Dragoncrest Cliffs my bed (worth 10 years' war)

Ephraim would have been stupid to think his words wouldn't have incited something, but he wasn't prepared for the sharp crack of Blodreina's tone as she responded. His tall ears snatched back toward his scalp and his eyes narrowed marginally, not in judgment—though he had plenty of that, and the co-mingled rage and fear threatening to consume his sensibilities even now threatened to let it be know—but in quiet supplication.

Aren't you proud of your heritage? he wondered, for that was perhaps the crux of his issue with changing names. He imagined somewhere out there, his family was proud of him and what he was growing into. They might not know all that he had accomplished in his time with Drageda, or how much potential he still possessed for growth. They might not even remember his face, as he had forgotten all of theirs. But he fantasized that they were still proud of their son. If he thought about it, he imagined he was proud of whatever his siblings had become, even if it was only pride for what he thought they might be, and not who they were, because he simply had no idea.

And so for that reason he couldn't fathom abandoning a name over something like a difference in culture because it felt a little bit like turning away from one's family. Eske was a strong and proud name as far as he could tell, or maybe he was just biased because like his it started with an E.