, "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't cut you down where you stand."
He sniggered, taking a step closer to the tip of my lance, "I know who you are." He said confidently, "Let me show you."
I hesitated for a moment, but lowered my weapon slightly. My enemy moved his hands to his helm, slowly removing it and revealing his identity. I felt a chill rush down my spine, my stomach turning as I looked at him.
"No," I begin to choke on my words, "You can't be."
The man in front of me looks no different from myself. We are the same height, considering he is a few inches taller, but nothing like the dragon-kin that tower over me. His ears extend into a shape point, much like mine, although his skin tone is more tanned than my pale complexion. The pair of us are from elven descent, albeit from different clans. I can feel my world-shattering, falling apart and burning in the forefront of my mind. I try to remind myself that I am one with the dragons, but even I cannot deny the proof that stands before me.
"We are the same, you and I," he says opening his armour-cladded arms out and taking small steps towards.
I shake my head, I don't want this to be true. No, no, no, I tell myself. I was raised by dragons; how can I descend from the very tyrants I swore to extinct?
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