For years I have been told stories about a world of wonder and magic where everything is possible. This is a world of fantasy, in a time historians have called "The Age of Dragons". It was not a symbolic meaning. Dragons were real. The term 'Here Be Dragons' did not just apply to unknown danger, but also because of the reality of these dragons: they were dangerous.

Dragons ruled the sky in the time before airplanes and flying machines. It was a world before the industrial revolution, before science became a norm. In fact, everything we've ever learned about flight came from dragons, with birds contributing in a smaller scale. However, birds are small, while you can ride on a dragon's back, at least back in the day.

Unsurprisingly, as the Age of Dragons came to past, these majestic creatures lost all their privileges and homes due to rapid expansion and modernization. Years went by, and these dragons were quickly regarded as over-sized pests. As industries grew and technologies advanced, magic died out, and a world of wonder was replaced with a bleak world of coal and steam. Dragons were hunted down and what's left disappeared. Many theorized that they were living in places far from civilization, hiding from the humans who clearly did not want to share the land with them.

The theory of dragons living in inaccessible mountain ranges or uninhabited islands somewhere in the middle of a sea was held on for years, but I knew the true story of their disappearance. In fact, my life journey started when I met the last living dragon on this Earth.

It all started during one of my expeditions to the mountain range of Castellan. It was known to many as treacherous. Reports of disappearances and fatalities were high in this mountain range, and I knew why. The weather was freakish, for the lack of a better term. Despite of the fact that the range wasn't as high as those on the Eastern continent, the area was covered in snow, and thunderstorm was frequent in this part. That, and the dangerous terrain, made the Castellan one of the deadliest mountain range in the world. The year before my expedition, the Castellan claimed the lives of thirty men and women, with seven belonging to the same expedition group. The high fatality rate gave it the nickname "The Dragon's Maw". While dangerous, it was also used as a rite of passage to many people, along with daredevils such as me. The name stuck, and those who managed to traverse the mountainside was nicknamed 'The Dragonslayer'.

Of course, given the dangerous weather condition, you must think I was stupid. I was, and I almost paid the price, if it wasn't for luck and experience on my side. Even with those two factors, I might still join those who died the previous year, but luckily for me, it wasn't my time, though I knew that I was already dead.

I found a vast cavern partially hidden in the snow, and I immediately went there. Even then, I lost contact with my crew my food supplies were low when I was forced to dump most of my supplies to stop me from falling, and I was cold. There were no driftwood or anything that could catch fire in that cave, and it was as cold inside as it was outside. I was as good as dead.

I resigned myself to fate. Survival was practically impossible at this point, but the least I could do was to be sure that my body was going to be found, one day. Of course, I did not want to die soon, so, I covered my whole body in the sheepskin coat, trying to be as warm as possible for as long as I could. Maybe a miracle would happen, and I would end up surviving the day. The last thing I remembered from this point was the darkness, and the dreamless sleep.

I thought I was dead for sure. Like I said, a miracle did happen. I was woken up by a voice.

"Are you alright, young one?" asked the voice. It was deep and rumbling, like an old, wise man.

I was not fully conscious when I heard the voice. I thought it was a dream at first, before a low-pitched growl woke me to full awareness. I knew that if the weather did not kill me, the wildlife in the caves would. Bears and others made their homes in the relative warmth of the Castellan's massive natural cave system. I was not that resigned to fate yet, so I pulled my survival knife out and the torch from the nearby fire pit. I did not think about how a fire pit was made when I was alone. All I thought at that moment was the animal in the shadows.

"You're still working properly," said the voice. "Good."

"Can you help me?" I asked.

"Lower your weapon," he said.

"Are you insane? There is a wild beast in the shadows and I'm only armed with a knife!"

"Trust me, young one. Things will be easier if you don't point the knife."

Of course, like a sensible human being, I hesitated. The voice was still as mysterious as the constant growl in the darkness. I did not want to trust my life on someone I did not know, even if that someone was my savior.

"How can I trust you?" I said. "I don't even know who you are."

"Trust," he said with a chuckle. "Such a foreign concept nowadays for your people. I've seen your kind kill and cause harm, all the while judging other kinds as inferior. In fact, you regard others of the same race as inferior to you. Still, it's your nature, human, to survive. I cannot blame you, nor can I blame thinkers with great ambition, yet twisted in morality."

Human? He did not acknowledge himself as human? Did I hear that right? Was this a hallucination? Those were my thoughts, one that caused me to think and forgot about the owner of the growling voice.

"You're smart," he said. "Still, you're right. I cannot help you when you cannot trust me. Be warned, however. I am not what you think I am."

That was when two things hit me. First, the source of the voice was showing himself, and second, the voice was not owned by a human.

I was a dragon.

Except the dragon was not as I expected. He was small. Really small. He was as big as a tiger, but he was not well-built. In fact, he was slim, as if he had not eaten for a while. His scales were bright silver, with maroon red colored scales on his back forming some sort of stripes, much like a tiger's, but not as elaborate. His face was clearly reptilian, with black horns slightly curved to the back. He was walking on fours, like cat or a dog.

The most striking feature of this dragon was the fact that he had bright blue eyes. It was beautiful, yet old. The other feature that I would always remember was the damaged wings on his back. They were the remains of a fully-grown wings capable of flight. Most of the wing's membranes were gone, and what remained were too damaged. His flying days were gone. He was also limping on one of his back legs. In conclusion, this dragon was old.

"I...I can't believe it," I said.

"Believe whatever you wants to believe, human," he said while making a low growl, before it turned into a cough (I was surprised that a dragon could cough). I was speechless, unable to react. I never thought a dragon was still alive.

The dragon seemed to notice my disbelief. He sighed and said, "How long has it been since the last dragon came here? A hundred years? Two hundred years? What does your history said about the last sighting of a dragon?"

"Last...sighting?" I had regained my composure by this time, so I said, "There were rumors that dragons are still alive somewhere on the ocean or in mountain ranges like this one."

"Are you one of those who seeks the truth, then?"

"No, I...I'm just climbing...for the sake of it."

"For the sake of it," he repeated. "Young ones are so easy to throw away their lives, be it dragons or humans."

He then chuckled and said, "Well, I'm glad. At least things are still the same."

He then sat beside the fire.

"I'm afraid you're going to stay in my cave for a while. The storm outside still rages on. If they haven't declared you dead already, they might do it when they survive the onslaught. Word of advice, young one. Don't you ever try to climb this mountain in stormy weathers."

Well, the dragon's right. It was my fault that I ended up here. I did not count on the fact that the Castellan had freakish local weather. I should've thought about it before I got myself into a problem.

As if on cue, my stomach growled, asking for food. I tried my best to hide it, but the dragon heard it. He had quite an ear, even if he lacked any.

"Haven't eaten anything?" he said with a chuckle. I simply nodded.

"Well. I guess you're harmless." The dragon turned towards the darkness. "Bring fire. Don't wander off. This cave is very big. You might end up falling into a deep chasm."

I did not intend to die. I had my brush with death, and I did not want another. I simply nodded and took a torch with me.

As we walked, he started saying, "What is your name, young human?"

I hesitated for a moment, before I said, "Gregory."

"Gregory, eh? Can I call you Greg?"

"No worries. You saved me. How about you? I know dragons have individual names, too."

"Yes, though my name does not have any meaning in this world," he said.

"Eh?"

"Ah, it's nothing. My name is Seraphor, but you can call me Sera."

Sera. That name sounded very Spanish. I wasn't sure about his throw-off remark (which, somehow, I remembered clearly), but I was fine with Sera. 

The dragon seemed nice. As I suspected, he was quite old. Dragons were known to live long, even immortal. Based on the books I read, these dragons could hibernate for years, living like a rock, until they woke up. I did not think about that since these giant creatures would not like the world they woke up to. In fact, they might trigger the apocalypse.

Seraphor seemed like an old hermit who did not conform to society, and lived a life in a treacherous mountain range. I could make the comparison because I knew an old hermit once in my village, who, like this dragon, taught me important lessons that helped me succeed in life and landed myself in a prestigious research university on a scholarship. Well, all would be for naught if I ended up dead. Luckily, Seraphor was there to help me.

But like all old hermits who had seen a lot, Seraphor was lonely. I could not blame him for being lonely. He lived alone, carving the inside of a mountain range for his home. With the dangerous weather outside and his inability to fly, I would say that he longed for a companion. I may not understood a dragon's life, but I could understand his loneliness.

We talked and talked to kill off some time. The travel seemed to take forever. After a while, we reached the end of the dark passage, revealing a vast cavern. It was not naturally lit, with several artificial light provided by magic put in several strategic points. I could see the storm still raged on outside through a big hole in the cavern's ceiling. Astonishingly, there were no snow inside the cavern. It was quite warm in there. The area's main feature, however, was a lake. It had a light below the surface to give it an eerie atmosphere.

"Welcome to my home," said Seraphor as he kept walking. "I do not expect a guest, so forgive me for the lack of furniture."

"It's alright, Sera," I said. The dragon nodded and smiled (he seemed to be quite expressive despite of having a reptilian face). He quickly coughed again.

We walked past the general area to another equally astonishing area. Unlike the previously under lit room, this room was over lit, for a good reason. It was a greenhouse of sorts. Of course, it was quite astonishing, given that the owner of this cave system was a quadruped dragon. It was almost like the greenhouse in my university, where they grew different kinds of vegetables. There were different kinds. One was reserved for research, one was for medicinal plants, and the rest were for food.

Like the university greenhouses, this greenhouse had different sort of plants that could not grow outside due to the cold and storm. There were tomatoes, peas, and even potatoes and corns. Seeing these plants made me wonder: how could he found a patch of fertile land in the mountain?

I asked him about this. Seraphor did not immediately answered, but when he did, I quickly knew why he hesitated.

"Magic, Gregory," he said. "You won't understand."

"I try to," I said. "There was magic, years ago. I simply want to know what life was back then."

"Miserable," said Seraphor short. "Even during your so-called 'Age of Dragons', it was miserable. The magical essence in the atmosphere was so low, it needed a lot of work to even be able to enforce your will and change the nature of things. No wonder magic was lost when machines took over. Fortunately, this mountain range is still pure. Natural magic works like a charm here, as I will demonstrate you how I plant these crops."

I knew magicians and their 'magic' tricks. They used a particular set of skills to perform 'magic' to the audiences. Even if it was remarkable, it was a different thing. It was theatrical magic. Just so you know, I do not discredit magicians. It requires skill to perform tricks, and it's amusing. What I'm about to tell you, however, is something else entirely, as it was not a trick.

Seraphor's front legs were like hands that looked almost like a bird's, except with the finger count of a human or a primate. He could grasp things like a human's, like what he did to a nearby seed. It seemed awkward given his size, but he managed to put the seed on a...bedrock?

He then moved back, and touched the rocky area. He concentrated his will to it, and I saw one of the most impossible things I had ever witnessed. The rock underneath the seed slowly dissipate, and the rock itself began to remold itself, mixing itself and eroding itself, until it became a singular patch of planting soil. Seraphor then mixed what I assumed to be fertilizers to the soils, then he touched the soil.

It was magical. The plants grew instantly, as if given life. I never knew that could be done. Even Seraphor seemed glad.

"Takes a bit of practice, but it works like a charm," he said while looking at the rapidly growing plant. "I don't do this often, however. It's just to show you..."

He coughed even harder this time. I tried to comfort him like comforting a dog.

"Damn," he said. He looked at his hand, dazed. His expression seemed to turn grim and serious. I wondered what happened then, but I knew why soon.

Trying to hide this fact from me, he made light coughs and said, "Care for a little beef soup, Greg? I got plenty of meat in my fridge."

"Fridge?"

"Oh yeah. I forgot. You haven't invented that yet. What I mean is my cooled pantry. If you don't mind sitting on the floor..."

"Oh, don't worry about me," I said. "I'm already glad that I am alive."

"Good on you, then," he said, before he walked to the back of the greenhouse. I did not know how much time had passed, but it was clear that hours had passed. He returned to me carrying a stone-made pot in his mouth. Somehow, the pot had a handle like a kettle, and it helped him to carry it everywhere. He gently set it down near me, but then realized something.

"Oh, damn it," he said, slowly. "I forgot. You're a human. I don't have any spoon with me. Sorry. I'll make..."

"Don't worry." I produced a ladle, the surviving part of my camping equipment, from my coat pocket. "I have it covered."

It seemed awkward to drink a soup directly out of the pot with a ladle, but I could not complain, not if I want to be a good guest for an old, lonely dragon that acted almost like a human. We talked and talked during our small feast. He even cracked a joke, and I laughed. I never knew he could understand human's humor. I was thinking that he was very close to humans during his youth, and it seemed to help him understand many aspects of human agriculture, strengthened and molded by magic.

As the cave had no natural light source, we did not realize how late it had been. Seraphor seemed to be jolly, at least until I finished the last of the soup and he stared somewhere beyond my eyes. His happy expression turned grim once more, like when he coughed after he planted the plants. I thought he was tired, but he shrugged it off and said, "Hey...Greg."

"Yes, Sera?"

"I wonder...what is it like to live a short life?" he asked. "I have seen how you humans die after only living for 70 years, maybe even less. What are you going to do about it?"

"Well, I don't know," I said, trying to give him a good answer. "Make peace with your enemies, maybe? Finish up your bucket list? Or just live your life and end it with high note?"

"I might do that, yes," said Seraphor.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"I've lived a long life, and by this time, I'm as old as those white-haired humans with wrinkled skin. Will there be a life beyond?"

Still thinking that he was wondering about his eventual death, given his age, I told him the story of my childhood friend who died young due to an illness. He was bedridden, and clearly was in no condition to walk outside and smell the air. Well, in his case, that would be suicide. The nation was thick with smog, and people died because of it. At first, he questioned about his life, about why he was sick, but with encouragement from his friends and families, he started to write stories, relate on the beauty of life, and even poetry about the village we grew up in. He was satisfied with life, and died happy.

Seraphor listened with intent, and I did not catch his mannerisms. After I finished my story, he sighed.

"What of the people he left, though? Were they devastated?"

"Yes, they were, including me," I said. "But he clearly left on a high note, and unburdened with life. His family was kind enough to understand him, and they started a charity to prevent the illness that took him caused grief and sadness to others."

"I see." He then looked away for a moment, before he turned to me and said, "Say, Greg. I haven't told you about myself, have I?"

"Well, you're a dragon, and an old one. You told me your name?"

"For me, it isn't enough. Come on, let me show you another secret."

He walked away from the greenhouse, as I followed. The main area of the cave then came into view.

"Do you ever wonder why dragons suddenly disappear from major civilizations?"

"Because of human expansion?"

"Yes, but even if they run, it won't be enough. Humans are rapidly growing in population, and even without dragons, the resources of this world is limited. Even if dragons like me happen to live in mountains like this one, they can't live without raiding the farmlands and cause ire to the humans who need the food more. Not all dragons can grow their own food like I do, especially not the dragons in this world."

"I also wonder. Why do you call Earth 'this world'? It sounds like you're..."

"From another world. Yes, that is a fact," he said bluntly.

"What?"

"The lake before you," he said while making patterns on the water. "Is not just a subterranean lake. It was both the place where I clean myself...and to give these dragons another chance at life."

He then turned his head towards me, and told me something that even I couldn't imagine.

"This lake is a portal to my world, and to the world beyond."

"A...portal?"

"I know, I know," he sighed. "Can't believe what you can't see. Unfortunately, I am no longer able to sustain the portal, not with my current age and magic level. Even if I draw the natural magic in this mountain, both from the mountain and the stormy weather outside, it is still not enough. Fortunately for me, however, the dragons around the world heard my call, and they went through this portal to find a new world to live in, one where our kind is still regarded, and live along with the advancing technology created by magic. Simply put...dragons are no longer in this world. I am the last dragon on this Earth."

"Wait...you mean, the dragons all around the world..."

"Are safely beyond this inactive portal...except me," he said, with a sullen face. "I had a family...beyond this portal. They never understood why I chose to sacrifice myself and save the dragons of this world from the humans, but it's for the best of both races. This world cannot sustain two rulers of the world. One must go so the other survives. This is the only way to prevent needless genocide."

His mannerism changed into something serious, and slowly but sure, I started to trust him. He seemed to be telling truth about the whole affair, even if it was far too fantastical for me.

"Even then...I don't expect you to understand me," said Seraphor with a sigh. "You might just think of me as a rambling old dragon whose glory days are behind him."

He then sat near the lake, and said, "But I guess it's better to tell you everything...to lift up a burden of my heart. To know that my choice really matters, and to know that...I have a friend in you."

By this time, I realized why he did all this. This scenario was similar to the time when my friend was dying. Seraphor, my savior, was dying, and he tried his best to ask me to judge him of what he did.

It was the right call. Knowing how dangerous dragons were, they might caused an inevitable war that could only end one way or another. Either the dragons died, or the humans would. Like Seraphor said, there was only place for one ruler that would give Earth the direction it needed for the future. If the humans could not, then the dragons would.

I did not know how to comfort a dying dragon. I wanted to say something...anything...to let him pass away in peace. Then, it struck me.

"Your family...," I said. "Tell me about them?"

Seraphor then stood up and walked to a nearby crevice. He seemed to be weaker than before, and his limping became apparent. I felt sorry for him. Was this how a dragon died of old age? I never thought it would be possible to see one as old and as lonely as Seraphor, but one thing was certain. He was closer to a human than a dragon.

He put a dusty old book near me, and started to open it. There were pictures. Photographs. It seemed weird for me to see photographs of dragons mingling with humans, especially since they had disappeared years before the first camera was invented. Only their paintings remained.

Seraphor then slowly directed me to the subjects in the photograph, of his time when he was young, falling in love with a black-scaled female dragon, separated from her for a while, reunited after she had changed, and bore offspring in the form of twins. He wondered about their lives, as he could not know.

Then, he told me about his old exploits, about when he was once called a hero for protecting the world from anti-draconic factions, preventing cataclysm from dragons bent on destruction, and prevented genocide of dragons by starting a riot. He seemed glad about it, and I was amazed by his achievements, all of which were immortalized with a set of pictures in front of me. I did not know why I felt so attached to him, even if he tried his best to tell me that he was from another world.

Slowly, he started to tell me about his youth, and it slowly became apparent to me that Seraphor was not as pure as he was. He killed many humans from the anti-draconic factions, causing major population crisis, and he even destroyed a village raising potential threats to his people. He even lost his son, a young dragon descended from his nemesis. It all happened so many years ago, and the pain and loss of it, including the loss of his mate, caused him everlasting grief, knowing full well that he was ignorant during his youth, and wanted to make amends by saving people from a different reality. He wanted to redeem himself.

Telling me everything about his life seemed to ease him up a little, but it seemed that it took a lot of toll for him, for he started coughing a fit. I implored him to rest, knowing very well that he had strained himself for telling a bitter story of his past. He appreciated my kindness.

"Rest," he said. "Yes. I think that's what I really need. I think you should rest, too."

"Yeah," I said, while yawning. "It has been a very eventful day. Thank you for talking to me about your life. I never knew."

"Because it never happens in your life. It never happened in this reality, either. It was all from the life I've set aside, a very long time ago. But all of those are in the past now. If you wish, take the photo album with you, and keep it safe. On one condition. Keep this place safe, until the moment of your death. Tell everyone about it, if you will, but do not give in to your greed."

"I won't," I said.

Seraphor did not seem to trust me about that, but he smiled anyway, and said, "Good. I hope your words ring true as your life will be for a very long time. Come sleep with me, Greg."

I did so, laying on his side, under his folded wings. He then opened the wing and tried to cover me with it like a blanket, but without the membrane, it was nothing much. Still, I was kept warm beside him, and after a while, I slept. The last thing I heard from him was, "I am glad to have met someone like you, Gregory."

It was a good warm sleep. I dreamed about the sky, imagining myself as one of the legendary dragon riders, riding on the back of a much younger Seraphor. He flew on the cloud majestically, as everything under me felt like cotton. He was so happy about it, and I was, too. After a while, we landed near a mountainside, where he let me down. He smiled once more, giving me the sincerest, kindest smile he could give to me with the reptilian face of his, before he said, "Thank you." and opened his wings once more.

Except unlike before, his wings were not whole, but also damaged, like his current one. His appearance stayed young, however. He said something I could not understand, and suddenly, his wings were reformed, but not as an organic-looking one, but as something made out of pure element. It was cackling with energy, like a thunderbolt sustained in the form of wings. He turned around and, wings opened, started flying towards the sun with incredible speed. Was he running on air? I did not know, along with the fact that this dream lingered in my memory for so many years. I would always remember this dream every time I flew on airplanes, looking at the clouds below me. I would imagine the youthful dragon in my dream flying by my side, looking at me with a smile, as he zoomed away.

The dream was over when he flew towards the sun, and when natural sunlight hit my face. I was still sleeping on Seraphor, but my position seemed to change a little. His wings were nicely folded behind me, and he seemed to have a peaceful sleep. I wanted to wake him up to say thank you for rescuing me, and to talk to me about his life and everything he had to offer, when I realized that he wasn't breathing.

I nudged his head many times, thinking that he was simply hibernating, until I finally realized the truth. He died in his sleep. I thought he was going to die sooner or later, thinking that he was sick, and he would want company until the final moment of his life. I never thought he would die during my rest.

The photo album and several trinkets of his past life was neatly put beside me, along with a basket of preserved meat. It was arranged to be a parting gift, and he wanted me to take it with me. Knowing full well that my travel would be as hard, I took the preserved meat, folded it nicely inside the basket, and then the photo album. I would cherish the memories I had with him, and I would keep his secret safe.

With the storm outside cleared out, I finally found my bearing in the previously dark caves. I could even direct myself out from the vast cavern to the same area I found myself in. I had make sure to take supplies of water from the freshwater lake, and also giving Seraphor a proper grave. I knew that his body would one day decay, leaving nothing but bones, but I could not do anything about it. The least I could do was to give him a proper resting place, and to preserve his secret, I would cover this cavern with rocks and to tell the others that I survived in a cave, not by meeting this kind dragon.

I did not need to spin a cover story for it, however. As I walked out of the cave mouth, no one was there. The storm had cleared up and it was finally safe to climb down the side of the mountain. Several hours later, I was found by several mountain gatherers, and they took me in their cabin. They were quite superstitious about my survival, but they never suspected someone or something saving me and gave me a hot meal.

It never occurred to me then, but I found out many years later that the weather was not a natural occurrence. The Castellan's reputation as a dangerous mountain range slowly faded away as more and more climbers started to traverse the mountains without any problems. Even planes were able to fly over the mountains without any problems. I took one tour flight over the Castellan, and I could finally see it in its natural weather condition. I was the only passenger on that plane to know that a dying dragon, content of his life, was the reason for the freakish weather.

Many attributed the calming weather as climate change. As we came into the 20th century, many efforts were made to make people aware of the damage these industries had caused to the environment, and efforts had been done to change the old ways into a future with clean air. I might not live that long to see it comes into fruition, but I know it's going to happen.

As for the cavern, no one ever found the opening I found. Either no one ever bothered to look, or it was really that remote that only chance could find it now. I am the only one who had ever got to the area, and I wish to keep it a secret for as long as I want to. I'm sure Seraphor would appreciate it.

Years go by, and the once young man of this story is now old, like Seraphor the dragon. I did not understand about the fragility of life and the short time we are given in this world, but seeing him, and my childhood friend, along with many other friends I have made throughout the years, I can finally understand his desire for a companion. He died content, knowing that in the end, he would not be forgotten. When he had made sure of it, he finally let go of his life, giving it up, closing the chapter called 'The Age of Dragons'. Seraphor, the last dragon on Earth, died 55 years ago, and I, Gregory Wilson, is also dying. I've lived a good life. 80 years is quite a long life. I've seen things, both bad and good, and I've done a lot of things that are questionable to some, but one thing is certain.

Like Seraphor, my journey of life is to make a mark to this world, and to redeem myself from the things that have caused harm to others. I do not kill like him, but I am sure that somewhere, someone is suffering because of me. I want to be sure that I've closed every chapter of my life story properly, before I go into a dreamless eternal sleep. I may not know what's waiting for me on the other side, but I have but one wish.

If I can meet the same dragon that saved me back then, I will tell him the story of my life, and to thank him for giving me a chance to continue on, until the end.

 

***

 

“Seraphor….”

 

Someone’s calling my name. Huh. I’ve never heard someone called me in a long time. The human is an exception, though. Still, I can’t shake the feeling that the voice is familiar to me.

 

“Wake up, sleepyhead.”

 

Sleepyhead? Who in the world calls me that? It can’t be the human, right? He won’t dare say that in front of a dragon he barely knows.

 

Guess it won’t hurt to see who’s calling me. Let’s hope it’s not this world’s slayers, or I’m toast.

 

I carefully open my eyes. The cave is as dark as always. The howling wind of the storm outside still rages on. I learned to live with it. What can I say? It’s my storm, after all. I used part of my ice element to conjure up a storm to conceal my cave, the last safe haven for dragons of this reality. It’s my duty as their savior.

 

The darkness is quite a welcome sight, but something catches my eyes. Among the darkness, there is a pair of yellow-colored eyes staring at me. I think it is a lost mountain lion at first, and I want to tell it to scram. However, to my surprise, when I’ve fully awakened, the eyes are not of a feline. They are of a dragon.

 

I am perfectly sure that there is no dragon left in this reality. They are already that rare, anyway. If there’s one, either my aging body starts to fail me, or…

 

“How long has it been? Fifty? A hundred? Come on, Sera. I know you don’t live as long as purebloods, but you can’t be forgetting your mate’s voice, right?”

 

Mate? It can’t be…

 

The dragon in question walks towards me, and there she is. It’s undeniably her. I won’t mistake her feather-covered wings, but for some reason, I can’t sense her darkness. While darkness is a dangerous, unwelcoming element to many, I learn to love it. The love produced my children.

 

But she was taken from me so soon, to fulfill her duty as a draconic angel of death. It was her fate, involuntarily forced to her by her mother. While she had accepted it as part of her heritage, everyone she left did not, including her loving father.

 

“Avila?” I said. Then a thought comes across my mind. Avila is an angel of death, and she’s standing right in front of me with the appearance I remembered some time ago. My mind starts to turn its gear like an experienced private investigator, until I found my deduction.

 

Avila smiles to me and said, “Guess your head’s still in the game. Have you found out what happened to you?”

 

“Yeah,” I said. “It’s the end of my journey, huh?”

 

I stand up and walk toward her. Ancestors, she is as beautiful as ever! I give her a nudge and a rub from my face, to which she responds. I growl a little from her feathers. They are ticklish.

 

That is when I turn around and see for myself the reason of her visit. My own body, lifeless, is laying near the sleeping human. I look so…calm. So peaceful. It feels almost surreal.

 

“So, this is how I die, huh?” I said with a sad smile.

 

“Do you regret it?” asked Avila.

 

I shake my head. “No. I welcome it. I know my body better than anyone else. That’s why I give him everything I have with me to him, along with several foods for his survival.”

 

I point towards the human’s side. The old album and some rations for his journey is now his.

 

“No one is going to believe him.”

           

“No one needs to. It is a story he keeps for himself. I don’t think he’ll publish it if he does not want to be branded a lunatic.”

 

“Yeah. Anyway, want to have a little walk?”

 

“A little problem.”

 

“Oh, right. Don’t worry. I’ve got someone who can support you.”

 

“Someone?”

 

Right before me is a yellow-scaled dragon that I know as an enemy, but given his youth, I quickly know who he is.”

 

“Shirdan?”

 

“Hey, Seraphor. Long time no see,” he said with a smile. “Come on, old one. I’ll help you.”

 

We then walk outside, to the clear skies. After my death, the storm I created dissipates, leaving a clear snow-covered mountain for the human to safely traverse. Shirdan helps support my limping side, and after a bit of difficulty, we’ve reached the landing spot.

 

I sit on the snow. It does not feel cold. I mean, I am now but a spirit. I then look at Shirdan. He was my third child, the child of my nemesis back in my youth. While he did have similar attitude with said dragon, he rejected that fate. However, it also doomed him, for his attempt of saving the world turned out to be his last. A lingering curse took him from us so soon, and he died right in front of me. Now that I’ve died, I can finally see him again.

 

“How’s Vysrenis and Rhaynis?”

 

“Oh, they’re fine. Vysrenis is a troublemaker, but his sister is always there to help.”

 

“They always have each other, huh?”

 

“Vysy is in his phase, so…well, you know what it is.”

 

“How about Xiciro?”

 

“Still a formidable dragon. He’s kinder than he looks, and he seems to keep that kindness for himself.”

 

“Let’s hope so, for his grandchildren’s sake.”

 

I look at the stars. They look so beautiful. I haven’t seen such clear skies for a while. Maybe I take my isolation a little bit too much. But, at least my job’s done.

 

We watch the stars for a while before Avila said, “Well, I guess it’s time.”

 

“I guess it is. Tell me. What’s afterlife feels like?”

 

“Why don’t you see it for yourself?”

 

I smile to them. Guess they are still being cheeky towards me. I then walk towards Avila’s open wings, and I cross it, to the unknown.

 

My story is now finished. I am sure, that newer stories will come and fill the world with excitement. I can’t wait to see what’s next.