Rising in Flames



“You will finish it.” A loud clanging voice of a female dragon set apart the tranquil sound of
the rain falling ever so calmly.

Azrael conjured the embers across his whelpish maw before they fuzzed out in the rain.

“I can’t do it with this rain, mother!” Azrael laid a larger thud on the latter of his sentence,
feeling hopeless in his endeavor.

“You will succeed, Azrael. This world has no place for those who gives up, those who
accept being
weak. If so, you are worthless.”

That feeling Azrael’s mother invoked in his spine gave a chill. Azrael never wanted to disappoint anyone,
let alone his own mother. Azrael was cold, freezing in the twilight’s rain,
where he had been trying to conjure a fireball at the age of only a few days.
Azeliastrasza was a ruthless woman, but she was also the very person that made sure, the whelplings
survived the harsh environments and the threats that loomed Azeroth in a time of uncertainty.  

She had no patience nor tolerance for any complacency.

Azrael landed head first into the mud as Azeliastrasza had moved forward her talon against the young
whelpling’s back, effectively pushing him into it.

Azrael turned his head up from the mud, it would now be even harder it would be to summon this fireball.
With his face drenched in mud, the embers would certainly be even harder to manifest.

He glared backwards at his own mother. A mix of emotions of anger and fear filled his young mind.
Azrael realized now that these very emotions were fueling him. The embers arising like flares, his teeth
and his immediate surroundings brightened up in the heartbeat light of his flames. The hatred he felt for
his mother now became his fire. His burning hatred.

Then sounds of creaking woods filled the valley, the oak tree had been felled.
Azrael in a span of only a few days old had done what others of his clutch had not even been able to summon a sliver of.

The satisfied expression of Azeliastrasza filled the dark brims of the twilight’s gaps.

“I hate you.” – Azrael thought on. But in his deepest parts of himself, he knew what his mother had done. She had wanted this,
she had wanted him to become this and feel like this. He was manipulated, his being toyed with. But Azelia never needed
him to like him because she was his mother, she needed him to survive and bring on her legacy eventually.

Azrael vowed in return, he would never continue her legacy. Never give her, what she wants.
This filled Azrael in return with a sense of satisfaction, knowing his mother’s cruel methods will never define him.

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