A dragon’s hoard is at once precious and precarious; none moreso than that of Mazzaroth the Black.

The great dragon rested upon the highest peak in the land of Gabreel and he was content to lounge about his mountaintop, indifferent to the world below; his eyes were turned ever upward to gaze upon the glistening twinkle of his hoard of fire and light—the very stars themselves.

Legend told that Mazzaroth, in his youth, had flown about the galaxy igniting planet after planet, creating star upon star until at last he landed upon the highest earthly peak to finally rest and admire his masterwork. It was a work of myth fitting for a creature of Mazzaroth’s stature.

There were those in the land of Gabreel who were made uneasy by this legend.

“How can we live with a monster such as this literally hanging over our heads?” Said a townsperson.

“Yeah! My children can’t sleep at night for fear that Mazzaroth the Black will come to burn their home and scorch their bodies,” said another.

“The creature is peaceful. He’s not once descended Mt. Galil since choosing it as his roost. We must let the sleeping dragon rest,” said one more.

“I shall climb Mt. Galil and slay the beast! And I will return with the treasures of his hoard upon my back!” Declared Prince Gabbor. The announcement was met with roaring applause.

Prince Gabbor was a fearsome warrior. The able prince had slayed more than his fair share of mythic creatures, but none would prove as monumental as Mazzaroth the Black.

The prince, breathless and weathered from the climb up the imposing mountain, paused to catch his breath. He was still a mile from the spot Mazzaroth rested. The moon was high in the sky, his trail illuminated by the silver moonlight. Gabbor could feel the presence of Mazzaroth, such a creature creates and demands its own gravity. The air was thin and the winds blew strong.

As Gabbor continued along the path, he began to hear messages upon the breeze.

Do not come further. Halt your advance.

You know not what you do. Return to your village and be spared.

This path ends only in ruin.

Gabbor was not to be deterred. He would not close the book on his hero’s journey on the last page. Soon he stood before the hulking mass of Mazzaroth the Black.

Gabbor struggled to see the menacing creature before him as Mazzaroth’s scales were reminiscent of the glowing night sky—he blended into and distorted the very fabric of space. The effect was sickening. Gabbor felt as though he was looking through a warped telescope, his vision blurred and deformed as the dragon’s rib cage slowly rose and fell. But Gabbor was cheered at this realization. The beast was asleep. He could slay Mazzaroth quickly and without contest.

He moved toward the dragon and drew his sword. Quietly.

Do not be foolish, child. Do not let arrogance and ambition be your undoing.

The dragon spoke without moving, or even waking. Gabbor continued his advance.

Every action necessitates an equal and opposite reaction, young one. Consider your action carefully.

Gabbor’s stride was long, his pace quickening—he felt his resolve slipping and sped faster and faster until he was in a full sprint.

Permanent solutions yield enduring consequences, boy. Think first to the future.

Gabbor would not be stopped. He leapt toward the dragon’s cavernous forehead and struck his sword down swiftly through the dragon’s skull.

Silence.

Gabbor cried as the stared at the body laying upon the ground. The dragon’s glow had dulled, it’s scales now a muted black. The consequences of his actions soon overwhelmed Gabbor. He searched high and low for the dragon’s hoard and found not even so much as a penny. He soon found the hoard as he turned us gaze upward.

And then the stars fell out of the sky.

Cosmic matter streaked across the night sky, illuminating the world around Gabbor with flashes of brilliant greens, whites, and reds. He watched in awe as the stars above grew ever larger until they filled the sky with light and mass and fire and death.

Mt. Galil was flattened into a scorched, black plain—the plain of Mazzaroth. Gabreel was reduced to a burning pile of rubble which burned for a thousand years—the last source of heat on the Earth. The fires that burn today—those life giving flames—were drawn from the smoldering ruins of Gabreel.

The night sky is now an empty black canvas and so it shall remain until our Lord Mazzaroth returns and renews this world of fire and light.

Until then, we wait.

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