King Drakovitch's voice rolled across the Grand Cathedral, deep and cold, carrying a weight that silenced even the murmurs of the nobles.
"In the old days, my own siblings mocked me. They saw my white blood and called me a 'bitch.' A name born of shame, for I was the son of a slave… born from weakness. They laughed, twisting it into 'Drakobitch,' mocking the dragon name I had not yet earned. They believed a half-blood like me was doomed—that no one like me could ever survive, that I was destined to burn. They saw failure before it even had a chance to grow."
The hall fell deathly silent. Morgant's face, for the first time, paled slightly, though he dared not move… for everything Drakovitch was saying was no secret to him.
"But look at me now. I did not change the name they gave me to spite them. I only changed the 'B' to a 'V.' Why? Because I am no son of a bitch. I am the son of Victory. I turned their insult into a crown, a title that makes the world tremble beneath it."
