Mighty Dragon

1

It was like yesterday; I remembered the wool felt blanket rubbing against my nose as I tried to look out from the basket. I couldn’t see much besides a blurred group of men negotiating and the smell of crisp cedar wood burning. I stuck out my tongue and wiggled my head; the man holding the basket quickly tossed the wool felt across my face. The basket traded hands only after the deal concluded, revealing me behind the blanket.

“It’s a baby!” the snotty voice I was soon to know too well yelled at the merchant.

“You can’t just buy it grown; you have to build a bond with it, or it will rip you apart!”

“Little fella, would you rip me apart?” The snooty brat turned his attention to me, using a tone of voice meant for a child.

I opened my mouth, feeling the hot breath slowly heat up, and I could have, but I knew I shouldn’t.

“Come on, boy, we have work to do.” He holstered me up and out of the basket. “You’ll ride with me” He smiled, his childish snot fading away.

I remembered being brought up to his carriage, sitting on his small, boyish thigh as I spread out what I had of my body at that time of adolescence. As the carriage turned, I let out a cry.

“Already war-hungry?” the boy chuckled, laying his hand on my head above my eyes.

We rode through the destruction; cedar trees toppled each other, and familiar faces, now turned to bones. Across the valley, it spread far and wide until the open sea stopped its destruction. This was war, and my new master, born into royalty and destined to rule, was at its head. This marked the beginning of our journey together. Me as his loyal beast, a trophy in the lose-lose game of war.

2

Over the years I learned from watching, listening, and hearing my master ramble to me. My master is King Barsh; his father died in combat right before we met. I was his first purchase as a king and would soon set him apart from the rest. I gathered many kingdoms. Barsh surprisingly was more tame than I thought he’d be when I met him; his war-ready persona was put on the mantle as if it were a coat when we got back.

He had just turned thirteen when I met him; he was coming back home to train. Everyone saw his boyish and sweet ways, even if he did try to hide them under his snotty tone and arrogance of a royal, but I quickly found out. We were in his room, a wide, dark space, a concrete castle with the hollow feeling of one, a wide window looking out onto the town, which I perched in front of, looking out. His demeanor changed as he sat down next to me and rubbed my back.

“You see, my boy, my father would say.” We both looked out; it was midday, and kids were playing, men carrying lumber through town, as women sewed and gardened the paths they walked.

“We fight for this, for this peaceful and no one can take it away from us as long as I’m here.”

There was a smooth loveliness to it; the sun shone, the breeze ran across your face but the people were cheerful, playful, and safe under King Barsh.

“Now that my father is gone.” His tone got a little darker; I could hear him holding in his emotions as he pushed the snot back through his nostrils, making a revolting sound.

“Now my father is gone.” King Barsh continued, “I must protect my people. The kingdoms know we are weaker now than we will ever be, and that this is the time to strike.”

King Barsh seized me and raised me up. Despite the intense closeness, Brash’s presence made me feel secure.

“I…” he stuttered. “We must protect these people, these children, and our honor!”

3

The next morning, a man came and brought us to the training room, where everyday forward King Barsh and I went. I watched him train. He started as a scrawny kid with long blond hair and a soft jawline; slowly over the years, his muscles grew. His jawline tightened and his demeanor hardened. I grew up too; soon I learned to run, then fly, and I hardly recognize myself.

King Brash had warned me that men would come for our land. I thought this day would arrive quickly. However, six years have passed since I got here, and no one has attacked. I was believing it might never happen.

King Brash was in the garden, sparring with a boy around his age. They traded hits with wooden sticks, going back and forth. I watched from our castle. The boy possessed more patience than Brash and could have defeated my master with a clever move. However, Brash’s intimidating demeanor visibly frightened him, especially when Brash’s hidden intensity flared in his eyes.

A pulse that rushed through him, a weak point that gave away his intentions. Brash is hungry for power, for women, and for riches; what drives him also weakens him.

I remember that moment as the start of everything. A guard ran through town, picking up speed as he headed for the garden. I watched, unconcerned. The men’s audacity should have warned me, but I didn’t realize the danger until I saw the crowds of attackers descending on the town. They spread across the valley, swords raised, war horses at their ready.

King Barsh ran into the room earlier than usual.

“Come on, boy.” He grabbed me and tried to shift my weight away from the open window. “I’ve got to hide you.” I followed, and into the darkness I went.

“Stay here and don’t come out until you see me.” He was off in a breath.

It was a few hours, or at least it felt like it , until he was back. I could hear the yelling of men, the swords clashing against each other and the force men had on their horses; we animals alike feel each other’s pain. I hated hearing it, but it made me want to come out, open my mouth on these mean, scum of men.

Are you ready, boy? He opened the door, and I slowly came out, my tail slowly sliding across the stone. The sky was orange in the distance, and the town was dark below. People held torches for their light. King Brash quickly got on my back; I let him mount me, and I slowly approached the open window.

“They’re trying to take our land, hurt our people; let’s scare them some.” He whispered in my ear before holding his sword high, and in one motion, I took off.

The heat of fire stormed my lungs and came out, as a flaming ball of fire out into the sky. I didn’t want to hurt anyone, and I didn’t have to. Once people saw King Brash on my back, my stretched-out body in the sky. I heard swords dropping and screams as the men’s feet moved quickly.

I could only hear them yell one thing: my name. The fear in their voice as they screamed made me unsettled, scared of myself even.

“Dragon!”

4

“My dragon,” King Brash scampered his hands around my head. Saying in a voice you would speak to a dog or a baby, “My dragon, my mighty dragon.” He hollered, I could tell his power ran in his veins and the rush was going to his head, rather quickly.

Soon after that we didn’t just prospect our land, but we took others. The king and Dragon is the oldest tale, and we were a nightmare before we were reality. I went along thinking each time we’d swipe out a village that King Barsh would feel as it was enough, but it never was. I started being able to breathe my fire into the sky, scaring people but never meaning to hurt them. King Brash made me hurt the villagers. He’d grab my neck forcefully with both hands, aiming my fire towards them while setting homes and trees ablaze.

After the years passed, there was nothing left of the boy I saw hope. The boy who only wanted his people, his village safe. He had spent little time in his castle because of his obsession with taking over others.

I think about the boy who wore armor a size or two too big and a goofy blue undershirt that matched his eyes. Long blonde hair which waved as he moved around, soft, tender skin. Now, the real man appeared before me, a battle-hardened, evil-spirited villain. He buzzed his head, his face covered with scars, burn marks and roughed up by combat, his hands missing a couple of fingers. He didn’t wear armor; he opted out of a more sleek, modern design. An all-black padded outfit, it came with a hood, and he paired it with a long silver sword. Hostler’d to his side.

5

I thought about killing him a hundred times. Ever since I was a child, I’ve dreamed of letting the fire in my throat toast him to a char. But patience is key, revenge is sweet, and timing is everything. Despite his villainy, we shared a brotherly bond. Though I harbored hatred, he saw us as brothers, kindred spirits in our thievery. Even now, behind closed doors, he’d run his knuckles against my throat and feed me the finest meat with the most expensive wine. I was waiting for my moment to strike.

I almost ruined it all, everything in one night. Brash had been gone for a few days, trolling the streets for women and cheap ale. I stayed in the castle; the view never got old, and I felt oddly at home in a place I saw as evil and cruel. My body grew larger each day, and still now, I keep growing. The room was nearly full with my body. The sky’s orange hue had faded into darkness when Brash entered cheerfully. He carried a torch in one hand and a woman in the other.

“This is your palace?!” she said admiringly. She took a step back and gasped, holding her hand to her mouth.

“A…” she stuttered

“My Dragon.” King Brash cut in, “Come here.”

He brought her over. When the torchlight revealed my size, she moved further away. Brash rubbed my head like always, and I flipped onto my belly, jolly with having guests.

“C’mon now.” He held her hand as he placed it on top of my head.

Everyone thought I was a monster; my family wiped out, my kind forced out, and I’m the monster? She was so determined about me. I was, and sometimes still am, a monster. This enrages me. I want to speak, but I can’t, so my defense is weak.

Brash twirled her around, her feet slowly rose, and he had her against the wall. At first, she liked his soft lips against hers, even on her. But Brash had a hunger for lust, for more, and always rough. Her eyes locked with mine, my green eyes glistening. She pushed Brash’s hands away, but her attention was entirely on me. I was the monster, and she didn’t notice the real one holding her until it was too late. Soon screams filled the room, and still her screams play in my mind. A terrible scene, I fear I’ll never forget.

I often walk by the marks in the room where I dug my talons into the stone. I wanted so badly to step in, but I couldn’t ruin everything I did to get here. That was my hardest moment, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about it every day. I’m ashamed of myself, and I think knowing what I know now, my talons wouldn’t have been dug into the stone. She was the first, but of course she wasn’t the last.

6

“Almost” King Brash out into the horizon. I sat in my usual spot, even bigger than I was now, maybe taking up three quarters of the room. “All this pain… this suffering…” He turned to face me , a cup of ale in his hand, of course the orange in the sky, slowly peeling away. “Tomorrow all of this will make sense, and we will reap what we have sown.” He sounded poetic, and I realized it is because he’s quoting from old knight books. As usual, I wasn’t ready for the next day.

This was the biggest battle I’ve ever seen: mountain tops filled with people running down, attacks in the sky, and endless colors showing which land you belonged to. As usual, the people below stopped and shivered when they saw Brash and me high in the sky. The fighting continued, and Brash tightened his grip on my neck, exclaiming, “Here we go!”.

I closed my eyes as I flew, twirling. I dodged the arrows, the rocks, by pure sense; you can feel more in battle than you can see. I wanted it to be over quickly, and I didn’t want to see the monster I am in the aftermath of me. I remember feeling the fire roar from me and hearing the excitement in Brash, his eyes wide open. Soon it was over; we won; we always won; this was different.

We were now the only ones. King Brash was not a king, but THE KING, and after almost a decade of suffering, it was my time. If you ever wondered what a king does when he conquers all the land, it’s exactly the same thing after every other battle won. He finds the cheapest, tastiest ale and throws as many women as possible into a room.

Exhausted, I lay on the palace floor. King Brash, caught up in the victory, ran around the women, shirt off and jewels heavy on his neck. He soon saw me worn out and ill looking, he ran up right to my eyes.

“Everything all right, my Dragon?” He, of course, ran his knuckles slowly back and forth on my head; I saw his shell soften.

“Everyone out!” He yelled; the woman didn’t need to be told twice and started to leave. He felt insulted by that but didn’t do anything else besides, “My dragon does not feel well, he needs some rest.” He then looked at me with the kindest look he had in years. I don’t know if it was the ale or if it was him.

Everyone left, and now it is just Brash and I. He was the king of the world; nothing could stop him. I had him just where I wanted.

“We…did it.” His body was filled with happiness as he looked out on the horizon.

I got up, spreading to block the entrance. Brash remained still, and I could sense him reacting to my expansion. He turned, and his cup dropped. Blocking all sunlight, my body was wrapped around the window. My green eyes were the sole source of illumination. They found him immediately. He wasted no time as my body swirled around him.

Brash winded up a kick and knocked the ale cup into my body, and began to shout in protest. I couldn’t make out everything, just:

“I gave you this” and “I did that” and, of course, “This is how you treat me?”

I was more worried about how my body was swirling and his hole was getting tighter and tighter. In an instant, I untwisted my body, snatched him up, and held him high against the window. The orange night sky was the scenery.

He bled and spilt a glob of it at me. I wanted to say, I’m doing this for my family, the field of baby dragons you slaughtered but I couldn’t speak, and he may never know.

When you and the man you’re about to kill can’t speak to each other, it’s rather unexisting; there’s no explanation, no begging, and absolutely no making peace. Some of me wanted to drop him and watch his body slowly fall as the wind carried it, but no, I had to do it myself.

I see the boy I saw grow up. A swanky kid with long blond hair, knight armor a size too big, a baggy blue undershirt that curled. But as I slowly dig my talons into his skull, hearing his screams I slowly tear away his face. I remember the boy he grew up to be, even more of a monster than I. A woman-beating, war-hungry, monster of a man. I didn’t realize he was gone till my talons came clean out the other side of his head. White as teeth, covered, and dripping with blood.