Chosen One

The Old Man slowly lowered himself into his chair set up in the middle of the open fields and stroked his long grey beard in contemplation, letting his mind wander, staring blankly at his wrinkled hands as if they would hold any answers to his problems. When he accepted that they held nothing he reached across to the wine bottle on the table set up beside him and gave them something to hold. When the glass was almost full of the red liquid he kept pouring and imagined how disappointed his great masters would be to see him bending the world’s dimensions just to help steady his nerves. Perhaps they’d have adjusted their expectations had they also had the day that he had had.

Sat the other side of the Old Man, the even Older Man finished yet another goblet, pausing for a second before raising an even more wrinklie hand to wipe his even bigger, greyer beard dry from the afternoon’s entertainment.

“You remember when I spoke earlier, that I didn’t think it was a good plan?” The Old Man said.

“I remember you saying things.” The Older Man shrugged. Speaking and shrugging was hard work, so he poured himself another goblet.

“Well, I changed my mind. It isn’t a plan. It’s sitting here doing nothing. In the middle of nowhere. While the world is in danger. It is the absence of a plan. Absolute madness.” The Old Man exclaimed.

“You’re welcome to leave me to it. These bottles have been significantly less enjoyable than they normally would be with you around.” The Older Man joked.

Less enjoyable. The Old Man had plunged his incantations into the Older Man’s mind to compel him to action. He had bound him in enchanted chains to force him to the battlefield. Finally, he had challenged him to a duel and thrown demon flame across the land to defeat him and force him to obey his words. The Older Man had shrugged them all off, for to him they were simply less enjoyable than drinking.

“I’d never have expected the Chosen One to be so disappointing.” The Old Man muttered as he stood up, contemplating leaving and doing something of use to the world and its impending doom.

It had taken the foreseers months to interpret the great dragon prophecies, to read their language and understand their riddles. When they finally knew the location of the Chosen One their eyes had cried blood. Now the Old Man cried tears of frustration at the antics of the Older Man, the Chosen One.

“You did throw a lot of awfully powerful magic at me earlier and I’d say I handled it quite impressively, that not up to your standards?” The Older Man asked.

“It is not the power of magic that define the Chosen One but the actions they take. Your inaction is an insult to the prophets that foretold you.” The Old Man snapped, turning to finally leave.

“Like what? Staring down a horde of dragons, feeling their breath, hot as the sun, feeling their talons, hard as the mountains. Then finding the magical energies across the entire world, binding it together and using it to banish these unnatural beasts from our realm? That what you want?”

As the Older Man spoke an energy entered his voice that had not been heard that day and with the Old Man’s back turned, he would swear it was a boy speaking with the passion of the true Chosen One.

“Yes! Like that! I hear it in your voice! You can do it! You can stop the dragons before our world is ashes!” The Old Man exclaimed.

“Course I can. I already did it. And the time before that. And that. 8 times if I remember correctly.” The Older Man sneered.

“It’s not possible.”

“The wine we’ve drank today is fermented dragon’s blood. I’ve seen oceans of it, had to use it for something.”

In legend they said dragon’s blood granted an energy like the fountain of youth. And as the Old Man straightened his posture he realised the old ache in his back was gone. It was true. He had sought out a slayer of dragon and found one beyond his imagination… because it was one who wouldn’t slay.

“But why? Why won’t you.” The Old Man asked.

“I’ve got my reasons, they’re difficult to say, so I’ll only be saying them once, when the right ears are listening.” The Older Man grumbled.

“Who’s?”

“Theirs.”

Dragons are not of this world and not bound by its rules. Those dragons that came into sight were burning inside with a fire too hot to exist but searing nothing. Wings black and scaley holding a snaking dark body surely too heavy to fly but fly it did.

The Old Man had imagined the spells he might fight them with, the magic he could bind to his body and the battle he might wage side by side with the great Chosen One. As the Older Man sat down and poured himself another goblet the Old Man realised how foolish these stories he’d told himself were.

The Earth shook as the Dragons landed and slithered towards the pair, a host of spindly legs along their side propelling them further forward, eagerly towards their foe. They finally stopped before the two men and spoke with a deep otherworldly groan.

“We have come to destroy your world. Only He that is Chosen may stop us.”

The Older Man waved from his seat, not getting up.

“Yeah that’s me. But I’m not interested.”

“It is foretold that only The Chosen one can stand against us and give us a battle.” The Dragon boomed.

“Yeah and defeat you. But Dragons don’t die. Do they?! They become one with the flame and form again. So, we do battle again, and again and again.” The Older Man explained.

“As is foretold. For you are the only one who can battle with us.”

“And soon there will be no one. I’m old, this would be our last battle anyway, there are better things to do with my remaining time.” The Older Man said, taking a swig of drink.

“Nonsense. The blood of a dragon grants immortality to those who drink it!”

“And only houseguests have drank it in my home these last 200 years. I’ve stuck to the grape stuff.”

The dragons paused for thought before speaking again.

“If you will not fight us then what prevents us from burning this world to nothingness!”

“Nothing. And that’s why you won’t enjoy it. I was the only one who could bring you challenge. And purpose. But now I’m not. So I foretell it as The Chosen One. So find another world, another chosen one. One who hasn’t realised how boring your little games are.”

Minutes later, as the flying dragons faded over the horizon, the temperature dropped and the world became a colder place, one without dragons again.

“They’re gone.” The Old Man whispered, before contemplating aloud. “You truly are the Chosen One.”

“Piss off!” The Older Man said as he took another sip from his goblet.

*****

THE END