The dragon lay dying in a field of ash and shattered stone. Its great body, once a mountain of muscle and magic, trembled with each shallow breath. The golden fire in its eyes had dulled to embers.
Sir Aldric had never seen a dragon so close before—never without a sword raised, never without the intention to kill. Yet here he stood, weaponless, staring at the magnificent creature crumbling before him.
The dragon’s voice rumbled like thunder. “Before I leave this world, I ask a favour.”
Aldric hesitated. He had come here to slay the beast, to return to the kingdom as a hero. But there was no victory in this. Not now.
“What do you ask of me?” he said at last.
The dragon lifted a claw, barely able to keep it aloft. Clutched within was a small, smooth stone, black as midnight.
“Take this,” it said. “Carry it to the highest peak in the Valley of Echoes. There, place it beneath the moonlight and speak my name: Vorthalax.”
Aldric frowned. “Is this… a spell?”
“A memory,” it murmured. “A promise kept too late.”
Aldric took the stone. It was warm to the touch, pulsing with something that felt almost like a heartbeat.
With a final sigh, Vorthalax’s great eyes slid shut, and the ground trembled as the last dragon of the realm took its final breath.
The journey to the Valley of Echoes was perilous, but Aldric had faced worse. He climbed the jagged cliffs, his hands bloodied and raw, until at last he reached the highest peak. The moon hung high, silver light washing over the land.
He knelt and placed the stone upon the frostbitten rock. The moment it touched the surface, the wind stilled. The world fell into an eerie silence.
Aldric swallowed. “Vorthalax,” he said.
The air shimmered. Shadows coiled like smoke. Then, from the darkness, a figure stepped forward.
It was another dragon, smaller than Vorthalax, its scales the colour of the night sky. Its golden eyes burned bright with something between sorrow and hope.
“You have brought him home,” the dragon said, its voice cracking with emotion.
Aldric didn’t understand, but he didn’t need to. The stone at his feet split open, and from within, a warm golden light spilled forth, rising like mist.
The second dragon stepped forward, pressing its forehead to the light, and a sound filled the air—something between a sigh and a song.
Then, just as quickly as it had begun, the light faded. The second dragon turned to Aldric, eyes shimmering.
“Thank you,” it said. Then, with a great beat of its wings, it soared into the sky, disappearing into the stars.
Aldric remained on the mountain for a long while, watching the night, the wind carrying a name he now understood.
Vorthalax had never wanted a warrior’s burial. He had only ever wanted to go home.
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