《THE LEGEND OF JORAN: BRIDGE BETWEEN WORLDS (title is a work in progress)》 CHAPTER ONE Orano was a peaceful realm for thousands of years until one day when the ancient dragons turned upon the continent wishing to become the supreme mythics. Many monsters and humans fell to their onslaught for they had incredible magical power from fire breathing capabilities to being able to become humanoid but still retaining their strength and speed. Kingdoms and clans tried many ways to hold back against the dragon armies but were barely gaining any ground until one day a miraculous species came into the fold who had the power to kill dragons and for that their species were titled dragon slayers. They were few in number, but they made up for it in sheer magical power. The war between the dragons and the slayers was fierce until an unknown soldier faced the mighty dragon queen of the west in combat. Their battle was enough to be heard all over the earth from the unknown lands past Lozaria in the east to the iron halls of Darvon to the west. Mountains crumbled and rivers burned from each blow until it all ceased so suddenly that the animals in the entire region held their breath as they waited to see the outcome. Out of the crater that was burrowed into the ground by their fight came both the dragon queen and the soldier whose scales were damaged, and armor burned while they held hands. Something happened in that fight that caused them to fall so deeply in love that they went in enemies and came out lovers. The dragons ceased their hostilities and disappeared as if they had never existed except for the dragon queen who remained in her humanoid form and stayed to marry the soldier who then became the infamous dragon king of Lothara. Many years passed and while cities were rebuilt, and the forestry returned the hatred never went away. Mythics and monsters became hated by humankind as they were hunted for their meat and enslaved for their service as they slowly became the lower race. Some species were able to form their own clans and kingdoms so they became powerful enough to fend off any humans who were to try hunting them but there were always still strays which is where lothara came in. it became a large nation under the protection of the dragon king where mythics of every race from orc to mermaid were welcomed into the kingdom as a safe haven and were free to live in peace and harmony alongside humans. By doing this lothara also became one of the most powerful and resourceful kingdoms thanks to stray dwarves, orcs, arachne, and other mythics who came to the kingdom and offered their services but it also led them to become one of the most isolated nations for no human kingdom wanted to offer an alliance and no mythic kingdom wished to stretch out their hands in friendship out of fear of becoming a target. This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. More years passed and the world outside of lothara got darker and meaner, but the kingdom remained all the same under the protection of the dragon king. Nobody attacked the borders of lothara and the royal family ruled for many years without incident until one day. The 10-year-old prince of lothara awoke from a nightmare of a dark creature that tried to consume him. All he could see of it was a solidified shadow with blood red eyes and razor-sharp teeth as white as the moons in the sky. Prince Joran awoke with a start, sitting up from his bed panting heavily and covered with sweat before looking out the clear, glass door to his patio that overlooked the royal gardens to see it was the middle of the night with two moons hanging gracefully in the middle of the sky. He climbed out of bed and left his quarters to search for his mother as he usually would sleep with her and his father whenever he had a nightmare. He opened the king''s chambers to find his father, the dragon king, sleeping soundly with a snore that sounded like a storm, but his mother wasn''t there. He quietly closed the door and moved on down the hall passing a couple guards who just looked at him curiously and some maids who asked him what he was looking for to which he explained he was looking for his mother. He was alone in one of the many halls in the castle when suddenly he heard a blood curdling scream coming from his mother''s studies. Joran''s blood began pumping and heart began banging against his chest as he started speeding for the room as he thought to himself, my mother is the queen of the western dragons¡­. There''s no way she can be hurt by anyone¡­. Right? There was another scream and suddenly silence just as the prince came to a stop right outside her studies. "Mother? M-mom are you ok?" he asked softly when he opened the door to see¡­. CHAPTER TWO The young prince awoke with a start from a nightmare that¡­. Well, he couldn''t remember anything about the nightmare except its existence¡­. He sat there covered in sweat as he attempted to remember the dream when he heard a knock on the door. "Your highness? Are you awake? It¡¯s nearly midday. You¡¯re going to be late for your meeting with the king." Joran eyed the door tiredly and gave a nod as he didn''t realize at first that the person couldn''t see him. "R-right¡­. I must''ve overslept. I''ll be out in a few minutes¡­." he said with a soft voice before he climbed out of bed to look at himself in the mirror. It''s been 15 years since the death of his mother, and he has grown quite well. He stood at 5¡¯9, had short,wavy brown hair that went to his ears, dark brown eyes, smooth white skin that would¡¯ve been flawless if not for the deep scar right over his heart as well as many others all over his upper torso and back from his ¡°secret training¡± with some of the knights. He flexed his skinny yet muscular form a bit before he sighed softly. He''s been training all his life but what''s the point of training when he has nothing to train for since he has been forbidden to leave the palace grounds. He looked down at the amulet that hung from his neck to let out a sigh of contempt for the item. He was forbidden from ever removing it for it was said to be the only thing to hold back the illness that killed his mother. An ancient and deadly illness that supposedly only affects dragons. He walked over to the terrace that overlooked the royal gardens where elves, fae, nymphs, and other forest themed mythics tended to the vegetation that came from all the different lands and realms. He took a deep breath at the outside air as he felt one step closer to leaving the palace and fulfilling his dream. He moved back inside and grabbed dress clothing for his meeting with the king. The suit itself looked as if it were made of the finest silk yet despite its appearance it is as tough as steel thanks to the dwarves who worked beneath the palace. He checked himself in the mirror to make sure everything was neat and correct. The suit was a masterpiece of regal craftsmanship, woven with the essence of both royalty and battle. The deep crimson coat, rich as freshly spilled wine, fit snugly across his broad shoulders before flaring into an elegant, floor-length tailcoat lined with intricate gold embroidery. Golden filigree traced arcane patterns along the sleeves and lapels, shimmering like captured sunlight as he moved. The high collar stood stiff and proud, edged with delicate sapphire inlays, mirroring the rich navy-blue waistcoat beneath, which bore gold-threaded sigils of dragons and ancient runes. The tailored midnight blue trousers, sleek yet flexible, were reinforced with gold-stitched panels at the knees and thighs, designed to provide both comfort and subtle protection. A golden belt buckle, shaped like a dragon¡¯s eye, secured the waistcoat in place, the gemstone at its center shifting hues between amber and deep cerulean, depending on how the light hit it. His gloves, crafted from enchanted leather, bore the faintest crackle of magic, enhancing dexterity and grip, while his polished black boots, accented with golden filigree, whispered against the floor with every measured step. A regal sapphire-blue cape, clasped at the shoulder with an intricately forged golden dragon, draped elegantly down his back, its lining embroidered with celestial symbols that flickered like dying embers when he moved. After traveling through the castle with the captain of the royal guard, the 25-year-old entered the throne room and walked down the thick red carpet that held an intricate design of a golden dragon and allowed his eyes to wander over the throne room. He has seen this room many times, but it still took his breath as it was one of his favorite places in his castle because of its majesty as well as the fact that one day it would be his and he would represent the greatness of lothara. Human soldiers with the occasional mythic dressed in armor lined the marble walls on each side of the room. He looked higher to see the crystal windows whose paintings held the story of Lothara from when the dragon wars began, to when his father led an army of dragon slayers and mythics against the scaled fire breathers, to when the dragon king fought and inevitably married his mother. The windows even went as far as to depict the day he was born then ending the line of windows with a crystalized picture of the royal family from when he was five years old. His mother stood a bit shorter than his father at 5 ''5 with bright blue eyes, sunset red hair, and scales visible on her forehead, cheeks, neck, and the back of the hand that rested on his five-year-old self''s shoulder. They could¡¯ve updated the picture so he was older, but the king didn¡¯t want to change it for it was the last picture they had together before the queen died. Joran sighed softly as he stared at the picture until he was lightly nudged by the captain as they got closer to the throne. The dragon king of lothara was seated on a marble throne that looked as if it had formed from the floor. The arms, seat, and back were lined with a cushion covering so the seat itself was more comfortable considering it was made of¡­. Well¡­. Marble. To the left of the throne was a smaller throne that somehow was designed to look like it was made of molten rock and probably just as warm considering joran''s mother was cold blooded, so she enjoyed a warm throne to seat on during long meetings. To the right of the king''s throne was the young prince''s which was made of solid oak with leather padding on the back, seat, and arms of it but also the back appeared to be smaller than the king and queen''s thrones. Joran approached his father and stopped just a couple feet from the steps that led up to where his father was seated. He placed his hand over his chest and bowed before he spoke, ¡°I apologize for almost being late, father.¡± the king stared at Joran with a straight back and his hands resting on the arms of his throne. The Dragon King was a monument of power, a man who stood as if carved from obsidian and fire, his very presence exuding an aura of undeniable dominance. Standing at nearly seven feet tall, his broad shoulders and heavily muscled frame bore the unmistakable marks of a warrior¡ªnot just a king, but a man who had carved his rule through blood and battle. His chest and arms, thick with corded muscle, carried scars like battle inscriptions, each one a silent testament to wars fought and won, some so deep they looked as if they should have killed him. His skin was bronzed, not from leisure, but from years spent beneath the open sky, where sun, blood, and fire had baptized him into legend. The lines of his face were sharp, sculpted from both time and hardship, his features chiseled with the kind of strength that does not fade. A strong jaw, shadowed with a hint of a beard, gave him a perpetual look of feral regality, like a lion in its prime, while his high cheekbones and straight nose carried the proud structure of a man born to command. His eyes, however, were his most striking feature¡ªmolten gold, burning with the light of forged steel and dragon¡¯s fire, as if something ancient and eternal still stirred behind them. They were the eyes of a predator, sharp enough to see through lies and weakness, yet carrying the depth of a ruler who had outlived his own legend. When he looked upon a man, he saw his worth before a single word was spoken. If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. His hair, once jet black, had begun to streak with silver, though it did nothing to diminish the sheer vitality in his form. Long enough to be tied back into a warrior¡¯s tail, it still carried the wildness of a beast untamed, a reminder that even as a king, he had never forgotten the battlefield. His hands were massive, calloused from years of gripping steel, fingers thick with brutal strength, yet disturbingly precise when wielding a blade. His presence alone was a challenge, a man who had long since ascended past human limitations, his very movements carrying the undeniable grace of a born warrior-king.when given he apology, The Dragon King didn¡¯t respond immediately. He sat with his hands resting on the arms of the throne, his expression as still and unmoving as carved stone. Finally, his voice rumbled through the hall, low and powerful. ¡°You must always be on time, my son. Especially when addressing a king¡ªwhether he is your father or not.¡± Joran straightened, his pulse quickening. He had practiced this speech a thousand times in his mind, yet standing here now, beneath the King¡¯s fiery gaze, his resolve felt fragile. No. This was too important. ¡°Father, I requested this official meeting for one reason: we need to do more for the mythics of Orano.¡± The Dragon King arched an eyebrow but said nothing, giving Joran permission to continue. ¡°Lothara is a beacon of hope,¡± Joran pressed on, his voice steady despite the weight in his chest. ¡°We have built a kingdom where humans and mythics live in harmony, where they don¡¯t have to fear slavery or death. Our resources are vast because of them¡ªthe dwarves who forge our weapons, the arachne who weave silk stronger than steel, the druids and nymphs who bless our land with magic.¡± He took a breath, willing his words to reach his father. ¡°But it¡¯s not enough anymore. We cannot keep hiding behind our borders while mythics suffer beyond them.¡± The King¡¯s golden eyes flickered with something unreadable. ¡°And what do you suggest?¡± Joran steeled himself. This was the moment. ¡°Alliances.¡± A beat of silence. The air itself felt heavier. ¡°Alliances?¡± the Dragon King repeated, his voice dangerously neutral. Joran nodded. ¡°Yes. We have power, Father, and more importantly, we have the means to offer protection. We should extend our reach¡ªform alliances with mythic clans, kingdoms, and even sympathetic human lords. In return, we exchange resources, aid in times of war, and ensure safe havens for any mythic seeking asylum.¡± He hesitated only for a breath before adding, ¡°The only thing they must promise is that they will deny service to slavers and hunters. That they will drive them from their lands. If enough of us unite, the slavers and the Hunter¡¯s Guild will be forced into hiding.¡± The King leaned forward now, his fingers tapping once against the throne¡¯s armrest¡ªa gesture that made Joran¡¯s stomach tighten. ¡°A noble thought,¡± his father admitted. ¡°But you are thinking like a prince. Not a king.¡± Joran¡¯s jaw tightened. ¡°And what does that mean?¡± The King stood, his towering frame casting a long shadow over the chamber. The room, already massive, suddenly felt too small. ¡°The reason the human kingdoms do not challenge Lothara is because we keep to ourselves. If we begin forming alliances, disrupting their trade¡ªespecially their supply of slaves and mythic goods¡ªwhat do you think will happen?¡± ¡°Then we¡¯ll deal with that when it comes,¡± Joran said firmly. ¡°They would have to consider whoever we align with. They would not just be attacking us, but every ally we stand with.¡± The Dragon King exhaled slowly, his eyes drifting toward the great stained-glass window that depicted his late wife. Joran saw the flicker of pain there, though his father would never admit it aloud. ¡°I suppose I could send a few diplomats to discuss¡ª¡± ¡°No.¡± Joran stepped forward; voice stronger than before. ¡°I should be the one to go.¡± Silence. A dangerous silence. The King¡¯s entire body tensed, his golden eyes now burning with barely restrained anger¡ªor was it fear? ¡°Joran.¡± Joran stood his ground. ¡°I am twenty-five years old, Father. I have trained my whole life. I know politics. I know combat. If you send a diplomat from an isolated kingdom, they will be seen as a mere messenger. But if I go¡­¡± He straightened his back. ¡°If I go, they will see Lothara itself standing before them.¡± The Dragon King closed his eyes for a brief moment, then exhaled sharply. ¡°No.¡± Joran¡¯s chest tightened. ¡°Father¡ª¡± ¡°The answer is NO!¡± The throne room trembled, the sheer force of the King¡¯s voice cracking the marble beneath his feet. Joran stepped back, startled, but he didn¡¯t back down. His father had always been a force of nature, but this¡ªthis was more than just a refusal. The Dragon King slowly sat back down, the glow in his eyes dimming, but the weight of his words remained. ¡°You are not ready for the outside world, Joran.¡± Joran¡¯s fists clenched. ¡°You keep saying that¡ª¡± ¡°Because it¡¯s true.¡± His father¡¯s voice was calmer now, but no less firm. ¡°You have a kind heart, my son. And that will be your undoing.¡± Joran¡¯s chest ached. ¡°So what? You expect me to sit here forever?¡± His father watched him carefully. ¡°You do not have a fighter¡¯s spirit.¡± Joran felt those words like a slap across the face. ¡°I¡¯ve trained all my life¡ª¡± ¡°Training is not the same as war. And this world is war.¡± The King¡¯s eyes narrowed, voice turning cold. ¡°You do not understand what it means to take a life. To kill before you are killed. You hesitate. And hesitation gets men like you slaughtered.¡± Joran¡¯s breath hitched, but he refused to let himself waver. His father sighed, rubbing his temples before adding in a lower voice, ¡°And then there¡¯s your amulet.¡± Joran instinctively touched the pendant around his neck, his mind flashing to the stories he had been told since childhood. The illness. The one that had killed his mother. His father¡¯s voice softened just slightly. ¡°If you lose that amulet¡­ the same sickness that took your mother will take you too.¡± Joran¡¯s stomach churned, a bitter mix of frustration and helplessness building in his throat. ¡°Then let me go with an armed escort. Let me prove myself.¡± The King¡¯s eyes hardened once more. ¡°My decision is final.¡± Joran¡¯s hands curled into fists, his nails digging into his palms. He stared at his father, feeling the weight of the walls around him, the invisible chains that had bound him his whole life. Finally, he bowed. ¡°As you wish¡­ my King.¡± Without another word, he turned and stormed out of the throne room. CHAPTER THREE "THIS IS BULLSHIT!" Joran yelled as he slammed a book closed. The young prince had decided to go to the library hoping that reading would calm his nerves but sadly that wouldn¡¯t be the case. He panted softly as he stared at the title of the book, "mythic culture by Dorian lamaar." He sighed softly and snapped his fingers causing the book to fly back to its spot on the shelf. "Father won''t let me go anywhere because of his overdramatic paranoia..." Joran¡¯s body tensed with his anger causing him to wince softly as a flare of pain went up his side. He lifted up his shirt to look at the deep bruise left on him by a group of knights. These knights bullied and tormented him relentlessly. They have stated if he spoke of what they did then they would make his life even more of a hell, so he kept quiet about what was going on behind the scenes. His entire upper body was covered in bruises and scars from the knight''s abuse except for a deep scar over his heart which his father claims is from an assassination attempt when he was very young. The prince didn¡¯t know why the group of knights went out of their way to bring harm to him, but he did notice that they would collect his blood and tears. Anytime he asked them why they did they would give him an extra beating, so he inevitably stopped. Joran sighed softly and tucked his shirt back in. "I need to get out of here... I want to see the realm, but my damn father believes I''m not capable of taking care of myself or is just too afraid to let me out of this castle.¡± he sat down in a plush chair and thought hard about what to do until finally he decided he was leaving one way or another. He hurried out of the library ignoring any greetings made by the staff. He made it to his room and grabbed a small sack with a golden colored strand. The sack was a magic bag capable of carrying a large number of items as well as preserving food and drink. He began stuffing books of all types along with folded up clothing into the bag. He looked down at his clothing and snapped his fingers causing the clothes to slowly morph and change until he was wearing a whole new set of clothing. Joran pulled his brown cloak tighter around his shoulders as the evening breeze swept through the streets, carrying the scent of damp earth and distant hearth fires. The cloak was made of sturdy, weathered wool, the kind worn by travelers and mercenaries, lined with faded but durable leather at the edges to prevent fraying. The hood was deep, capable of shadowing his face when needed, while the fabric itself was heavy enough to keep out the chill but light enough not to hinder movement. The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. Beneath the cloak, he wore a simple but well-fitted tunic, dyed in deep forest green, the kind that blended easily into both city crowds and woodland shadows. The laced-up neckline sat comfortably at his collarbone, allowing breathability, while the rolled-up sleeves revealed the firm definition of his forearms¡ªtrained, but not bulky. His worn leather belt, strapped around his waist, bore several small pouches filled with essentials¡ªcoin, a whetstone, and a small vial of healing tonic tucked discreetly behind the buckle. His dark brown trousers, reinforced with stitched panels at the knees, showed the signs of wear from travel and training. Though simple, they were well-made, allowing for ease of movement. His boots, scuffed but sturdy, were crafted from blackened leather, laced high up his calves, meant for long journeys rather than nobility. He looked down at his right hand and turned it over, so he was looking at the back. He focused his magic into his hand causing it to glow until a small emblem formed showing the symbol of a ferocious red dragon with its wings spread out and a bit of flame sprouting from its mouth. The emblem was the personal symbol of joran¡¯s nobility. It would confirm any claim he makes to the throne when addressing kings, queens, or anyone of the like. He stared at it for a moment then allowed it to fade away before taking a breath. Tonight¡­ tonight is the night Joran leaves the palace.