The Clash That Changed Everything
The first thing I smelled was sulfur. Then came the roar—so loud it rattled my teeth, so hot it singed the hair on my arms. Ignis rounded the peak of Mount Vyrn, its scales a mosaic of embers, wings blotting out the sun. I gripped my sword, knuckles white, and shouted into the wind: “This ends today!”
Stupid. So stupid.
I charged first, blade slashing at its legs. The steel bounced off its hide like a pebble. Ignis reared, claws swiping. I dove, but its tail caught me square in the ribs. I hit the rocks hard, vision exploding into stars. My sword skittered away, handle snapping on a boulder. “Pathetic,” the dragon rumbled, smoke curling from its fangs. “You think a sword scares me?”
It loomed over me, jaws opening. Fire glowed in its throat—orange, then white, then searing. I shut my eyes, waiting for the end. But the blast never came. When I peeked, Ignis was staring past me, at the village below. A child’s scream cut through the air.
That’s when it hit me. Not the fire. Purpose.
I scrambled up, ignoring the pain, and sprinted for the forest. Elara’s hut was a mile away, but I ran like the devil was at my heels—because he was. She found me collapsed on her doorstep, blood seeping through my tunic. “Foolish boy,” she said, but her eyes softened. “Strength isn’t steel. It’s choice.”
For weeks, I trained. No more swords. She taught me to weave magic from the earth: vines that coiled like shields, mist that dulled fire, words that hummed with the quiet power of protection. My hands shook at first, but every time I faltered, I heard that child’s scream.
Ignis returned at dusk, smoke trailing from its jaws, villagers scattering. I stepped into the clearing, not with a weapon, but with my palms up. “Leave them be,” I said. My voice didn’t shake.
It laughed, a sound like cracking stone. “You again? Come to die properly?” Fire erupted from its mouth. I didn’t run. I closed my eyes, channeling every lesson, every scream, every promise. A barrier of light burst from my hands—pale blue, like dawn—catching the flames, turning them to sparks that fizzled harmlessly.
Ignis froze. “What… is this?”
“Not a fight,” I said. “A warning. These people haven’t hurt you. Why hurt them?”
Its tail twitched. “They fear me. They hate me.”
“Then prove them wrong,” I said. “Leave. And never come back.”
For a heartbeat, I thought it would incinerate me. Then, slowly, it lowered its head. “You are not a warrior,” it said. “You are a guardian.” With a final glance, it spread its wings and soared into the clouds, leaving only the smell of ash and the quiet gasp of the village behind.
I sank to my knees, exhausted, as the villagers rushed to me. A little girl pressed a flower into my hand—daisy, crumpled, but still bright. “Thank you,” she said.
I looked up at the sky, where Ignis had vanished. Maybe dragons weren’t just monsters. Maybe even they could choose to be better.
And maybe, just maybe, so could I.
