The Last Dragon Keeper

The wind howled through the frostbitten peaks of the Eldyr Mountains as the girl climbed higher, her cloak snapping like wings behind her. She had no map, no guide, only the pendant around her neck—a tiny dragon scale glowing with emberlight—and the stories her grandmother once whispered by candlelight.

Her name was Kaelin, and today, she was seeking a ghost.

Dragons were gone. Burned out of the sky, hunted to extinction by kingdoms who feared their fire and coveted their hoards. With them vanished the order of Dragon Keepers—those ancient souls chosen to bond with the great beasts, not as masters, but as equals.

It had been a hundred years since the last flame-wing vanished into the clouds.

And yet the pendant still pulsed with life.

Kaelin found the cave at dusk, hidden beneath a natural stone arch, its mouth rimmed with frost and silence. She stepped inside, heart pounding. There were bones—old, bleached—scattered like forgotten history. But farther in, she saw it: a glow, soft and steady.

And then she saw him.

The dragon.

Massive and scarred, his scales dulled with age but still laced with molten threads, like veins of lava through obsidian. One wing was torn, his body curled protectively around something glowing faintly.

An egg.

Kaelin dropped to her knees. "You’re real," she whispered.

The dragon's eyes opened—two burning coals that seemed to peer into her soul. He growled, not with rage, but with warning.

“I didn’t come to harm you,” she said, voice trembling. “I came because… I think I’m one of them. A Keeper.”

He watched her. Then, slowly, he uncurled, revealing the egg fully.

Kaelin reached into her cloak and lifted the pendant. As she drew near, the scale glowed brighter, until the egg pulsed in response. Her breath caught.

The bond was real.

Over the following days, the dragon—Veyrion, he called himself in a voice like distant thunder—tested her. He spoke in riddles. He forced her to walk through freezing rivers barefoot, to sit in silence for hours beside the egg, to listen to the wind and name its direction, speed, and intent. When she asked why, he said only, "A Keeper must know more than fire. You must know the world, even when it forgets you."

She endured. Not for glory, or even the dragon egg. She endured because something inside her had always burned, something the world never understood. Now it had found its reflection in flame.

On the seventh night, the egg cracked.

Kaelin sat beside it, cradling the pendant. The dragonling emerged—a shimmering creature no larger than a dog, golden red with eyes bright as sunrise. It stumbled toward her, chirping curiously.

She extended her hand.

It nuzzled her palm.

And a searing heat rushed through her—visions, memories, the ancient knowledge of Keepers past: how to fly without wings, speak without words, and guard without fear.

She gasped, overwhelmed, as Veyrion spoke softly, "The flame remembers you."

But peace was fleeting.

That same night, soldiers arrived at the cave—mercenaries in black armor, led by a man with eyes colder than ice. General Rhalkar of the Iron Empire. They’d tracked the egg, believing it could be weaponized.

"Step aside, girl," he ordered. "That creature belongs to the crown now."

Kaelin stood, trembling but firm. "This dragon chooses no master."

The general sneered. "Then it dies with you."

He raised his sword.

Veyrion roared.

The battle that followed was fury incarnate. The ancient dragon leapt into the air despite his broken wing, raining flame upon the soldiers. Kaelin shielded the hatchling, guiding it to safety behind a fallen pillar. But the old dragon was slow, and Rhalkar was ruthless.

A blade pierced Veyrion’s chest.

He collapsed with a sound like mountains cracking.

Kaelin screamed. The pendant burned against her skin.

And the hatchling rose.

It opened its tiny jaws and released a cry—not of pain, but power. Flame erupted, not from its mouth, but from Kaelin’s soul. Fire poured through her veins, out her eyes, her fingertips.

She stood, glowing like the sun.

And the soldiers fled.

When the smoke cleared, Kaelin knelt beside the dying Veyrion. He looked at her with peace.

"I guarded the last flame until the world was ready to believe again," he said. "Now you carry it forward."

She pressed her forehead to his.

Then the great dragon exhaled one final breath—and turned to ash.

Years passed.

The kingdoms told tales of a fire-born girl and a golden dragon who lit the skies once more. Of villages defended, tyrants turned back, and magic restored to a land that had forgotten wonder.

But Kaelin never sought thrones or titles.

She traveled the old roads, teaching those who listened, protecting those who could not.

And on the highest peaks of Eldyr, dragons once again soared.

Because one girl had dared to believe.

Because the flame had chosen her.

Because she was…

The Last Dragon Keeper.