Chapter Text
Nearly four hundred years ago, when the Republic of Padokea was still a land of independent tribes, a man named Zol wandered into the land. Driven by a prophetic dream, he had walked now for nearly six years, traversing the landscape in search of a peak shrouded by dark, endless clouds.
As he found his way through the forest, he encountered three tribesmen, each bearing several spears on their backs with tips forged of a metal he had never seen. “What is this metal?” He asked.
“It is forged on the breath of dragons,” they replied.
“Where can I find some to forge my own?” he asked. Zol had grown in a land ravaged by war, and had held a knife as long as he could walk, but his blade had broken many years ago on the scales of a Magical Beast.
As one, they lifted their trembling fingers to point towards the forbidding cloud engulfing a peak not far from them. “But it is dangerous,” they warned him, “for thirty years now, the mountain has been swallowed by lightning and fire. No one goes there and lives.”
“I thank you for your warning,” Zol told them, “but I must go.” He did not tell them that Zol was also thirty, but he found in this heart that this was no coincidence.
Zol continued his journey to the mountain. He climbed its ridges buffeted by incredible wind, his vision obscured with billowing smoke, his skin burning from the superheated air. As he climbed he found himself suddenly in clear air. He was atop the mountain peak. Around him surged a spiral of lightning and fire entwined. A shadow passed him and he lifted his eyes.
Two gigantic serpents flew above him, one breathing fire and the other lightning. They were to the naked eye identical beside their power, green furry beasts with claws the size of trees, but Zol felt as though they were each emitting a sort of shimmering energy that he could barely discern- one red and the other blue.
They clashed in the air above them, tearing gouges in each others’ flesh. Scales and blood rained upon him, but it seemed unlikely that their battle would ever end.
Zol looked about him. He found that the dragons had scarred the mountain in their combat; jagged pieces of dragon-melted metal stuck up from the mountain like giants’ teeth.
Zol found the largest and deadliest of these pieces. He kicked at it with all his might, but it hardly even shook. Zol spent three weeks beating himself upon this jagged metal until at last it shook free. He forged gloves from the fallen dragon scales so that he might grasp this mighty weapon. Zol poised himself to strike, but he waited until the fire-breathing dragon was low enough that he might strike. He waited three days and three nights, and as the sun began to rise on the fourth, the red-flash dragon came low.
Zol speared his jagged dragon-forged metal into a gap torn between the dragon’s scales and pierced the creature’s heart. Without its fire breath, no more of the metal could ever be made.
The lightning dragon, puzzled by the sudden death of its archenemy, landed upon the peak. The strength of its beating wings nearly blew Zol from the mountaintop, but he held fast to the weapon embedded into dragonflesh. It took the living dragon several moments to spot the man covered in blood, surprised that such a tiny creature had done what itself could not.
“What,” it breathed in a voice that made the world shudder, “is your name, small creature whom I must thank?”
“My name,” he told the dragon, “is Zol.”
And this is the story of how Zol aided ShanLong in defeating HuoLong, who taught him how to use the lifeforce that flows through all creatures, founding the mighty Zoldyck clan upon that mountain itself, named Kukuroo.
—--
“That’s so cool!” Gon cried, a giddy grin stretched across his face.
“You know it’s probably just a story, right?” Killua snorted. He rolled his head on the grass to glance at Gon; his companion’s eyes were bright from the reflected moon and Killua bit his lip.
“It could be, though!” Gon laughed. He propped himself up on his elbows, leaning his chin on his shoulder as he looked back at Killua. “Your family learning nen from a dragon would explain a lot.”
“Or grandpa made it up because he’s weirdly obsessed,” Kurapika snorted. He couldn’t help smiling at Gon’s enthusiasm, though.
Gon rolled onto his stomach, army crawling closer. He leaned over Killua, blocking out the starry sky, very close, close enough to heat Killua’s cheeks. “It’s more fun if it’s true, though, isn’t it?”
Killua sputtered. He couldn’t lean away, there was nowhere to go. “If you say so.”
Gon smiled like he’d won something. He flipped over onto his back, resting his head on Killua’s chest. They looked up together at the shining stars, at a wispy cloud curling onto itself like a live thing.
It would be fun if it was true.