Fallen Sun Rising Moon

Day came early that night, if only for a moment. To most of those awake in the land, it appeared the sun, jealous of the moon’s dominance of the dark and eager to claim it as its own, lunged toward the earth before crashing with the sound of a million stones, shattering the forest and mountains beneath it. When the light faded, those who had been roused could only see the lowly blue iridescence of the stars left in its wake, wondering if it had been a dream or if the sun had truly declared war on the night.

It had not.

The impact crater of the falling light in the darkness until only the faint echo of embers flickered in the surviving foliage.. Then, it disappeared into the memories and nightmares of the valley’s inhabitants.

Miles away, in the same but different darkness, separate from the falling stars and the burning leaves, an arrow found its mark and a great beast collapsed, its wings flapping one last time. It screamed a horrible scream, enough to mask the sound of its impact, enough to freeze those who had sprung their trap, enough to send a second, smaller shadow away in terror.

Those who had sent forth their barbs and slings could not understand the sound, for their ears were not attuned, nor were their minds meant to comprehend the mournful roar of a mother speaking words of love to her offspring. They did not care to interpret her plea to spare her or her child, to leave them to fly in the night sky with no ill intent but to bask in the moon.

It is because man did not understand the language of dragons that they drove their spears and swords against her hide, tearing off her glimmering scales and claws as she screamed and begged for their mercy—all while her child listened from the dark, floating away, up the side of the mountain, through the trees of pine and elm, choosing to ignore the pain of a parent’s last gift.

As she flew, she felt her heart fill with thoughts of vengeance against the men in horns, in skins of her fellow beasts. Her mother had warned her of the skin thieves and their weapons, their traps, their schemes. She had shown her how to detect their presence by the signs of smoke and the smell of death. Everywhere they traveled, the land bled, its inhabitants slaughtered for their fur and flesh.

Yet the little dragon and her mother had been tricked tonight, led to presumed safety of a clearing, only for their thorns to erupt from the brush and strike her mother down, altering her form from a sleek and silky starlight swimmer into a pincushion of pain.

Tears filled the little dragon’s eyes, and the world around her dimmed, a dull pain filling her shoulders. She wiped the moisture from her lids and pushed her wings to carry her onward through the inky blackness.The trees seemed to reach for her, as if to hold her back from a dark fate.

She flew until she could no longer, her shoulders aching as though someone was driving a stone into her lungs. Exhausted, she collapsed upon the loam. Her breath trembled and failed between deep sobs. Her scales glistened with flowing tears; her wings shimmered as they rose and fell with each exasperated cry.

In her grief, her lips parted and the flames of the ancient ones erupted from her chest.

Dragon fire is not the same as the fires of man. Man's fire is slow, painfully so, reducing objects to ash as it creeps and crawls its way throughout, eating and always hungry for more. Dragon flame is instant. It is precise even in its anguish. It tears through quickly, mercifully, utterly. As such, her mother had warned her of its power, its potential danger: That it should be used only if intended, with purpose.

But the little dragon could only feel the emptiness of her loss, and as she screamed, the blue dragon flames flew from her maw. The trees in her path dematerialized in a dramatic flash of sparks and dust, in short bursts, punctuated by agonizing wails.

Her mind did not see the destruction she had caused, only the face of her mother, her lips whispering a final growl that she had understood to be the last truth her guardian would impart.

She stopped weeping. A stillness and cold surrounded her as she gazed numbly at the newborn rifts in the woods caused by her turmoil.

And down one of the newly carved paths, she spotted the faint glow of embers, orange and angry.

Men. The only creatures whose flames burned with that hateful glow. The only beings whose light was death.

The little dragon recalled her mother’s warnings, but in the moment, the feathers along her spine bristled with provoked fury, the pain in her shoulder giving way to thoughts of ripping through the murderers with fang and claw. Her winds pulled back against her ribs and her nostrils flared as the scent of burning filled her lungs. Sorrow and sighing fled as rage encompassed her.

She did not fly, but ran, her long legs carrying her like a cat chasing its prey, tail whipping to and fro, snapping branches. As she barreled forward, the trees thinned, giving way to a a clearing, burned and smoldering. The smell of sulfur and wood engulfed her as she neared the crater in the mountain. Slowing to a stalk, her eyes crested the edge and her breath stood still.

In the center of the basin, appeared a shattered star, its fragments glowing a sickly purple. White metallic shards stuck out of the stone, sharper than any blade she had seen. Little fires burned stone, which melted in a way she had only witnessed with her mother when traveling to the southern regions of the kingdom.

Carefully, she began her descent into the crater, her shoulder beginning to throb. She lowered her head to sniff the metallic edges. They smelled like nothing she had committed to memory. Not steel or iron… but of rain or perhaps soured fruit? It seemed to shift with each breath she took.

As she pulled away, the shattered stones, now not much more than gravel, gave way, her feet scrambling to take hold of anything stable. She tumbled downward toward the center of the hole, her shoulder screaming in anguish. She rolled over, and dug her claws into the rubble, stopping her roll, but not her sliding, the moon disappearing from view against the crater’s edge.

Until her tail touched something solid. Slowly, unsure if any movement would cause her to sink further, she turned. Beneath her was a sphere, not perfectly round, but egg-like in shape, hovering in what remained of the outer layers of metal, which were spiked outward like arms in every direction. The egg, held in a flickering blue light, was perfectly smooth, with a ring of gold around its white exterior.

The little dragon cautiously stepped forward, placing her claws gently around the egg. As if responding to her touch, the light disappeared and the egg dropped into her palms. It was lighter than she expected, despite it being about half her size. She ran a finger around the gold, and as she did, it burst into light, and a whirring came from the egg itself. She dropped it into the shattered stone, leaping onto one of the protruding metal spikes, landing deftly as her mother had taught her so long ago, her wings pulled back, something sharp poking her in the shoulder.

The egg hissed and the ring released steam, the top half floating away from its base. Inside, a red cloak rested on a tiny throne made of what seemed to be molded leather. The little dragon narrowed its eyes and slid down the ring of spikes, gingerly placing a clawed finger on the folded cloth.

It stirred and a little cry echoed in the crater. The little dragon hissed but gently pulled at the cloth until a small child was uncovered.

Human.

Or human-esque. It had the form of one of them, but its eyes gleamed gently in the moonlight. Its ears were slightly pointed and, was the little dragon mistaken, or did it seem to be floating in its egg?

For a moment, time stood still. The tiny "human" rolled around in its egg, opening its mouth repeatedly, letting half cries fill the night. Yawns? Screams? The dragon could not be sure of the child’s intention.

What it did know was that this was still a human, despite its minor deviations in form. A filthy, vile, repugnant, destructive, murderous, skin stealing, mother killing human.

Her breath caught, then began to ignite.

As if sensing her anger, the child began to increase its cries, first pitiful whimpers, then a wail that shook the stones beneath them.

And, as if possessed by the caring spirit of her mother, the little dragon reacted, reaching down and lifting the child, rocking it back and forth, purring as she remembered her own mother doing when she was but a hatchling. The human began to quiet and made a gurgling sound, mirroring what it heard, until the air was still again. They sat there for what felt like an eternity, the moon watching them in silence.

“I could destroy you,” the little dragon eventually whispered. “I should destroy you. You are nothing but a monster. A little one, perhaps, but a monster nonetheless.”

But the flames did not rise as they had in the woods. No matter how she desired to, she could not bring herself to extinguish this little one’s light.

She began to set the lad down in the seat in the egg, when the pain that had been troubling her all night ripped through her senses. She cried out as her head whipped around, sighting the shaft of an arrow. As she screamed, the flame erupted from her lips into the night sky.

The child fell to the earth. He looked ready to wail again but his eyes were locked on her, reflecting the shifting colors that flew from the little dragon until they dissipated and she collapsed in a heap of sorrow and agony.

The little dragon knew she was now alone, the arrow a tribute to her mother's last words that the daughter knew she could never fulfill. She sobbed and whispered pleas to anyone who would listen.

She did not see the child, the human born of the metal egg, float towards her, his feet never touching the ground, his small fleshy body still wrapped in his crimson cloak. She didn't notice his gentle touch as he wrapped his chubby arms around her neck and reached for the arrow..

But she felt him tug, and she felt the head rip at her scales, her blood spurt out into the air, flecking his face. She stared at him in disbelief. He appeared confused, unsure of what to do with the arrow. Had he known it was causing her pain? Had he understood? She had never met a human child before but this seemed unusual.

The pain was still present but there was something about the floating youngling that made it feel manageable. Having the arrow out of its mark gave relief for sure, but watching this small creature awkwardly try to hand her the wooden shaft made her nearly laugh.

A memory of her mother filled her mind’s eye. Standing on a river bank in the greenest part of the forest, catching a squirrel and trying to bring it to her mother, holding it by the tail as it squirmed and clawed its way around her neck while her mother laughed. And as the squirrel scurried away, cursing at the little dragon, her mother held her close and comforted her with coos and purrs that dragons sing.

She took the arrow from the child and gently laid it on the ground.

"Th…thank you," she reached for the boy who reached back, babbling nonsensically. He felt warm to her skin as he nestled his head against her feathers.

For a moment, the world felt peace again—her heart full, despite the emptiness she had felt before.

"My mother told me…" she whispered to the little one whose eyes were closing as she purred. She moved one claw gently to stroke his hair, the pain in her shoulder present but tolerable. She rose and glanced at the arrow on the ground, her silver blood still staining the head.

The boy had pulled it out of her with little to no effort. Were humans that strong? Big ones perhaps, but this little one? That seemed impossible for something so fragile looking, so tired and sleepy in her arms.

A fleck of light from a spark broke her out of her trance. An arrow had struck one of the sides of one of metal spikes. Her eyes shot to the edge of the edge of the crater, spying one of the men whom she had last seen ripping apart her mother's body. He yelled words she did not know and raised a curved stick into the air, placing an arrow along its string, pointing it toward her chest.

No, not her chest, because she was holding the child. The arrow was pointed directly at his little head, slumbering against the little dragon's neck.

In a flash, she knew that she could not, nor would ever take this thing's life. She understood her mother's dying words and comprehended the great sorrow in her sacrifice.

Her wings, like great translucent flower petals unfurled, and the desire to escape diluted the remnants of her pain. Another arrow flew but struck the ground beneath her as she leapt atop the sharp metal spikes jutting out from where the egg had lay. The boy squirmed as though being near the metal pained him. Looking toward the human who had shot at her, she took a breath and leapt.

Time once again stood between the men on the ridge, the boy in red, and the little dragon still drawing breath. The moonlight shimmered through her wings, and her tears of pain and joy fuelled her forward, clutching her prize as the men gathered on the crater's edge, bristling their bows in an attempt to strike her down. Their arrows whizzed past her wings, which beat harder and harder toward the great circle of light.

And as she reached the apex of her wings’ strength, she looked down upon the men, now specks of hatred and envy, then at the boy who purred a very similar purr to her own.

"Show them," her mother's final words had been. "Show them who you are."

"I will show you, little one," the little dragon whispered. "I will show you to be better."

And as the men yelled and the moon shone, the little dragon and her child of the fallen sun flew away, with a promise of hope and a brighter tomorrow.