By Michael Erasmus
Heat tickled in Ivraeldu’s veins. Rage swam in his heart. A passion to set their world aflame.
Cold air brushed his eyes as his wings sailed the wind. A sea of stars twinkled against the infinite night sky. Below, acres of farmland stretched between snow-capped mountains and a glassy river. Homesteads casting faint glows from their windows dotted the fields. Crops shimmered silver in the pale moonlight, blinking out when his giant shadow raced over them. Oh, how they deserved to perish in fire!
To the south, spires of the human city poked upward. Walls and towers crowned the horizon, and a thousand lights flickered in the city’s silhouette.
Two dozen dragons followed him, their ancient king. Their eyes pulsed in the gloom, bright as the fires in their chests.
The night’s beauty could not pierce his scales to cool his heart. When his gaze passed the rows of wheat dancing below him, he saw not their splendor but fields to torch, the houses, barns, and cattle targets for his wrath.
“Soon our flames will cleanse these lands; first the city must fall,” he had told them before they left the lair. His voice had echoed against the heavens, commanding the other dragons to follow him. None replied. They didn’t need to, because their rage matched his own.
He reminisced over his nights as a youngling when, centuries ago, he had soared here before humans claimed the lands. He’d been free and happy, singing to the stars and twirling above the forest.
He shut his eyes as a lone, steaming tear snaked down his cheek. No more would younglings wander these skies. Just as humans had taken the forest, they had taken the younglings. They had taken her. Pathetic human greed, he thought. I shall end their rapacious hunting. When he opened his eyes, the city was nearer and his rage hotter.
He beat his wings, soaring high above as they reached the city’s walls. He led the dragons in a circle, spying the guards patrolling the ramparts and streets.
So vulnerable, he thought. Guilt scratched his mind. No, they are vile! They deserve this.
He broke the silence to address his brothers and sisters. “This is recompense! Tonight begins the fall of man.”
Trumpets blared as guards pointed skyward. Bells rang, waking the city, screaming danger.
Ivraeldu did not falter but boomed his speech over the cacophony. “Tonight, we shall end their world. Tonight, we are the flames of vengeance!”
He opened his maw and roared. His brethren joined in, echoing his fury. The air shook fiercer than thunder, as if the sky itself cried out for justice.
As his roar faded into a smoldering growl, he folded his wings and dove, plummeting toward the palace. Archers scurried on the ramparts, nocking arrows. Robed figures waved their arms, drawing glowing symbols in the air as they readied spells. A deep chortle shook Ivraeldu’s chest as he neared them. Now they will know the true potency of dragons.
He passed over the palace ramparts—ignoring the petty humans mounting their defense—and circled around the boastful structure. He embraced the fire in his chest, stoking it until it blazed as an uncontainable inferno searing his throat and lungs. Then he roared, releasing the hungry flames into the night air.
His brothers and sisters spread out, raining fire on the ramparts and structures outside the palace wall. Men and women screamed and scattered.
He continued to circle the palace, blasting its walls. Windows imploded, showering marble floors with sparkling fragments. His keen eyes delighted in the chaos he unleashed; his flames disintegrated furniture in high halls like a flood and chased gutless nobles from their royal rooms.
Arrows whizzed by him, rattling against the walls or glancing off his scales. Balls of magical energy zipped over the palace grounds and splashed against him, harmless as waves breaking on rocks.
Amid the chaos, a lone female scream halted his assault. He looked to the wide courtyard where the woman scurried down the palace’s front steps. From the opposite end of the yard, a child ran toward her, wailing. The woman snatched the child, then turned her face up and met the dragon king’s eyes.
The fear in her gaze reminded him of the daughter he had lost, innocent, naive. She wouldn’t have wanted this. Sorrow, fury, and shame clashed in him. He hungered to kill, to rain upon these humans the pain he had endured. Yet he wanted to fly away, hide, and weep over what he had lost—not just his daughter, but himself.
He folded his wings and dove, crashing hedges and rose bushes as he landed. He bounded over the lawn to her. His claws tore up grass and soil, and his tail shattered a statue, which gave him a measure of satisfaction.
He loomed over the woman, looking down on her. She stood rooted in terror, the crying child clinging to her with its face buried in her breast. Her simple dress and dirty complexion marked her as a servant. The child reminded him of the younglings, and his heart tore further.
I should burn them.
The woman shut her eyes and embraced the child but stayed silent.
I must burn them! His heart raced. His muscles trembled.
The cries from the burning city left a knot in his throat. We’re no better than them. Hatred is corrupting us.
The woman peeked at him. Her eyes widened as if she saw his turmoil. She lay the child gently on the ground and whispered to it. It curled into a ball and whimpered. She took a brave, yet trembling step forward.
“M’lord,” she squeaked, tears streaming down her face. “It’s not too late to stop.”
Am I too weak to know mercy?
“M’lord, please!”
He opened his mouth, but the roaring flames of vengeance had dwindled to embers of remorse. Ivraeldu, the great dragon king, surrendered to sympathy, even as his brethren continued to rain reckoning on mankind.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Love this story of hatred and eventual forgiveness! So powerful.
Excellent.
I loved this!!
Love it! Both the world and characters.
This story…!
I so wanted it to end well – but at least it’s bittersweet. So well-written! And I kinda hope there’s a sequel.
I love stories about forgiveness!