It was Drago's fifteenth birthday. The whole village had gone to the Great Hall to celebrate the Chief's son's coming-of-age.

Everyone was enjoying it.

Except the Chief.

He was looking up at the roof of the Hall and around the room with wide, terrified eyes; ones as green as his son's. He had spent the night before tearing his beard out, wondering when they would come for him and his wife- and, most importantly, his son.

The village had weak defences. He knew that. Mentally, he cursed himself for not preparing.
But he would give the order for everybody to evacuate soon, so what did it matter? The Sea-dragon and its raid could destroy the village as much as they wanted once everyone had gone.

...Then again, maybe he had just misheard that roar. Maybe it was just those Terrible Terrors up in the rafters, if anything.

He gripped his staff in frustration at himself. Even that could be a danger; there could be hundreds of them up there, and a mob of those numbers could not just carry away a sheep, but kill. He was sure of that - the biggest recorded flock of Terrors was sighted in the Viking lands: two hundred strong. And immediately after they were sighted, they were merciless in their attack. The messenger had told him that eyes had been lost, hair had been ripped out, faces were disfigured by bites from tiny mouths full of many razor-sharp teeth. Just as they might do to his son.

Wistfully, he thought about the Vikings. They were his good friends - although sometimes they thought him a little strange - he was even unwelcome in some tribes - because he loved dragons; for when he was a boy the dragons had mainly raided the Viking lands, and so many of his father's good friends had been killed as a result. But now the dragons had discovered these lands, and they also discovered that they were much more plentiful for raiding. This meant that he was forced to kill some - and he hated doing it.

Looking over at his son, enjoying his birthday, he wondered what the raids were like for him. Most likely, terrifying. They were getting worse and worse - people were being killed every day - and he was forced to wake up his son, be it before even dawn or in the dead of night, to help in the raids. He hated to do it, but things were getting desperate.

Thank the gods, however, his son was a skilled fighter. He had done well in Dragon Training, and had passed his exam. He killed many dragons in the raids, and was always showing his father the heads of the beasts he'd felled, but his father didn't look at them. He didn't want to.

His son would not be helping in this raid, however. He would get himself killed - and he would see deaths that would scar him for life. It was important to get him out of the village and safe as quickly as possible.

The reason why Drago's father was so terrified in the first place was because the raids were increasing in size and ferocity. Rather than just trying to carry off sheep, the dragons were killing people more often. And they were trying to kill one person in particular - his son.

One day, the biggest raid yet came, led by a huge dragon with beautiful blue scales - a Sea-dragon. It had roared in his face, and then promptly flew off. Drago's father took this as a warning. They would return, and this time they would kill everybody.

And that day had come.

Walking over to his son, staff in hand, he gave it to him.

'Father! What are you doing?' the fifteen-year-old asked worriedly.

'I'm giving you my staff, of course, boy.' his father laughed - yet, it was a sad one.

'But - I can't take this! I am not old enough yet!'

'You are now - Chief.'

'I'm not a Chief! I'm not a leader!'

'Somehow I get the feeling you'll be a great one, son.'

Suddenly, his father's expression turned urgent - perhaps he had heard a roar; one that was real this time.

'Drago. Go. Now. Run. They're after you, not me.'

'Who are?! Father, come with me!'

'I - I can't. The Sea-dragon will come for me before I can.'

Gently, he pushed his son towards the door of the Hall, and the boy broke into a reluctant, now terrified run.

'Everyone, get out of the village!' I shouted, and everyone ran out, screaming.

Immediately after everyone had gone, a huge foot crashed through the roof of the Hall, tipped with razor sharp claws.

'Where is he...?' hissed the Dragon Furious in his rage, green eyes blazing.

Those green eyes narrowed to slits.

It was the last thing that Drago's father saw.