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The Northfall son woke in a fit of cries. He had a nightmare. It was filled with many faces he did not know, creatures he had never seen and a voice he could barely understand. Of all the dreams he could be plagued with, it is this last mass dream, summing up all the horrible and bewildering events which Mythris had been plagued with before his birth. Now, he saw the world tear itself apart and his cries echoed through the cavern long before he truly woke.

When he did, it took some time to soothe the child. It was easy to call one thing a nightmare and not real if they did not understand. It wouldn't take much from the words of his mother's to sooth him. What was a rune, anyway?

Friday the 13th came. He was born that very same day a month prior. Baby blue eyes began to change at its outer iris, hints of golden color seeping through. They search outside the den as Rhaegal stands at its opening, the chill of the winter wind causing him to quiver. He rather enjoyed the warmth and darkness of the den yet curiosity kept him staring outward. Memories of great glowing blue fissures in the ground plagued his mind. Was there a rune out there, somewhere?