Sleeping Dragon I am the blood of the dragon.
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There were clues that she had left him, hints that would take the boy closer and closer to the realm that he would one day rule; she had spoken often of it, eager to teach him all the many traditions and raise him in her own image. She was a god to him — his mother, his heda, even if they were a cru of two — and the boy was adamant he stay with her. But he knew she would not let him, and did not try to placate Seregryn as she began to act out her plan. The woman was a zealous one and was unafraid to impart the same vivacity unto her only son.

He would make them see his value, his strength. They would bow to him as they were meant to bow to his mother.

Or so she had told him, taught him. Prepared him. There was no other role for the rogue except to infiltrate the nearest cru and strike down any that came between him and his rightful place atop the pile.

The boy sought a dragon who sat coiled on the horizon; that's what mother had called it, a sleeping beast that was home to Drageda, but he did not know that his mother's knowledge of the realm was not current. As he crossed further and further along the rolling hillside and began to climb the dragon's back, he knew she had led him somewhere empty. Not a soul haunted these reaches.

He could not find fault with mother for she was infallible, perfect, and would know of his doubt. So he took to the trails and mapped them as best he could. At the very least young Crucifix could gather knowledge - and perhaps the right trail would lead him to his intended destination.