Before I begin any of my story, let me say this: I do not know why I write. Perhaps out of boredom, perhaps conceit, perhaps because I simply have to let my emotions out somewhere, and paper seemed the best place. Perhaps there is no real reason at all. Either way, I shall tell the story of my life the best I can.

My name is Houjun Ri, and I am, by now, nearly 13,000 years of age. I came to be so by a very special piece of jewelry. But I shall come to that later. I stand six feet and four inches tall; my hair is black, and messy, a bit long in the back and spiked down gently over my eyes, which are a very pale blue. I'm muscular, but that is to be expected with my battle experience. I was born seven years before thoughts of the infamous Dragon Campaign began to turn in the minds of Humans everywhere, to two Dragoons-Zieg, my father, the Fire Dragoon, and my mother Rose, Dragoon of Darkness.

I do not remember much of my father, except that I got the paleness of my eyes from him. My hair I got from my mother; a perfect contrast to my eyes with its darkness.

However, I remember almost everything about my mother. Sometimes I believe I remember too much. The perfect straightness of her hair as it fell across her dark eyes, the eyes that looked down at me with such affection, that closed as she lovingly kissed my forehead, close enough to me that I could feel her warm breath on my cheek, inhale the sweet, natural scent of her hair. The way she would sing to me when I cried, how she would hold me close and never contemplate leaving until I was perfectly calm, nestle safely in her lap. How she turned away from me, leaving me for dead when I was but a child of four. The way my heart ached then, and continues to do so. I will never forget.

As I said, I was left by both my father and my mother when I was four years of age. I remember whispers of war among the people who lived near us, and my parents simply disappearing from my life. There were no reasons, no goodbyes; I merely woke up one morning to an empty household. A small, meager household it was, to be sure, but to me then it seemed a dungeon from that day forth, large and demanding, and so terribly, frighteningly empty. But I was not to be tortured for long. A group of rogue Winglies discovered my tiny home, and made it a sport to destroy it a piece at a time. I was lucky I was so

young, or I would not have been able to slip away without being seen. I watched in horror as the last reminder of my happy family was taken apart, burned, or otherwise wrecked. After the amusement was finished, the Winglies left the defeated carcass of my home to smoke. I didn't dare to go near it after that. I was forced to take some kind of shelter in the woods nearby, an area which would eventually become the site for the town of Neet, but not for thousands of years. So it was just a forest.

I sulked for days, and was naught but a quivering mass of tears and self-pity. I barely managed to avoid being eaten myself, let alone find food to keep myself healthy. When I dared to venture out from the small clearing I had claimed as my own, it was only to find a few nuts an berries. I barely kept myself alive for nearly a year, before something happened that shook me from my pathetic routine.

I remember I was eagerly drinking from the nearby stream, my first such drink for two days, since it was the first time I had given myself the courage since then. I heard a noise behind me, and when I turned to look, I discovered a monster approaching the stream, or rather, the small defenseless creature by the stream-me. It didn't seem like a true monster to me at the time, however. It was feline, and somehow had a grace to it that was obvious as it sauntered its way towards me, claws bared, reflecting the light in a manner somewhat like the malicious glint in its eye. I froze, knowing I would be unable to defend myself against such a creature.

It lunged for me, cutting me relatively deeply across the chest, and, it seemed almost as an instinctive reaction I brought my foot up hard into its chest, or as hard as a four-year-old can at least. The monster was barely phased, and its mouth appeared to open almost in slow motion, revealing rows of sharp, jagged teeth, coated with an almost mucous-like saliva that dripped onto my face and neck, sickeningly hot. My eyes scrunched tightly shut in anxious acceptance of what was surely to be my death, when--as I would have put it then for lack of knowing any religion but that of the Winglies--the Archangel smiled at

me. An enormous monster seemed to leap out of the river, yet never seemed to completely leave it. Large jaws gaped, even more horrifying than those of my assailant, before closing with a disgustingly satisfying crunch on the much smaller monster. The feline writhed against the grip, but soon went still as bones were crushed, and the newer monster disappeared beneath the surface of the water once more, bubbles and ripples and blood the only marks of his passing.

I hurriedly scooted away from the edge of the water, gasping for breath and wincing at the pain in my chest, only able to stare at the dissipating ripples for what seemed like hours, but what must have been only seconds. It was then that I decided I didn't want to be helpless anymore. Using every scrap of instinct I possessed, I found some plants which I had noticed seemed to have a healing property, and applied their oils vigorously to my wound. I also managed to create a makeshift spear from a firm pole of wood and a stone which I had broken into a rough but sharp point. It was crude, but it served its purpose. After practicing for a week, I felt secure enough with my new weapon that I felt I was ready to take on a small monster. After all, I was Human, and did need some sort of meat in my diet, didn't I?

After my week of "training" had come to an end, I left my clearing in search of something small and edible. Anything would do, as long as I could kill it. I searched for over an hour, scrambling between bushes to hide from the larger monsters when they inevitably appeared, my makeshift spear clutched tightly in the tiny hand that trembled so greatly with fear. Finally I spotted a small, lizard-like creature feeding itself with the ever-plentiful supply of insects that was present in the forest. Maybe that...

Slow would be an understatement when describing my approach. Cautious, another. I was beyond that. I was terrified. Who knew when another monster like the one a week ago would approach? Or worse, like the thing that had leaped out of the water. I shuddered at the memory. However, once I got up the nerve to attack, it was only a few moments before the thing was dead, withering down into a still-warm corpse at the end of my spear. I nearly cried out with happiness, and, if there had been anyone else there, I would have been impossible to live with for the next few days. I was more than arrogant in light of my first kill, and, although I was a prepubescent child, I began to fancy myself a man.

The weeks and months went on, I learned to hunt fearlessly and without much difficulty. I continued to drink from the stream, avoiding bubbles and ripples. I slept under no tent, in my little clearing. I was doing as well for myself as could be expected of a now nearing seven-year-old. I was completely and utterly alone. And every day I prayed my mother would return.

When I had reached and barely passed the age of seven years, I came across a creature I had not seen before. It was black, and large, and its eyes were blood red. Near reflective scales covered its extremely muscular body, and perfectly black, leathery-looking wings carried it easily over the trees of my new home. I know now that these beasts are called Dragons. But then, it was merely an animal to me. A dangerous animal that was invading my territory, and needed to be disposed of. However, I also felt strangely drawn to it, more so than to any other large animal that I considered a threat, and perhaps that was the reason I followed it that very day, makeshift spear and rock dagger in hand, instead of waiting for it to make the first move.

I tracked it all the way back to its lair, a cave in a somewhat rocky area some distance from my home forest. I almost thought that if it lived this far away it wasn't a real threat, and that I should leave. But that same feeling pulled at me again, and I continued on. I knew that it would see me, and I made no attempt to hide as I entered the cave. The moment our eyes locked I thought it would attack, and I readied myself, but no assault came. The beast merely stared into my eyes, and I noticed that those red eyes were not cold-blooded and cruel, but showed something I believe resembled compassion. Almost affection. Affection for me. This startled me, and I think I lost my balance for a moment, but when I recovered, my eyes narrowed and my brow knitted in concentration, then I ran at the Dragon with an angry cry. I tried stabbing it with the spear, but the things' scales were as hard as stone.

It retaliated immediately, all affection gone from it in that instant. I felt the back of its clawed hand hit my front hard, and the next moment I felt myself hit the stone wall of the cave. Slowly, I pulled myself from the ground when I fell. The blow hadn't hurt that much, but the breath had been knocked out of me, and the shock made me tremble all over for a few moments. I hesitantly walked back to the creature, my steps slow and nonthreatening, and my hands held out in front of me. My spear had clattered to the floor when I was hit, and my dagger was still stuck in the back of my pants, out of the dragon's sight.

Our eyes met again, and again there was that care in its eyes. It almost seemed to be saying that it forgave me my childish attack, and apologized for having to return it. I remember wondering why this monster would look so kindly towards me. It was probably twenty times my size, or more, and it could have swallowed me whole if that was its wish. But apparently it wasn't. We stood for many minutes, merely staring at each other. Why did I feel so drawn to this creature? Why did it not attack me? Better yet, why did I myself hesitate to attack? I had no answer for any of these questions, so I attacked upon the completion of that last thought. Quicker than the Dragon could react, for I believe it had reached a state of calm, and quicker than I could even see, I had leapt onto the Dragons' back, my dagger was drawn, and I gouged the stone blade into the creature�s eye. It roared in pain, and shook violently to remove me, but I held on tight, pulling the dagger out and plunging it into the other eye. I didn't have time to retrieve it again before I was thrown off, and my whole body was scraped fairly badly as I skidded across the rough stone floor.

The Dragon roared and flapped its wings hard, creating a violent wind that swirled the dust in the cave. I shielded my eyes from the sand and reached blindly for my spear, trying to avoid the heavy stomp and vicious swipe of the monster's claws. The thing was as blind as I was at that moment, so it couldn't see me to really attack. I snatched up my spear when I found it and unshielded my eyes, squinting to avoid the sand and gravel being slung at me. The, holding my spear firmly in both hands, I ran at the Dragon, and slid on my back at just the right moment to avoid the claws so that I went under it. I positioned my weapon swiftly but carefully, and I stabbed the creature through the small openings in its overlaid scales, the blade piercing its heart.

I heard it roar again in agony, and I rolled away, leaving my spear stuck in its underside. I watched as its wings slowly stopped flapping, and it let out one desperate cry after another, but to no avail. It collapsed to the ground, the bleeding sores that were its eyes twitching before the whole creature stopped moving altogether. I approached it hesitantly, to make sure it was truly dead. When it didn't move for several moments, I could only assume that it was.

I suddenly jumped back from the corpse as it began to glow black. The body let out steam, and then right before my eyes, a brightly glowing black orb, no bigger than the palm of a hand, rose from the wound in the Dragon's heart and floated towards me. When I opened my hand for it, the orb nestled itself in my palm, and suddenly grew brighter. I found myself in a somehow bright ball of black, dark lighting flashing around me.

"Hate, hate, hate," a voice groaned from nowhere, and before I could respond, my whole body glowed black, and in the next moment I was wearing full body armor. It was perfectly black, and he shoulder blades swooped down into points near my elbows. There were small, yet very sharp spikes running in a straight line down from my knees to the front of my ankles. On my head was a black headpiece, coming into a slight point at the top of my head, and set with different sized obsidian stones. My bangs fell over the headpiece, but for the most part it kept my hair out of my eyes. In my hand was a glowing black scythe, much too big for me.

"What's going on?" I asked no one in particular, quietly. Of course no one answered. But in my head, a single title came-Dragoon of Hate. That title was mine. A Dragoon? I remembered my mother telling me about Dragoons, powerful, supposedly mythical warriors with the Spirit and strength of Dragons. Could it be possible that the legend was true? That this Dragon had given me its Spirit...?