III-1
371 Words
III
A cool night breeze blew through the gardens. Dark stepped onto the muddy soil, and the smell of peat was heavy in the air.
His parents had magicked the gardens so well that they were indistinguishable from the bog at home. Even the trees, broken and slanted, and the water, murky with bioluminescent moss floating on the surface, were the same.
He knew his parents would be in their favorite corner.
He walked, thinking about what he was going to do. How he was going to crush the conspirators.
He’d hold them between his claws. He’d play with them just as he’d played with the elven assassin. He would crush all of their bones.
But first, he had to find out who the conspirators were.
Were they from the western continent? He thought he had dominated every village and town. Maybe he wasn’t thorough enough. His examples weren’t harsh enough. His graciousness, his love for those who pledged their allegiance to him, not benevolent enough.
He was not accustomed to such self-doubt, but the fear crept back into his heart. The trees circled overhead and the crickets’ buzzing grew louder, as if they were inside his ears.
He tried to summon anger, the rage of the centuries of ancestors that came before him. He wanted to breathe fire all over his fear. But he couldn’t move.
His heart beat faster. The insects grew even louder. The mud and his tracks beneath him seemed to open up like a grave ready to swallow him.
He wouldn’t let himself imagine it: his body in the ground while the world kept spinning.
Someone, somewhere, had decided that their life, however small, was worth more than his—the dragon lord, the god of the world. They were after his power.
His claws should have dug into the ground. His head should have twisted toward the moon and erupted in a bone-shaking roar.
But the fear had exhausted his rage, and all he could do was drop into the mud and say a prayer.
“I pray that the skies speak to me, that my foes flee from me, and that I may walk in your favor.”
There was never any response from the heavens. But slowly, the shaking subsided and he could think more clearly.
He needed to talk to his father.
- Writer
