How had it come to this?

Krjn Truevale, the Warrior of Light, had been defending the bridge to Ishgard with the rest of the Crystal Braves. The viera warrior had swung her battleaxe with might, driving off the dragons. And then suddenly, a feint—she was overwhelmed—

And now she found herself in the clutches of a massive dragon, gripping her high above the wilderness, held tight and unable to move. Every flap of the beast’s heavy wings sent a tremor through her body.

Krjn had no desire to plummet several hundred feet to a sure death, so she reluctantly allowed the beast to carry her far, far away, a journey that had to be dozens—no, hundreds of miles.

When the dragon finally touched down and released her, the viera slumped over, gasping for breath and rolling her sore shoulders experimentally. Her whole body ached. She took stock of her surroundings: she was in a hollow vale, with dozens of the beasts surrounding her. Many of the dragons seemed to be the sorts that the Ishgardians referred to as traitors—those of their own race who had surrendered to their dragon blood and changed shape, fighting for the enemy. But there were lumbering shadows behind: larger, more ancient beasts, the leaders of dragonkind.

Warrior of Light she might be, but even Krjn knew she had no chance to face several dozen dragons weaponless and win. The viera stood cautiously. Grey-furred rabbit ears rose from dyed-auburn hair, twitching as she scanned her environs for a chance of escape.

Enormous wingbeats sounded from behind and Krjn turned to face the newcomer. He was massive, a serpentine black monster with strong wings, wicked claws, and horns that curved downward off his face.

Nidhogg—the leader of the dragons.

The other dragons deferentially cleared room for him to touch down distressingly close to Krjn. The viera backed away a few paces despite herself.

So you are the one they call the Warrior of Light. The words were almost disconcerting to hear; he spoke in a series of archaic, strange sounds that were decidedly not the common tongue, yet which Krjn was able to mentally process and translate nonetheless. Quite a catch. He circled around her, entrapping him within his bulk. Black scales gleamed like obsidian in the light. Truthfully, I wish you were of Ishgardian blood… then you could be made one of us.

Around them, lesser dragons—once Elezen of Ishgard, humanoids not unlike Krjn’s people—watched with interest, murmuring at being acknowledged.

Many of the transformed Ishgardians did so after seeing the light, as it were, Nidhogg continued. He drew closer and closer. His coiling bulk was now near enough to reach out and touch. But we have ways of forcing the transformation on prisoners—who then take inspiration from their new shape to join the proper side.

A massive claw reached out to Krjn’s face and she closed her eyes, valiantly ready to face her end. But the claw did not attack; the back of it stroked her cheek with surprising gentility, a gesture sinister for its gracefulness.

But it would be a waste to cast aside such promising stock as you, Nidhogg continued. A strain of eager amusement colored his words. We can use you to add to our army a different way.