His body twists in sleep, his mind plagued by dreams he doesn’t understand. Sweat slicks his skin, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he struggles to escape the images his unconscious mind has brought forth. His lips forms soundless words in some strange tongue, his hand grasping at the sheets like claws.

He is lost, lost in the world that only exits in sleep, in a world lost to time and myth…

* * *

He was too late. The city was burning.

Normally, such a tragedy was beneath his notice. After all, what were the deaths of a few thousand humans to him? Scampering through their petty and short lives, he usually paid them no more mind than a horse does the flies that it swats with its tail.

But these humans were a different matter. They had sworn fealty to him, and provided him with sacrifices that, while not extravagant in his eyes, were impressive considering their limited ability. Gold, livestock, the groveling of their so called king, they had done everything within their power to appease him.

Why had he listened to their pleas? He supposed he was growing decadent, and he found it amusing to have these short-lived creatures bring him food and wealth. And their gems and gold they brought were beautiful, especially when he added them to his already impressive collection.

And so, in a moment of weakness, he had not only agreed to not burn their city to the ground, he had even promised to protect them. Not that  breaking such a promise was unheard of with his kind, but he took some pride in the value of his promises.

He snarled, feeling his claws break the stone beneath his feet. He should have know that summons to the Crag was a trick. He’d realized it too late, though, and, as fast as his wings could beat, he still arrived too late.

He didn’t need his keen sense of smell or sharp eyes to know that every human in that city was dead or dying. The end of their lives didn’t trouble him, but being tricked into breaking his promises…That angered him, and his anger was terrible to behold.

He threw back his head and roared, the sound rolling down the mountain upon which he perched, a sound like furious thunder coming to claim vengeance. With a mighty leap, he took to the air, his great wings bringing him into the sky over his city, his gaze searching out the perpetrators of this insult.

His eyes narrowed as he saw a caravan of wagons leaving the far side of the city. Armed men on horseback escorted the wagons, and he could hear the sounds of chains and whimpering even at this distance. So, they had taken some of the city’s inhabitants as slaves. His lips curled back from his teeth in what no one would have called a smile.

He dipped one wing, wheeling over in the air, his body hurtling at incredible speed towards the caravan. His lungs filled with air, and he summoned the ancient birthright of his kind deep within his chest.

He heard the shouts, the screams of fear, but it was too late. His jaws opened, and hell itself came out to greet them all.

* * *

He whimpers in his sleep, begging for release in wordless noises. He no longer writhes, merely twitching slightly, so captured by his dreams that his body no longer responds to unconscious signals. His eyelids flicker as if he might almost escape the moment and crash back into the waking world, but they still after a moment.

The dream does not let go, and he sinks deeper…

* * *

He stumbled, but did not fall, despite the pain of his wings. The shredded remains of his once proud limbs hang from his back like discarded rags, but he didn’t dare take the time to heal himself.

“You are beaten,” his foe said, the language of their kind sounding through the mountain cavern with a low rumbling. “Surrender, and serve me.”

He pushed himself up, locking his legs so that they wouldn’t betray him by buckling yet again. One of his eyes was swollen shut, and he wasn’t sure is he would ever see out of that glowing orb again, but the other was untouched, and he turned its baleful gaze on his enemy.

“I serve no one,” he spat through broken fangs and teeth. “I am-“

“You are beaten!” his enemy shouted, rearing to his full height. “I am your master now! Surrender!”

He laughed, despite the pain his broken bones brought him. “Shouting will not make me surrender,” he said. “I am the Lord of Flame, whelpling!” And then, despite the pain that shot through his body, he reared up himself, towering over his enemy, spreading what remained of his wings as he held up his foreclaws.

“Come to me, child,” he whispered, his pain fading under the wave of his fury. “Come, and let me show you what you should have learned.”

His enemy snarled a humorless laugh. “As you wish, Lord,” he said, and launched himself forward.

And he went to meet him.

Their impact shook the mountain, With flame and claw, they tore at each other. Gouts of blood sprayed through the heated air, turning to a sickly steam that clouded their vision and clogged their lungs.

But still they fought, tails lashing, teeth ripping free chunks of flesh. His enemy was younger, faster, and perhaps stronger.

But he had not survived for these countless millennia by relying on his physical might alone. He turned and twisted, feinting and dodging with all his prodigious ability. For over six millennia, the Lord of Flame had survived, and no one would defeat him.

Especially not this child.

His jaws clamped down on the back of his enemy’s neck, and he felt the thrill of victory course through him. It was over, and they both knew it now.

“Mercy,” his enemy cried out, fear in his voice. “Please, I beg-“

With a violent shake of his massive head, he broke the whelpling’s neck, and then sent him crashing into the wall of the cavern with a final, contemptuous toss.

He felt repugnance at the sight of his fallen foe. His enemy had asked for mercy, and such a request turned his stomach. To think one of his kind could fall so low…

He turned and moved deeper into the cavern. He must tend to his wounds. And, once that was done, he would tend to the humans the whelpling had allied himself to.

The thirst for vengeance burned in him still…

His eyes are open now, but blank and unseeing. One hand reaches up, as if trying to grasp some unseen thing. The room has grown hot, almost steaming. Small tendrils of smoke begin to drift up from the bed sheets, and the cheap smoke alarm on the ceiling begins its incessant beeping. But no one else is in the house to hear it. No one will come to investigate the alarm.

The dream drags him further down as the first tendrils of flame appear…

* * *

Their sinuous necks intertwined, and the deep rumbling sound of their contentment rumbled in their chests.

But that sound faded quickly as they separated. She looked upon him with her fierce eyes, eyes that were now touched ever so slightly by fear.

“Our world is ending,” she said softly, reaching out with her head to rub her scaled cheek against his.

He leaned into the caress. “I know, flame of my heart,” he said softly. “These humans…They are so weak, so pitiful. But there are so many…”

“They worshiped you like a god,” she said, anger blossoming in her voice. “You gave them peace! You gave them riches! How dare they-“

“Enough,” he said, his voice snapping out the command, and she fell silent. “They are not a wise race,” he said, trying to control his own anger. “They are afraid. Everything is ending…”

He turned his head to look out of the cave they had called home for so long. He shifted his weight, ignoring the piles of gold and jewels he pushed aside in the process. “It is all ending,” he said, his anger gone, replaced with the sadness that only someone who had lived for over ten millennia could feel. “Magic, the things unknown to all but our kind, the sky serpents, the krakens…All of it is dying.”

“Except for us,” she said, shifting her weight to lean against him, sharing the warmth of her body with his. “We still live.”

He held his head up a little higher. “Of course,” he said. “We are creatures of this world, not apart from it, the way these humans are.” He growled in disdain. “With their fires and things made of metal. They should have kept to coins and gems. At least those have some beauty in them.”

He pulled a claw through the riches in front of him. “We see the beauty of these things,” he said softly, his eyes glittering with some indecipherable emotion as he watched the precious objects glitter and spin. “We see the joy of such beauty, the craftsmanship, the care, the skill.” His eyes grew hard. “They only see the power.”

She rubbed her cheek against his once more. “They have no power,” she said. “Only what they can steal.”

“Most of them,” he agreed, and then let out a long sigh, one born of weariness and sudden despair. “But they are so many. Some I would not harm, perhaps even come to like or respect. But the time for such things passed long ago.”

He stood suddenly, spilling gold away from his form. She straightened, suddenly afraid of the fierce power radiating from him. A fear she had always felt, a fear that quickened her heart and filled her with longing.

“I will show them power,” he said, his talons clenching and unclenching. “They want to take our beauty. They want to take out lives.”

He reared up suddenly, and his roar cracked the stone of the cavern ceiling. It rumbled and rolled, carrying for miles, shaking the core of the mountain itself.

He dropped back down, his eyes as hard as the stone around him. “Let them try to take it.”

* * *

The fire department arrives too late, the house is lost. They can only contain the fire, keep it from spreading. They use their machines, and their water, and contain that elemental force of destruction, hemming it in, caging it until it dies of starvation.

And in the midst of the ruins, with the smell of smoke and char heavy in the air, they find him. He lays in the middle of the remains of a bed, covered in ash.

But he is unhurt.

As they move him, his eyes open, and the paramedic attending him makes the mistake of looking into those eyes. He drops the patient by instinct, backing away as some forgotten reflex takes hold, telling him to run.

The man sits up and looks around, smiling slightly, his eyes hard as stone.

“Now,” he whispers, “I take back what is mine.”