"One Day..."

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. Time had worked its patient magic, and their presence was now familiar, but all ached for the day they could return to their home in the far east. Even after generations, the villages around the Valley carry a fog of uneasiness towards the Valley.

Before the dragons, the Valley was already a world-renowned geologic wonder, cradled in the bosom of the Headless Mountains; named for their truncated peaks. There, in a space five miles in radius, the ground had collapsed eons ago leaving a deep crater now overgrown with natural orchards and flowering deciduous trees. The edges were long worn by nature’s gentle machinations, eroding the once-sharp ridge into a softer slope that then angled sharply at a still navigable angle towards the true wonder.

At its deepest point, against the mountainside, was the yawning of a cave two hundred feet wide and three hundred feet high. All foliage ceased there. Within, past the main chamber, was an extensive network of sizeable tunnels. The rock was a confounding swirl of every stony shade imaginable. Many adventurous souls would travel to the Valley to explore since most of the immediately accessible tunnels were safe. Accidents happen, of course.

Then, a hundred years prior to the dragons’ arrival, a thread of disappearances alarmed the region. Search parties would either find nothing or disappear without a trace. So drastic was the change that it bought the world’s attention. Especially when people began to dart madly from the depths, wild-eyed and babbling incoherently. Those poor souls never survived the night. All attempts to understand the mystery led to nothing. The large masses dwindled, drawing only curious daredevils who thought they could heroically shed light on the matter. Others would come to camp in the Valley, but not explore what had become colloquially known as The Mouth of Death.

The village nearest the Valley, Noferu, knew better, warning visitors that even camping in the Valley’s forest was no longer safe, for many campers had begun to disappear as well. They spoke of a miasmic fog that roiled up from the earthen maw at night and would fill the bowl like a witch’s cauldron. Some heeded the warning and camped along the edge. Of those that didn’t, half would never be found. Fear of the Valley isolated the surrounding region, but myths of the place were told worldwide. So, the mystery was known even to the reaches of the farthest east.

When the first dragons arrived, they were few and far between, with one or two occasionally spotted. The people of Noferu would see them from afar; flying dots soaring over the mountain range and swooping down to the dreaded Mouth. They gave them only a passing glance, shaking their heads and going back about their business. When their arrival became more commonplace, the whispers began.

The day they came in great number the villagers hurried to the Valley’s edge. They beheld in stunned terror flocks of dragons of all ages and sizes, sometimes over a hundred in number, all crying out in exhaustion and despair. Each dragon carried various heavy packs. Long water skins lashed to their sides hung empty. They tumbled through the trees in an exhausted daze, crashing like thunder through the underbrush as they galumphed down the slopes, scrambling for what the people could only imagine was their death.

Clearly, they had traveled from their empire. It was an entire world away, past the Rosu Ocean and over the entire eastern continent. It was as far east as one could travel. Their exhaustion was little wonder, but their reason was an unsettling enigma.

Among the people of Noferu was their matriarch, who watched with furrowed brow. She stood tall with an ebony staff in hand adorned with a fox skull. She, like her people, had bronze skin. Her hair cascaded long and full in alternating colors of natural red and brown. She was wrapped in scarves of greens and browns. Ornamenting her from head to foot were beads, bones, and copper amulets. Similar ornamentations dripped from the skull like a mane.

Questions assailed her from without and within. She reached out her will to the magical link she had with all matriarchs to see what information she could glean. Her people watched as she, still standing, fell into a closed-eyed trance. She swayed gently with a calm expression as the riveted crowd waited. When the swaying stopped, she unclipped the tassels of her headband from her hair and let them tumble down to obscure her face before opening her eyes. This was standard practice to be sure onlookers would not read too deeply into her expressions.

In a lilting, gentle voice she said, “Let me think before I speak. I have much to navigate.”

The crowd reluctantly let her pass in quaking silence. They looked back to see the dragon prince himself crest over the mountains, notable by the iridescence of his scales. He landed at the Mouth with a raging and mournful roar that cracked and trembled. His lament echoed down into the mountain tunnels as he bolted into the blackness. Paralyzed by the sight and sound they stared down into the green expanse. Though they had lost sight of his they could hear his booming shouts fading into the rock. The dragons that arrived behind him replied in high notes of reflected sorrow. The haunting reverberations turned their skin ice-cold. Now numb with shock, the crowd turned from the painful modulations of the augury and returned to the familiarity of home.

No ruins are left of the village’s edifices now; turned to much-needed scrap. The empty lot was converted into a sacred place. Sadly, the only offerings it received were reverent glances from passersby. None would visit the graveyard. Few dared ache their heart to read the words chiseled deep on the stone monument erected at its entrance. Even vines respected their placement, framing the bold words: “One day…”