In the kingdom of Rornshire, magic thrived. It danced in the streets and swam in the streams. Everyone was familiar with it, though not all had the ability to use it. For hundreds of years the kingdom stayed the same; hundreds of years of peace and tranquility.
Then the dragons came. They were creatures of magic, born with it running through their veins. The humans feared them. The dragons knew that which we fear met it’s destruction. They struck a deal with the reigning king, and all was well. The dragons may not hunt us and we may not hunt them. No harm was to befall one another.
As part of that deal, to keep the peace, a dragon had to be gifted to those deemed worthy on their tenth Christmas. Groups of children would line up in front of dragons to be inspected, but none were told if they would receive a dragon that Christmas. It was all left to surprise.
Oftentimes, it was the king’s children that received the most admirable dragons–those that were of fire and ice, those that could make the fiercest foes and the truest companions. So imagine my surprise when, on my tenth Christmas, I received an earth dragon.
I wasn’t angry. He was beautiful. The power he radiated was breathtaking. My father wasn’t very pleased, but even he could see the adoration I held for the little dragon. It would be at least another year before he could speak and tell me his name, so I referred to him as my greatest friend. And he was.
When they thought I couldn’t hear them, people would jeer and laugh at my friend. I paid them no heed. I alone knew him and could feel his potential. They would never understand.
On my eleventh Christmas, he spoke. He had a rough, deep voice that felt like it shook the ground.
It rang through my bones and echoed in my ears.
It was his name! I was overjoyed. I stole a rabbit from the kitchens that night for him because I was so pleased. Vintoro, my dragon. Vintoro, the one who would prove everyone wrong.
Famine broke out in Rornshire that following summer. The sweltering heat killed off all the crops and our people were dying. Those who lived in the palace were distraught; what were we to do?
Vintoro, a little taller than my hip by this time, nudged me aside with his head and walked down to our farms. I followed him, curious as to what he was doing. He laid on the barren land and stayed there for hours. I laid with him, still confused. Eventually I had to return home, but he did not return with me.
I woke the next day to the sound of screams. Our crops had regrown over night, and they were bountiful. There was plenty to go around and then some. I walked back down to the farms and saw people bowing to Vintoro, as well as kissing the dirt in front of him. They called him a hero. My heart swelled with pride.
Three summers later, he towered over me. He could fly and he could speak in full sentences. I never thought we could be closer than we already were, but those years proved me wrong. I cherished his company and I loved him with everything I had. It would prove useful, as I soon had to completely rely on him to keep me sane. My father fell ill and died a fortnight later. Vintoro was there for me in my time of need and he helped me through my overbearing grief.
Two years after my father’s death I was crowned king. I was still a child, but I had to take on the burdensome position. I had to. Neighbouring kingdoms attempted to take advantage of Rornshire due to my age, but none succeeded. I proved to be a fearsome king to all that opposed us. No one dared raise a finger against us.
I grew older. I was twenty-seven years old, and I was cocky. My status filled my head and I was not so proficient at keeping our enemies away. Vintoro tried to keep me on the right path, but I refused to listen to him. I was convinced that we had nothing to fear. I’d already proven that we were capable of defending ourselves, so why couldn’t I slack off just a little bit? I’d earned it, right?
A fairly new kingdom, Orelia, saw us and wanted to reap our wealth. They sent their armies and I was too foolish to care. I thought they wouldn’t even make it to our border, that they posed no threat to us.
They broke through our wall at sunset. Vintoro flew out and helped our men attempt to drive them out, but they just kept pouring in. Vintoro roared and the enemies’ ears started to bleed and their bones started to shatter, but ten men took the place of one fallen. There was no hope. Everyone knew it, but no one wanted to believe it. We fought with all of our might.
Vintoro split the ground and he threw our enemies into the cavern. They still came. I rode down on my horse and pierced them with my own blade. They still came.
I was about to surrender. What other choice did I have? I lowered my sword, about to hop off of my horse when I saw it: a soldier sprinting towards Vintoro, spear raised high. My scream tore through my throat as he pierced his mark.
Vintoro let out a bellow and fell to his side. I sprinted towards him, not caring who I ran into. I fell to my knees and tried to put pressure on his wound, but it bled and it bled and it bled. His breathing was hitching and I couldn’t contain my sobs.
“My King, it has been an honor to stand by your side.”
Vintoro stopped breathing at that very moment. I screamed and I picked up his giant head, petting his scales and begging him to come back. But he would be no more. He paid the price for my foolishness. I did not deserve his final words.
I kissed his forehead and wept. My Vintoro, my beloved friend. Gone.
From magic he was born, but to the earth he returned. And even she wept for him.
//I hope this was okay!! This is the first thing I’ve written in months and I apologize if it was a little rough, but I really enjoyed writing it♡
tangentwithtanner
jacobvanloon
titsay
yousharknotpass
