Dragon once reigned supreme. Of the subspecies of dragon, all of them large, strong, and powerful. They ruled the land from the peaks of the highest mountain cliffs, and from the deepest ocean depths. The dragons of the sea possessed gills, while the dragons of the mountain cliffs were able to fly over a hundred feet at a time. Yet they, like all others, bowed to the power of the Nightfuries. These dragons ruled the sky. They are, as the books nowadays say, The unholy offspring of lightning and death itself.. They demanded the utmost respect. Once every thousand years, a hatchling would possess the ability to enchant, in exchange for their souls. A small piece for each spell. Even without this power, dragons were dangerous.

Which is why humans killed them all. Every last one was wiped off the face of the earth during a 100 year war. Every egg was smashed, and the species was decimated. There were no survivors. Well, almost none. The last female Nightfury had one egg from her clutch. One egg, which she coated in a layer of pure silver, and with the last of her life, she used her powers to ensure the safety of her heir. A spell that would only allow the egg to hatch if found by the right person, and would hatch at any stage of life best suited for her finder. She died curled around her egg, her body fading to ash.

Twelve Hundred Years Later

Task Force 141 just completed a mission, one that resulted in the destruction of a museum of ancient artifacts. Price was instructed to sift through the debris to see if there was anything salvageable, and after three hours, he found nothing. Sick of the chore, he called for a helicopter to retrieve him. He sat on a pillar, waiting boredly. As the sound of the chopper reached his ears, a silver glint caught his eye. Quickly, he dusted the debris off of it, and lifted up what seemed to be a scaly black egg.

“What the hell?” He tilted the egg curiously, as a crack split the shell. “Oh shit.”