How To Create a Villain

Chapter 1: 'A Game, a Prophecy, and a Friendship'

Someone that wasn't a runt.

"Stop doodling in your room and do something useful for once, child." She stated while handing him a piece of paper. Alvin eyed the scribbled writing and tried to decipher it. The paper was a list of numerous chores that the child had to accomplish on a daily basis. Most kids had chores, but for Alvin, he had to literally do everything. He peered down at the very last thing, feeding the captured dragons.

This was the worst, for the fact that he was bitten almost every time he tried. Alvin wished with all his heart that he could release them. He knew, however, that if he did, he'd be in trouble for months on end, maybe even years.

The witch looked down at the child in annoyance.

"Well, get to it!" She yelled. "The chores aren't going to do themselves." Sometimes she wondered about the child, wondered that just maybe Alvin should not have been kept. It was a custom to kill every runt that was born into the tribe. Excellinor didn't even want the child, but the future told her to keep him. She knew that if she didn't, she'd never have a chance to get to the throne. At the moment, Alvin was the only possible heir to the kingdom, since he was a direct descendant of Grimbeard the Ghastly, the last of the kings. However, she knew one day they'd need a king again and all the wandering tribes of the archipelago would join in unity.

Carefully, the woman had looked into the future. She studied as if it was the very essence of life. The three sons of Vallhallarama and Humongously Hotshot would be no competition for Alvin at all. Sometimes, however, it was hard to see her small, runty child as a king.

But she would make sure it would happen.

She would do anything...

---

Finishing everything on the list, Alvin was exhausted. He had a fresh, long, jagged scar across his right hand from trying to pet a terrible terror. The small boy opened the door to hear his mother and father fighting again. If he wasn't mistaken, it was probably about that stupid prophecy about him becoming king. 'Why does it even matter?' Alvin thought to himself while grabbing a bit of wrappings and going up the small, rickety stairs, to his bedroom. 'It's just a prophecy, why does mother care so much?' he pondered as he wound the fabric over his wound. 'After all, a boy such as me can't possibly be royalty.' Rolling his eyes at the thought, he slung himself on his bed like a rag doll. Lying on his back, he looked up to his ceiling and sighed. His eyes slowly closed, drifting into sleep.

A small Deadly Nadder, not far away from Alvin's house, was muttering under his breath. "Why on earth did I have to be born in such a rebellious family?" he growled under his breath. "It is not my fault if I do not particularly want to hurt humans." The Nadder stated. Not watching where he was going, the young dragon ran into a nearby tree, ripping a wing membrane. He yelped, falling to what he thought would be his demise. Oddly enough, he landed on a nearby roof.

The child's eyes snapped open when hearing a thud. So much for peace, but he noticed it could not have been his parents, for they were asleep. The Raven haired boy reluctantly slid off his bed and went to the window to see if he could find out what had happened. There was nothing outside. Only the sound of chirping crickets and the view of the beautiful moon, awaited him. He sighed in content. It seemed so beautiful, as if he could reach out and touch it. Soon forgetting about his wretched thoughts of annoying prophecies, Alvin looked to the stars that seemed to shine extra bright that night.

Out of nowhere, a small dragon fell on top of the boy's head, after tumbling off the sloped roof. The child jumped from surprise and looked up to see a small, green Deadly Nadder, who looked straight back at him in bewilderment. Crawling slowly down to his shoulder, the dragon looked at Alvin in silence. It was an amazing moment for the boy who had never been this close to a dragon before. He had seen them behind thin, iron bars, snarling in fury, but that was as close as it had ever gotten. He wanted so badly to reach out his hand and to actually make contact with it. To feel its scaly skin just as the dragon riders of old once did. Despite his feelings, Alvin didn't move a muscle. He was afraid if he did, the dragon would flee and the moment would be gone to him forever. The young reptile crawled around his arm a few times, looking straight into the human's eyes. Alvin had to blink a lot, for a dragon's gaze is hypnotic.

"And you are?" asked the dragon in Norse, the language of the Vikings. The Outcasts tended to speak Outcastese, but Alvin knew both languages. The boy's eyes widened at hearing the dragon speak in a native tongue.

"Y-You speak Norse..." the boy stuttered in surprise.

"Yes." Replied the dragon, tilting his head. "But who are you?" he questioned once again.

The boy blinked a few times, trying to take this in. Raising a brow, the Deadly Nadder waited for an answer.

"Sorry..." The child apologized. "My name's Alvin, son of Algarick the Red." He smiled, still not believing his ears. This dragon was actually talking to him.

"And I am Naloth the Young, son of Ator Champion of the Skies." The dragon swished his tail, slowly, in a happy manner.

"Was it you who made that thud on the roof?" Alvin looked the dragon, observing him. The Nadder's rough, green skin felt strange against his soft arm. He was quite small for a Deadly Nadder. 'Probably a child.' Alvin thought to himself.

"Actually... yes." Naloth sat down on the boy's arm, looking away for a second. "I ran away from home you see..."

"But why?" Alvin asked out of curiosity.

"Because... well... because no one understands me."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that I'm different. I don't belong there..." The dragon looked to the ground with sad, golden eyes. Alvin understood what the dragon meant, for he had the same problem. His eyes came into connection with the dragon's torn wing membrane.

"You're hurt." Alvin trailed off and observed it without touching.

"Ripped it, while accidentally flying into a tree..." The skin around Naloth's horns started to become pink in embarrassment.

"I can fix it... and maybe while we're at it, you can tell me more about yourself?" Alvin offered and the Dragon reluctantly agreed. Nothing was heard that night except for the movement of Alvin's hands, while carefully sewing up the wound, and the small voice of the dragon, telling the story of why he was there.