The Forged

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley.

The mantra of my village’s history echoes in my head constantly, ingrained in me since my youth. A soulful, painful propaganda.

For time immemorial, these monstrous and infinitely wise creatures confined themselves to the crags of lofty mountains, the darkest hollows in impenetrable forests, and the deepest caves beneath the ocean floor.

Untouchable. Unmotivated to meddle in human affairs. Wishing—or so it seemed— to remain far away from the prying eyes of mankind. Looking down on our petty wars and menial plights with pity and disdain.

We never thought that a majority of us would see them in person. You had to be really determined to find them, and a bit insane. But I had heard stories about people that had found them. Most of them never lived to tell the tale…and if they did they kept it to themselves. Either from trauma or from thinking that people wouldn’t believe them if they did open up about it. The world may never know.

Or so we thought.

We had hoped we would never encounter them up close.

The sharp green of the forest rushes me, slicing and cutting as I hurtle myself into the thick of the forest at inhuman speed. I don’t notice it much. I’ve been trained not to. Much bigger problems await me.

The distant rustle of leaves in the breeze picks up abruptly, now a roar. The trees around me bend, threatening to snap at any moment. Sturdy, ancient trees. A mix of oak and fir, at the brink of being reduced to nothing more than miniscule toothpicks. Then comes the sound.

I’ve never been to the ocean, but I can imagine what the angry waves sound like crashing up against one another and the rocks during a particularly turbulent storm. Combined with the vibration of distant thunder. That echoing rumble of power and destruction. It reverberates in my nightmares.

One day, in the middle of Spring, my village had the misfortune of encountering not one, but several of the creatures.

My father was one of the first to see them. He was a shepherd and was out enjoying the late afternoon sun with his flock, as he typically did. The stories of shepherds in the fields nearby tell an equally shocking and gruesome tale:

As the dragon hovered over his flock, as if debating which sheep would be the fattest and overall tastiest, my father threw his arm back and vaulted his staff into the air. It made a magnificent rainbow through the sky before meeting its mark, smack dab in the middle of the dragon’s eyes. “Begone, demon! Back to hell from whence you came!” he screamed maniacally at the top of his lungs.

The dragon’s wings faltered for a second and it abruptly dropped about a foot, looking thoroughly stunned all the while. It shook its head almost comically, and turned its gaze onto my father. Eyes bearing into him, burning holes past his clothes and under his flesh like little nuclear rays of sunlight.

I sincerely wish I was lying about that last detail.

My father was now surrounded by his beloved sheep while his clothes quickly smoldered and then caught flame.

But that wasn’t the worst part.

This whole time my father was frozen, staring vacantly into the dragon’s eyes. Eyes so wide that you can almost see behind his eyeballs into his undoubtedly wildly lit amygdala. Mouth agape, unmoving, a bottomless cavern holding back a thousand silent screams. The reflection of a thousand gruesome ways to die.

It was the transition during that split second. The moment of sheer terror upon realizing that your insides are boiling. Your blood betrays you as it heats up exponentially, cooking you from the inside out. Until finally your skin lights up like so much kindling. Melting into itself. And through itself. Melding together to meet the rest of your molten being. And all you are is a walking cinder—a fragment of the sun’s core.

Until eventually you disintegrate into an unassuming pile of ash.

And as the other shepherds watched in horror as the remnants of his form were lifted and unceremoniously scattered to the wind, the horde descended.

They seemed to come out of nowhere and everywhere all at once. Materializing in the dead air that lay throughout the valley now. The birds had all stopped singing long ago. Going into hiding, survival mode at the first sense of danger. The ominous beating of wings like so many tiny tornadoes whipping around the trees they previously sat on.

They ignored the other shepherds—thank goodness or I guess we wouldn’t have any story to rely on for our deep-seated rage—and steered immediately for our tiny village. Their angry, fiery dispositions now ignited beyond reason. Their forms turned dark in the approaching twilight, but microscopic sparks danced under their skin in the reflection of the rising moon and the setting sun.

I don’t remember much about the initial attack. I was only five moons old at the time.

But I remember asking my mother about the black shadows approaching us rapidly.

“Why are the crows coming to the village?” I glanced up at her, dazed and confused.

She just continued staring off into the distance. As their bodies became more defined, she uttered a surprised cry and screamed, “Hide!” at the top of her lungs. She grabbed me roughly up off of the ground and ran. I was crying, still confused and oblivious but feeling the almost paralyzing fear emanating from my mother. Her body shook violently as she carried my weight and ran for the trees, probably hoping that they would mainly target the man-made structures and not notice us in their blind rage.

“You have to be very quiet, Signe”, she whispered shakily, a trembling finger held up to her lips. She tried to quiet her labored breathing as she held me through my sobs.

Above us, the dragons made a shift and plummeted down from the heavens. Their wings flaring out and breaking them from their downward spiral until they hovered right above the houses and farms. Their invasion began with the fear factor. They lingered for a long while, observing. We were their test subjects. The first encounter they had probably ever had with humankind.

Where to start the barbeque?

They eyed one another, uttered harsh guttural sounds, debating. Then, as one terrifying, unified body, they veered toward our makeshift little town hall. The pinnacle of our own unity.

This time, the fire came from their bellies. They opened their gaping maws and made a sound like a massive, collective sigh as the fire came pouring out from within.

It reminded me of my father smoking his pipe and how he would release the smoke back out into the atmosphere after a particularly large drag.

Everything caught flame from the proximity to our largest icon. Spreading from building to building effortlessly with the help of the rising nighttime breeze. The river was too far away for us to get water to put out the flames, so we had to basically let them run their course and watch from afar as our village collapsed.

Some people perished or were injured if they weren’t able to get out in time. But overall, it seemed like they had planned a malicious, tactical strategy to take everything away from us and leave us alive to struggle with the aftermath.

I watched my mother the entire time as she frantically scanned the horizon where the other shepherds had come running from to protect their families. It felt like she held her breath for hours, all her muscles tightened and on alert. I could tell she wanted to run to him, but she knew that would only put me in danger again. I’m sure a part of her knew that it was pointless anyway. That he was already gone.

So, we waited. An agonizing eternity we waited. Until the dragons finally lost interest.

And we were left to try and pick up the pieces.

“Damn, it’s close,” my body begins to tremble like the trees around me. Partly anxiety, and partly from the adrenaline of finally doing what I had been created —no, forged—to do.

That’s what they call us. ‘The Forged’. But some of the younger people in the village like to poke fun and have nicknamed us ‘The Distractions’. I can’t necessarily say that they’re wrong in their cruel assessment.

Living in Dalrby, in wake of the destruction the dragons caused, I grew up in a world of fear, conspiracy, and mistrust. For the length of seven moons, there were continuous robberies in our quiet little town. Looters and chaos reigned amidst the rubble and ash. The village remained a hollow skeleton of its former self. We were left alone to our own devices and the poverty that ensued. Destitute and abandoned by the outside world. Unbeknownst to us, they were dealing with their own infestation.

But soon we were reminded, our little village in the valley was never truly alone.

Although, that realization almost made us wish that we were.

With the freezing winds of winter came the equally steely and unforgiving grip of the Svartkirk.

We had always heard about their existence, but assumed it was just one of those old wives' tales to scare children into obedience.

According to legend, the Svartkirk was formed as a secret organization in search of truth and knowledge, but they became corrupted by their desire to know everything, and their subsequent descent into the darker discoveries of the universe.

We were told as children that if we misbehaved, the Svartkirk would come and steal us in the night and use us for gruesome human experiments to test their expansive knowledge and further push the boundaries of it.

It turns out they got half of the legend correct.

You didn’t have to misbehave to be taken.

They weren’t malicious in that sense.

When they did show up, it was in the middle of the night when everyone was asleep, but at least they had the decency to wake and alert our parents that they were taking us instead of simply stealing us away. The ones they left behind were the lucky ones.

I would like to think that they chose us specific few for a reason, but I honestly have no idea.

For whatever reason they chose us, they took us that night.

When I woke up in the middle of the night to voices at the front door, I had no idea my life was about to change forever. My mother stood in the doorway, candlestick in hand. The halo of the flame cast an eerie light on the shadows outside. A dark figure stood on the other side, almost inseparable from the darkness behind them. They were shrouded in a midnight cloak that would have blended into the night if not for the candlelight. The moon was nowhere to be seen in the vast night sky. Even the stars had disappeared, hiding from the ominous creature.

From the reflecting light, I caught a vague glimpse of a sunken, skeletal face. The eyes were merely deep, cavernous voids. They appeared lifeless and empty, but when you stared closer at them you could almost see a flicker of flame hidden in their depths—although maybe it was just a trick of the light. The cheeks were pulled in tight; emaciated and pale. The mouth and the smile it held were almost human. Lips drawn tight across its face in what looked more like a grimace than an invitation. A gnarled, claw-like hand was gesturing, out-reached, to my mother. A gesture of goodwill and concern for humanity.

My mother turned to me and gave me a crushing, sobbing hug.

“You’re going to help save the world, Signe. I’m letting you go for now. But know that I will always love you. I promise this isn’t goodbye forever, just for now,” she smiled down at me one last time, with tears pouring down her face.

I let them drag me slowly out the door, my hand in their pallid, clammy claw. I watched her again like I had that night, looking for a sign as to how I should react. I watched the emotional distress take over, even as she lost control and turned away, her face contorted with pain.

I’ll never know exactly what they said to her, or why she let them take me…but I never saw her again.

I was only twelve moons old when I was sent off to be transformed, made into a weapon.

A distraction.

The Svartkirk, with the help of their extended library and apothecary at their disposal, believed they had discovered a way to create something to deter the dragons. A new species, if you will.

They called us The Forged. The ones who survived at least.

On top of all the experiments, the potions and spells combined with scavenged dragon paraphernalia to enhance our connection to and resistance against them, we were forged in fire. Both metaphorically and very literally.

The ones who burned were dismissed as being nothing more than failures. The outliers in an experiment where the few must be sacrificed for the many.

But they had their reasons. After all, the world at large was under attack.

It was the Svartkirk’s goal not necessarily to help humanity, but to have the world indebted to them. So they could continue their questionable methods in peace. The fact that the world would be saved was just a convenient afterthought.

Everyone was reminded constantly of the necessity and relevance of their extreme measures, but especially us. We are the ones who need the reminder most, to remember what we are protecting them from.

There’s a whistling behind my head, and I swing to the right just in time, effectively launching myself into a solid oak. A ball of molten lava about the size of a full grown sheep goes barreling past my tree at lightning speed.

“Phew!” I raise my arm to wipe the sweat of the exertion and the scorching heat of the projectile off of my forehead.

“Ah, shit, ow!” I look down at my arm in surprise…noticing that it’s bent at an awkward angle in roughly the middle and is now deadweight to my brain. Unless I want to be in excruciating pain that is. Well that’s what I get for breaking my impact with body parts…rookie mistake. Honestly if I had smacked into the tree torso first I probably would’ve been completely fine. Another perk of being a human experiment is that the middle of our bodies are surrounded by an almost impenetrable armor—one that unfortunately does not extend to being plowed into by a meteorite.

‘Fireproof, and nearly impenetrable armor…but somehow they forgot about the weight of fireballs.’ I scoff internally. I struggle to shimmy my back up the tree, my body aching from the impact.

The volume of the world around me intensifies, becoming deafening. The whooshing flap of gigantic wings drowning out all other sounds, including those of my own thoughts as it draws nearer. Trees cascade to the ground, severed from their roots by the raw power of the collision with massive appendages. Forty feet in span and standing higher than the tallest tree in the forest.

A cleared area of felled trees circles the creature now as it plants all four feet on the ground with a thud that vibrates the forest like an earthquake.

It’s the size of a small building, and as magnificent as a golden cast statue of one of the gods. In the middle of that clearing it seems like the sun itself has landed on earth. Gracing us with its very presence. With each minute flex of a muscle, its glorious amber scales cast light all around, a dancing chandelier of light particles twirling through the trees. Its eyes are a brilliant, sizzling vermillion with golden sparks flashing throughout. As I glance into them for a moment, everything stops around me. And I’m simultaneously pulled backward through the ages and flung forward into an unknown future. Standing outside of Time itself.

I never thought my first close up glimpse of a dragon would be this majestic. I had always imagined them as hateful little creatures since I had seen their shadows in the distance that night. Big for animals, yes, maybe the size of a horse. But nothing compared to this. Those were insignificant insects in comparison to the grandeur of this beast.

I remain still for a minute, frozen and silent. Enthralled.

Almost too enthralled to notice the claw extending toward me.

At the very last possible second I snap violently out of my reverie.

I duck to avoid the swiping claw, and then lunge to the side as the other one swings into my field of vision.

“Why are you trying to grab at me?! If you want me dead then get on with it already!” I scream at the beast, more confident than I feel.

“I’m not trying to hurt you. Cease your resistance so we can talk, privately,” out of its throat I hear the guttural syllables of its kind, but in my head there is a calming voice. Warm and reasonable.

It’s enough to stun me for a moment, making me slightly lose my balance. The beast takes this opportunity to quickly scoop me up and grasp it in its scaly palm. It’s razor sharp claws sitting delicately, courteously almost, away from my body as it clenches a fist. I struggle, but to no avail. I’m officially stuck.

“Hey, wha-” my words are cut off as all of the air leaves my body. We’re rising. The dragon utters the biggest exhale ever heard as they make an impossibly large arch with their wings, before bringing them crashing down. Catching a gust of air beneath them that sends us soaring upwards much faster than I ever would’ve imagined.

I’m flying now, in the dragon’s grip, staring down at the world below me. And while I should be in awe at the fact that I’m flying, all I can think about is how much I feel like vomiting. My stomach twisting and turning in ways I’ve never experienced. But, I was too stunned to hurl my guts through the atmosphere after all.

We soared over the valley, and I caught a glimpse of my little village. All newly crafted huts and a half-built town hall. They were still struggling to recover, but progress was being made.

We rise in the air a bit, up over the tops of the emerald trees and the surface of a crystalline river leading to a wide lake. Up over this toward the mountain range in the distance. Tall and mysterious with their sharp edges and ever-snowy peaks. Everything looks so different, so amazing from up here.

I swivel my head slightly upward, staring into a long underbelly of pale orange scales. Translucent almost, and iridescent. Flames dance beneath the surface inside of a pocket that I would assume to be its stomach or lungs.

‘Beautiful’.

It’s the final thought I have before my head lulls on its own and I pass out from exhaustion and the altitude.