Sleep came and so did the dreams. He remembered the first, made out like a horror movie to recap all the fucked up shit that had been going on in this world before Rheagal was born. Giving him a full slide show of the world's past, as he, the future, was made to face it. To put an end to it. But what on earth could a child entirely do?

He was given choice and so he chose, walking towards the door with a great and magical tree. A battlefield. Was it Valhalla?? Rhaegal stood in watch, frozen in spot. It was instinct alone which caused his legs to tremble, caused his fur to stand on end. War, war and the boy was in the middle of it. Fear was a natural instinct, but what came unnaturally for a child was the excitement which also fueled him, aiding to his quivering.

He watched as wolves fought to protect the tree. Ripping and tearing at these grotesque, mutilated creations which once called themselves wolves too. Corrupt magic of Mythris had done this to them… but what had made the magic corrupt to begin with? Maybe they just didn't know how to use the power correctly, precisely. Fools! Surely his momma Sreda would have known.

And then, at the very thought of his mother, another one showed up. Móður. He is attentive to her words, nodding sharply as his mother turned this into a life lesson. Watch, learn. His conviction is unshakable. These vile creatures were done. This world belonged to them now. I will protect, Móður.