The Emerald Isles

There weren't always dragons in the Valley. They'd just shown up. No one knew what forced (supposedly?) their migration West but slowly they arrived. They'd abandoned their native homes rumoured to be atop unfathomable peaks in places rarely seen outside of a web search and settled in the mountains and forests of North America. And the humans did as humans do. First there was fear, then there was aggression, then curiosity, then cautious study and finally meandering acceptance. Now dragons were simply there. As if they'd always been, just like our powers. I suppose to an alien it might be impressive that my mom would levitate me out of bed when I was late but I'm sure they'd could do much more impressive things.

I remember the first time I saw a dragon. Sitting criss-cross on the floor of my school's gymnasium while an animal expert showed us some creatures - babies of course, for safety. I saw bear cubs, a fawn, and of course a tiny fledge. He explained where it came from, how many brothers and sisters it had, what it ate, and how big it would get. He even let us take a closer look. It cooed and stretched it's near transparent wings for our preschool delight. I remember running a single finger down it's spine of pliant spikes, giggling at the ticklish sensation.

As with every child confronted with a gargantuan lizard, I was enamoured. My brother favoured dinosaurs over dragons in his time - I suppose it was the mystery of them - but I loved dragons. There was something romantic and compelling about them to my budding senses. Could I keep one? Could I talk to one? Maybe I could make friends with them with the pepperoni off my pizza and they'd take me away to their dragon's hoard of treasure like something out of a Nick Cage movie?

Of course, time, and science class, had a way of taking the gloss off of one's imagination. Hand propped on fist, taking notes on ecosystems, the food chain, different genera.

Mr. Sampat's voice vibrating the air at a constant low level hum, Dragons are a part of the varanidae family of the reptilian class - spelling in on the slide. Like other members of that family, they are carnivorous and frugivorous but their diet varies dependent on region. Now for visually obvious reasons, evolutionary biologists posit that human-magic intervention caused these creatures to diverge so drastically in characteristics from their relatives but no empirical evidence currently exists to support that.

I wish I could tell you that I always had this deep, abiding awe for dragons. That I subconsciously had this deeper spiritual connection to them that flared to life one day. Or maybe that when I was a baby, the dragons marked me with a blessed destiny. But none of that would be true. I'm just me. Graduated high school just shy of honour roll, went to university to study literature and history, then to teacher's college. I mean I aced my Caster's test at 21, 90 percent-ish in all categories but I don't think that makes me some sort of standout of the human race. Seriously, I worked retail and fast food while in college. Then when I started my teaching career, it was another three years before I landed a pretty good spot at a private school.

And in the background, there were dragons. Like there were squirrels in the trees, there were dragons in the sky. Featured in ad campaigns for cologne or menswear or acting as mascots for sports teams. One would pass overhead and my niece would squeal her own preschool joy, pointing up to the deceptively small shadow. Naturally I'd look up too with a smile and an indulgent 'That's so cool!' My relation with dragons had faded to artistic designs on the covers of journals or that old necklace I couldn't wear anymore for fear of my skin turning green. Certainly not the archetype for the 'one' meant for what came next.

I'm not saying I didn't have things to be grateful for or that made my life special. My family was great. I had two amazing best friends. I loved my job and the adult phase of life had been kind to me. All I'm saying is that I never thought any of that would qualify me as the main character of any story other than my own.

But I was wrong.

I'd be flung into another story. Every humanities major knows that the heroic journey begins with the call to adventure and crossing the threshold. I suppose, fittingly enough, I was doing just that. So if there was ever a moment to become the heroine of this tale, it would've been then. The mythical day I signed for my condo.