𝕯𝖔𝖓𝖓 𝕭𝖆𝖑𝖔𝖗

Donn Balor. I woke with this name engraved in the forefront of my mind.
Mother would call me ‘Drako’, named after my adoptive father who had been ‘so kind’ to allow me to remain in his pride. But that is not the name the Gods intended for me to have. They speak to me, whisper in my ears sins beyond lion comprehension in a tongue only I speak.
The other cubs in my youth stared at me as if I was mad. The knowledge of how they die lingers on my tongue, threatening to slip. Although we’re all much older now, their treatment of me hasn’t gotten better. Fear laces their faces when I pass, as I change and age and grow larger and larger, far surpassing Violence’s size. To think a dragonborn would have to look up to a mortal lion.
Mother no longer looks at me with so much love now that I’m grown. Though I am her last cub, my becoming seems to have disgusted her. My fangs frighten the small ones, lionesses whisper to each other when I pass by, my ears pick up on their discomfort. They are not like me, and I am not like them.

It’s been years since the Gods have spoken to me, but tonight, they visit, telling me I will be King.