House of Dragon ;)

[WP] Usual dragon hoards consist of wealth, books, magical items and the like; you fell in love with a mortal many years ago and started a family, generations later your hoard now consists of your many descendants, that have no idea about you, but you know and protect them nonetheless.

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Resting my head upon the tail that wound around me, I peered over the lip of the roof to observe the grounds below. Joyous cries of children at play were carried on the wind up to my perch as I scanned the crowds. Sitting by the tree was a young girl with auburn hair, her petite shoulders hunched, the book grasped in her tiny hands obscured most of her face but I had seen all I needed to recognise Annabelle. At eight years old, she was still learning and growing, but in a blink she would be an adult with children of her own.

Focusing in on the book’s cover I tried to read the title, a gaggle of knights held their swords aloft to a reddened sky, but its name was too stylised to make out from here. Tilting my head I could see the name John-B-Crane on the novel’s spine. I made a mental note, assured I could find her an appropriate book to move onto next. By chance, she would find books suited to her every will and wish on her doorstep around once a month. Whilst I would wait for dusk, I could hear her gush to her mother at how her guardian angel knew just what genres she was into that particular season. It was enough to stoke the flickering ember in a dragon’s heart.

Snapping back to attention at the ring of the bell, I watched her push up against the tree and jog merrily back towards the school. Her breaks were 15 minutes long, had it really been that long? As soon as all the mortals were back inside, I uncoiled myself and crouched on my hind legs. Pushing up with a tremendous force it felt as if the mossy clay tiles may shift loose, a single beat of my wings threw me high above the roof, sending leaves and twigs scattering in all directions. Any distracted child would just think a custodian was sweeping off Autumn’s gifts.

In a burst of three beats I ascended up towards the clouds, furling my wings in I dipped my head to pass through the moist layer of fog. Like a stone dropped in a pond I emerged out into the morning sun, here I could glide calmly without fear of being noticed. Flying west with the sun on my back, I let my wings carry me forward as my mind carried me back.

What a world it had become. If I could show Alicia now, she would hardly believe the sights. Flatscreen television, anaesthetic, refrigeration, though she was no stranger to witchcraft the efficiency and automation of its production would shock even the most cunning young mage. We were perfectly content with each-other’s company for entertainment, the last 600 years have felt shorter than the 55 we spent together.

Flying in deep thought for half an hour, I pitched forward and closed my eyes to dip my head through the clouds. Sliding under the veil, waves lapped far below as gulls fled from my looming presence. Throwing out my wings the wind rushed over me as I slowed to a halt, leaning back I rolled and twisted to face the sea. A final bursting push with my wings dispelled the clouds above. I tucked in my wings and straightened out my spine. I braced for impact. Piercing through the surface I sank down, thrashing my tail to push against the unnatural resistance. As the seabed rapidly approached I adjusted my aim towards the 10 foot wide canyon and posted myself through the gap. Coiling round, I emerged up into the pocket of air and slid onto the impromptu landing strip.

Laying on the dank stone, my head flopped back with a dull thud as a bellowing filled my chest. Thin pillars of smoke emerged from my nostrils, racing to the ceiling before dispersing into grey rings. A rushing sensation sparked along the surface of my skin as scales fluttered in anticipation, seawater dripping down off their rounded edges. Alicia and I had often debated over which was more satisfying, the delayed human sneeze or a dragon’s flush. As the heat crawled its way to my extremities the droplets fizzed and evaporated into steam, salt and smoke permeated the walls of the cave as the last remnants of my plunge left my balmy skin. As I basked in the self-made sauna I groaned a sigh of relief, “No question, flushing is the victor.”.

Content, I eventually pull myself up from the baked stone floor and trudge through the entrance to the cave’s main-chamber. In the centre remained a modest horde: thousands of golden coins; gems that twinkled in the cave’s natural glow; a sword who’s magic had long since departed; and an ornate mahogany chest. Until recently my collection spilled out to the seabed, I would have to writhe through trophies and crowns to even enter the crack, and the rush would end up welding the closest coins together into a shimmering cloak.

A horde like mine would have been the envy of every creature from the mortal plane, fellow dragons would have schemed to usurp my throne to nest amongst the riches themselves. Recently however, a palace coated in gold or a suit of armour studded with emeralds would be met with disdain rather than admiration. Mortals of the time are obsessed with the concept, a horde that they own but do not sleep on nor even touch.

Beyond my understanding, the time of dragons was coming to an end. Initially I cursed Alicia, that she had turned my will and dulled my fearful edge. The truth was, her short life planted the seeds for generations of others to thrive in her name. She did not cling to her era like a child unwilling to share her toys, nor engage in any foul arts to extend her life beyond her time. My hoard likely sits under mortal cities, behind doors of iron and complex mechanisms to keep it from seeing the light of day. However, its owners span the globe. Running companies, creating beautiful works of art, or simply reading in the playground, hundreds of them doing more than I could ever dream of with my long but singular existence.

Turning right I approached the newest of the pictures that lined the walls, around 10% were photographs with fashion changing within less than a single generation, the rest were gathered sketches and oil paintings that became more faded and less accurate as the wall encircled the space. I extended a single claw, lightly scraping it against the stone beneath the frame: J-B-Crane

*****

THE END