to trade away fire for the sea

Untouched, unchanged, unmarked—a solitary gravestone stands at the edge of the cliff, overlooking the grey skies and the sea. It’s exactly the same as when it was erected centuries ago. Antares has made sure of it, committing each grain of sand along the makeshift burial grounds to memory. Up until now, the last resting place of his lover has remained frozen in an ageless time.

This is human tradition, but she has always loved humans.

“Humans,” Antares growls, guttural and vicious in his throat. There is a clump of ragged, tattered trash left in front of the tombstone. Sacrilege. He can smell the stench of humans, and feel the trail of telltale footsteps beneath his claws. Unbridled fury courses through his veins and ripples across his draconic frame. Humans—they would dare defile this sacred place and make a mockery of his devotion. How dare they not be satisfied with what they’ve been granted.

Ancient knowledge is but a drop in the ocean of mortal greed. Humans, after all, are the only creatures in the land prepared to trade their entire lifespan for a shred of wisdom. And yet, even that is not enough.

They will pay. Antares will make them pay.

But to act upon his anger now would be to desecrate the grave of his beloved. Instead, he lowers his head ever so gently to pinch the debris between his fangs. He has every intention to toss it into the ocean, and that’s when he hears the faint but unmistakable sound of muffled crying.

Against the sea breeze and the day-old scent of a human woman, he smells it. What he mistook for trash is a child, a human child, swaddled in tattered cloth and dangling precariously from his teeth. It cries incessantly, high-pitched and grating. Once Antares gingerly places the child down far away from the burial grounds, the crying dies down into faint whimpers.

“Mama…”

The human speaks suddenly, and it catches him off guard.

“Mama…Emma is cold…”

It sounds pitiful. Antares cannot begin to understand the mortal concept of perceiving cold, between the ancient flames that burn bright in his ribcage and the hard, metallic scales that plate his body. Even so, he tastes the sea breeze and the flavour of twilight on his tongue, and he’s reminded that humans are much more fragile than his kind.

“Human child,” he rasps. Wisps of steam curl from his nostrils as he exhales, enveloping the creature in smoky warmth. “How pitiful you are. To yearn blindly for your mother—is that mortal instinct, or do you truly believe she will return for you?”

The hurried footsteps that lead to and away from the grave give no indication of such mercy. If it’s to offer up one’s own offspring’s life in a trade for folly, then the mother should have remained nearby to reap the benefits. But this child is alone in the world, clothed in tattered blankets and sniffling quietly.

And Antares is at a loss for what to do.

For the first time in his long life, the vast ocean of wisdom before his claws betrays him. The sea is not wide enough to care for a human child, and taking it under his wing is out of the question. But neither can he bring himself to leave this pathetic creature to die near where Amalthea was buried.

She has always loved humans, and Antares has always loved her.

“Child,” he says gruffly. “I hold no malice toward you, but I hold no affection toward mortals either. Perhaps in the grasp of another, you’d have met with a kinder fate. Tell me, do you wish to live?”

The human child’s cognition is lacking, which is somewhat irritating. It does not answer, as if it does not know how to respond.

“I suppose it’s futile to communicate with one so young,” he muses. “Not only do you not comprehend your situation, you cannot understand me.”

“Mama said…wait here,” it says in a tiny voice. “Emma waits, and waits.”

“You will spend the rest of your days waiting,” Antares replies scathingly, and the child flinches. “Better to trade a sliver of your lifespan for the knowledge and means to survive in this world on your own. You may not understand now, Emma, but this is the only way you can live.”

Though he isn’t fond of humans, he still brings himself to respect them as Amalthea would have. To drain even a drop of a mortal’s lifespan, he would never do so without honouring an agreement. But he does not have the patience to raise a child to adulthood, nor the heart to leave it to freeze to death.

He tells himself this is the kindest fate.

“Do you wish to live?” he repeats, knowing he may never receive an adequate answer until he has committed the unforgivable. After a long moment, the child makes a tiny noise.

“Emma…doesn’t know.”

“Do you wish to know?” Antares presses. “All knowledge can be yours, for a price.”

“Where…where is Mama?”

Perhaps the child will come to hate him for stealing away a piece of its distant future. Antares reminds himself that his choice is the only reason it will be able to live past today. The fire smoldering in his heart burns hotter still, stretching his borrowed lifespan further as he carefully imparts a thread of his knowledge upon the human child named Emma.

_______________________________________

When Emma blinks next, she instinctively understands on an eerie, fundamental level. Knowledge that shouldn’t be hers pours into her mind and flows through her bloodstream. She forces her blurred vision to focus, lifting her head to meet her saviour’s reptilian gaze.

“Antares,” she says, and the squeaky, high-pitched voice that escapes her lips sounds strange to her ears. “That is your name, correct?”

The dragon’s silver scales flash in the dim moonlight as he stretches, long and lithe and graceful.

“Correct,” he rumbles. “And this is where we part ways.”

“What? No, you can’t—”

Antares’ eyes narrow like the crescent moon that hangs in the sky. “Your arrogance knows no bounds, human. You would question the knowledge I have bestowed upon you?”

“No,” she says, swallowing hard. “I hear it. I feel it. I wouldn’t dare question it.”

“Then why do you raise objections?”

Emma doesn’t understand it either. Her heightened cognition is simultaneously a new concept and yet something that feels intimately familiar. Her mind moves at a speed she can’t keep up with, forming thoughts and building her sense of self. It’s overwhelming, and her hands are too tiny and fragile to hold everything in them.

“I’m small,” she blurts out, her fingers clenching weakly at her sides. “I can’t…I can’t survive in this world on my own.”

“A newborn dragon can hold a conversation within a week of hatching,” Antares rumbles. “By a month, a fledgling is ready to leave the nest.”

“I’m not a dragon! I have nowhere to go!”

“And I am not your caregiver.” The dragon’s lip curls threateningly, exposing his sharp fangs. “Know your place, human. Where you go from here is none of my concern. I simply performed a transaction—shaving a year off your life to grant you the ability to make sure it doesn’t end here.”

Emma watches Antares lift himself to his full height, his tail curling around his hind legs. Dread is the unfamiliar emotion that courses through her veins, telling her to think fast before she’s abandoned again.

Again.

She’s aware now, painfully so, that her mother left her here to die. She finds herself almost wishing that this mother of hers had intended to trade the life of her own daughter for a taste of ancient wisdom from a dragon. At least then, Emma would’ve never learned the truth.

“Please,” she says, appealing to emotion rather than logic even though she knows she’s dealing with an ancient being. “Please take me with you.”

“And why,” the dragon growls, “should I—”

“I’ll give you more of my lifespan. Ten years, twenty years. You can have it all! Just don’t…” Emma can hear her own voice crumbling, “please don’t leave me behind.”

And she can feel hot tears prickling at the corners of her eyes, even though she’s trying her hardest to fight against them. She’s still a child, she knows, and the emotions welling up inside her are impossible to stifle. Knowledge cannot negate her pain—it only amplifies it.

“How much can your life be worth if you are so willing to part with it?” Antares scoffs, flicking his tail. “Even imbued with a dragon’s divine wisdom, you are still so very stupid.”

“And you are so very cruel,” Emma counters, swallowing her tears. “You curse a child to such a wretched fate and refuse to take responsibility.”

“Condemning me by your mortal standards is futile.”

“I asked for a transaction,” she says boldly, meeting Antares’ cloudy grey gaze. “Let’s trade.”

He makes a noise under his breath. “I can offer you more knowledge, but I’m afraid you will need to grow into it, child. A human vessel is like a flask, and yours can only hold so much at your age.”

“I don’t need any of that. All I ask is for you to take me with you.” Emma’s legs are stumpy, and she can barely hold herself upright, but she takes a wobbly step forward. The dragon towering over her doesn’t seem moved by her imploring gaze, nor does he react when she tries to reach out again. His shining scales glimmer in the night, a quiet beacon of hope that she can’t bring herself to let go of just yet.

Because if she does, then what else does she have? She feels like an entity created in this moment, a newborn fumbling in the cold darkness at the edge of the sea. It’s as if she’s living a borrowed life.

Well that makes two of them, she supposes.

“I am not fond of humans,” Antares says. “You ask for too much.”

“And I offer a fair deal,” Emma replies. She’s getting used to her tremorous, squeaky voice. She’s getting used to existing, and she’s found her anchor even if it means paying a heavy price for it.

“Hmmph. Mortal attachment is incomprehensible,” the dragon rasps. “I forget you are just a child longing for its mother.”

Emma shakily raises a tiny fist. “No, this is about survival. What can I do on my own, Antares? You know as well as I do how fragile a human child is. All I ask for is a companion until I am ready to find my place in the world on my own terms.”

“And you can find another,” says Antares. “I do not lack fuel to the flames that sustain my life. Dozens of mortals line up at my feet to offer up a fraction of their lifespan to me. What do you have that they do not?”

“I—” The words pause on her tongue. She’s been observing the dragon all this time, and she’s realized something. Blinded by his brilliant scales, she doesn’t notice at first that his dull eyes reflect so little light. They’re an ashy grey, gazing sightlessly into the distant shore even though she’s right in front of him.

“I can be your eyes,” Emma says loudly. The air stills, all of a sudden. Time seems to grind to a halt as Antares’ empty gaze shifts back to her. She stares into the moon, and the moon stares back.

“Wrong answer,” he says in a low, rumbling growl. “But very well. I’ll take it.”

There is no other means for her to survive in this world. All-knowing as Antares is, he must certainly realize that too. If he does not take her with him, she will die here, with the knowledge of it, because humans and dragons are both inherently cruel.

“But when your flames burn out,” Antares adds, and wisps of smoke and steam escape the deep crevice of his mouth, “it’s the end.”

_______________________________________

For Emma, this is only the beginning.

There’s something different between borrowed knowledge and personal experience. Everything she knows, she sees through murky lenses as if viewing it through Antares’ ancient memories. But when she wakes up to the brilliant sunrise for the first time with lucid thoughts, she realizes that the world at her fingertips is so much warmer than the edge of the sea.

The world is bright and colourful, and she’s living in it.

“Do not eat that,” Antares snaps, startling her out of her thoughts. A flap of his membranous wing sends Emma off balance, and the red berries clutched in her hands slip from her fingers. She sighs, bending down to reach for them.

“It’s perfectly good food—”

“Poisonous to humans,” he cuts in sharply, slamming his tail down so the only thing that remains is a crimson smear on the ground. “You are a disgrace to the benefactor of your wisdom, stupid child.”

“I am four years old,” Emma protests, with a nasal whine that she knows Antares despises. “Smart for my age, folks at the tavern tell me. Only you would call me stupid.”

“Humans are all fools,” he states. “Those that have traded for knowledge are the most foolish of them all.”

Sometimes, Emma thinks, the dragon doesn’t seem to remember their circumstances. But neither does he seem to wish to get rid of her. Their bond is a symbiotic one, built on the fragile boughs of mutual gain rather than trust.

“Those berries are perfectly fine as pigment for painting,” she grumbles. “But oh, you’ll nag that arsenic is toxic and drawing pretty pictures is a waste of time—”

“You are correct.”

Emma has followed Antares for almost two years, on an aimless, heedless journey. The dragon does not stray far from the sea, and so neither does she. And such is the life she’s lived, learning about the world at his side.

She watches Antares strike deals with bandits, with merchants, with scholars. She watches human greed run its course and begins to understand why a year off her own lifespan isn’t worth as much as she thought. She watches, and she watches.

She acts as Antares’ eyes. To be blind is a curse when the world wishes to use you for its own gain. Emma watches dutifully, because it’s a transaction, a deal, a contract.

In exchange, he lets her follow.

The world revolves around such simple terms. Knowledge for life. Life for knowledge. This is why humans are short-lived, and dragons are so wise.

“For all a dragon’s wisdom, he cannot write. For all a human’s lifespan, it cannot fly. Have you heard of that saying, child?”

Emma blinks up at Antares from the vibrant colours that stain her fingers and the flat stone that lays before her. “Now I have. It sounds like a dragon’s saying for sure.”

“Cheeky brat.” He arches his back, and the sunlight glinting off his scales is blinding. “I haven’t flown since I lost my sight.”

“Do you want to fly again?”

Though each and every action is transactional, the world is so colourful and bright that it’s easy to forget that. The foggy lens of Antares’ wisdom clears up with each new day, and Emma is starting to understand why humans thirst for knowledge.

But for her, the enjoyment comes from experiencing it herself.

“Because you are a child,” Antares tells her in a quiet rumble. “Someday you will understand the nature of human greed. And that is the day we must part ways.”

Emma thinks she understands. She sees it through the threads of borrowed knowledge that flow through her mind. And she sees it again, when Antares makes trades with humans that offer up their own children—

And she can’t bring herself to look.

She’s reminded of cold sand between her toes and the icy sea breeze, of the disorienting sensation of forming memories. She’s reminded of the Emma that didn’t—couldn’t—survive in this world, the child that never got to grow up properly.

Life for knowledge. Knowledge for life. Is it ironic that she understands the inherent selfish desire for survival, but not the way humans are so willing to sacrifice it all for a scrap of knowledge?

What, Emma wonders, does it mean to be human?

“What happens if you run out of knowledge?” she asks Antares one day. “Humans will run out of life, eventually. Will there ever come a day in which you have nothing left to trade?”

“Are you asking me to die?”

“N-not at all,” Emma splutters. It’s an idle thought that comes to her whenever they visit Amalthea’s grave, and she’s grown bold enough to voice it. The guilt that wracks her forces down her curiosity. “Forget I said anything.”

“Hmm,” Antares hums thoughtfully. “The natural curiosity of humans cannot be helped. But you see, dragons are inquisitive creatures as well. I’ve lived a long time, and I’ve amassed an ocean of wisdom—far greater than the likes of you can comprehend. And I continue to do so, as long as the fire in my heart burns.”

It’s the formula of the world that keeps dragons alive, and Emma does not question it. But the rough gravestone that sits at the edge of the cliff is a paradox as strange as the first threads of borrowed knowledge flowing through her mind.

When dragons should live forever, why did Amalthea die?

“She loved humans,” Antares says simply. “When you love, you give more than you take. Her flames burned out.”

“And you didn’t…you didn’t stop her?”

“Could I have relit a lamp that had already extinguished?” The dragon lets out a long sigh, a trailing tendril of smoke, steam, and the sound of the waves against the shore. “Just as you breathe in air, not water, an exchange of knowledge for life only goes one way.”

“I’m sorry,” Emma whispers. The taste of the sea is heavy and bittersweet, reminding her of her borrowed life, borrowed knowledge, borrowed time. Every moment is borrowed. She knows she’ll have to give it back someday.

“Don’t be. She was gone long, long before you were born.”

Dragons don’t keep human companions—Emma can infer such knowledge from the strange looks from the people that come to trade for wisdom. This is but an insignificant, fleeting moment in Antares’ life. And Emma is nothing but a candle, a flickering flame to light his way for just a moment.

Still, he is the reason she is here today.

“I suppose I understand now,” Emma says. The sand at her feet is the ghost of a memory, but she doesn’t feel cold. “What it means to be greedy. Selfish. I’d trade anything to stick around for a little longer, but that’s not how this works, is it?”

Antares does not answer. He simply stares sightlessly into the horizon where the grey skies meet the ocean for a long, long time. And then he pulls himself upright, and gestures to Emma with a flick of his tail.

“Come.”

“I—” The words are thick in Emma’s throat, and the feeling of fighting back tears surfaces. “Why do you still keep me around?”

This is where they should part ways, is it not? When she understands greed, selfishness, and longs for more than her lifespan is worth?

“That knowledge,” the dragon says gruffly, “is something I’ve already traded away. So come, the sun goes down. We can search for the answer tomorrow together.”

Ah.

What can a human know that a dragon does not?

Perhaps someday, Emma will help him mark Amalthea’s grave with an inscription to carry her legacy through something other than his own memories. Perhaps someday, Antares will take her flying through the grey-tinted skies and she’ll understand what it means to be free. It doesn’t quite matter what the future holds—wisdom and knowledge is only a drop in the ocean in this bright, colourful world.

If it’s only for a moment, the fire will never burn out.

“I’ll help mark your grave someday,” Emma says seriously, hurrying to follow the dragon as he turns on his heel and stalks away. “With lots of bright colours.”

“See if you can outlive me, cheeky brat,” Antares growls, but there’s something akin to a smile in his voice. “Not if I throw you from the sky and see how far you fall.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t!”

“Hmmph.”