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My father didn't have the tiniest bit of magic in him, he couldn't understand it. He was a farmer. A practical man. So he did what his father had done before him, and any good father would do - his absolute best in raising his daughter. He knew he couldn't educate me in the ways of magic, so he tried to educate me in the ways of the world.

I remember it as clear as anything - the day he taught me to ride a horse. I was small and puny in my childhood, as most magic users are. We grow to rely on the magic for simple things, you see. This prevents us from growing large muscles and hampers our control of our bodies. My father didn't care. He put me on that horse and told me to ride. It was a gentle mare but I had not learned to control minds yet. What felt to me like a humongous beast underneath the saddle terrified me and I fell.

I woke up in my bed. My father had carried me there. He seemed both apologetic and disappointed at the same time. He told me then the most important lesson in my life - the lesson that would come to define me. He said "You can never let go, never give up control. If you do they will never respect you. And you'll be just another fool along for the ride."

I dreamed that night a powerful nightmare that seemed to go on forever. It was me riding the mare. At first gently walking, then trotting, then galloping around the farm trying to cast me off. But no matter what it did, how it moved, I held on. I kept my control. In this dream I was a master. I woke up the next morning and my father taught me some actual ways to ride - how to respect your mount, how it was an agreement between you and the horse, as well as practical things that would have been great to learn the day before.

But always in my nightmares I remembered the horse from my fall. A caricature of a horse, more vicious and evil than you could possibly imagine. Always the same - me, in control, riding the whirlwind of insanity masquerading as a horse. Holding on no matter what - or fall forever.

The dream stayed with me as I grew up and came into my real magical strength. Only now it wasn't just the mare from my childhood. When I was at the Colleges to further my studies in magic, it appeared as a feisty stallion. Young still, but four times the strength and twice the temper. Then, when I joined the Guilds and started adventuring, I dreamed of a mighty knight's steed in armor and covered in garish flags. The kind of mount that had seen the glory of combat and not just lived through it but grown from it. The more dangerous the world became around me, the greater the danger the mount posed in my dreams. I held on.

I will not say that the dreams didn't affect me. I needed control of everything in my life, and as a result lived a fairly lonely life. If someone were to describe me as controlling, I will say they were being gentle. But it was the way I was, the way I had been raised, and the way I lived each night. It gave me self-control as well, and that allowed me to develop my magical talents faster and farther than any other. Giving up - letting go - was simply unthinkable for me. If I gave up the reigns for even a second the world would cast me out.

I suppose it was inevitable that I would try to ride a dragon. My group of adventurers had done a marvelous job tracking it down and fighting the beast. It had roamed the countryside, burning villages, extorting Kingdoms for gold. A true terror. I wouldn't have gone with less than those hunters against the dragon for they the best, but I do want to credit them for the dragon's defeat. As it lay dying on the ground - as large as two buildings with a wingspan as tall as twenty - I felt that I had to try to ride it.

I was compelled. Not by magic, not by mind control. There wasn't a person in the world that could breach my mind then. But the dragon was a challenge. Like a musician playing a lonely note that can overwhelm you with emotions, seeing the dragon brought me back to my father's advice. I had to ride it. I had to be in control.

So I did. The dragon agreed. One last flight. Its wounds were too great, its nature too dangerous to be kept alive. But I did connect with the dragon during that one last ride. I suppose it imparted in me its wisdom and knowledge of dragon magic. The scholars told me later that it was a great honor. All I could feel riding the dragon was an unattainable level of accomplishment. Like I was doing what I was always meant to do.

It should come as no surprise to you that when I dreamed, I rode the dragon still. It was not mad like its dreamlike predecessors, but calm, submissive even. And me in control on top of it. I was not one to pour lavish words onto my own self confidence. I did experience a sense of nobility. A sense of right, with no determinable source. Every mad dreamride in my life had brought me to this point. I was on top of the world, master of all. As long as I held on, no danger could touch me.

The dragon's magic had further boosted my magical powers and with that my reputation in the Kingdoms. As in all things, it was windy on the top of the mountain. Years later, I was no longer working for the Guilds but running them. And they prospered under my rule - mightier than any king in the lands. Anything else would have been beneath me.

I had dealt with the odd assassin in my days but this change in me and my status brought about a change in the quality of people that came after me. Still, even I was surprised when the dragon hunters came after me. I was shocked even, a word I never would have used to describe myself before that day. It was the dragon hunters that had helped me slay the dragon all those years past. Though they were never my friends, nevertheless I couldn't help but feel a sense of betrayal.

They told me I reeked of dragon. "Impossible", I said, "I haven't ridden a dragon for a decade. You were there - or don't you remember?" They launched their attacks, their manipulative strikes, their carefully planned traps. All that was inconsequential for me now. I had grown too powerful. Though they were masters in their own crafts, to me they seemed sluggish, predictable. I flew between them, striking them one at a time and receiving not a single cut on my body.

But I did respect them for trying. When it came down to the last of them, I paused for a moment. None would accuse me of being melodramatic in any other moment. For this moment, I would concede the point. I supposed I felt a tinge of sadness at the passing of the old masters. "Why?" I asked them. I wanted to know what madness had driven them to this foolish endeavor.

At first they said nothing, so I pressed them, my breath hot in the air. "Were you so envious of the power I gained from the dragon? Or was it the reputation I received, did you feel stubbed? That your role was underplayed and less known? Or was it the riches that I spent wisely while you squandered it? Or were you simply unable to move on - stuck in your life trying to relive the old glory days?" The last of them looked me right in my eyes and uttered their last words. "You're the dragon."

I dreamed that night, as I had every night before since my fall from that mare my father tried to teach me to ride. For years, ever since we defeated the dragon, that dragon was what I had been riding in my dreams. But now, this night, everywhere I searched in my dreams - I couldn't find myself. I saw only the dragon roaming the lands, going where it wanted, doing what it wished. No matter what villages were burnt, what kings that begged for mercy. A true terror that none dared resist. The perfect image of control that nothing could threaten.

Where was I in the dream?

Wow. Just.. wow.

Very nice!

I really liked the "whirlwind of insanity masquerading as a horse" line. That whole paragraph. The concept of recurring dream. The father's advice which is vaguely fitting for horse riding, but which in the context of the prompt gets a new, more sinister meaning.

It really hooked me. I stopped to re-read it a few times and thought "wow, it's going to be good". And I was not disappointed :) Well done!

Ohhhh sweet. Beautiful flow and the twist... not really a twist but foreshadowed and projected.

Sins of the fathers and all that...

From the little that I remember of my parents, I know they loved me. It was just that they had their priorities. You know, mages. Their magic was their life. The fact that I was also a part of their life seemed to be of little importance in any day to day function. I tried. I actually tried very hard to become part of their world if only to just spend a little more time with them.

For years I studied like they did, getting help from their assistants and their apprentices all the while trying to reach for their attention. I was good. At least, I think I was good. Being as young as I was and pushing passed men and women in their mid-twenties with magic that was meant for a master mage hopefully meant something. They went to my demonstrations and for a while, I seemed to meet their expectations.

The work that I did seemed to give me nothing but respect in return. As a kid, I just wanted to be loved. Being told, good job or well done like I was their charge was as hollow as the birthday cards they got the secretaries to write. Even when they talked to me, it didn’t sound like they were even the ones to sign off on the emotion they used.

It got worse when he arrived.

I didn’t know where Path came from back then nor did I care. Everything that I had been striving for, even desperately reaching out to, seemed to collapse the week that old man arrived. My parents, their attention, just seemed to disappear. Why? Research needed to be done. It was simple. I should have understood but I didn’t. How could I? I was twelve.

Weeks turned to months. Path, my parents, several of the grand master mages, and what was bitterly called the inner circle were all locked away in the college's basement. Sub-basement. Whatever, it was deep. Deeper than I ever had been. They said it was for safety reasons and the shockwaves that would shake the college made sure no one thought twice.

I kept up my studies but it felt like the drive was gone. Bending fire, compressing it into an arc and expanding it back out into a trap was really the only way that I could focus my anger. Or was it my loneliness? It didn’t really matter when I was able to focus.

Something happened, though, that I wasn’t expecting. The months that slowly ticked by turned to disappointment. I could feel it. Somewhere in the college, it was starting to slowly seep into everything that we did. The rumblings from the basement started to get more frequent but when people talked about them, it wasn’t in awe anymore. They were just another nuisance. Not that it mattered to me.

Another rumble, another day alone, another candle lit, another bowl filled, another stage set, and another drill ready. Pulling the flame toward me, I dragged it over the small bowl of oil and in my wrath, compressed the light until it twinkled like a star in front of me. White light enveloped the room as I tilted the energy away from heat and pushed it out into the room.

Now in darkness, I felt at peace. The quiet of my mind was a facade but the control was what kept me together. I could have stayed like this forever. Somewhere just beyond though I felt something different. A presence. It wasn’t intrusive. It was like a new painting had been hung on the wall but all the dust in the room had already accepted it. If not for this state, would I have noticed? Letting my mind focus, I let my hidden arc hit the target and blow a small hole in the panel in front of me.

“I felt that.”

It was Path, the old man my parents had abandoned me for. Why was he here? In a castle full of empty promises and false hope, why would he disturb the one place where I could feel numb? I let out a sigh longer than I was meaning to before turning and bowing to him.

“My apologies,” I spoke as neutrally as I could, “I did not know I had an audience.”

“But you did,” the Path mused, cutting off anything else I had to say as he walked toward me, “I felt your mind see me and see past me. How did you learn to do that?”

“I didn’t,” I muttered, shaking my head.

“Talent enhanced by training,” Path stated, I think more to himself than to me, “Your parents must be very proud of your progress. Who are they?”

“You’d know better than me,” I shouldn’t have said it but it came out like a flame. Biting my tongue quickly and looking away I took a breath and focused. This was an honoured guest. I quietly apologized and muttered, “Sorry, umm, they are Masters Byron and Aria-Lynn.”

“That’s a shame,” Path nodded as looked me over.

He didn’t say anything else that day and left after a couple of long minutes of awkward contemplation. Nothing was said about it at dinner that night. My parents were locked up in their studies as always and their assistants were just as absent. Had Path said anything? Nothing seemed amiss but shouldn’t there have been something?

I started noticing him more and more outside of the grand hall and the guest areas. Sometimes he was in full garb and gown but other times he was dressed like a worker. Sometimes he was actually working, sweeping the halls or mopping an entrance. I tried to help. He would simply straighten up and leave when I got too close. That was until one day he just handed me a mop.

“Can you clean without being disturbed?”

“Is this a test?” I asked back, now very confused.

“If you want it to be,” Path explained, “Or if it would help to think of it as one.”

“Umm,” I muttered, taking the mop and rolling up my sleeves, “Okay.”

And then we mopped.

We mopped the entire entranceway to the south hall. Him in a servant's tunic and me in my robes. Why? Multiple times, I started a thought about what we were doing but Path broke in before I spoke and told me to stay on task.

When we finished and Path had set his mop down he took a look around at the crowded entrance as people, many of them mages, floated by us. It was easy to be ignored by them as I had made my life about only being noticed when I wanted to. Path on the other had seemed pleased by it.

“Can you be seen without being heard?” Path asked curiously.

It took barely a moment to look someone in the eye and for them to chuckle at me.

“Did you get yourself grounded, Oliver?” one of dad’s apprentices scoffed at me. His name was Barry? I couldn’t remember. Dad only muttered the names of those he liked or those that disappointed him. Barry was just boring.

“Finally, someone of promise,” Path beamed.

It wasn’t overnight but the college felt a little brighter after that day. Path watched me practice after he had finished whatever he was doing with my parents. I may have resented him but the man was persistent and knew so much that it overrode whatever I was feeling before. He made me feel seen. If that makes any sense. It felt like the journey I was on suddenly had a purpose.

I didn’t know that purpose nor Path’s true form until some years later and by that time it didn’t really shock me. My parents, in all their ambition, managed to annihilate themselves trying to achieve a fraction of the power that Path had contained within himself. That was a hard day but as shocking as it was that it happened I wasn’t surprised by it. I wrote and read the eulogy and was told how strong I was to do it.

Path was with me throughout it though. He had become the parent that I never really expected but always sort of hoped for. Not the, I want to be your best friend, type of parent mind you but the type of parent that it mattered to me when he said he was proud. I cried the first time I realized he meant it when he said he loved me.

I was twenty-five when he transferred his power to me and it took a couple of months after that for me to actually start living again without him. The only thing I attended in that time was his funeral. I could remember how cold the world was before I had met him but it seemed sharper now that I had known him. Dragons had this power of presence that seeped into anyone around them and for a while, everyone and everything felt the sting of losing him.

He had become my father.

I had become his son.

As he was a dragon of old, I was sure he would live long after I had passed into the abyss and my name was forgotten to time. Fate, the gods, or maybe it was just time itself seemed to deem that unwise. Where he had come from or why he had chosen to make our little college his last refuge, I don’t know. I will be forever grateful for the time he chose to spend with me.

I closed my journal as I finished writing out one of his more unusual stories as I sat in the office that I grew up in. Path, as he had put it, had only finished his first life. His second, the stories that he had created and shared were still going strong and I would be damned if I didn’t strive to make sure his second life stayed vibrant and healthy. My books, my training, and my leadership would push Path’s struggles into the light.

“Sir,” a squire, not as young as I was at the beginning but still greasy, yelled as he entered my office, “Sir, there are hunters at the west entrance.”

“Mage hunters don’t concern us,” I scoffed, waving him away.

“They aren’t mage hunters, sir,” the boy explained, “They say they are dragon hunters.”

“Well, then tell them they are about six months too late,” I chuckled, Path would have found this hilarious. He had warned me that these idiots, with their crossbows and swords, may come looking but the old man had always kept his presence hidden.

“Sir, umm, Jai sort of did but they said they are here for the dragon in the spire,” the squire tried his best to explain, “Do they mean you, sir? You aren’t. Right? I mean I know. I tried to tell them but they kept pointing up here.”

“Well,” I said with a frown, “If they are threatening the college, it doesn’t matter who they are hunting. We are all mages and we treat mage hunters all the same.”

“Yes,” the squire said with a quick and firm nod, “Understood sir.”

After the young man closed my door, I muttered as I got up from my table, “What did you do to me Path?”

The precise detail I visualized this story is absolutely insane I’m riding the train and was lost in the story - I almost missed my stop haha

I saw the hunter the moment she stepped in my tavern, but I felt her and her partner when they entered my village bound. The other girl is in the stable, searching what isn't there. Same as all the hunters came before them.

I sighed inwardly. The blessing I received from the old monk of the hill, is turning more into a curse every decade.

She sat down in front of me, putting her scimitar down. " What is cooking today?" " We have meat pies and stew." " Can I get a pie and a mug of ale." " Your partner won't have anything?" To her surprised look, I said "what does she like, stew or pie?" "Stew. So, you're not hiding, are you?" " I run this tavern. Not exactly a hiding place. " " I have seen stranger things. " Well, she is a hunter, a young one. Her partner joined her table a few minutes later, when I was getting their food from the kitchen. Her presence isn't the same. And she smelled different, more primal. The blessing in me stirred differently for her. The only other time I smelled and felt that was when I got my blessing.

She is the heir. After centuries I would finally be able to rest. I'll be able to move on. The heir of the Ancient One finally found me, finally found their magic.

I put down their food and to my horror I realised she is only a hatchling. She looked at me with her big black eyes.
" Dine, you look hungry. "

That afternoon, after the whelp is fed and rested, we sat down in my home to talk. The girls were young even in human years. They were both orphans, raised and trained in a hunter tribe. Neither of them had any prophecies for them. So, they started hunting together, to find their own future. I told them the story of how I, a young hunter myself, found the Ancient One, beside the hill beyond this village, living as an old monk. He was resting when I approached him, but couldn't hurt him. His magic was ancient, millenia old, much more powerful. I was no match. But he didn't kill me. He seemed so tired and heart broken. He lost his mate a few centuries ago in a brutal battle, and lost their egg with her. He just never believed the egg to be destroyed. So he held on, waited, for his heir. "You are to be called Azar. And I am to give my blessings, to you." " You killed my sire? " " I hunted the Ancient One, because it was prophesied at my birth, those tricky things. I was to be the one to found him. And I did. I was to be the one to end him, and I did. But I didn't found a mighty beast, I met an old monk, who suffered for centuries from broken heart. I freed him from existing. I offered to be the vessel of his magic. It wasn't pity. It was a kindness returned. Now I ask of you the same."

The hatchling didn't seem convinced. The hunter looked uncertain. I asked them to get some rest. And think it over. I have time. The full moon is next week. The dawn of full moon is when I'll be able to give away.

I observed the girls through the week. Neither of them seemed to be aware of the bond between them. Well they couldn't see the magic yet. This orphan isn't a hunter either, though she is trained. I conferred with the Ancient Magic. She'll be the First Rider of the new dragon millenia. The dawn of next full moon will be the new beginning. I pack things for the journey to the hill of the old monk. The Ancient cave, is waiting for us. The tavern will be closed for the first time in five centuries. I said my goodbyes to the villagers. I bid farewell to the Ancient magic. We started with the rise of full moon.

Interesting story. It really painted a picture. In my head I saw an Air temple of ATLA sort of institution.

Thank you!

A dagger glints as it stabs into my table.

"Oh gods, not this again," I can't help but mutter into my half-finished pint of beer.

"Ye'll be wanting te' take this outside," the bartender calls to the dragon hunter who's just arrived at my table. "I don't want no trouble inside me pub."

"Let's make this easy," the hunter says. She's petite, but armed to the teeth. Her red enameled armor is studded with various knives, crossbow bolts, and poison darts. She has a crossbow on her back and a short sword at her hip. Judging by her stance, she knows how to use each and every one of her many, many weapons. "You tell me your name, and then you fly me up to Fire Mount and help me track down and kill the rest of your kind. I'll kill you last. Make this hard, and I'll just kill you now."

She wants my dragon name because she thinks I'm a disguised dragon. If I were a disguised dragon and she got my dragon name, she could command me to do whatever she wants, including fly her to the dragon stronghold at Fire Mount--a mountain literally so hot it would melt the flesh off any mere human who tried to climb it.

But I'm not a disguised dragon and I don't have a dragon name--just dragon magic which apparently hunters can smell. Each dragon husk they bring to the capitol gets them untold riches and their name in a big special book. All you need is a nose for dragons--or, rather, dragon magic.

You try and convince a greedy dragon hunter that you're human, though, see how far it gets you.

I've only just shaken a pack of hunters in the previous town. I haven't slept more than a few hours in three days. To say I'm getting cranky would be an understatement. I chug down the beer, slamming my empty mug on the table when I'm done.

"Let's take this outside."

I walk out first, sure that the either respect for the tavern keeper or surprise at my nonchalance will keep her from stabbing me in the back. But just in case, I twirl my right hand fingers into a quick shielding spell. It's a thin one--good ones take time to cast--but it'll stop any blades from slashing up my favorite green cloak too much.

Outside, the mountain air is bracing. I wish, not for the first time, that I was an actual dragon and not just some knock-off made by the generous whims of a short-sighted ancient lizard. Sure I can cast a few spells, but can I fly? Can I breathe fire? Is my body immune to the ravages of time? No, no, and a big old wrinkled no.

I turn around to see the hunter in front of the tavern, crossbow already aimed at my heart. I twist my fingers again, thickening my shield slightly in a way I hope she doesn't notice.

"Would you believe me if I told you I am not the dragon you are looking for?" I asked. I would hope my tired eyes and lack of literal wings would give me a way, but her eyes keep their steely glint. "Is that a no?"

She loosens the crossbow bolt, pinning my cloak to the ground. She has another one ready before I can move and the other side of my cloak is pinned. A third bolt is ready practically before I can blink and she's right in my face. I realize, a little too late, that I'm far too tired for this and also a little too drunk. I hold my hands up in surrender.

"Tell. Me. Your. Name." She hisses the words through her teeth.

"It's John, nice to meet you." I offer my hand, but I'm not really expecting her to take it. She only glares.

"Your full name. Now."

"It's John Xavier McDougal."

She jabs me with the crossbow. "That's not funny."

I sigh theatrically. "Ok, fine, It's John Francis Xavier McDougal. Are you happy now? Gods, I didn't want to share that middle name with anybody, but what can you do when someone shoves a crossbow in your face?"

Her expression flashes confusion and then concentration as she smells the air around me. She does it unlike any other hunter I've seen--kind of like a dog, with little sniffs and snuffs in and out. As she does this, she gradually forgets about the crossbow and lowers it.

"You smell…strange," she says.

I don't miss my opportunity, and yank the crossbow out of her hands before she remembers the large amount of zeros on a dragon's bounty. Gods, the thing is heavy.

She gasps in surprise, but has a knife at my throat before I can lift the crossbow.

"What are you?" she asks.

"Oh, so you don't think I'm a dragon anymore?" I ask sarcastically.

"No, I don't." The surety of her statement takes me more off guard than her arrival did. No hunter has believed me. Ever. Not in the entire decade I've been running from them.

"I-" I start, then think better on it. "It might be easier to explain without the knife on my throat."

She puts the knife away and jerks the crossbow from my hands before I can do anything about it. She trains it on my heart.

"Explain," she says.

I keep my hands up, but bend toward my pinned cloak. "I'm just going to pull these out, if you don't mind. I don't want to rip my cloak any worse than it already is.."

She doesn't shoot me as I tug the bolts free from the ground. I keep one hand up as I hand the bolts to her with the other. For whatever reason, this is what relaxes her. She lowers the crossbow, but doesn't put it away.

"What's your name?" I ask. I can tell she doesn't want to tell me. "Just your first name is fine."

Eventually she relents. "It's Kayla."

"Ok, Kay--can I call you Kay?--why don't I tell you all about it over a pint?" I gesture back at the tavern door. "My treat."

I can see the conflict in her face. She has a choice: kill me now and potentially collect a bounty, or listen to my story and risk me getting away. I guess she decides she'll be just as able to kill me later.

"Fine. But stay in my sight at all times."

"Yeah, sure, I can do that," I say, finally lowering my hands. "Not a problem."

I get to the tavern door first and hold it open for Kayla, but she doesn’t go in ahead. Eh, worth a try.

I twist my fingers to thicken my shield as I call out to the bartender, "Two pints, if you please, for me and the lady here." I slide into the same seat as before, my old mug still waiting for me, and begin my tale.

"I was a dragon hunter myself once, you see…"

Nice one!

Nice one!

Nice!

Nice. So, for this whole time, was the protagonist in the wrong? Did they unintentionally massacre innocents and pillage every place they came across with their newfound power?

So it turns out... all dragons are just people with dragon magic.

Young man I hear you. I hear you, in the bushes. I have heard you following me for three days. Why don't you come and join me. I have meat and a fire. It must be cold in that bush, and you have not stopped stalking me long enough to gather food. I have no ill intent. There shall be no bloodshed tonight.

Yes come. Let me see you in the light. I have only caught site of your shadow for three days and nights. You look awful. Eat. Indeed I did hope you would starve or succumb to nature by now. You do not look as worthy as you have proven. I have killed men twice your stature and age. You are unworthy.

You who know not why I am the enemy. This fight, like myself, is older than you can conceive. I have witnessed entire evolutions of man compared to your couple of decades. I have outlived anyone who knows my name. You are hunting a myth. To your credit, I have not been hunted in what feels like eons.

Indeed you have found the last dragon magic left in the world. This very fire is merely a product of ancient magic. Nothing like those odd sounding tools you carry and point. Do not click that one again. Those tools are nothing like the swords and guns of the past. Man has changed. I was once like you if you would believe. You hardly would.

What story have they told this century. The first was that I was the last dragon shapeshifted by Merlin himself. The second tale I heard was that a woman fucked a dragon producing what some called a hybrid and others a mutant. The last hunter claimed I was a traitor dragon hunter that had stolen the dragons' power for himself.

Had I known when I took a position in the dragon's guard that I would be here, I would have taken the death of my people. They died fighting the hunters in the name of the dragons. The dragon were dying. They had chosen my people, not only to protect them but the magic of the dragons.

That is what you want is it not. Or should I say what they want. All hunters are just hired by someone to do a job. I cannot blame you for trying to make your coin.

Unfortunately, you are far too late, hunter. This night was your last if you continued without food. You knew that, yet you continued. Brave, but stupid. What is to say I do not kill you at this weak point. Bravery only goes so far. I thought I was brave. Until given a magic that forced me to run for millennia. This magic was a blessing for my people, but your people turned it into a curse.

Still this fire and this food is all that remains of the dragons' magic. Before you sits nothing but an old man. I am too old to fight. I came to die here by this fire in this unrecognizable place where it all started. This magic is the only thing I have left. I watched the slaughter and slow death of my people, the rise and fall of civilizations, and killed many a man to protect a joy I could not share. You may take my heart when I die, though I doubt it will be enough to satisfy your employer. All I ask is that you let me fade into the darkness that I have been chasing for so long. Please, hunter.

The mental and physical transformation of the character goes hand in hand but isn't necessarily identical. By the end she is only just starting to recognize that she is the greatest danger in the lands. I would say given her ability to fly and her hot breath that she is further along the physical transformation than she knows. But she is not dangerous because she burns villages in her sleep, it is her power and demand for absolute control that makes her dangerous.

Oh. That isn't reassuring in the slightest.

Anyway, good story.

If dragons are just people, it's not even dragon magic, just people magic. The dragon hunters are just racist conspiracy nuts against people with magic and accusing them of being lizard people

Thank you!

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Dragons by their very nature are magical creatures.

They are also very old and cunning creatures.

What better way to cheat death than to become one of your enemies?

She is a good dragon though and as long as she is respected those under her will grow and prosper. :)

I like the direction this is going. Smart dragon hunters and not ones that are not much better than barbarians with training.

More please? :)

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My hand trembled as I stared into the large, intelligent eyes that knew that they were about to die. I was never a killer, I never had courage, and I had loved dragons ever since I was a little kid.

And so, I dropped my blade, and hugged the majestic beast. I could feel its surprise at my action, but I don't care. I've studied this one. Its been misunderstood. It hasn't burnt down a single village, taken a single animal, or have even a singular copper coin. It just wanted to fly, and be free. So I refused to kill it.

My party tried to get me aside so they could do the deed themselves, when suddenly everything around me, except for the dragon, was all grey. Everything was frozen. Time stop. The dragon must've recovered just enough to use its magic.

I heard a booming voice in my head, and I looked at the dragon. It was touched by me, and was willing for me to become his heir by me inheriting its magic. I accepted, and the flow of time resumed.

I fought my once companions, running on pure instinct. I didn't really know how to fight in practical situations, I was just taught martial arts. But the magic that I somehow knew to use helped a lot.

They accused me of being the dragon, that the dragon had really went into my body. I don't blame them, but I keep them from the corpse all the same. With that final use of his magic, the mighty dragon had died.

Once I was finally done protecting the dragon, I looked towards him. I could use his parts to make armor and weapons. But that would mean taking apart his body... and then once again I could hear his voice in my head. It boomed about how he didn't mind me using his physical format to better myself. I then, with his guidance, made tools and armor for myself.

I then lived my now extended life, in his place. I lived in his home, became friends with his friends, protected as much as I could from humans, and fly around. Soon I didn't need armor or weapons, as my scales and claws were all that I needed. I soon intimidated everyone with my roar, and obtained great wings, perfect to fly around in. Apparently I had to become a dragon to safely wield the magic and not feel the strain. Oh well, its a dream come true. Goodnight, humans.