The Second Age of Man

You were the loudest creature in the forest.

Your cries echoed throughout the trees, waking many a creature from their slumber prematurely - not all of them friendly. The trees and bushes came alive with motion as animals reacted to your peculiar disturbance. Some ran away your wails, while others ventured forward, their curiosity piqued.

It was a pack of wolves that found you first. They circled the little clearing in the forest warily watching you from the tree line. They had never seen a human before. You were wary as well, natural instinct warning you of the danger you were in. Your crying quieted down to quiet, muffled sobs as you stared back at the beasts in fear. You were small and the pack was hungry. A low growl began building among the wolves, their lips pulled back revealing sharp yellow teeth as they began to make their way into the clearing.

But the forest was home to greater dangers than mere wolves. Before they could pounce on their helpless prey, a large mass of glimmering dark purple scales and deep blue leathery wings crashed down in front of you. The dragon quickly shielded you with its long body and curled its long tail around you, hiding you from view of the hungry wolves. Then it searched for the leader of the wolf pack. The dragon then reared its serpentine head up, unfurled its massive wings and let out a roar that shook the leaves from the trees around them and reverberated through the forest. The dragon’s nostrils flared and the air before its jaws began distorting with heat. Realizing there was no easy prey to be had here, the pack of wolves quickly turned and ran off back into the forest, whelping.

The dragon twisted around to investigate the creature that had woken it up from its slumber. It’s golden eyes stared into your own green ones as it studied you. You were quite the brave little one, you did not cry. Unlike the wolves.

“My, my, my. What have we here.” Said the dragon, her voice a low rumble.

Your brave facade fell as you let out a fearful whimper in response, your face growing redder, on the precipice of crying.

“Is this better, little one?” the dragon asked, this time keeping her voice as light and soothing as she could manage.

Your features softened as you relaxed and let out a cheerful gurgle as if in agreement. Then you reached out a tiny little hand towards the dragon. She let your hand touch her snout. She let your hand feel the smooth scales, the warmth of her breath.

“I have not seen your like in an age,” the dragon cooed. “Where is the rest of your family, little one? As I recall, you were a social kind.”

The dragon pulled its head away from you and looked around the clearing then peered deep into the surrounding forest. Then she closed her eyes and cocked her head to a side to listen.

“I cannot see nor hear any sign of your kin, little one,” the dragon explained. “But it is not safe for you here.”

She stroked your cheek gently with a clawed finger, taking care not to hurt you. This made you giggle again.

“My name is Faelyg. And you… you may be the sign I have been waiting centuries for. Come, let’s find you somewhere safe.”

With a beat of her enormous wings the dragon took flight. Leaving the forest behind, she climbed into the sky with you cradled tightly in her hindclaws. The dragon paused for a moment to look around and think, the beating of her wings keeping the two of you aloft. Then she turned and set off East, where dawn was breaking on ancient ruins: crumbling towers of concrete and steel. Vestiges from when humans last ruled the Earth.

***

Faelyg had heard the rumours. Dragons from other broods, her kin from far off lands, would occasionally speak in hushed whispers of encounters with strange scaleless, hairless apes. Ones who lived and foraged in packs, wielding tools and weapons with a deftness and intellect unlike any other animal. Humans. Most dragons alive now would barely remember what they looked like, let alone their name. But Faelyg had been one of the first of her kind to awaken.

The world was a different place three hundred years ago. The humans of the time had been waging a great war among themselves. They had rained down death and destruction on each other, tearing the world itself asunder and awakening Faelyg and her kin from their long slumber within the very Earth. She woke up to little recollection of the world before. She remembered fleeting glimpses of a world populated with others like her, of soaring the skies over a land of natural beauty, and finally an errant star that had driven them to seek refuge within the Earth. And there they had slept, sustained by the life-giving heat of the planet. Faelyg did not know how long it had been. Many a millennium must have passed for she did not recognise the world above. The skies she had once flown were now filled with ash and dust. The trees and land that had once been full of life and beauty were now overtaken by massive human settlements with structures that reached up to the very heavens that was unlike anything Faelyg could have imagined. She wondered what this strange new world must have been like war had ravaged it.

Or perhaps humans had always been at war.

Rovogast, the eldest of the surviving dragons, was quick to declare war on the humans. Faelyg had cautioned Rovogast and the other elder dragons to take care; the humans though small, wielded phenomenal power and the emergence of a new threat such as the dragons was like to distract them from their own infighting and unite them in a fight for the survival of their species. But her concerns fell on deaf ears. Rovogast gained the support of the others with ease. The dragons could not abide such devastation to what they still considered to be their sacred realm. Their beloved home. These usurpers who had claimed dominion over the world in the dragons’ absence needed to be eradicated. The world might yet be reborn and flourish again if they could stop the mindless violence and destruction.

Despite her misgivings, even Faelyg could not abstain once Rovogast plunged dragonkind into all out war against the humans.

At first the humans were easy prey to the dragons. They had suffered too many losses and depleted too much of their resources fighting amongst themselves. The dragons quickly claimed the sky for themselves and assaulted any who would venture into the open, diving with claws and fangs. When the humans sought shelter within the wreckage of their cities, the dragons burned them out with their breath and their magic. Burn to death or be hunted and devoured.

But the humans proved resilient and cunning. Even with their losses and defeats, they were a worthy adversary. The humans wielded magical weapons, some of which far surpassed dragon breath and made their fangs and claws seem primitive and ineffectual. They would shoot down dragons mid-flight, a sudden piercing crack in the air followed by a sucking wound appearing on the target. They rode strange metal birds to combat the dragons in the air in an attempt to win back the sky.

However, their efforts were ultimately in vain. The host of dragons were an unsurmountable opposing force for the humans in their weakened state. They were all but eradicated, wiped off the face of the Earth, within five years of the dragons’ reemergence.

For all the searching she would do, Faelyg would not encounter another human until she found you.

***

You were named Gwinig. Little finger in dragonspeak, for you were barely the size of one Faelyg’s clawed fingers when she found you.

The dragon hid you away in one of the ancient buildings, safe from any that would do you harm. The higher floors of the building meant you were out of reach of the wolves and other predators that roamed the surround lands. Faelyg also made sure you were also shielded from the prying eyes of other dragons. The dragons avoided the ruins of the human cities as much as they could; not only did they serve as reminders of the war following the reemergence for the elder dragons who lived through it, but they also scared the younger dragons who had hatched long after the war was finished. To them, the buildings were myth and legend - cursed ground that should not be trod on.

Unlike most of her kind, Faelyg loved the ruins. She was of an uncommonly curious sort and considered herself a scholar. In the decades and centuries that followed the war, she immersed herself in the study of the humans and their civilisation. Faelyg scoured the ruins for books and relics. She learnt their languages, their history and their technology. While her draconic claws did not offer the dexterity required to replicate the humans’ capabilities, she did develop an understanding on what they had achieved in the extremely short time they had lived. We were lucky, she thought. We stood no chance against a truly united effort with the weapons at their disposal.

Fortunately for you, Faelyg’s research also provided her with the knowledge to properly care for a young human child. She fed you and protected you. She taught you dragonspeak so the two of you could speak to one another. But she also taught you the human languages that she had learned over her studies. She taught you of your histories and cultures. Of explorations and achievements. And she taught you of war.

You complained often, just like any child - dragon or human - being forced to learn against their will.

“Why am I learning this?” you asked, “It’s all in the past. What good is this now?”

But the protestations did not annoy Faelyg. She was a patient creature. They made her smile.

“We dragons… we are too few. Where we were once united against your kind, in victory we have become fractured. Divided. As much as Rovogast may wish to keep his hold over dragonkind, many are coming to the same realisation I did. The world has not healed as we once thought it would. The scars left by the wars run too deep.”

She sighed, “Dragons cannot create, cannot heal. We only burn and destroy.”

Then she turned and look at you.

“That is why I believe we need you,” she continued, fixing her gaze on his shocked face. “I have seen what your kind has achieved. Your ancestors bent and molded the very heavens and earth to their whims. There may come a time when humans inherit the world again. A Second Age of Man. It may be the only way the world recovers. And if such a time may come upon us, Gwinig, I would much rather humanity remembers its past mistakes and learn from them. Otherwise you be doomed to repeat them.”

***

You were eight years old when they came for you.

A furious roar pierced the quiet dawn, echoing through the surrounding ruins and sending birds scattering from the surrounding trees. Faelyg’s eyes shot open and frantically scanned the room for any sign of you. She found you awake and looking at her, fear and panic showing in your eyes. She motioned for you to stay quiet and hidden out of sight, then she peered out the broken Eastern wall.

Two dragons sat atop the neighbouring building staring straight at her.

“Give us the human, Faelyg!” roared the large copper dragon she recognised as Myraek. “We know you have one, a little human youngling. Give him to us now and we will overlook the betrayal of your own kind.”

Faelyg slithered the full length of her body out of her nesting building and flew to the roof. She reared up and spread her wings before emitting a deep rumbling roar of her own in response.

“You dare threaten me, Myraek?! A daughter of the first brood and warrior of a hundred battles from before you were born? None may challenge me save Rovogast himself.”

“You misunderstand, elder one,” hissed the smaller silver dragon beside Myraek. Faelyg did not recognise him. “It is on Rovogast’s behalf that we are here today. He is most disappointed with your actions of late and seeks an audience. After the human is dispensed with of course. Their kind cannot be suffered to live and take up arms against us.”

Faelyg did not like this newcomer. He seemed more intelligent than Myraek. More cunning. She sized up the two dragons before her. Myraek was a large dragon, with strong solid build. But he was young and inexperienced. She could not speak to the silver one’s experience or lack thereof but he was smaller than Myraek by half. Faelyg herself was older and larger than both. We may still have a chance, she thought to herself. Then she made a decision.

Before the two dragons could react, Faelyg opened her jaws wide and shot a stream of white hot flame at them. She aimed not at either of the dragons directly, but at the roof Myraek rested on. The concrete crumbled beneath his bulk and gave way, with the dragon himself off balance for an instant before he could unfurl his wings to fly. That was the opening she needed. Faelyg shot across the gap between the two buildings, and bit into Myraek’s shoulder and wing with her powerful jaws, her fangs biting through the tough scales and tearing into the muscles beneath. She clawed at the leathery skin stretched across his wing bones reducing them to tatters. Myraek roared in pain as he was crippled, clawing and biting at Faelyg. But her attack was too sudden, too fierce, too decisive.

Faelyg pushed off of Myraek with her hind legs, sending the wounded dragon plummeting into the trees below. She searched for his silver companion. She had been expecting an attack as she had torn into Myraek; a bite on her neck, a breath of fire on her back. But none had come. Then she saw why.

To her dismay, the small silver dragon was frantically flying away from her. Even outnumbered, there had been a decent chance she could have overpowered the both of them. But there was little chance she could outfly the smaller one. He must have arrived at the same conclusion and chosen to retreat. No, not retreat, she thought, realisation and fear dawning on her. He means to get reinforcements. He means to get Rovogast.

***

You did not want to go. You did not want to lose your protector. Your friend. Your mother. But Faelyg knew there was no choice. She was too large and too easy to find. She had failed to deceive the likes of Myraek, what hope did she have against Rovogast and the other elder dragons all of whom knew her far too well.

“Come Gwinig, we must hurry,” Faelyg pleaded. “Rovogast and his host will not be far.”

“But where will I go?” you asked.

Faelyg thought for a moment. Then dipped her head in resignation.

“We can find other dragons to join us,” you continued. “You’ve told me not all dragons follow Rovogast anymore. We can fight him.”

“While that is true, my Gwinig, that does not mean all who do not follow Rovogast will stand up to him like I have. They will be cowed and bullied into betrayal. I cannot take that chance,” Faelyg looked out at the horizon thinking. “I think the time has come for you to go be with other humans. To live among your own kind.”

You looked at the dragon, uncertain what to say.

“Do you know where they are? My real parents?”

“Alas I do not know exactly where they are. I have tried looking many times Gwinig. But you humans are very good at hiding. Especially if there are dragons about. No I suspect you would have better luck finding them on your own. I will take you to the edge of the forest where I found you those years ago. You must have come from a group somewhere nearby.”

A flash of excitement briefly replaced the sorrow on your face. You had often asked about humans. About where you had come from. How they lived. You often expressed a desire to visit your them. Faelyg hoped the proposition of seeing them, living with them, would be appealing. That novelty and a newfound sense of belonging, would heal any wounds the sudden separation may impart. At least for you. And it was likely what was best for you now. You may find your true parents. After all, a dragon made for a poor subsitute.

“Let us find you a new home,” said Faelyg, lowering down her wing to allow you to climb on her back.

You wiped away your tears, gathered your traveling pack and climb up. Then the dragon took flight and headed back to the forest where she had first found you.

***

It would be ten years before you saw her again. The familiar dark purple scales, the deep blue wings and that distinct familiar roar. Ten years since she had protected you. Raised you. Taught you.

Ten years before you saw me again.

I found your group five days ago and I have been following you, shadowing you from afar since. I didn’t know for certain that it was you at first. Your people were experienced at hiding and using the terrain to your advantage as you made your way to I know not where. Yours is a big group and well armed. I needed to be certain before I revealed myself, lest I be attacked before I can explain myself.

Yesterday I finally saw you.

You have grown. Taller and stronger than the spindly boy I had left in the forest. The primitive spear and knives I left you with have been replaced by more sophisticated human weaponry. I heard you speaking to your people, your voice deeper and richer. The others followed you. My Gwinig, a leader of men, I thought proudly.

It took some time for me to find the courage to meet you. I felt guilty for leaving you. Abandoning you in the forest to fend for yourself. After all, what mother would do that to their child. My thoughts then strayed to fear. What if you did not remember me? While ten years seems the blink of an eye to a dragon, they must have been eventful for you. Have you struggled to survive? Did you go hungry, alone in the forest? Have you fallen in love? Had children of your own?

Were you angry that I abandoned you?

Have I deepened your fear and or unwittingly taught you to hate dragonkind?

I could not bear these thoughts, and that is why I am here now. In front of you.

As soon as I landed there was an assortment of weapons and aimed in my direction. But you yelled at them to stop. I saw the recognition in your eyes, and they were not filled with hate as I had feared. I only saw love. You came forward tentatively, tears in your eyes as you reached out your hand as you did the first time so very long ago. I let it rest on my snout just as I had then. It was more scarred now than it was then. Years of fighting and evading Rovogast and his kin had left their marks on me.

But it was not just me who had been fighting the dragons. Humanity has become bolder, more united and organised in the past years. I see signs of your passing everywhere I go, felled dragons occasionally left in your wake. I believe another war is coming. I believe you are on the verge of the Second Age of Man I told you of in the stories we shared as you fell asleep.

This is why I tell you this story now. The story of you. Of us. To remind you of how it all began. To remind you of all I have taught you in our years together. Of dragons and man. Of your languages and culture. Of your history and ancestors.

To make sure you remembered.