The state of a Dragon’s soul

THE STATE OF A DRAGON’S SOUL

By Nathan Baxter

The thrumming of rain, the howling, and whistling of the wind through ancient untouched forest, sounds of undisturbed nature going about its life. All these sounds rose up the mountainside to a large well-worn opening creating a perfect lullaby for a hibernating dragon at the edge of the world.

Among the civilized races, it was unclear how long the lifespan of a dragon was, and outside of the scholarly types, it was becoming unimportant. The last dragon hadn’t been seen in eons, much longer than any member of any civilized race had been alive. Only ancient writings remained to inform on the habits of dragons. Some claimed, unless killed, dragons were immortal while others stated dragons lived for several hundred years and then died naturally.On the fringe, there were varying wild ideas that gained less support. A fringe theory that had been gaining popularity recently stated that all of existence was the dreams of an eldrich dragon and should it ever wake the world would end.

As a storm raged outside its cave, the hibernating dragon woke disturbed by the flickering of its dying soul’s fire. They raised their head to look towards the cave opening; watching the rapidly falling droplets, they knew the end was near. A dragon did not die unless its soul’s fire went out; otherwise, it could live forever. It takes profound sadness to extinguish a proud dragon’s soul, and even then the process is long and can take hundreds of years longer than any mortal life. The periods of hibernation grow longer until the dragon enters the final sleep.During the time since the last dragon was seen, the mortal’s cities had expanded. They built roads, cities, spires, work that took lifetimes. In their absence, mortals began to fear dragons. They feared a force that could wipe out all they had built in an instant. But the dragon did not want to destroy them. It simply wanted to live. So they retreated constantly, until there was nowhere left to go. This mountain range was the edge of the world. The last place mortals had yet to touch. They gazed one last time at the world. The sadness was deep and the end was near as they curled up for the final sleep.

Wailing cries, voices screaming, and shouting foreign sounds to this peaceful forest. The dragon woke, its soul flaring temporarily back to life with anger. They recognized these alien sounds. Had the other races reached this far already? Rage burned through their normally calm nature; they shot to their feet and out of the caves opening, their speed creating a boom and a shockwave. In an instant, they were above a section of forest where two groups were having a standoff. The dragon recognized both races, one a group of tall slender creatures with obsidian skin, pointed ears adorned with gold jewelry, and armor over quality fabrics wielding spears. The dark elves are a relatively long-lived race for mortals with a lifespan of some five hundred years. The dark elves seemed to be mostly dead or dying; they had been cornered, and as the dragon watched, the last one was struck down by the other race. The humans mounted on horses and armed with steel swords and armor spattered with dark elf blood were a much shorter-lived race that simply multiplied faster than they could die out with surprising durability and resourcefulness. The dragon did not care to consider the meaning of the races who had once been at peace killing each other; the only Peace they were concerned with was the peace of the forest. And soon the peace would return with only thoughts of rending, tearing, and burning they descended with great speed.

The impact of an angry dragon slamming into the ground was enough to unseat all the mounted humans, and startle their horses into a panic. Some reared up causing the humans to scramble to avoid the deadly flailing hooves while other horses galloped off into the trees. The dragon sent out a wave of fire swinging an arm and whipping its tail around, corralling the humans into the blaze. The dragon bit, tore, slashed, and burned until their forest was quiet again. The human flesh tastes corrupt so they spat it from their mouth, shaking blood and viscera from their face and talons. The temporary flare-up of their soul was fading. It was time to return home.

As the dragon spread its wings to take off, they heard a muffled cry from behind them where the bodies of the dark elves were. They pinpointed the sound coming from under a corpse. Gently extending a talon, they turned over the body to reveal a dark elf child. Even the dragon knew children were a rarity among long-lived races, especially to see one so young just a few years old outside the dark elf enclave located within the high elf territory. Now that peace had been restored the dragon had time to marvel at the strangeness of the dark elves being so far from their home, and pursued by humans. The dragon did not have a full understanding of the civilized races, just enough to know something had changed.

Can a dragon care for a mortal child? It could drink the nectar and water of the forest and fruit vegetation and meat were abundant. However, the dragon knew all too well the loneliness of being the only one of your kind. If there were dark elves to return it to, it should be taken back. The dragon did not want another creature to suffer its loneliness. They scooped the child into their mouth. It was the safest place for such a small creature to ride. It was warm and dry and protected from the elements while in flight. So with the child secured and a new purpose stoking the fire of their soul, the dragon took flight heading southeast.

The dragon knew the location of the dark elf enclave before they had been forced into retreat; the dragon often observed the territories of the civilized races. But as it flew the outlook was grim: the roads that had flowed with traffic like water were now dried up. The spires that had challenged the sky had crumbled. The cities of progress that had pushed the dragon to the world's edge now lay dead like scattered bones picked clean of carrion. There were flickering signs of life here and there, but it was as though a dark veil had descended over everything. When the dragon touched down in what was once the dark elf enclave it was little different, if not worse, than the rest of the site along the way. It gently let the child out of its mouth to stand shakily on its spindly legs. There were signs of violence: old blood, burnt pyres, and damaged structures. There was no one to return to. This child, like the dragon, was alone. The last of its kind. And so, the dragon wept. Throwing back its head in a wailing roar, steaming crystalline tears fell. But then, the world shifted.

“Big bir…..”

“Big bird.”

“Big bird no cry.”

The dragon's mourning was halted by these sudden words in their head; they lowered their head to see the child gazing up at them. This was elldrich magic: no mortal had been able to communicate with dragons in eons. Perhaps a dragon could care for a mortal child after all Perhaps neither of them were quite so alone after all. The dragon rejoiced as its soul roared back to life with purpose