Here we have a dragon, a woman, a village in medieval times, and that's all when it comes to typical elements of fairy tales. The story also explains where the name "Qahnareen" came from...
Age restriction, 80 years for dragons, I think, due to blood and tragic grammatical errors.
An apocryphal world beyond reality. One is forced by fate to organize his story. The Other, starting from a blank page, learns his story and seeks meaning, wanting to be remembered, to make his name mean something… something more than a beast.
His rather typical adventure reveals more depth than he thought. An inconspicuous artifact becomes a powerful tool that unlocks the dragon's consciousness and opens the gate of the Shadow, exposing the beast to the light.
Then something happens that even the author of the story didn’t expect…
Circumstances of the creation
In the summer of 2020 I gave up all computer games and generally meaningless time spent on the Internet and, instead, I started reading various fantasy stories - about dragons. I was completely immersed in the fantasy worlds.
In November/December 2020 this ‘famous virus’ caught me, so I was in home isolation for a month. I felt bad that my profiles didn't even have a biography; I had nothing to write about myself; always extremely withdrawn and afraid of everything, but didn't want to be a blank, anonymous profile… as if I had no imagination. Did I have no imagination? Why can't I think of anything to represent me?
So, one extremely black night I couldn't sleep and... I really don't know why, but started to create a script in my head. (Complete mess of ideas.) A combination of the stories I've read and a bit of games has become a very strong inspiration. I realized that everything I was interested in was weaving a tapestry within me, of a really large, coherent fantasy world, like a combination of everything known and unknown.
That one night I couldn't sleep and made up a little story. Why not... Uh! It was supposed to be just a short ‘biography’...
I’ve never written stories before, never read books... Suddenly my life just turned completely over. I started jotting down all the ideas, and it was this story that became my whole "leisure activity". Really felt strange, as if I was doing something completely not for me. But when the imagination kicked in and the written scenes were able to come together, it was satisfying. Was it passion? Because why should I devote all my free time to this?
On December 26, I had a ready draft; I knew more or less what it should look like.
And then… Another barrier I had to break. The sketch was written in a different language. I don't know English at all! I only had lessons for four years in a technical college, but didn't really pay attention to it. So… write a story in English, it seemed like a great plan…
It was a very short story. I was still writing and writing, suddenly as if my creativity was opening up more and more. The translation problem was terribly irritating. The enormous amount of work was beginning to exceed my ability and the amount of time...
So I have several times more work than anyone who speaks English, because as I develop, I constantly have to go back, correct errors, rewrite many scenes. So with the stubbornness of a geek, translated fragments are like writing them at least three times.
If you read this and notice any glaring errors, please report them to the editor-in-self-proclaimed-chief.
It's still a rough draft, in neverendingprogress, constantly being edited. I write the plot mainly during a few minutes of breaks at work, so it's mainly a collection of what came to my mind... Don't ask…
[Soundtrack]
CLANN - Arise (Instrumental)
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"Scene One."
"Introduction."
"Growing Terror."
"The Sentinel and the Warriors."
The narrator's voice echoed from the shadows.
- “Sentinel, what did you see?”
- “Warriors have come, warriors from across the sea, with fire and sword, with monsters, and with greed.”
- “Far?”
- “No, not far. It will barely be dawn and they will stand at our gates.”
- "All warriors! This is not a drill. Everyone to their positions. The First Heavy Armored Corps to the front!"
Horns and trumpets sounded in the background, ominous echoes creeping in through windows and doors. Torches were lit from the hearth.
- "And behind them, archers, guarding the forest roads. We'll meet them in the middle of the night, in the middle of the forest, and at a signal, we'll suddenly retreat, feigning chaos and flight, running along the designated trail. We've dug trenches behind fallen trees across the main road, and there are sharpened stakes in the holes and in the forest," the warrior continued.
"On the signal, the troops hidden in the forest will advance and pursue the enemies from behind, right into our traps. You already know the plan. Now it's time to execute it." The sentry tapped the floor with his halberd and positioned himself by the door.
Armor, shields, swords, battle axes, everything in the semidarkness surged forward, as if in the dark sound of a cascade about to strike the enemy forces.
"Scene Two."
"Danger in the Bastion."
"Captain, guardsman, warriors, princess, druid, scout."
The narrator's voice echoed from the shadows.
- "Ring, ring the bells! The bastion is beginning to burn! Alarm!" The guardsman shouted.
The fire erupted as if fueled by the magic of amber dust.
- "Help, help extinguish a living fire!"
Barely carrying, they poured water from a heavy bucket. It hissed and crackled, accompanied by the straining of bowstrings. Steam filled the air. The captain, hearing the sound of splintering wood and a crash, set off to investigate, worried by the chaos in the bastion.
- "Brave warriors! The princess has fainted, what should we do now?" The captain ran from another room, calling out in panic.
- "We’ll come to help, we’ll come with the druid!" The warriors responded in unison.
The druid stepped forward and in a loud voice declared, "We must bury the corpse, because..."
The entire hall burst into laughter, all the children and even the adults.
- "That's not the scene yet!" the caregiver replied sharply in a whisper. She cleared her throat, motioning for the boy to retreat to the wall. "You weren't paying attention again, you're daydreaming, as usual," she whispered with slight embarrassment. "Again!" She clapped her hands twice.
- "Brave warriors! The princess has fainted, what should we do now?" The captain ran from another room again, again calling out in panic.
The druid stepped forward again and in a loud voice declared, “Not breathing? Check for a pulse! Thirty compressions and two breaths.” Together with the warriors, they provided first aid training.
The princess stood up, safe and sound. “Oh gods, I thought I was going to die! I saw the Grim Reaper! He was coming for me.”
“I’m here.” The Grim Reaper emerged from behind the wall. The cat squirmed beneath his feet. “I always come when no one will help.”
"De La Crowx!" The princess called to the little creature. "Where have you been? What have you seen?"
A black cat with attached wings approached the princess.
"What news has your scout brought, Lady?" the warriors asked together.
"He announced that a time of peace is coming. Another scene is coming."
"Scene Three."
"Cleaning Up."
“Everyone.”
The narrator's voice echoed from the shadows.
The druid stepped forward and in a loud voice declared, "We must bury the corpse, because we don't want the horrible necrophages to come here and spread diseases…"
- “The enemies were defeated and our town is safe.” The captain announced.
The event participants began cleaning up the set and props, grumbling slightly and constantly laughing at the mistakes they had made.
Two men dressed in formal uniforms entered the hall. Hanging up their coats and elegant hats, the two quietly positioned themselves against the wall and observed the chaos in the hall.
The assembled crowd applauded joyfully as the matron and the children emerged together to bow to the audience.
The mirror merchant clapped slowly. "Wonderful! Wonderful!" He shouted melodiously. "The children learn useful things. One small note. A princess shouldn't be in the bastion during an attack. Especially not alone."
"I've always wanted to write a play. Well... that wasn't the plan, but she always wants to play the princess because she dreams of being one." The village elder pointed to the girl and the cat as the children left for another room. "And this is her guardian griffin, so she's never alone. I love that cat." He laughed.
- “Interesting. The big dreams of little children.” The traveler smiled back, bowed elegantly, and headed over to his table with documents and maps to make new notes.
The village elder turned to the gathered people. “Well. It's time to end the performances and begin our meeting… Uh, recently a cartload of lamp oil was stolen, so we sit only by the light of candles and the fireplace. The delivery man arrived, but without the oxen and cart. Bandits… On the other side, cavalry units... Both the hostile kingdoms and our own man-at-arms take our medicine, money, food, telling us it's for protection…”
- "Protection? When our enemy is hunger and disease… A few healers are working hard. We pay them no longer in gold and silver, but in food... later confiscated for the benefit of His Majesty'z army," one of the villagers said sadly.
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
- "You tell me to have mercy when I ask you for tribute. But it’s not my invention. The delegation of the chief financial administrator from the castle in Ortench sent us a letter, where he mentions tax increases and threatens penalties if something goes wrong." The castellan replied without taking his eyes off the maps and documents. With a nervous reflex, he tapped a piece of the map with his finger, as if wanting to crush a certain city into a pancake.
The map of the kingdom was divided by several red lines, which were drawn anew from month to month, re-marking a smaller and smaller kingdom, new occupied territories, burnt lands, no man's lands, the wilder and wildest lands. The great legend of symbols was completely mysterious to the average villager.
A rather monotonous conversation about taxes and their purpose ensued among the elders, official envoys, and local residents. In the dynamic winds of change, many conclusions were swept under the rug. Many agreements were concluded and terminated between traders, producers, shepherds, farmers, and between surrounding settlements and granges.
Quiet conversations continued amidst the crackling of the fire and the rhythmic clicking of seals, embossing official certificates on important documents. Candle wax was used to seal letters, and the city's envoys were ready and rather pleased with the fact of departing these lands.
Silence and darkness fell over the tavern as the receding beat of hooves faded. The steward closed the door and returned to the large horseshoe-shaped table that almost surrounded the central hearth.
- "If we do not meet the conditions, what penalty will we face? This cursed government and sick politics, isn't that the greatest punishment we've ever had?" Heckler laughed madly, clutching a list of confiscated goods in his trembling hand. "Can't we rebel?" His words sent a wave of whispers through the crowd.
- “Rebellion will achieve nothing.” The village elder looked at the map, a large, green square that surrounded a small town. The shape was crossed by blue and red lines, rivers and roads.
- “We won't even bribe the bandits, because the road feeds them better.” Someone from behind assured.
- “There are forests and swamps around here, what could they want from this place?” Someone nearby doubted.
- “If there was such a need, the captain would certainly send a dozen armed men here.” With a confident voice, the one gullible to the system, assured.
- “Even the People of Eternal Winter left our lands, because they didn’t want to get involved in this war with the west, east, and the south.” The local expert on all topics was sure he was right.
- “But they were always the first to fight. Some will surely return to plunder what is left!” The old babushka screamed. “Last year drought, hail, floods… the castellan promised compensation, because he had some savings, but they took everything from him too. Everyone has to eat. What is left? The beasts from the forest took my last cow, and three went with the royal army. As part of my tax I have so far made cheese, kefir, and cream, and no…”
- "We didn't want to give them anything because we owe nothing! And yet, they have already taken too much! They took away two of my sons for recruitment, and I’m left with one who is too young to hunt, and I am... too old..." Heckler, growing increasingly unsure, looked at the village elder.
- “When did they take them? I only saw them a few days ago. I thought you hid them while recruiting.” Added Heckler's nosy neighbor.
- “Oh, imagine, they came suddenly, it was morning, I didn’t even have time to pull my pants on after washing, and they were already gone. The heavily armed cavalry took them to the captain for training. And their armor was beautiful, so shiny! Not like we used to, made of rope and sticks… Can’t the ELDERS do anything?” The man with the scar on his face covered his fear with rage and mead.
- “We applied for… many, many things…” The elder stared thoughtfully at the important letter.
- “blah blah blah.” A bored farmer summed up his broken thoughts.
- “You are wrong there if you think we have nothing. We have a system, culture, heritage. This is what they want to take from us, not any gold or silver. In fact, we don't even have good fortifications. Ramparts and palisades may have been good, but in the times of our grandfathers and great-grandfathers, not for modern mechanisms that can crush stones.” A local expert criticized the sluggish development of the surrounding infrastructure.
- “The captain gave me a letter in which he promised to pay every warrior well if they survived. Will also give us back the horses that were not suitable for cavalry.” To calm the situation, the public property manager tried to find positives from the pile of documentation.
- “If they survive! You must be joking… We are caught between hammer and anvil…” Heckler, as usual, picked up on the emotional chord.
- “Uhm, yes, they pay something for those killed in battle too…”
Heckler finally nudged the village elder, "Why didn't you answer? What kind of letter is this?" He pointed to the table.
The elder cleared his throat nervously. He finally had to raise issues crucial to their situation amidst the growing conflict. - “Uhm. We are no longer in the central part of our kingdom.”
- “What?” Almost everyone around asked.
- "The difficult situation in the eastern territories of our commonwealth means that the union will not proceed to armed unification. Their lands will ultimately be assigned to the imperial family of the Versatileast Empire and the boyars. The great river of reconciliation becomes a closed state border. The bridges have been demolished... This means that Vaholm is the last town in the east of the Tinvealth Kingdom." He almost ran out of breath as he tried to summarize the details from the letter.
The emotional uproar forced most of them to their feet. "Treason! Treason!" Some shouted. Others responded, "Disgrace! Disgrace!", running out onto the road, as if to lynch the government officials who had been collecting taxes to support the union for many seasons.
- “Silence! Silence!” The older man's loud tone rose above the crowd at the last moment before the red-hot angry man exploded. His smoky old eyes slowly traveled from man to man, from one submission to another fear. He saw Scar almost crush the ceramic mug in his trembling fist. “I know he’s not your son, nor your grandson, but you have to be a good grandfather to him. The boy has a hard life ahead.”
- “What are you talking about?” Scar fell silent, looked at the abandoned child who was sitting curled up near the fireplace. The old man already had tears in his eyes.
- “The old lady not worrying either, will help with the goats, goat milk is good too. This is what they want to weaken us with…”
- “Goat milk?” The old woman asked.
- “Fear and destabilization!” He tried to gather the attention of those gathered.
- “I meant… Goat milk cheese?”
- "Cheese! Pff. Getting back to the point. If you are afraid of the forest, the forest will never give you shelter.” The man with amulets around his neck, slightly irritated, approached the castellan and the elders, folding the map in half. “Writings, maps, scrolls, and papers. Wars have always been and will be. We have always been and will be. Fear locks you in black walls, it's like a stronghold. Do you see the wild world around? It is as it always was.”
- “What are you getting at?” The village elder asked, intrigued.
- “In the wilderness there’s stability. The first of the druids wrote in a book, share what you have, and you will receive what is fair.”
The people gathered in the inn fell silent, but only for a moment. The silence was broken by another, whose blood was boiling under his skin. - “Those old fairy tales again, grandpa? The Shadow Judge won't give us a blacksmith, swords, armor, soldiers... Are we supposed to feed ourselves with berries all winter? The cursed beasts of the forest only cause people to disappear without a traace." The rebel growled menacingly under a big mustache, banging his fist on the oak table, and the others nodded, spreading a chorus of whispers to all corners.
The old man in the linen robe continued. - “Little patience creates too much expectation. Let us not allow blood to be spilled on our mosses, fields and roads, because the ground drinks it up and then produces such a harvest.” He pointed with his eyes at the rebel. “We have given Gifts. It's time to make a request.” He stated confidently.
- “What is that supposed to mean? Gifts?” The intrigue within him turned into a stab of anxiety and darkness.
- “Enlightenment comes only from darkness. The last wish, a heavy penance for the next ones. Meaning has no name. Rebirth will come from the ashes. The wild hears. Evil, anger, strength. The developing dark awakens primal instincts. Do you see it in the people around?” He said melodiously, with a pearly white feather, writing a few words on parchment. He then threw the written note into the crackling fireplace, scratching his long gray beard.
Another person threw the government letter into the fire. Farmers, traders, and others began throwing contracts and important documents into the fire. The smell of burning parchment spread through the hall. The words disappeared. The roof vent carried the smoke high, high above all heads, above the voices and the forests. Lost in the song of the brightly twinkling stars.
In silence, their gaze wandered over the walls of hewn oak logs. A quiet exchange of thoughts began about the old man's actions. Only the strange wanderer continued to stare silently and thoughtfully into the fire. The fire in the hearth still crackled, but it had died down after long conversations, as had the emotions. Despite everything, most of the people gathered felt more motivated and united.
They didn't even notice when the old man left the meeting...
Welcome to the world
Script by Myself
Characters design by Myself
Writing by Myself
Translated by Myself
Edit by Myself
Cover by Myself
Published by Myself
Promoting by Myself
All by Myself
? 2020 Qahnareen D’automne Dragon [Tinebress]
My dra-wings with dragons and other things
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And here’s my YT playlist with really atmospheric music I used while writing and reading
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The changelog is updated as progress is made
Come back here if you want to hear about updates
Newest;
16.02.2026 - New part on Patreon
05.02.2026 - Managed to develop and publish chapter one of The Name That Calls.
November 2025 - The “Introduction” published on Wattpad, Deviantart and RoyalRoad. And working on the first chapter.
February 2025 - The introduction has been written. The title of 'part I' changed from ‘Your Name Means Something’ to ‘The Name That Calls’. I handwritten the title and name.
January 2025 - Working on the first chapter.
…
20.08.2023 - Writing a new beginning of the story. The story has been divided into chapters.
19.08.2023 - "Plot clarification." I removed everything that was published because it was completely not up to my standards anymore. And I start editing where I remove a lot of insignificant content and develop a lot of scenes.
24.05.2023 - After finishing “Split Of... Personality”, after learning the meaning of my own story… Beginning of editing to the final form!
…
3.09.2022 - Upgrade from Alpha to Beta! 70K words.
August 2022 - Lots of “editing”… 67K words…
July 2022 - 63K words. Other errors have been corrected. I don't know who made them. I made a playlist of music that I used while reading other stories.
5.12.2021 - In total, about 80% of the story has been changed. The plot remained unchanged.
2.12.2021 - I got to know the depth of my own story… I got the meaning of events and characters that my imagination created.
21.11.2021 - I don't know what I'm doing here at all. (I wrote an important scene for this story... but it will be in the part V.)
22.10.2021 - Continued struggle with Google Translate XD. Many errors have been fixed. Many new errors have been added. Several themes, emotions and dialogues have been developed and improved.
13.09.2021 - This part has been edited for consistency with new parts. About 20,000 words have been added. Fix mistakes. Make new mistakes. Add a lot of low-meaning words, etc.
And of the less important things, the title of the whole story has been added. Yes, so far this thing didn't even have a NAME… It was only here that "Split Of Fate" was created.
17.08.2021 - [~37.5K words] Only…
Writing, writing, writing.
25.01.2021 - The sketch has been published! About 20K words. There was supposed to be only one part as the whole story, but it turned out that the content grew too much and I couldn't fit the plot. I had to split it into two, then three, and so on…
December 2020 - Creation of an idea, writing the first scenes, many notes.
There you can become a Patron of Motivation
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"Split Of Fate"
You can find it also on Deviantart, Wattpad, Patreon.
https://www.wattpad.com/story/404417761-split-of-fate
https://www.deviantart.com/qahnareen/art/Split-Of-Fate-Introduction-and-Changelog-1160315291
Split Of Fate - The Name That Calls - Chapter One “Tabula Rasa”
The Name That Calls is the first book in the Split Of Fate series.
Its first chapter is already partially released on Patreon.
https://www.patreon.com/posts/144719726?collection=1862760