Darix was born into a suburban family, the son of a anthro horse father and a anthro cat mother. How could a anthro dragon emerge from such different parent species? The answer lay in the hidden thread of ancestry: his father’s great-grandmother had been a dragon. Still, combined with maybe a lingering spark of old magic, this long-dormant lineage resurfaced in Darix.
Because his parents were not dragons, Darix’s growth was slow and riddled with complications. Among other young dragons, he was considered frail, mocked as the “winged kobold” or “the weak dragon.” Thankfully, the bullying rarely turned physical in his very young years. Despite his fragile frame, his stance developed with unusual consistency, giving him a slightly disproportionate look. It was nothing he could hide, and though some classmates mockingly called him “Weak Heavystep,” aggressors often paused, as if some instinct warned them not to push further.
High school was even worse. While others grew into their adult forms, Darix remained mostly childlike: his wings were small, his horns nearly absent, his body slim and undersized. Physical education was his personal nightmare. Locker rooms and showers became places of shame, especially with stronger dragons around. His timid, nerdy habits—video games, board games, endless reading—only made him an easier target.
This finally led to physical bullying, and when it became a regular occurrence, Darix’s father intervened. He suggested that his son go to Taekwondo courses, believing that his son’s unusual build and natural balance could become assets in a discipline where such traits mattered. So Darix did and for the first time, he felt a spark of confidence in his own body and himself.
One day, during one confrontation with a bully, Darix landed a lucky kick in defense that shattered his tormentor’s jaw. Fortunately this made the bullying stop, but Darix also took a break of the courses, a bit scared that he could have maybe kill someone.
The day after his fifteenth birthday, Darix explored a flea market with his best friend Kathor, hunting for retro games with his birthday money. While Kathor browsed another stall, Darix wandered into a dim, curious shop filled with antiques.
On a dusty shelf lay a ring with a glowing red stone. When Darix asked the price, the owl shopkeeper only smiled and asked why he wanted it. Darix said simply that he liked the stone’s light. The owl handed him the ring in a pouch, whispering that it would help him “become his true self,” and that someday it would call him to something greater.
When Darix showed it to Kathor, his friend frowned: to him, the stone wasn’t glowing at all.
For a week, Darix hesitated to wear it. The owl’s words haunted him. On the eighth day, curiosity overcame fear—he slipped the ring onto his finger. The stone immediately went dark. Nothing else happened. Disappointed, he removed it and put it away.
But from that moment, something shifted. Over the following months, Darix experienced a sudden and extraordinary growth spurt: his wings stretched to full size, his horns formed, his limbs gained strength, his body matured. Though still smaller than most dragons, it was a transformation beyond belief. Even years later, Darix would wonder—was it coincidence, as Aïdos once claimed, or had the ring quietly reshaped his destiny?
After college, Darix lived quietly, working tech jobs and enjoying his geek passions. Nothing extraordinary happened—until his twenty-seventh birthday. One night, he awoke to a strange red glow. The ring pulsed with light again. As soon as he touched it, he was transported across worlds.
He awoke in the home of the owl, who revealed himself as Aïdos. This new realm—Fraldir—was medieval, rich with magic and danger. Aïdos explained that he had sought someone with dormant draconic energy from Darix’s world. The ring had confirmed his identity and served as a beacon. Beyond that, Aïdos insisted, it held no magic of its own.
In Fraldir, Darix trained under Aïdos and alongside Sirvig, a green serpent swordsman and apprentice of the owl. Darix excelled in magic, fire especially, but shocked his mentors by channeling other elements as well. Swordsmanship, however, remained difficult; he tried weaving Taekwondo kicks into his style, with mixed results.
During his journeys, Darix discovered fragments of his legacy: he was not merely an odd hybrid but the reincarnation of the Red Dragon of Fraldir, the ninth dragon in a broken lineage. He uncovered the sentient Monstronomicon, bonded to him like a companion, and forged a bond with the Ether Sword, a relic of immense power.
But peace was short. Norlak, a dark dragon, appeared—drawn by the hidden energy within Darix. In battle, Aïdos was gravely injured, and Darix, consumed by rage, ascended to the fourth level of his draconic power. For the first time, his body shimmered with divine energy. He nearly destroyed Norlak… before collapsing unconscious at the brink of the final blow.
Unable to continue training, Aïdos gave Darix a rune: a teleportation key to flee between worlds. He urged him to return home, at least until he was strong enough to face Norlak again.
Though reluctant to leave, Darix missed the quiet hum of computers and the safety of home. When he returned to Earth, he found that only a few months had passed—time in Fraldir flowed differently. To his family and friends, he claimed he had traveled abroad. Yet his closest friend Kathor noticed the changes: a deeper gaze, reflexes too sharp, a presence both familiar and… other.
Darix adapted to his “normal” life, but he never truly left Fraldir behind. He kept the ring on his keychain, no longer on his finger, and the rune close at hand. Through faint magical echoes, he stayed informed: Aïdos healed slowly, Sirvig grew stronger, Norlak retreated into the shadows.
Still, Darix knew it was only temporary. Fraldir would call him again. And when it did, he would no longer be the weakling “kobold” of his youth, but the ninth dragon—balancing two worlds, and carrying the weight of a destiny he never asked for.