The prophecy had foretold of his coming. The King of Skulls was the name given to him by the ancient ones. Since that day, my family protected his thrones. As an added guard, the ancients used the last bit of their energy and sealed the door so that only the King of Skulls with the soul of the ancients would ever be able to enter. With each of us passing away, a new addition of skeletal defenders was placed, leaving only myself as the last remaining dragon. The wait had warped what I imagined him to be. He was to be the one to conquer the world and bring dragons back to their ruling after all.
Yet now here I stood, questioning my entire life. A boy, perhaps no more than six stones wet, had entered the throne room. He looked at me and I could smell the rancid fear that poured from him. A farmer’s boy, judging by his clothes and dirt stained hands, was not going to be my King. No country could fear such a frail boy.
I stood up and walked towards him, examining every piece of him. He backed away with each step I took forward. His fists were clenched and my teeth bared. I had waited for the King for this long and I was willing to wait longer for him to reincarnate into a proper king.
“Get away from me!” the boy screamed.
A power far above my own launched me across the room and hit the adjacent wall. Was that the boy’s doing? I couldn’t say for certain but behind him was a large shadow that could only belong to one of the ancients. I could do nothing but bow down to this small child. If he was indeed the conqueror of worlds and my King of Skulls then he would need work.
“Welcome home, sire.”
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Art by Kerem Beyit