Strength of the Dragon

By RaistlinofMetallica

A young black-haired man paces his floor in frustration, grumbling to himself as he vents his anger. Occasionally, a lightning bolt sparks from the mark of the crescent moon on his forehead. Like the primordial horns of the Goddess, this golden moon scar curves towards the heavens. It is a mark that states the young man’s status and duties. He growls and continues to pace, his eyes changing from green to blue and back again.

“You seem troubled,” a little boy said, his steel-blue eyes regarding the pacing man with muted interest.

The man snapped venomously, “Do I? I should hope so!”

“Tut-tut, Nuitari,” the boy chided, smiling innocently. “You shouldn’t be so concerned.”

The god glared at the child, his eyes settling on a greenish-blue. “You would be if she was your mother,” he said, coldly.

“I must admit, I am naturally worried for her happiness,” the boy sighed, running a hand through his curly silver locks. “But you know my concern is that of a father for his daughter.”

Nuitari growled and then shook his head. “You should not remember such things, little one. You’re too young.”

“Am I?” the boy asked, pulling his black trench coat tighter around him. “I think Destiny has made my premature awareness quite possibly as a defense for your mother’s new form.”

The god regarded the child with curiosity. “Then, what of your presence here? Do you not leave my mother vulnerable?”

“She is not in any danger,” the boy said with a smirk, eerily regarding the dark-haired moon god. “Besides, you could always visit your mother, you know. Perhaps in your avatar form?”

Nuitari scowled at the child. “You are insolent, Majere, even now.”

“Come, now,” the boy said, smiling as his steel-blue eyes seemed to glow. “Surely, you miss your dear mother?”

The god didn’t answer.

“I wait for your command,” the boy said, formally. “I am, after all, a servant of the gods.”

The god did not move for some time, lost in his troubled thoughts.