There was a time when the people of Cland did not believe in dragons. For them, dragons were creatures of ancient myths and legends, mere fantasies of the ancestors, with no existence apart from the ornamented illustrations on the pages of old, dusty tomes. Books just like the one Nezmod found tucked away in the darkest corner of the library. From the old tome, the young mage learned that apart from the planets his people had known, there was another one in the system: Sen Drala, the realm of dragons.

The forgotten grimoire listed the ancient incantations used to open portals to Sen Drala, the spells which could summon dragons into his world. Nezmod had never dared to try using them. But now his city was in flames. Daedra had almost fallen to the enemy, and with the towers of the outer wall turning into burning pyres, hope was lost — to all but Nezmod. When death came knocking at his door, the mage had nothing left to lose.

***

A tingling sensation awoke Verglas from a long sleep full of dreams. Like all dragons, he could feel magic with every cell of his body, taste it with his split tongue. The spell was weak, nothing that could possibly bind a dragon to the caster’s will, but it came from afar, from a place beyond his realm. Like all dragons, Verglas was driven by curiosity. A call from another planet was too much to pass on. Verglas rose from his lair and followed the weak magical link leading out of Sen Drala and into the cosmos.

Arrival came with a shock, as Verglas descended from the sky into the chaos of battle, amidst a storm of blazing catapult missiles. When a fiery projectile streaked past his wing, missing it by mere inches, rage took over his senses.

By far, this wasn’t the first battle he fought. His kind had been terrorizing the Dark Elves for the past three hundred years, ever since they arrived in Sen Drala and lost their way back. Verglas was well acquainted with the sight of tiny figures running amok, the sweet scent of flesh burnt by dragon fire.

On the battlefield, the wisdom of a dragon holds no sway. When instinct takes over, the tactic is simple: torch everything that moves. Verglas unleashed his fury, plummeting from above with devastating precision. His fiery breath swept across the enemy ranks, turning soldiers into ashes. He rose swiftly to evade the incoming missiles, only to dive again, his scales glinting in the inferno he created.

Yet, amidst this wild frenzy, there was a deeper hunger driving Verglas. After decades of sleep, he was thirsty for knowledge. The dragon clawed through the attackers' lines with one goal in sight: the Library Tower, luring him with its enticing emanation of old magic and arcane secrets.

***

The defenders of Daedra came out onto the city walls, watching the enemy forces being decimated by otherworldly blue flames. The view was almost divine: the beast from their myths had descended from the heavens to turn the long-lost battle in their favor.

Those of the attacker’s troops who were not slain by dragon breath fled. The war had been won. The city, however, was lost: abandoned by all inhabitants when the dragon made the Library Tower its new lair. The magician Nezmod disappeared. Some say he fled as well; others believe he remained in the library, falling prey to the beast he summoned himself.

Scholars call the defense of Daedra the turning point in Cland’s history. For dragons are not only curious, they are also quick to learn. Feeling the taste of Nezmod’s spell once was enough for Verglas to keep the portal active. For the first time in centuries, the gate to Sen Drala was open.

The Age of Dragons had begun.