He hunted and took sport with his moredhel women, and occasionally mated with one of his own kind when the heat came upon her and powerful lusts overrode the battle urge he felt toward his own kind. Of those unions only two offspring survived. His first child was Alma-Lodaka, whom he fathered in his early days, and the second was Draken-Korin, who resulted from his mating with Alma-Lodaka. Matters of relationship meant nothing to the Valheru, save as points of reference.
He raided across the heavens with his brethren when the need for plunder rose up within them like a thing of mindless want. He took his eldar servants with him, riding behind him on the backs of his dragons, to catalogue and care for his plunder. He knew the universe, and it trembled at the thunder of the Dragon Host when they roared into the skies. Other star-spanning races challenged the Valheru, but none survived. The Contemplators of Per, with their powers to manipulate the stuff of life, were cast down and their secrets lost with them. The Tyrant of the Cormoran Empire sent forth the might of a thousand worlds. Ships the size of cities sped through the void to unleash mighty engines of war upon the invaders. The Dragon Lords obliterated them without hesitation, and the Tyrant died screaming in the lowest basement of his palace while his world was destroyed above him. The Masters of Majinor and their dark magic were swept away by the Dragon Host. The Grand Alliance, the Marshals of Dawn, the Siar Brotherhood, all attempted to resist. All were destroyed. Of all who stood before the Valheru, only the Lorekeepers of the Aal, the supposed first race, managed to avoid destruction, but even the Aal could not oppose the Dragon Host. In the multitudes of universes, the Valheru were supreme.
For ages Ashen-Shugar lived as his people had always lived, fearing none, and worshipping only Rathar, She who was called Order, and Mythar, He who was called Chaos, the Two Blind Gods of the Beginning.
Then came the call, and Ashen-Shugar went to meet with his brethren. It was an odd call, one unlike any before, for there was no bloodlust rising in his breast to take them beyond the stars to raid other worlds. Instead it was a call to meeting, where the Valheru would gather, to speak to one another. It was a strange concept.
Upon the plain, south of the mountains and the great forest, they stood in a circle, the hundreds who were the race. In the centre stood Draken-Korin, who called himself Lord of Tigers. Two of his creatures waited one at each hand, powerful arms crossed, their tiger faces set in fierce snarls. They were as nothing to the Valheru, only posing as a reminder that Draken-Korin was, by commonly held opinion, the strangest of their kind. He had ideas of new things.
“The order of the universe is changing,” he said, pointing to the heavens. “Rathar and Mythar have fled, or have been deposed, but for whatever cause, Order and Chaos have no more meaning. Mythar let loose the strands of power and from them the new gods arise. Without Rathar to knit the strands of power together, these beings will seize that power and establish an order. It is an order we must oppose. These gods are knowing, are aware, and are challenging us.”
“When one appears, kill it,” answered Ashen-Shugar, unconcerned by Draken-Korin’s words.
“They are our match in power. For the moment they struggle among themselves, seeking each dominion over the others as they strive to gain mastery of that power left by the Two Blind Gods of the Beginning. But that struggle will end and then shall our existence be threatened. They will turn their might upon us.”
Ashen-Shugar said, “What cause for concern? We fight as we have before. That is the answer.”
“No, there needs be more. We must fight in harmony, not each alone, lest they overwhelm us.”
Of late, an odd voice had come to Ashen-Shugar, a voice with a name. The name was lost upon him now, but the voice spoke. You must be apart.
The Ruler of the Eagles’ Reaches said, “Do what you will. I will have none of it.” He ordered his mighty golden dragon Shuruga into the sky and flew home.
Time passed, and Ashen-Shugar would occasionally return to the site of his brethren working. A strange thing, like the cities on other worlds, was fashioned by magic arts and the work of slaves. In it the Valheru resided, even as it was being fashioned. As never before in their history, they became for a time a cooperative society of beings, their combative nature stemmed by a compact, a truce. It was alien to Ashen-Shugar.
Shortly before the city was completed, Ashen-Shugar sat upon his dragon’s back, regarding the work. It was a windy day, bitter cold as winter approached.
A roar from above caused Shuruga to trumpet a reply.
Do we fight?asked the gold dragon.
“No. We wait.”
Ashen-Shugar ignored the disappointment he sensed in Shuruga. Another dragon, black as coal, landed and cautiously approached Ashen-Shugar.
“Has the Ruler of the Eagles’ Reaches finally come to join us?” asked Draken-Korin, his black and orange striped armour glinting in the harsh light as he dismounted.
“No. I simply watch,” answered Ashen-Shugar, dismounting also.
“You alone have not agreed.”
“Joining to plunder across the cosmos is one thing, Draken-Korin. This . . . this plan of yours is madness.”
“What is this madness? I know not of what you speak. We are. We do. What more is there?”