Tales of the Lorekeepers 01 - Rise of the Red Dragon

CHAPTER 1

    The room was dark and silent, as if it were frozen in time, forgotten by men and gods. The only sign from the outside world was a single ray from the setting sun, laying a narrow strip of light on the old wooden floor.
    Across the room, a teenage boy was sitting alone in a dark corner. The silence surrounding him weighed heavily on his mind. Every second was stretched to an eternity, as he waited in solitude for things to come.
    In front of him was a table, on which lay the remains of a recent meal. Half-full plates and half-empty glasses, polished cutlery and clean napkins. The boy looked down at his unfinished dinner, picked up the silver fork and carelessly twirled it in the remaining mashed potatoes. He looked back at the wall to his right, behind which the people who had sat at the table with him until a few moments ago had vanished.
    The boy slowed his breathing, and soon was able to hear them again, the people behind the large wall. That was the worst part, because he was not supposed to hear them. He should not be aware of their plan, but it was too late now; he could still hear their whispers, as they schemed to surprise him. The boy wished that they would change their minds, come back out and sit with him again, as if everything were normal, but he knew very well what was about to happen. He had lived through it many times already.
    Suddenly, the whispers stopped, and the room spiraled into complete silence once more. A few seconds later, a light flickered on the floor from behind the wall, dancing in a warm yellow and red aura. The halo from the light grew larger, gaining intensity with each step that the bearer took toward the corner, until the glow covered half the room where the boy sat.
    Then it paused for a moment.
    They were ready.
    “Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday dear Samuel, happy birthday to you!”
    Samuel closed his eyes and sighed. “Come on, guys,” he said. “I’m not a baby anymore. I’m fourteen. You don’t have to embarrass yourselves like that.”
    Samuel’s father pointed to his wife, rolling his eyes.
    “Sam, sweetheart, you’ll always be my baby,” said his mother. “Besides, it’s our pleasure to sing to you. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about here. Right, dear?”
    “Of course, honey,” his father said, with a wink at his son.
    Samuel’s mother slowly made her way along the side of the table, staring at the birthday cake like it was a precious offering to a dreaded god, careful of her every footstep.
    “Well, it’s embarrassing to me,” replied Samuel. “At the very least, please don’t act like I don’t know it’s coming. I’m fourteen. I’ve been through this enough already.”
    “Now, now, don’t be a wet blanket,” reprimanded his mother. She set the cake in front of Samuel. “Here we go. I’m sure you’ll love this cake. I got it from Mrs. Saunders’ bakery on 63rd Street.”
    Samuel had to admit that the cake looked spectacular. It was shaped like a shield, perfectly symmetrical and divided vertically in two, one side black and the other red. In the middle was a medieval cross in white chocolate. The sides were decorated with whipped cream. The baker had even been able to mimic a silver coating for the edges of the shield, complete with icing-sugar screws.
    The cake was probably meant for a kid younger than Samuel, but he did not care. He was impressed by the work of art placed in front of him. He looked up at his parents, suddenly glad they had once more honored the ritual of birthdays with their singing and offering.
    “I love it. Thanks, you guys.”
    “I knew you would,” answered his mother with a warm smile.
    “Let me get the camera before you cut it,” said his father. “All right now, smile!”
    “Dad, really.”
    Before he could protest any longer, Samuel’s eyes were assaulted by a bright flash, blinding him for a second or two.
    “Good,” continued his father. “Now make a wish before you blow the candles out.”
    Samuel stared at the fourteen flickering flames dancing in front of him. The candles were almost burned out, and he had to make his wish quickly. After all, you only get to do this once a year. Thinking of damsels in distress and dragons, he closed his eyes firmly and wished he could somehow live heroic tales of his own. Then he took the biggest breath his lungs could hold and blew out the candles.
    “What did you wish for, darling?” asked his mother.
    “You