A New Beginning

It was early morning. The sun was just rising over the horizon. Rays of golden light streaked across the ground through the columns of trees. The ancient trees were large and untouched and amicably over the space between them where travelers tread. The light struck her face, waking her. As she opened her green eyes and she saw the sun was a deep red. Some believed that the sun was a stone heated by an ancient, celestial dragon. The color reflected the dragon’s anger or fear. She never believed those fables—if there were an angry dragon there, surely it would make itself known.

She raised herself up from the patch of moss and needles she bedded in for the night. The air was cool and smelt of fresh pine. She shook the cold dew from her scales and used her spiky tongue to clean her long claws of dirt that accumulated while she slept. She stretched her muscles and sniffed the air, unsure of where to go next.

It had been a number of years since she had been to this part of the woodland. It was one of her favorite hunting grounds. The needled trees made walking through these lands much easier than leafy forests. There was less undergrowth, and the fallen needles on the ground were more comfortable to traverse. Her scales were a deep green which matched that of the needles. Her wing membranes were a pale green compared to her darker scales. Her coloration made it easier to hunt—especially during the cold seasons when the other forests’ trees lost their foliage. She had been away from this pine woodland for almost ten seasons. She often journeyed between different regions, so she does not over-hunt a particular area. The elk here will be fat and plump this time of year—and the time away ensures her prey have never encountered a dragon before.

The seasons came and went and nothing seemed to change. She had long lost count of how many suns and moons she had seen. She may have been isolated for more than a century. Since the war, she had preferred to be alone; it made things easier to ignore and forget. She was a young dragon of about 86 summers when the war ended. She was much larger now and close to the size of a dragon nearly 200 years old.

She was able to hunt three elk a few days prior and was still satiated. She began to walk away from the sun toward a nearby stream to quench her thirst. As she drank, she felt an urge in the back of her mind. She tried to ignore it and continue to drink. The urge grew and was drawing her back in the direction of the rising sun. She paused and contemplated what it could mean. She had felt this type of urge once before… before… but that was so long ago.

She walked through the tall trees, keeping her wings tucked close to her body so she could fit through. It was rare to have an area wide enough for her to open her giant wings to their full extent while in the woodlands. Unlike the leafy forests, the pine trees were tall and far apart which accommodated her large size. As she was drawn toward the sun, she felt anxious. Something was wrong, but she didn’t know what. The sun was low in the sky, fully crested over the horizon. The sun was still a deep, blood red.

The further she traveled, the more she felt the urge. Her heart began to race as she sniffed at the headwind. Burning wood, copper, and blood suffused the air. She stopped. The blood was unlike that of her prey—it smelt… human. Memories of the war assailed her mind. She and her kin had fought alongside humans in the war that spanned most of her youth.. The final battle had left all sides decimated… very few dragons had survived. After the battle, the ground, the rivers, the air, and the sun itself red from the blood.

Many of the eldest and wisest dragons passed to the void during their last stand. The dragons eventually “won,” but at a terrible cost. She was unsure if any humans had survived the last stand since she was gravely injured during the fighting.. Once she was healed enough to leave the healing caves, she did so and pursued isolation—as did the other few remaining dragons. The wounds of war had long healed, but, in her heart, the memories haunted her still. She hadn’t seen another dragon since.

Soon, the memories began to fade away and she returned to herself. Her heart beat even faster than before, and she became hyper-aware of her surroundings. Time seemed to slow down. The smell of blood and fire increased, carried by the cool breeze of the morning. She felt compelled to keep moving forward. Her tongue snaked out of her mouth, and she could taste cooper in the air. More cautiously than before, she stalked onward.

She heard a muffled sound and stopped to listen closer. She could hear the faint sound of flame burning wood, but she also heard something she didn’t fully recognize. It reminded her of those past battles where she often heard humans make when mourning their dead.. This sound, however, was muffled and higher pitched then the soldiers of memory, but the sound was distinctly human. The drive to move forward was stronger than ever.

As she approached, she came across a small clearing where she saw a small cabin lying in embers. A small fire still burned on the fallen roof amongst the bigger logs that made up the structure. The smell of blood was thick in the air. Three bodies lay broken on the ground. As she approached, the bodies became more familiar. They had dark grey skin pulled tightly over a human-like skeleton. Long spikes protruded from their elbows and foreheads, natural weapons used to inflict great harm on their enemies. Their legs were similar to those of a horse, save for having four toes, each with its own long, black claw, and elongated dewclaws, which helped their power and balance. Their necks were elongated and stooped forward. Their arms were long enough for their claws to drag on the ground when walking. These creatures seemed to be in a constant forward motion, even when standing still. They were taller, faster, and stronger than humans and their legs allowed them to jump over a fully grown dragon with ease. Their strength and speed allowed them to attack dragons from behind and above. They were called “Andergouls,” in the humans’ tongue and were their common enemy during the war. During the final battle, one andergoul jumped and drove his elbow spike into her left wing socket almost ruining her flight muscles completely. The creature was torn in half for its troubles, but the bleeding was severe, causing her to collapse shortly after. She was Lucky to survive, and luckier still that her her wing has healed without major issues. She rolled her wing in its socket and shook the memory from her head—she needed focus. The crying grew louder; waxing and waning in waves of intensity.

She studied the creatures’ bodies and noticed their jet-black claws were stained with dried blood. One was missing an arm and had a mortal wound across its stomach. The second had a broken blade impaling its bony chest. Both were still and obviously dead. The third’s skin was burnt almost beyond recognition as if it were engulfed in an intense flame. As she looked out over the clearing, the crying had become a small whimper.

As she surveyed the clearing and inspected the ruined cabin, she noticed the body of a human lying in a pool of dried blood. She knew little about humans overall, but she knew the body was male. His body still and his skin a dark blue hue. Next to the body lay a broken sword—most likely the one embedded in the fallen andergoul’s chest. The sight of the creatures and the smell of blood, death, and fire made her heart rate and breathing erratic. Her vision blurred and she couldn’t focus on what was happening. Memories of the battles she endured and survived pressed on her with exceeding force. The smells triggering memories she was hoping to forget and sorrows she tried to ignore during her isolation…

Why was her mind pulling her here? Still, She was drawn forward.

Her eyes focused and the world seemed to return around her. She stared at the human’s body. He had wounds on his legs, chest, and across his face, and the smell of death lingered over him. She could tell that he had passed to the void many hours earlier. His right leg was outstretched at an awkward angle, clearly broken and mangled. She noticed a small movement. Wrapped in his arms, was a small human, whimpering into his wounded chest.

The feeling in her mind that was drawing her stopped. She took small steps towards the human and the youngling lying on the man’s broken body. She had only interacted with warriors and sorcerers during the war and knew little of their culture or society. She had seen a few human younglings in their city of tents while marching to war, but it was difficult to remember. The lives of humans are so short compared to those of dragons. She remembered seeing humans so small that they could not walk or talk—or do much of anything at all. When dragons hatch from their eggs, they can hunt small animals and insects on their own. Dragons had their families nearby while they grew to protect and teach the hatchlings their culture and customs. When she hatched, she was part of a small group of woodland dragons. Most of those she remembered returned to the embers during the war. While thinking of her parents, she knew this young human was the child of the dead man. She got as close as she dared and sat patiently and watched the youngling wrapped in its father’s arms.

The youngling continued to cry and slowly raised its small head to look at her. Despite the damage, she could see the resemblance between the man and the child. Now that she could see his face, she could see he was a very young male. His eyes were red and puffy from crying. Lines of tears had made paths through the dried blood of his father on his cheeks. He slowly stood from his father’s cold embrace and turned to face her. The front of his shirt was caked with dried blood and mud, and his pants ruined. She felt that he was the one calling to her—this young, small human.

They locked eyes and froze. His hair was black and he had deep amber eyes that glowed strangely. On his palms was black soot. Despite everything else being burned, the only soot on the child was on his palms. She had seen such sorcery during the war. Humans who could conjure flames from their hands–leaving their palms sooty.

The child’s eyes began to water, and he whimpered. The child began to walk towards her. The young boy was no taller than her forefoot. She flattened herself to the ground and the boy began to run towards her crying harder as he approached. He embraced her green scaly nose and grieved for his father. The child spoke a few words in his language but it was hard for her to understand him. It has been so long since she had heard or used their words. “Help,” he said between his sobs. “Hide. Be quiet. Hide. Be quiet.” He brought his finger to his lips and made a “shush” sound. Holding fast to the dragon, he sobbed and sobbed.

Dragons communicate differently than humans; they speak with their minds in their own ancient language and with images. Some dragons who served with humans learned how to speak their language, but it was difficult to formulate words due to their snouts and long barbed tongues. She could speak in the humans’ tongue, but decided to try and speak with the child using her mind. She reached out, and trying to remember the human words asked, “you… hurt?”

The boy stopped crying when he felt the contact. She could feel the boy shake his head against her scaly nose. The boy squeezed her nose harder and began to cry without tears. The dragon felt the boy say “scared,” within her mind. She cannot remember any fables, stories, legends nor had she ever experienced a human communicating with a dragon this way. She decided to speak to the child in the dragon's tongue. “You are safe, relax now, youngling.” She could feel the boy’s body relax. She slowly raised her head, careful not to knock the boy over or harm him. She smelt the air to further survey the area. She could not smell anything save the bodies and burning rubble. She lifted and stretched her wings. The sun was at its zenith and the sun, shining through the thin membrane of her light green wings, gave the meadow an alerian hue. Rough scars could be seen across the membranes where she had been injured during her various battles. The boy walked to her side and laid next to her warm underbelly. She wrapped her tail around the boy and slowly lowered the wing over his small body. This is why I came… this is why I was drawn here… she thought to herself. She felt him fall asleep and she stood guard over him.

A few hours later, the sun was high in the sky. The child woke up asking for his father. The dragon reached out with her mind and tried to project a sense of comfort to the child. “We cannot stay here young one,, we need to leave” in the dragons’ language. Using her massive wings to separate the child from the gruesome scene around them, she walked with the child to the edge of the forest. He was reluctant to leave but followed her, trying to take one last glimpse at the cabin. He whispered, “daddy… get up… daddy…”

They walked into the woodland for a short distance and saw a bush adorned with fresh berries next to a small stream. The child stopped and yelled “hungry!” and ran to pluck off and eat the sweet berries. While the child ate, the dragon tried her best to communicate with him. The youngling was able to talk to her with images and a small number of simple words. His mind was scattered and jumped from one thought to another in a jumbled mess. He thought of his father often. She was slowly remembering human words, but spoke to him in her native tongue, and he seemed to understand. The human seemed too young to be able to communicate like the humans she remembered used to, so they used images instead. This made communication crude and cumbersome, at first.

The sun was setting while the boy ate. Once his belly was full of berries, he climbed to her warm belly where she carefully wrapped her tail around him and covered him with her pale green wing. He seemed content and drifted again into a deep sleep. Once she knew he was asleep, she laid her head down and closed her eyes and slept.

They had been traveling for two days and continued to communicate mentally. Their bond grew and they were able to communicate effectively after a few days. They were headed north toward the Tower of Embers—a tower much older than she was. The tower, which had been abandoned since the war, was next to a giant lake that the humans called the Lake of Fire. Humans who could use fire practiced their skills and trained there as sorcerers. Very few humans could make fire. She never understood why they needed to train; she could make fire so naturally she had to be careful sneezing.

She was shocked how often the youngling needed to stop to rest—how did humans get anything done? He also struggled over rough terrain, so she would pick him up with her large forefoot and move him over stony paths. It was uncomfortable to carry him in her long talons for long distances, and he would protest the entrapment. She could have walked the distance to the tower in 2-3 days without rest. He would sometimes call for his father in a loud voice and sit and cry when no he heard no answer.

The hatchling also asked for food constantly, so she would use her claws to move and crack open logs to find small animals that she could then cook with her flame for him. On the third day of making limited progress, she laid as flat as she could on the ground and instructed the child to climb onto her back. He happily climbed and sat at the base of her neck. The pair, through a growing mutual trust, were becoming more and more comfortable together. He rested while she walked through the woods—now she would be able to make some progress... The sun’s beams shone through the pines in great columns as the great sphere began to set. The youngling yawned and fell asleep on the dragon’s neck as she walked, as the sun set below the horizon.

Suddenly, her vision changed. The world around her shifted. She froze. Everything looked different; she was small, and she felt someone holding her claw or, rather, her hand. She realized she was seeing what the child saw. She must have been pulled into his memories while he was sleeping. She, or he, or, rather, they, seemed to be walking in the woods with their father. She felt that the boy was happy.

It was a strange sensation. She was viewing the world through his eyes and feeling through his heart. She was unable to control their movements, but was, instead, just an observer of his world. She, or rather, they, were holding their father’s hand. The boy's father was happy and singing a simple song while they talked and laughed towards their cabin. They saw smoke rising in the distance, and something seemed to be moving ahead of them, quickly. The father froze. He dragged the boy behind a large rock. He went to his knee and locked eyes with him. “Be quiet now, you need to stay hidden. Hide, be quiet, and stay here.” He brought his fingers to his lips and made a shushing sound. His father pulled out the sword he always carried with him. The boy waited behind the rock and watched his father walk slowly towards their cabin. The boy was unsure of what to feel. The seconds turned to minutes, but he stayed hidden like his father told him to. The youngling heard screeching and his father yelling. He covered his ears. The intensity of the noise, which seemed to be ever increasing, soon stopped as suddenly as it began.

The youngling waited. He looked toward the clearing and heard noises he couldn’t recognize. He walked slowly towards the clearing where an arm lie on the ground, dark liquid slowly oozing from it. A hideous monster also lie on the ground, its one remaining hand on its stomach. This monster was still, but the boy saw his father fighting a second. Blood streaming from his chest and his leg, which was held awkwardly below him, his father parried strike after strike from the creature until finally embedding his blade into his foe’s bony chest. The creature turned and struck with such force that the blade snapped as the father was thrown across the clearing near their cabin. The monster fell to its knees and died. The boy gasped and tried to yell, but nothing came from his mouth. Another anderghoul appeared, stalking towards his father. It stood over the father and made a noise, laughter, perhaps. The boy’s father was struggling to breathe and trying to bat the monster away with his broken blade. Tossing the sword just out of reach. The creature stood over the man, slowly dragging a single claw across his cheek, causing him to scream. The monster then dug his claws into his father’s stomach. The boy felt something well up inside him. He screamed. The monster turned towards him. The father shouted “NO! Run! Hide! Be quiet!” The creature began walking slowly toward the boy, then ran straight toward him... The youngling’s emotions sent a warm surge through his body and lifted his arms. He closed his eyes tightly and screamed with all his might.

The next thing he saw was the creature withering en flamme. The boy ran to his father and lay on his chest. His father wrapped his arms around him and said, “I’m so sorry, I love you, I’m sorry... You’ll be okay.” He was coughing and gasping for air. He felt him going still and he began to cry. He didn’t understand what was happening. Why wasn’t he moving? Why wouldn’t he open his eyes? Why wouldn’t he answer? An image flashed before the dragon, interrupting the child’s visions; it was the Tower of Embers. But not as she remembered, it was broken.

Suddenly, she was back in her own body and she gasped. Her vision was blurred and she realized she had been crying. She felt tears dripping down the deep green scales of her neck as the boy also cried and cried. The dragon tried to impart a sense of safety by saying “you are safe now. I will keep you safe.” The boy’s body relaxed, and, soon enough, he was back into a deep, dreamless sleep.

The dragon walked all through the night; she didn’t need to rest as often as humans did. With the child on her back, the trek was quick. The sun began to return over the horizon and was blood red under the sky. She thought about the ancient one who, some thought, was charged with keeping the sun alight with dragon-fire and whose prophecies were therefrom read. She never believed the tales—but the sun was only this red on the day she met the boy and today.

The horizon went from black to red, to gold, to yellow, to blue. The columns of light spread like fingers on the ground amongst the tall trees. The boy stirred, and the dragon eased him off his back. Ever since the boy shared his memories with the dragon, she had felt a stronger connection to the hatchling. She hadn’t felt this way in a long time. Before the war, she was only able to lay a clutch of eggs, but they would never hatch... But she was starting to feel as if this boy was one of her own.

They walked to a small stream that was teeming with fish. The fish were keeping pace with the flow of the water, waiting for food to come toward them. The dragon was able to catch a few small fish and cooked them with her flame. The boy sat and ate with zeal. His belly full, he ran his hand across his protector’s green scales and climbed to his place on her back.

It was midday when they arrived at the Tower of Embers. She stood at the edge of the forest and observed an unfamiliar, small town built around the tower. Behind the tower was a very large lake to which the stream flowed. The tower was broken, like in their shared vision. The remaining structure was still the height of four dragons, snout to tail. The broken rubble next to the tower was larger still. The makeshift stone buildings that made up the town were built from the fallen stone. Some humans, maybe 10 or so, were moving towards some fields to attend to the sheep and other livestock they had, as well as their crops. Everyone stopped as she emerged from the midday forest.

Now, without trees to block the sun’s rays, her green scales shone brilliantly, sending flecks of green light in every direction. The humans stared at her in awe. An older man was standing at the foot of the tower. He had robes similar to the sorcerers she remembered. She made her way toward him while the villagers looked on in silence.

“Hail, dragon,” he yelled, as he raised his hand. He stood no taller than her knee. He smelt like the boy on her back. “It has been a long time since one of your kind has visited us here. No one here has ever seen a dragon before!” The dragon did not respond but studied the man, unsure of what to do. She continued her approach and noticed the robes he wore were old and tattered. The robe was a deep grey, with red thread outlining its contours. On the cuffs were small burn marks. The hair on the man’s face and head was grey. He looked at the boy on her back. “I see you have the boy with you. Please tell me, where is his father?”

The hatchling began to whimper and she felt warm tears on her back as the boy climbed off of her. She lowered herself carefully to the ground allowing him to slide down her forefoot to the ground. The boy ran to the old man, hugging him tightly. He whispered, “daddy was fighting. He is asleep now. He won’t wake up.”

“I’m sorry sweety,” the old man said. “You’re safe now. You can stay with us here.” He turned to the dragon and said, “tell me old one, has my son entered the void?”

The dragon nodded as humans do.

“Ah, that is unfortunate… This boy is my grandson. My son did not have the gift of fire, but he enjoyed living close to us here. It is troubling that he has passed. Tell me, how did he die?” the old man asked, as a door in the tower opened behind him. An older woman emerged from the broken tower in a clean black and red dress, wiping her hands on an apron tied around her waist. She stopped as she saw the dragon standing before her. The child ran to her and hugged her tightly. The hatchling looked back at the dragon and smiled. The old woman picked up the child and exchanged a look with the old man. He nodded at her, and the old woman carried the boy to a small stone building adjacent the tower. As the small door shut, the dragon felt a small tug in her mind.

She tried to communicate with the old man as she did with the hatchling, but he did not acknowledge her and was unable to hear her. The dragon spoke slowly in the human tongue. It was difficult after many years of never using her voice. Luckily, spending days with the child helped her remember enough of their words to communicate with the old man. Her deep voice resonating through her neck, she told the story as best she could. The old man leaned against the wall as she told the tale of the andergouls. Tears welled up in his eyes but failed to fall. His voice shaking, he asked, “are you sure the boy made fire?” She nodded, as humans do. His surprise deepened still when he learned they could communicate with their minds.

The old man said to the dragon, “I have heard legends, but did not believe them. The first one with the gifts—my own grandson—he never showed any…” He seemed lost in his thoughts for several minutes. He seemed to remember her presence, even though she was giant next to him. He raised his hands and said, “Please forgive me, for it’s much to think about. Stay with us as long as you wish. We do not have much to offer, but what is ours is yours.” The old man shouted to a few people who had been watching and listening and whispered something to them. “Dragon, we have a clearing next to the tower on the lakeshore where you can rest, if you wish. It should be able to accommodate your size.”

She felt the need to stay, the small tug in the back of her mind keeping her here. The villagers offered the dragon a cow and gave her an area large enough to accommodate her if she wanted to rest. She hadn’t had a proper meal since finding the boy and realized now that she was very hungry. The cow was terrified to be next to the dragon. She clamped her large jaws on the neck of the animal, killing it instantly, before cooking it with her flame. After her meal, she lay down in the setting sun, her scales glittering like the water itself in the fading sunshine. Small faces appeared around her at times, which stared at her in awe. She had not seen any humans for one hundred and twenty years and deduced, based on her knowledge of their short lifespans, that these humans have never seen a dragon before. She didn’t mind; it was nice to be admired. As the sun continued to set, the lake and sky turned a deep yellow and red. Lake of fire, the dragon thought to herself. After the sun was set, she closed her eyes and fell asleep.

The following morning, the dragon felt something against her soft belly, under her wing. She lifted her wing slowly, where the young boy stirred. The youngling was sound asleep, so the tugging in the back of her mind was gone again, for now. The dragon laughed to herself, which came out as a low hum across her body. She was content—maybe even happy—when she was with this human.

When the child awoke, he hugged the dragon’s side and yawned lazily. He was clean and in new clothes, which included a small wooden sword on his belt and a small shield in his hand. His grandmother came out of their home, shouting for him to return. The dragon lifted her wing high to reveal the escapee. She lowered her snout down to the hatchling and urged him to return to his grandmother. He hugged her green scaly nose and walked to her foreleg to climb onto her back. Once he was in position, he took out his toy sword and held it high in the air. She walked back towards the small stone building with the boy. The boy shouted and waved his wooden sword to impress his grandmother. She was very relieved to know where her grandson was and said “thank you, old one.” The boy climbed down from her back to slide down the dragon’s foreleg, as per their increasingly familiar routine. He ran to his grandmother and hugged her.

She knew she couldn’t stay any longer; she could not raise this hatchling away from humans. It was clear that these humans did not have enough food for her. She walked toward the lake to stretch her long wings and prepare to fly. She moved her wings and fanned the ground. She much preferred to walk along the forest ground, and did not fly often since injuring her wing fighting the andergouls. She would travel to another forest and continue her isolation.

“Old one!” she heard the grandfather cry. She stopped and turned to look at him. The hatchling was next to him holding onto his grandfather’s robe–wooden sword in hand. When he was close enough not to shout, he said, “dragon, the winds are changing. Some words from my ancestors are coming to fruition. Thank you for returning my kin to me safely. For that I, and perhaps all of us, are in your debt. He has grown attached to you. I know humans and dragons solemn speak now, but there is a new beginning on the horizon. I do believe we will meet again.” She was surprised by his words, but she knew in her heart he was right.

She bent her long snout down to the boy who hugged her scaly nose tightly. She said bye to the boy in the dragon’s language. She growled as amicably as she could before running toward the lake, launching herself into the sky. The villagers, going about their morning rituals, stopped and watched her display. Using the cold air currents coming from the lake’s water, she rose slowly into the sky. She gazed at the old man’s cottage and felt that familiar pull. The boy was waving his arm as a farewell.

Something was changing. It was time to find the others.