No creature of the Blight entered deep cave in the Mountains of Dhoom. No Shadowspawn would have dared. Not even a direct command from one of the Chosen, or from the Great Lord of Dark itself would have convinced any to go down to the depth of that cave. The Chosen themselves wouldn't have entered that cave unless ordered by the Great Lord. For what lied in there was deadly in potential even to them. Yet, despite the danger, now one invaded the cave, walking down a rocky path into endless darkness.

A mydraal, clad in the dead black all fades wore, stepping with a ball of darkness lightening its way in silver light. Taller than any Myrdraal, Shaidar Haran stepped down into the forbidden cave in the Blight. A secret long forgotten, the chosen knew its secret, as well as the Great Lord himself, and now Shaidar Haran as well. None other knew about this place, and the dragon must never learn. The myrdraal reached the end of the tunnel, he stepped lightly, the place was dangerous, very much dangerous, especially for the like of him.

The slivery light shined over metallic scales in gold and red, and the Hand of Dark took a step back. For the first time in his life, Shaidar Haran felt fear. The creature was fifty feet long, and at least five feet thick. The head lied over the body, it was easily as big as Shaidar Haran's body, capable of swallowing him in one snatch. The creature lied asleep, a snake the size of a small house. Sharp teeth could be seen through half open mouth, fully open, it would be taller than Shaidar Haran by three feet.

A fearsome creature, even to the Hand of the Dark. More fearsome for it was no shadowspawn, nor any creature of the dark.

A dragon, the most deadliest creature on earth, only THE dragon could control the creature.

The dragon created them, only twelve, and only this one survived the War of Power, even after three thousands years, Shaidar Haran felt the creature breathing in its sleep. Like a strong wind, he stared down at his cloak, troubled, no wind could move his cloak, nor the strongest storm on earth, but his cloak, to the breath of this creature, moved.

A night black sword appeared in his hand, and he put it an inch from the Dragon's eye, there could be not much of armor here, the closed eyelid couldn't protect the eye from a sword sharper than any razor, and then his sword would find the brain, quick death for the last of the dragons.

But he sheathed his sword with an inaudible sigh, he had his orders. And he wouldn't disobey a direct command from the Great Lord, yet. And he was warned that countless thousands died in order to try harming the last dragon, none even awaked the creature.

He turned his back to the creature, and walked away.

There would be no trouble from this direction, he dared hope, the dragon slept, may the Great Lord gaurd its dreams through out eternity. Shaidar Haran felt strength in the creature, the same as he felt when he watched the Dragon Reborn, the ancient enemy of his master.

It meant nothing, it would sleep until the end of time, or die in its sleep, if they had any luck.

Deep in the cave in the Mountains of Doom, a dragon woke, stretching limbs unused for over two thousands years. He had waken to the Trolloc wars, a wonderful time for the like of the dragon. There was much food then. Now, he had been awoken again, and the reason was still unknown to it.

It was a beautiful sight, seeing the Dragon moving, a snake-like creature moving on four strong feet, claws bigger than a man's arm, sharper than daggers. Slowly, he exit the cave that was its home for so long, all it took was one swing of that huge tail, twelve feet long, covered with armed scales, and the entrance collapsed. It smelled the air, a scent reached its nose, the sweet odor of a Trolloc and the even sweeter of a Myrdraal. It hadn't feast for thousands of years, it was hungry. VERY hungry.

It began to run, following the smell, ready to hunt.

The dragon lift its head from its twenty seventh Trolloc, growling at the skies. a piece of myrdraal's cloth still hung to his mouth, it was ripped apart with one motion of it's left front leg. The call was being heard again, the sound that awoke it.

The sound it made could be describe only as a song. A dragon answering to the call he was being bred to answer to the call. It began to ran, faster than any horse, it would keep this rate until it would reach its master. Lews Therin Telamon, Rand al'Thor, as they named him in this age.

The lord of the dragons!