My name is Larieth, and I am a dragon.

It's been over twenty years since I plucked Wyldfyre from the jaws of the War of the Fallen. One lone elf youngling, left abandoned to the darkness, his family murdered by the Dark Hoarde invading from the north.

I flew him away from that nightmare, as far as my wings would take me. We reached the southern coasts in only a day or two, deep within the human lands, and far away from either of our homes. For most of the journey he slept, curled in my paws, unaware of the journey he was being carried through. I think that was for the best.

Over the few years, we took up residence in a quiet port town, Illashara, nestled between the emerald forests and the cerulean seas. The weather was pleasant and the people were, for the most part, blissfully unaware of the atrocities committed by the Dark Hoarde, an ignorance I was very grateful for.

Using the dragon magic all my kind are imbued with, I reshaped our forms, gave us the bodies of two humans, a father and son. It was no simple conjuring, and took much more skill for myself than for him. I abandoned my wings for a full decade, not wanting to reveal the truth until the child was of an age to accept it. I longed for the sky every day.

I gave him the name Wyldfyre, a term meaning 'Orphan' in our language. I had always intended to change it, but the name stuck and the people there didn't seem to mind. So young Wyldfyre grew up under my guidance and adoptive fatherhood. Using my knowledge, which had to be carefully restrained in certain areas, I set myself up as a scholar and jack of all trades, offering my assistance where it was required. It earned us enough money to get by comfortably, and enough respect to be well-liked and accepted through the town.

In the spare time I had, I taught Wyldfyre the tongues of humans, elves and dragons, wishing him to not only have the ability to live in Illashara, but to carry a bit of both our homes with him. I fear that teaching him the draconic language was a product of my own desires; teaching something of my home made it easier to live away from there.

Once he had reached twelve years of age, I took the decision to tell him of his heritage and begin to raise him in the ways of the elves, as I knew his blood family would have wanted. To his credit, he took it well. At least as well as any twelve year old who is told the father he has trusted all these years is not his true father after all and not even of the same race. For a while he became more withdrawn and quiet, and it took patience and time to bring him back to me, for him to understand that my image may have been false, but the love there was real.

Since then, I have schooled him in the arts of sword combat and the longbow, both skills I learned during my own time living shapeshifted as a human or elf over the centuries. I have also taught him the foundations of dragon magic, allowing him to shapeshift himself and call upon the power within him.

Using that shapeshifting ability, we left Illashara behind to live, for a while, as dragons in the mountains to the east. He enjoyed flying very much, once he had mastered the basic technique, and I began to see in him, in that silver scaled form he took, I could see just how much my son he had become.

Now we travel together, as father and son, and friend and mentor. We still hide our true forms, except for in those moments we may be alone and safe enough to release them, for to reveal an elf in their midst may attract the attention of the Dark Hoarde; even this far south they have their agents. And if the humans knew there was a dragon in their midst? I can barely imagine...

Sometimes Wyldfyre talks of going home, to see the land his people once roamed with his own eyes. But I would not have him witness the destruction wreaked upon his race, not when the Dark Hoarde still claim that land as their own. The danger is too great, both to our lives and to his sanity. I admit, I too wonder sometimes about going home, back to the high mountains and rolling plains, where the rest of my kindred rest their wings. But there too, the knowledge and repercussions of the War of the Fallen are too deeply known and felt. And there are some secrets that must yet be kept...