Lightbearer

There weren't always dragons in the valley. There were days entirely mundane and normal. Boring, even. Days that were filled with monotony and not the least bit filled with anything mystical or fantastical.

There were days in the valley I'd be scoffed at for carrying a pouch of crystals - what powers could rocks hold?

What power could anything hold?

Magic - it's for children. A myth. Just like Santa Claus.

That's what they'd say. And we would laugh along.

They're just for fun, I would say. Just a little bit of fun.

No. There weren't always dragons in the valley.

But there were always dragons.

Hidden away, beneath the watchful eye of society. Hiding for centuries till the world had awoken. Till the world was ready.

Till they were needed. Till we were needed.

We are the guardians of the dragons. Or perhaps, they are ours.

We come from a long line of witches. Ignis Custodes. Guardians of Fire. Once, the most sought after coven in Lemur. Now, the most hidden.

The witch hunts changed everything for our family. It is how we found ourselves living here, in the valley. The most ordinary and dull corner of Lemur. Our ancestors were forced to flee to new land to survive. And our coven was forced into hiding.

If their house was searched, you wouldn't have even found the remnants of a herb. Not even a whiff. It was all perfectly concealed. By all appearances they were entirely mundane and normal, not the least bit mystical or fantastical. They blended in perfectly.

Growing up, my mother would tell me our history, share with me the stories, behind closed doors. Every word she spoke lit a spark in my centre, a primal and integral part of me yearning for freedom. Yearning to exist in the magical ways we did before. I could feel the fire burning beneath my skin. And when I closed my eyes, I would imagine the mountain tops as I soared on the backs of dracones. But that was all I could do. Imagine.

Her story would go on and the tale of the hunt, the aftermath, felt like the coldest wind enveloping my heart.

I would sit there, burdened with sadness. This wasn't how it was meant to be. Suppressed. Hiding. Whispering.

Always in whispers, in case somebody overheard.

Everything we did was in whispers. Any spell was performed in secret. Any ritual was performed under the cloak of darkness.

The whispering witches.

It was the nickname we'd given ourselves.

We knew times were changing. The hunts were over. The church held less power. Many were more accepting of the supernatural. Intrigued, even. But mother was always quick to remind us that people enjoy admiring from afar. Intrigue is tantalizing. The unknown can be mysterious and seductive. But people also fear it. They fear what is different, what they cannot understand.

Their intrigue will alchemize into fear. Fear into hate. We must always remember what the spirits of our ancestors sacrificed to protect us.

It is a small price we pay for safety.

And so, days would pass and we would heed her words. Tumblestones hidden away in our pockets. Herbs hidden away in the kitchen. Our true selves hidden away from the world.

And so, our line survived. We have continued on this way for many moons. Safe. Concealed. Normal.

Until, now.

Fire is our birthright. It runs in our blood. And so, the fire breathers are our family. Dracones. They have awoken.

My grandma calls us the Lightbearers of this world. Here, to bring light to the darkness.

I said to her once, you know that Lucifer means lightbearer.

She looked at me with a grim smile, 'my darling this is why we must hide. You see how they’ve painted us as the devil.'

I looked out the window, at the smoke rising in the distance.

We definitely weren't in hiding anymore.

***