“Oberon?” Aaron echoed.

  “Yes.” William knew that name from a familiar he read of in all the fantasy books he read, and the name always came to be as a melody to his ears every time that he read it aloud... To be noble and bearlike, kingly in nature; only could he aspire to be as great as him. He decided that he could use this name to ensure that no one would know his true identity, at least until he could place his trust in someone else, knowing that being a Drakenblood was a danger in this kingdom.

  The guild master inspected him closely. “And so, these wings on your head… can I assume they are some sort of silly costume?”

  The newly named Oberon paused for a second, standing aimlessly in the halls of the sunlit throne room. He felt a moment of panic, and was not sure what to do.

  Aaron stopped looking at him so intensely and his gaze widened instead after realizing the situation at hand. He took a moment before uttering words that shook Oberon to his core.

  “I know what you are. Remove yourself from your helmet, knight.”

  Oberon was wracked with a fear harder than any sword or fist could have ever struck into him, but did as he was told and divested himself of his headwear, showing his face. His somewhat long blond hair stuck out, and it got a little stuck in his helmet as he tried to nestle the red wings stuck to his head out of the holes. The scales on his face, the few that were under his eyes, felt more naked than ever. But despite all of this fright, he stood firmly and with might.

  The silence was deafening. The Knight stood there for a while, but he felt the ominous presence fly out of the room, and he felt a sense of relief as Aaron stopped staring him down. “A Drakenblood! Hmm… wait, I know, I believe I recall who you are now. King told me about you. I recall seeing you outside one day… you may have grown so much, but, are you the son of Alexander perhaps?”

  Oberon looked at him, absolutely astonished by the response. “You venture outside the kingdom? I did not know you visited our homelands out in the wilderness. How do you know my father’s name?”

  “Ah, he was a great man that I once knew for many years,” he replied. “He was one of the activists to try and break the rule of forbidding Drakens and humans to be together, but alas, he did not have enough power to change the things he wanted, nor did he have a grip on the reality of how people perceived his kind. The Drakenblood Warriors have always been very pushy rascals when it comes to their beliefs, I will say that however!.” Aaron laughed, and the guild master stepped down from this throne. “You know, now it is all coming back to me… He used to talk about you all the time, and we were good friends. But I have not seen him in six years ever since that last test of strength for the children.”

  Did he really talk about me? Oberon felt a twinge of regret in his stomach, but he pushed it aside. “That is quite the staggering discovery, to know my dad had a hand in dealing outside of the village. But changing the subject, I do require some help in this new endeavor of mine I implore.”

  “What type of assistance do you require?” Aaron asked, casually taking his sword and setting it to the side. His posture was kept leaning in, as if very interested in what Oberon had to say, despite his face remaining monotone.

  "I only need a home of some sort here in the kingdom."

  "And why are you asking me for aid?" The guild master questioned again.

  Oberon looked at him, his eyes steely. "I am a Drakenblood Warrior as you may know, and I am seeking a new life here, one where I can live in a world not so full of bloodshed, so much strife. The life I once had back there will be no more."

  Aaron was taken aback as he looked at him. “Well, that is certainly a new one. Are you truly this adamant about forming a new identity? Once you take this step, you will be a part of this kingdom. You could visit your village, but your home would be here.”

  “Yes! Yes, I say,” Oberon replied. “I am done with said lifestyle.”

  Aaron understood the message preached very clearly, and he raised his arm for a pact. Oberon looked towards him, he reached and shook his hand, accepting his newfound fate, and choosing to live anew. "If you say so, then it shall be. I have a house that was meant for your father, but he has not used it ever since.” He directed towards a table. “I have been waiting so long to meet one of your kind again ever since. Please, seat yourself as we speak of other matters at hand." The Knight found a chair and pulled it closer to the throne so that he could maintain eye contact, handing Aaron the paper that he filled out at the counter. He looked it over, and then quickly put it on the counter.

  “Do keep in mind; from here on out, you should be more cautious about whom you tell about your origins. Some might wish to harm you for who you are because Drakens and Draken descendants are feared greatly in the kingdom, you know.”

  “I mean, I understand that there are some clear differences, but what makes them worth killing? I saw the questions on the paper.” The Knight asked, genuinely concerned.

  “Oh yes, certainly! Nobody likes a giant lizard stalking around a mostly peaceful kingdom.” The guild master laughed, but then deadpanned when he saw that Oberon was not finding it funny and not laughing. “I assume you had a different belief in them? I know that your teachings can incline to some very different standards and normalizations.”

  Oberon nodded. “Draken are just like us, right? We simply cannot coexist for reasons of the past, or so I was taught.”

  Aaron dipped his head, letting out a sigh. "Well you see, you and I are different, we have spoken with them before, the people have not. Their perception of Draken has always been poor. The stories the children read, the lies the church spreads about Draken being creatures of terror and chaos… I wish people knew the truth. I had a friend once, and he was just like you; He was much nicer than any other child I have ever met in this kingdom. Those were the good old days."

  He talks like he is over one hundred years old. What a pain, Oberon thought to himself, gazing at the man’s weary form. But he knew there was more to be said and he knew Aaron was really a man he could trust, so he stuck tight to his seat.

  The guild master looked towards the window. "You see, he wandered away from his village by accident and got lost, but eventually found his way to this place. I found him on my patrol, and he was very kind to us, seeking shelter. His name was Elliot, and he was likely younger than you. But I took him and had him by my side, and we had a lot of fun together, as if he were a younger brother to me. However, this newfound friend of mine who was of Drakenblood did not last too long; Rumors spread, his village went looking for him, and when the guards learned of whereabouts, they killed him swiftly as soon as words had reached the wrong ear. It was one of the scariest things I had ever seen in my life up until then, seeing his life taken from right in front of my eyes. They asked, they were insistent on if I knew he was a ‘traitor.’"

  Oberon looked at him, a shock in his expression. "But what did you say?."

  The guild master was solemn. "I could not say I had really known. And I could not let my feelings overtake me, or else I would have had my life ended as well, due to suspicion of a similar affiliation. The same goes for you; letting your emotions get the better can become a prominent danger, and safeguarding your identity is a priority."

  “I’m sorry to hear that Aaron, that is such a hard thing to hear,” Oberon now saw why it was so important to withhold information of the Draken descendance. To think that the public, over some insignificant events that probably were accidents long ago shaped them out to be monsters… "But despite your past, does this mean you will still help me live a new life here?"

  Aaron stood up. "But of course. We may not be able to change what has happened before, but we can change what happens from now on, right?” He sounded optimistic and at peace in this moment. “Take this map; it will help you navigate for your first couple of months." His gaze shifted down to Oberon’s side. "I also see that you have brought a sword with you," he said.

  Oberon nodded.

  "If you need someone to hone your skills with, you may practice with a man named Targa. He lives a couple of houses away from yours, it’s one of the tallest buildings in the kingdom, uniquely shaped because of his nature to smith weapons, and I am sure he can teach you many things about wielding a sword. But beware, once again," he stated. "No one else but me knows you are of Drakenblood, so do not get yourself killed with a mere choice of words. Neither of us wants to see you slain. Your house is to the left of the guild building, four houses down the road. Do you need me to help you?"

  “I should be good, but thank you for your concern.” The guild master reached out his hand to shake the Knight’s, handing him the key in the process. Oberon shook it confidently and took the key in his possession.

  "May the light guide you," Aaron called out as Oberon stepped out into the street.

  The house was not too hard to find, and Oberon figured he would get settled in first. He noticed that many people seemed uneasy towards him as if he had just beat someone to death right in front of their eyes. Anxiety was something he was very keen on picking up to make up for other things, as it could change someone’s demeanor and biological aspects, and he could tell it was likely the armor that was throwing them off.

  I should probably avoid talking with people for now…

  He inserted the key into the lock, but the slot would not budge for some odd reason. Upon closer inspection, it was filthy with rust and grime. The guild master had not lied, for the house seemed to have been wearied and teared by the times and the winds. Oberon forced it a little more, and it went in noisily, making a "clunk" sound. It would definitely have to use some repairs and fixes, but the work would be nothing short of a slight chore. After all, safety and comfort were not bound to come easy. Finally, the door creaked open, revealing a crude wooden floor with stone furnaces and a faint odor of mold and dust. If he did not know what dust smelled like, he sure did now, because the house was full to the brim with it, to the counter tops, down to the floor, and spider webs hanging on the ceiling. Oberon let out a long sigh and began looking around the interior, shoving aside some furniture that was in the way.

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  His father left quite a few things behind, to mention. There were pots and pans in pantries for pastries and provisions, a small table made for dining, an old couch, silverware, and many peculiar-shaped stones lying around. These objects were all there were in the living room, but there appeared to be more upstairs, where the house seemed to get peculiar. It seemed there was only a bathtub present in the bathing room on the second floor, and the walls, for the most part, were sloppily done. This almost convinces me that my father made this himself…

  In the other room upstairs, there was a bed and a closet with a desk in the corner. The only thing on the desk was a book with dust on top and a compass embedded in it. He placed his mighty hands around it and stored it somewhere in his chest plate for later. One thing his armor was also useful for was for storing certain small objects. Everything here was fairly dull but nothing short of what Oberon was expecting, to his standard at least.

  So this is my new life… a run-down house with people with a people I do not even recognize. I already feel the weight of great supposition.

  But through all the undiscovered and discovered stress… he smiled. Oberon never smiled often, but this truly was a marvelous occasion to celebrate his succeeding adventure. The idea of new friends, new travels, new conflicts- well, maybe not conflicts but something exciting. He jumped into the bed to test the quality. All things considered, he expected the bed to break but instead dust flew everywhere, and he coughed dryly at the notion. Everything exciting and jubilous almost balanced not being able to be in his previous home comfortably, talking with his parents without the knowledge of him being treated like a pawn. Some part of him was glad to learn that and another was not, but something still nagged at his consciousness as he missed his previous home to some degree.

  No matter. What is in the past is in the past, I will have to figure out what I can do to repair the house as much as I can, but as of right now, I should search for Targa.

  The Knight dashed out the door and was on his merry way to meet this new person, who might be his first friend outside of the village. It was hard to get used to the space full of regular human people instead of seeing a Draken wing or tail trailing across every person’s body. Running across the crossroads, he noticed a lot of people grouped into one spot along a house. Specifically, a lot of women are in fancy dresses and holding weird glasses. It seemed like they were probably very high up on a ladder of some sort as Oberon looked at one of the ladies, although it was quite strange because they were the outskirts of the domain, and he at least knew that from common sense that the only place where rich people would be would be the center of the kingdom. The Knight had a sense of how social systems worked outside the village to some degree, but the question still lingered; why here of all locations?

  He walked over, trying to get a view of the spectacle that was supposedly happening before the assumed crowd. Oberon took a look into their eyes; they were starstruck. He peered over a woman with a fluffy dress, trying to get a look into the situation. "What is going on here, madam?"

  She cooed at the door. "We are waiting for him."

  Then, the door suddenly shifted. After a few seconds of silence, the door finally swung open, and a behemoth of a human being stepped out of the house. If some of his colleagues and their swole body forms were some kinds of indication of the tallest human being on earth, they never could hope to even compare to the girth of this man’s muscle. All the women gasped and one of them swooned, and the others chattered like cats observing their prey as he stood up gallantly.

  "Oh? And who is this?" Targa said, towering over Oberon. He moved his way through the crowd.

  Before he could respond, it seemed that some older people walked out the door with a package of some sort. The dad walked up to him. "Do not forget the lunch we made for you our dear son!" He left him with the box and said something unintelligible as he hugged his parents.

  Oberon coughed again. The Knight shifted into a more formal position and held out his hand. "Greetings. You are the one they call Targa, correct?" Although The Knight was pretty sure this was him, he still had to make sure that he was not just talking with some type of chief.

  Targa shook his hand roughly with only three of his fingers. "Indeed. And who would you be, little knight?"

  Oberon, slightly peeved by the way he called him that name, kept his cool as he remained in the same pose. "I am Oberon. Nice to meet you."

  "The pleasure is mine. Step aside, ladies, I must go where I am needed." He winked at Oberon. The Knight gave Targa a weird look, but he continued with the scheme anyway. The ladies scowled at him, but they walked away towards the gates, hoping that following his orders would benefit them one day.

  "How did you know I was going to-"

  Targa shrugged. "A lot of people ask me to go out and spar. I suppose I look like a model combatant." Oberon took a closer look at him, and it looked like Targa wore no armor whatsoever, except for the extended helmet he wore. Everything else was of a much lesser material- the boots, the chest strap, and even an odd-looking kilt that went around the waist. Everything about him seemed very unorthodox, but he did not question it.

  "Are you new to these parts, Oberon?"

  He nodded.

  Targa looked around. "I assume guild master Aaron told you to meet me, did he not?"

  Oberon met his gaze. "Yes, that is why I came here in the first place," he said softly.

  Targa gritted his teeth. "I will have to talk with him later."

  He was not quite sure why his newfound acquaintance was upset with this gathering that was imposed, but Oberon was more concerned with the fact that Targa was not holding any swords. How could guild master Aaron tell him to practice his sword against an opponent that did not even use one? Was he a brawler like the other people of his village?

  By the time Targa finished his sentence, they were at the gate. The guards let them by, and they walked out into the wilderness.

  Targa looked back at Oberon. "Is there a particular place you want to go?"

  The Knight shook his head. "I only wish for open plains to swing a sword in."

  Targa acknowledged his response and walked into a big clearing with no trees and stepped back. "We will battle for the thrill of life. After all, we are no strangers to combat."

  Oberon nodded. He took the sword off of his back with the sheathe still on to avoid fatal injuries, as planned. But Oberon still could not fathom why Targa had no sword or any type of weapon to battle with.

  "Where is your weapon?!" He yelled, trying to find a weapon on his body.

  Suddenly, Targa reached for his left hip. Oberon finally noticed a sheathe, but it seemed much too small. Could it be that Targa was an assassin, or perhaps a rogue of some sort?

  Just as The Knight was thinking, Targa pulled out his bastardized sword. It was not a sword. No, it was not even a dagger. What lay in Targa's hands, his burly appendices, was a measly kitchen knife. Oberon nearly began to laugh.

  "You call that pea snap a sword? Surely you jest-"

  But before Oberon could say anymore, Targa had closed the distance that was ten shoulders, and Oberon had to whip out the sword to block the incoming attack. Surprisingly, the kitchen knife held up even though Oberon's sword seemed to be forged with solid materials, almost as if Targa's blade had been made of diamonds. They clashed, and the knockback of their weapons made them drift away.

  The exhilaration of battling someone with a weapon for the first time was incredible, and his heart rate sped up. It made him feel like he wanted to explode, but Oberon had to labor his breathing to maintain form without growing in muscle too much. Whenever things got too intense, it was always difficult to suppress the Draken parts of him inside his body that were overflowing with growth, but he always found a way to manage.

  This time, Oberon approached with a swift thrust of his sword, but Targa anticipated it and stepped on the sword, breaking Oberon's form.

  Targa grinned gruesomely. "You are too predictable, little knight-"

  However, Oberon's entire plan was different, and he used the sword as leverage to boost himself up into the sky. With significant momentum, Oberon swiveled and kicked him in the face with his greaves. The hit made Targa back away in pain, although the damage was far from severe. It was simply just a ploy, a scheme to make him flinch!

  The Knight beamed with pride. "You may have outsmarted me, but I outsmarted your outsmarting!

  Targa wiped his mouth. "Not bad, I say. Not bad…"

  Before they could continue their battle, Oberon noticed a Draken passing overhead. It was nowhere close to the kingdom, but he could catch a glimpse of the body flying through the skies.

  "What is that? That weird flying dark green dragon, I have never seen that," Targa exclaimed. That the color seemed disgusting to him, but Oberon could have sworn the whole Draken was melting as if he were some slime with a body, but maybe it was only his imagination. Indeed it was not something important?

  As the battle went on, they only grew more and more tired. The fight continued, and the sun kept going down until the sky was cool with sweat. Oberon had too many cuts to count, but he already had so many scars in the first place. Targa looked like he had his neck snapped. His legs looked twisted, and his whole body looked deformed.

  Oberon poked his shoulder. "Are you all right?"

  "Are you sur-"

  "No." Targa pouted.

  "Are you sure? You look pretty wounded."

  Targa continued to be tough. "I am fine."

  Oberon smirked. "All right then, time to head out."

  His joints were aching, but he could not deny that he had a great time. As a Drakenblood Warrior, regenerating was no problem, and neither were infections. Getting a good fight during the day always filled him with indescribable joy, although this joy was far greater because he could finally fight someone other than King using his desired weapon. As they reached the gate, one of the guards walked up to them, and the guard told Oberon that the guild master was waiting for him. He was confused by the sudden message, but he went to the guild anyway.

  “Suppose this is farewell, Targa.” Oberon shook hands.

  “It is very pleasurable meeting you! I will miss you, friend.”

  The Knight squinted. “Targa, I am not going anywhere. We can do this some other time.”

  Targa looked at him with surprise. “Oh. Goodness! We have to do this another time for sure!”

  “I will see you around then.”

  “Likewise.”

  Oberon had to keep matters private so he kind of had to run away to get Targa off his tail. Making his way to the guild rapidly, the time of day seemed to be running out as he felt the winds get colder. Just as The Knight walked in through the entryway, he noticed there were no adventurers. The lady at the counter was not there either. Everyone was gone.

  Strange, I could have sworn there were a lot of people here. Maybe people do not like being out at nighttime.

  He walked up the stairs somewhat hesitantly, taking each step carefully although his leg nearly gave out, and he chuckled. I think I fought a lot harder than I thought I did originally.

  He approached the grand doors, and he saw King and Aaron sitting together. Something was off-putting about seeing his mentor all of a sudden in the big room where he first met Aaron.

  "What brings you two here?" Oberon said, confused and afraid about what was going on. There was a feeling of dread scattered across the room that could not be described. Even the paintings on the walls, and the old cobblestone walls, shared a similar sentiment as they both turned their heads towards him slowly. Aaron opened his mouth to speak, but he held his tongue. "Tell me, what is the meaning of this? Aaron? King?"

  Aaron finally mustered up enough courage to say something. "I think it is better if you tell him. I.. I cannot say it for myself," he told King

  The Knight's blood ran cold with suspense. "What do you mean?"

  King stood up. "The Drakenblood Warriors." He said, almost breaking character.

  "What about them?" Oberon replied.

  King turned away. "They are all dead."