Dragons End

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley…

No.

I lured them here.

And I killed them all.

Every.

Single.

One of them.

And once the life had fled them, like fauna from a fire, I began to work.

I began to build pyres.

Hundreds of them.

Possibly thousands.

I lost count well before the last sacrificial moon.

The dragons lay atop them now, as if sleeping, though the rivers of blood staining their scales put to death any such innocent notions as slumber.

No, sleep did not come for these foul beasts, with their jagged yellow teeth and their endless, insatiable hunger.

Death came for them.

I came for them.

And on this mountain.

Overlooking this valley.

I wait for the remaining dragons to come.

Dragons are drawn to death. They come for the weak, and the dying, like reapers in the night. Embers glowing behind grinding teeth. Scales reflecting the phantom glow of the moon.

They were never the romanticised beasts described in children’s tales. Not ridden into battle. Ne’er befriended by a babe.

No.

Dragon’s are living, breathing nightmares.

But they are nothing compared to me.

I dip my fingers into the damp mud beneath my feet, lifting my hand to trace the lines of a warrior down my eyelids, across my face.

The sun is slowly sinking, night begins to swallow its light, the colours burning to ash as they disappear into the deep and unbroken black above.

No stars tonight.

Just the bruising clouds of an approaching storm.

A small smile curls the edge of my lips, until my eyes fall on the charred remains of a building perched on the side of a rise. A handsome little cabin made of charred wood and stone—

As least, it was.

… Before…

My fingers clench around the locket dangling from my neck, its delicate gold chain at odds with my dirt-covered fingers, my battered dragon-hide armour.

I frown and shove the necklace beneath my collar.

Shove the memories all the way down.

Drowning them.

I clench my jaw and force myself to focus on the dead dragons, the wooden pyres.

The surrounding towns had branded me a hero. A dragon slayer. The first and last of his kind.

Before me, no one dared kill a dragon.

Before me, we all lived in fear.

… Before…

I shake the thoughts from my head, gritty fingernails carving crescents in my palms.

I am no hero.

I never was and I never will be.

No matter what the villagers say, nor sing.

There is only one thing I want.

Vengeance.

Vengeance against the beasts that would steal something so perfect from my life, without even waiting for me to arrive to protect her—

Her.

A curse escapes my lips on the whisper of a frustrated breath.

I inhale once.

Twice.

Deep.

Calming.

Centring myself and forcing my mind to focus.

To watch.

To listen.

I close my eyes. Tilt my head.

…

There. In the distance. A thrumming. More a vibration than a sound. Like the beating of a thousand drums.

The wings of dragons.

My muscles tense as the wingbeats grow louder, the sound shifting from thrum to deafening thunder. The bruised clouds close over the sky above the valley and detonate, explosive lightning tearing across the sky. Illuminating the first of the dragons as they breach the horizon, their swarm parting seamlessly around the mountain peaks. And diving for their dead kin below.

I can hear the gnashing of their teeth above the thrashing of my heart, see the deep red glow of embers spilling over their tongues.

Ready to burn their brethren.

Ready to feast on their remains.

The first of the beasts parts its maw, jaws opening wide, and spews a flood of scalding, liquid flame. The flame collides with a dragons corpse, instantly catching on the pyre.

All across the valley, pyres begin to burn, the swarm of dragons tearing and clawing in a frenzy of talons and teeth.

And, one by one, as the flames reach the centre of each pyre, the barrels of nitros-powder buried beneath begin to explode.

Even from my place atop the mountain, I can feel the heat against my skin.

The savage screams become a symphony.

Beasts falling to the valley floor.

All save one.

One dragon who had landed on the highest peak, watching, and waiting, as if it had known…

And as the last of the dragons in the valley fell.

As the lightning again slashed across the sky.

That lone dragon lifted its scarred, massive head, looked me in the eyes, and turned away, dropping from the peak and disappearing into the dark, silent as a night without wind.

That was the night the hunt began…