I almost ignored the call. Three a.m., and on my private cell; that meant it could only be Cassandra. I was still on sick leave, and had hoped to stay that way for the foreseeable future. The last job had left me burned, bruised, missing two fingers, and with a profound ambition to improve my knowledge of demonology. Still, she wouldn't be calling unless it was important. Cassandra is not known for her sparkling personality, and I seem to irritate her more than most. That was what made me hit 'receive'. Well, that and the fact I had no choice, really.

“Cass,” I said, “You do miss me, after all!”

Her voice was pure flint.

“Luke. Are you well?”

I grinned.

“Yeah, sweetie. It's difficult for me to count to ten, but otherwise... not bad.”

I could sense her holding her annoyance in check. It always offends her dignity to have to deal with the likes of me, but hey - you have to keep the talent happy. 'Are you well' was the end of the pleasantries, though.

“We have a situation here, Luke. You're the nearest operative I have - you know Remington Square in the Business District?”

“Sure,” I said. Remington was less than twenty minutes away.

“We've got something cornered there. There are some casualties, lots of damage. We have to get it under control before morning - if we don't, it'll be impossible to keep it quiet. The army wanted to move in, but the High Council doesn't want any witnesses. So it's yours, Luke.”

I looked over at the mirror hanging by my bed. What I could see of my body under the tattoos was dark with bruises and burns; mapped with scars. I wondered idly what I'd look like, later.

“What is it this time, Cass? Another bloodsucker?” Vampires are my speciality.

Her reply was surprising, even to me.

“It's a dragon,” she said.

*****

My heavy boots crunched on broken glass as I arrived at Remington Square. It was scattered everywhere - the sheer scale of the destruction was awesome. The square was flanked on all sides by office blocks (most of which now facing a serious bill from their glaziers) and fire crews were struggling with blazes raging at several windows. I saw black, charred shapes which might have once been human smouldering on the ground. Temporary barriers and yellow tape stretched around the periphery; Army personnel were setting up massive spotlights.

In the middle of the square was a huge crater, with a dark tunnel leading down into the earth at its centre. Smoke was rising from it.

“Dressed for the occasion, this time?” Cassandra was standing at my shoulder. This was her attempt at humour. I glanced down at my black armour, then raised the helmet visor and grinned wickedly, showing her my filed incisors. Last time we worked together, I was practically naked. A riot shield was strapped onto my left arm; my missing fingers made it too difficult to hold.

“You can't be too careful, Cass. I've had my share of burns, lately,” I said. I pointed at the hole in the ground. “That's where it is, I take it?”

She nodded.

“Where it is and where it came from. The city is expanding the subway, and it must have been sleeping in the earth,” she said. “It wasn't happy about being disturbed, as you can see. It killed the construction workers. We think they may have wounded it somehow, and this was its reaction. It did all this in five minutes, then disappeared back down there.” She looked at me, “Have you dealt with a dragon before?” she asked.

“No,” I lied. “Any chance of a kiss before...,” I began, but she was already walking away. I lowered my visor and hefted my satchel over my shoulder. Spotlights followed me across the square.

The heat was incredible as I moved into the dark, and sweat began to run down the inside of my armour immediately. I clicked on my helmet LED's. The earth of the tunnel was smooth as obsidian, reflective and blackened, scorched by the dragon's fire There was a faint beating sound and even through my armour I could feel a gentle, throbbing breeze from up ahead. The animal breathing, I knew. The smell of brimstone was thick and acrid. The darkness stretched on and on, the heat and stench getting worse with every step.

Suddenly, I thought I saw a glimmer of light ahead. I only just got the shield up in time, and dropped into a crouch as fire spewed along the tunnel. I held my breath as it gushed past me. Dragon fire is like napalm, it sticks as it burns. My shield began to melt. The walls were covered with burning clots of dripping flame. I knew I only had seconds, so I tore the ruined shield free, and ran forward into the lair. The dragon was rearing back to vent again, magnificent and terrible in its majesty. Dark scales rippled as it moved. All I could do now was hope it would listen; if not, I was a dead man.

“KING’S KNIGHT BEGS THY COUNSEL!” I screamed.

There was a long pause.

“King’s Knight?” the voice was rich and cultured, “I imagined you all dead, centuries hence,” the dragon said. Its voice came in gasps; it was in obvious pain from numerous wounds on its flanks.

“It is many years since I held Counsel! Let us palaver, Sir Knight… before we finish this.”

Defiant fire flowered around its nostrils, but I could see its skin hanging loose on its bones, and its emerald eyes were dim.

It was old, and dying.

Good, I thought, that would make things much easier. I hefted a large combat knife from my satchel and moved toward it.

* * * * *

Cassandra was waiting for me as I emerged from the tunnel’s mouth. She said nothing when I dropped the heart at her feet, but took a step back when some blood splattered onto her shoes.

“All done, Cass. You can send in the cleanup team now,” I told her. She knew better than to ask how I'd done it, but I could see the curiosity in her eyes. “How will you explain all this?” I gestured at the mess around us.

“Oh, we’ll probably blame it on terrorists again. There weren’t many witnesses.”

She didn’t notice my satchel shifting slightly.

“Well, if that’s all… I’m going back to bed. I’ll email the report tomorrow,” I told her, walking away. She waved her acquiescence. Cleanup squads hurried toward the crater.

As I moved out of the square, there was a whisper from my satchel.

“Sir Knight? We are safe, then?”

"Hush," I told it.

There are lots of myths about dragons; but not many know about their ability to regenerate. Like a snake shedding its skin - except dragons emerge as helpless foundlings. I had taken the tiny animal and stowed it in my bag, before cutting the heart from the discarded body. Cassandra and her team were busying themselves with a husk, no more. I had persuaded it to begin its life cycle again, on the provision I would take care of it while it was small. It was the only option, really. Dragons are good company.

And we immortals have to look out for one another, after all.

"You're a what?" Gary nearly choked on his tiny quiche hors'doeuvre, heaving his round frame slightly and attracting some attention from other nearby party guests.

"Toilet engineer," replied Arthur, grin on his long, thin face.

Gary grabbed a napkin from off of a table and wiped his mouth as the onlookers slowly turned back to their own business, then hissed back at Arthur, "That can't possibly be your actual title."

"Oh," Arthur said, "but it is. You see, every year there are thousands of new buildings that go up, and almost all of them need new toilets. A proper bowl is not just a receptacle in which your waste goes, it must be designed to receive it well. And I'm proud to say that I am one of the best in the world at designing the bowl to properly receive your waste."

"That's ridiculous," Gary said, "How do you even get into a field like that? What did you study in college?"

"I've got a PhD," said Arthur, puffing out his skinny chest, "in hydrodynamic engineering."

"So you're a doctor of piss," Gary said with disdain. "Of all the people I could have chosen to mingle with, I got the doctor of piss. Why did I have to be so lucky?" Gary threw up his hands and turned to find another guest to chat with, but Arthur put an arm on his shoulder.

"You are lucky, my friend," his smile seeming to go even wider than it already was, "because you chose to speak with the son of the host, and because you were destined to see the eighth wonder of the world."

"Pardon?" Gary turned back to Arthur, but he was visibly annoyed. Arthur just bit his bottom lip in glee.

"Come, follow me."

* * * * *

Somewhat against his will, Gary found himself entering a large shed on the far end of the property. Rather more strongly against his will, he then found himself following the gaunt madman he'd unwittingly befriended through a cellar door and down a stairway carved out of the bedrock, lit only by the flashlight that Arthur was carrying.

"You see," said Arthur as the two descended, "it's not quite enough to be very good in my particular field. Those of us at the top, well, we all cheat, just a bit."

"How do you mean," said Gary grumpily.

"Well, we've all got little trade secrets. Things we can't quite share with each other. If I knew someone else's secret, they'd be out of business, so I can't tell you what firms like Aquaplane and Plumbing Solutions have up their sleeves, but I can show you mine, if you promise not to tell. Do you promise?"

"I promise," Gary said.

"Do you promise sincerely?"

"I promise very sincerely," Gary said, rather insincerely.

"Very well," Arthur said as they approached the bottom of the stairway and a heavy wooden door. "This," he paused to open the door, "is Daniawyr."

There was a fire on the other side of the door. The flickering light showed Gary that this side of the door was not carved, but was rather a natural cave with intricate rock formations on the walls and ceilings. But the floor was flat and smooth. It looked almost like polished china if it wasn't for the dull yellow color. But Gary had to marvel at the perfect evenness of what appeared to be natural rock. Until, at last, he noticed the head.

It was against the wall, nestled against a stalactite. The dull yellow scales blended perfectly into the stone around it, but the eye shined brilliantly in the firelight. The head became apparent once Gary saw the eye, and that lead into the body. It saw that it was noticed and stepped out into the middle of the cavern moving like a parrot, talons leading, as it separated itself from the wall. Gary could see that, if you ignored the horse-like head, alligator tail, and reptilian scales, it did actually resemble a 10 foot-tall parrot.

The fire, about five feet wide and licking upwards to almost reach the beast's head, was now directly between Gary and the animal. Arthur shut the wooden door and moved around the cavern in big, bouncing steps. "You see, Daniawyr is the last of her kind. She's been under the protection of the House of Swithin for centuries. A matter of honor, you understand." Arthur stepped into the enclave where the beast had been and came out holding something under one arm about the size of a cooked turkey. "It's funny the things you take for granted. I may say that I cheat, but it took all my expertise to realize what had been staring me in the face literally all my life."

Gary wasn't quite listening. "Is that, uh, what is that?"

Arthur rubbed the side of the beast with his free hand and said with condescension on his face, "Can't you tell, Gary? Daniawyr is a dragon. Last one in existence. Dragons, as it turns out, lay eggs," Arthur hefted the large object, apparently an egg, into the air for emphasis, "whose surfaces conform perfectly to the qualities that maximize waste removal efficiency. It's the darndest thing. Perfectly smooth, conforming absolutely to parabolic constants. Why, if my competition didn't give me such trouble, I'd say it's the kind of thing that a normal human just can't improve upon."

"That's a dragon?" Gary found himself inching backward towards the door.

"That's the least important thing I've said, Gary." Arthur put the egg back under his arm and scurried back to Gary's side, stopping his slow retreat. "Don't you care about how I'm going to best Aquaplane and Plumbing Solutions?"

Gary didn't answer. Nor did he blink. Nor did he make any effort to break his own fall when his knees gave out from under him.

"Oh, you're not even paying attention now," Arthur said in disgust as Gary lifted himself to a sitting position, but his expression quickly changed back to its former exuberance. "Well, you'll hear this anyway whether you appreciate it or not. You see, every egg is slightly different. You must understand, there are different kinds of efficiencies: you can move waste faster, or more cleanly, or to minimize odor. You can have higher efficiency with solid waste or with liquid. And each egg is slightly different, dependent on what Daniawyr has been eating. I don't pretend to understand dragon biology, so I've been experimenting."

Arthur had been moving closer to the door as he gave his monologue, and his free hand was now on the knob. His movements had been matched by the dragon, which was now on the near side of the flame. "Do you know," he asked Gary, "what kind of diet I have found to always produce the most well-rounded egg possible?"

"N-no," Gary stuttered, still on the floor.

Arthur opened the door and slipped through it. As he closed the door, he said "people," dragging the syllables out.

Arthur locked the door behind him and ascended the stairway, his face darkening. "Toilet engineer," he spat on the ground. "The things some people will believe."

Josie stepped expertly across the rocks, carefully avoiding the sharp edges and little colonies of barnacles in the rocky pools. After the searing heat and the relentless unseasonal rain that followed she was glad to be out of the caravan park and out on the shore. And while it wasn’t exactly sunny, it was warm and the breeze from the ocean was pleasant - which was more than what could be said about her daughter, who had now fallen well behind.

“Come on, Tarryn! Keep up!” she called behind her.

“Mum, this sucks!” came the reply as Tarryn folded her arms across her chest and stopped. “Can’t we go to the shops or something?”

“Tarryn, we’ve already looked at the shops,” Josie said, stepping across the rocks to reach her daughter. “I believe at the time you said they were “lame”.”

“They are lame but this sucks. I want to go swimming,” moaned Tarryn.

“You can’t go swimming - the beach is filthy from the storm, now come on. This is interesting! Look!” Josie crouched down and pulled a small rock away, sending a pale little crab scurrying. “See? You can find interesting creatures here.”

“Mum, it’s a crab. It’s not interesting,” Tarryn said, rolling her eyes.

Josie kept moving, ignoring the adolescent attitude she was so tired of hearing. “Well, you had the option of going fishing with your Dad and Ollie . . .”

Tarryn huffed and started off again, veering away from the ocean and rocks while Josie continued across the pools just as she used to as a little girl. Every now and again she looked over her shoulder at her daughter, now walking along the cliffs and obstinately kicking at the sand.

Josie had just found a starfish when she heard Tarryn scream - looking up, she could see her by the cliffs surrounded by a small swarm of large insects. Hopping across the slippery rocks, she found her daughter crouching in the sand, the insects all gone by the time she got there.

“Mum! I killed it!” Tarryn cried, and Josie was shocked to see tears welling in her eyes.

“What is it, darling?” Josie said, crouching down and she couldn’t help but let out a cry as she saw what lay at her daughter’s feet.

It was tiny, barely twelve centimetres long and slender like a skink. But unlike a skink, its back legs sat more like those of a bird and its front legs more like a dinosaur’s, all bedecked with fierce little claws. Its head was bent back on an unnatural angle, but she could still make out rows of sharp teeth at the end of an elongated, scaled snout. But it was the wings that made Josie gasp: leathery like those of a bat and almost as long as the creature’s body, it was clear that both were broken.

“I felt something bite me so I swatted it and I killed it!” Tarryn sniffled, no longer fighting the tears. “I didn’t mean to . . . !”

“My god,” Josie gasped, “I’ve never seen a lizard like this before!”

“Mum, it’s not a lizard!” Tarryn snapped.

“It can’t be a . . . a . . .”

“Well what else is it?”

Josie had always imagined dragons to be colourful, but the creature in front of her was a dull dappled caramel-beige, the same colour as the cliffs. “Tarryn, I know you’re upset but this is really serious. You can’t tell anyone about this, not until we work out what to do. Don’t text your friends or tell your brother or anyone else, ok?” Tarryn looked up at her mum with eyes full of fear and sadness and nodded. Josie pulled a tissue from the small bag she had with her and scooped the tiny creature up, ignoring her daughter’s protests. “We might need to show the local ranger,” she explained and the two of them turned back towards the caravan park in silence.

Later, after Josie had sent Tarryn and Ollie into town to buy some fish and chips for dinner and she was alone with her husband, Josie brought out the little tissue-wrapped body. “John, I want you to have a look at something . . .”

“W-what . . . ? Is that what it looks like?” he stammered. He picked up a pen and gingerly turned the dead dragon’s body over on the kitchen table. “Where did you find it?”

“Tarryn found it by the cliffs near the rock pools; she swatted it thinking it was a bug. She’s real upset about it,” Josie said. “What do you think we should do?”

“I really don’t know. I mean, this is pretty staggering. You don’t think anyone else has seen one?”

Josie leant back against the flimsy caravan table. “I don’t think so. For all the years I stayed here as a kid I never came across anything like this before and I'm sure I would have heard something by now if they had. I think the extreme weather must have driven it out from wherever it was hiding. Do you think we should tell someone?”

“Well, we should,” said John. “Scientifically speaking, this is huge.”

“I know, but they’ve remained hidden for so long, I’m just worried about what’ll happen if other people find out . . .”

“So am I,” John agreed. “It is pretty sensational. Look, Tarryn found it, I think it should be her call. She’s mature enough now.”

“Are you sure?”

“You have a chat to her tonight after dinner. I’ll take Ollie down to the park and you two decide what you want to do. I’m sure it will be for the best.”

Josie frowned and nodded. She quickly wrapped the dragon’s body up again as they heard their children’s voices coming down the street.

*****

Josie and Tarryn made their way back to the cliffs as the sun was just staring to set, coating the shore in gold and orange; in one hand Tarryn held a little plastic shovel they found in the caravan and in the other was the tissue holding the body of tiny dragon. They approached the spot where they found it and Josie thought she saw the flicker of a reptilian tail disappearing into a small crevice just above her eye level.

Tarryn bent down, digging a deep hole with the shovel beneath the salty scrub that lined the cliffs. Josie's heart broke as she watched her daughter place the tissue deep in the sandy earth and whisper, “please forgive me!”, before filling the hole back in and covering the spot with a makeshift cairn of small rocks she found nearby.

Standing back, the two of them stared down at the spot and to their surprise another little dragon flew down, scurrying and searching desperately amongst the rocks as if aware of the other buried below. Soon dozens were floating down around them, all descending on the small cairn on fluttering wings.

“Oh, Mum!” Tarryn cried, breaking down into deep sobs and burying her head in her mother’s chest. Josie held her tightly as a tear escaped from her own eye, watching the spectacle unfold as the world faded from gold to grey and the warmth of the day turned cold around them.

Jim's wife regarded the cage with a great deal of skepticism as he gave it a mighty shove into the alcove formerly occupied by their entertainment stand.

“Are you sure you can handle an iguana?” she asked, for the hundredth time, as she rubbed at a new sore spot the baby had made with its latest kick. For the hundred-and-first time, Jim assured her he could.

“Sam was insistent that she would be put to sleep if we didn’t take her. I couldn’t let that happen. Besides, how much work can one lizard be?”

“One lizard which will get longer than you are tall and weigh more than our cat? I'd say that’s plenty of work!”

It was a tired argument between the two of them, and one that had started the day Jim had come home, telling about how his least-favorite coworker was trying desperately to pawn off the sad creature. “She’s been neglected,” he said, “and knowing Sam, abused as well. I can’t let her die!”

Susan knew she was defenseless about that argument. After all, she’d used the same line for two dogs, a cat, a litter of baby hamsters, and one very large spider someone found in the break room. For the first time in seven years of marriage, Jim was playing the role of hero, and she could hardly argue against her own line.

Susan squinted through the mesh of the cage, and said warily, “I don’t know much about iguanas, but that one doesn’t look right.”

“Of course not! She's been abused. I looked online, and there's all sorts of stuff she needs. Humidity. Diet. Living space. Heat. UV rays. You think Sam would do all that? I doubt he even knows how to read!”

Susan sighed, and opened the cage door. She reached in towards the long, scaly lizard and was met with sharp teeth clamping tightly around the soft padding between thumb and forefinger. She jerked back, and watched blood ooze from two deep pricks. A matching set of wounds throbbed on her palm.

“Hey!” Jim said. “Don't scare her!”

“Scare her? I’m the one bleeding here!” Susan studied the wounds for a moment, before saying, “I thought you said iguanas ate vegetables.”

“They do.”

“Don’t vegetarians generally have small, even teeth?”

“Yeah, so?”

“These look like fang marks.” She held her hand up for him to see.

“Those aren’t fang marks!” he said defensively. “Fluffy doesn’t have fangs.”

“Fluffy?”

“Um... I thought it was an ironic name.”

Susan rolled her eyes. “If ironic is now synonymous with stupid, then sure. By the way, she doesn’t look right. Her tail's awfully short, and isn't she supposed to have a dewlap?”

Jim moved himself between Susan and the cage, as if to protect Fluffy from further analysis. “She’s been neglected. Her growth is probably stunted. And maybe the females don’t have dewlaps.”

Susan shook her head skeptically, but did not offer any further argument. “Have at her, then. I’m not responsible for her. This is your project.”

“Good,” Jim said firmly. “I like it that way!”

He settled down in front of the cage, and began telling his new pet stories as Susan slipped from the room.

He watched the creature as it cocked its head in his direction, one slitted eye regarding him warily. Brown stripes circled the bright green body, with a strange mottled pattern. Jim noted that on her torso particularly, Fluffy had saggy skin that seemed to hang over her ribs instead of cling to them. Strange, he thought, usually emaciated animals don't have excess skin. He watched the forked tongue dart in and out between scaly lips, and tried hard to see into Fluffy’s mouth to visually confirm that his wife was wrong about fangs. Just as he leaned in to get a better look, Fluffy yawned, and then shook out her limbs one at a time, much like he did after a contented yawn. First hind legs, each punctuating the stretch with a shake, and then front legs and then --

“Oh, crap.”

*****

Jim had been pacing for hours. How was he going to tell his wife? She’d never believe him. She’d laugh. She’d say he was insane. It was impossible. Unheard of. Someone was playing a joke on him. He turned back toward the large cage he was no longer as enthusiastic about having in his home and looked at the innocuous-looking creature within. Bright green body. Brown stripes. Four legs. Spines down the back and tail.

And two leathery wings, spread wide to catch as much heat from the lamp above as possible. The little creature had its eyes closed with contentment, every now and then sighing. Once, it sneezed, and Jim was still not certain how he was going to explain the slight charring on the wall.

He debated taking the creature out for closer examination, but then had a nightmarish premonition of flapping wings and flames and his wife's collection of antique teacups sitting on random shelves on the wall. Nope. Opening the cage door was probably a bad idea.

“Are you too in love with your new pet to come upstairs?” Susan called. Jim glanced up at the clock and was startled to see it was past midnight. How long had been watching this... thing? He glanced at the blanket he had intended on covering the cage with at night and quickly changed his mind. Blankets were just a tad bit too flammable for his taste. He hastily switched off the light, and then rushed up to bed, praying his wife would ask no more questions about their new pet.

*****

Susan mumbled to herself as she made what would probably be the first of many trips to the bathroom that night. As she flipped on the hallway light, she caught the reflection of metal mesh.

“I swear,” she muttered, “everyone jokes that I need to practice being a Mom before this baby is born, and nobody ever realizes how much practice Jim gives me.”

She peered in at gleaming eyes through the dark. “Sorry, Fluffy. I promise he’ll get better at taking care of you,” she said, as she tossed an old quilt over the cage.

Maeron stopped dead in his tracks. Something was not right. His nose twitched at the air picking up the warm scent of a living being.

He sniffed again. It wasn’t a rat. He hadn’t smelled a rat in this part of the city sewer for a long time. That’s what had necessitated this hunting trip away from the lair. He knew that rats repopulated faster if he didn’t completely clean out one section of the city so he tended to rotate his hunting grounds. But lately Maeron had grown lazy and there wasn’t a single rat to be found anywhere around the section of sewer he called home.

His ears turned forward and back on his head searching for a signal. The shuffling sounds of the intrusive presence bounced off the concrete tunnels making a pinpoint location impossible but there was no doubt that someone had found his lair or was very close to doing so.

An image formed in his mind of city workers sweeping up his treasure piles and pressure washing the burnt carbon deposits caused by his fiery snorts. Maeron had previously been evicted from his home in this manner and each time he was forced to find a new lair. He was afraid that he would have to move again, find a suitably defensible place to call his own and begin collecting his treasure hoard all over.

His body slumped with this thought. Not again.

“It’s not right,” he thought. But what he really meant was, “It’s not fair.” Here he was stuck in the sewer of a major city getting flushed out of his lair by a couple of men with a hose and two brooms. Getting rid of sanitation workers wouldn’t be difficult but the ensuing rumors about a sewer “monster” would bring way too much attention. And the truth was, a dragon didn’t stand a chance against the weapons that humans used these days.

Back in the days when they were all but invincible a dragon could defend a lair with a mighty roar and a few well aimed jets of flaming breath. That was usually all that was needed to keep a knight with a sword that was three feet long at least twelve feet away. As long as you kept your belly low to the ground arrows were nothing more than a nuisance to a thick, scaly hide. And those times when someone entered your lair with false bravado while you were out, well you could take to the air, swooping in to spray them with fire and trap them. All that would be left was to devour them and scatter their bones at the entrance of the cave as a warning to anyone foolish enough to try that again.

Maeron’s wings stirred with the thought of flying. There wasn’t enough room down here to completely unfold them, let alone fly or even properly exercise them. He didn’t know if he would still be able to fly even if he had the chance. When guns had become the weapon of choice for humans the era of dragons had ended. Fiery breath, no matter how potent, could not keep someone with a gun far enough away. Thick hide was no match for bullets designed to pierce the toughest synthetic and metal plated armor. The once fierce and proud dragons went into hiding, waiting patiently for the day when they would again be able to live in the open, wild and free.

The vast majority had migrated from the traditional Celtic haunts to more temperate zones closer to the equator. There they were able to hide in the swamps, treading water and passing for an alligator or a crocodile as long as someone didn’t look too closely. A smaller number had actually moved right into the cities the humans built. Humans, as it turned out, were unable to see something unless they were specifically looking for it. That meant it was possible to hide right out in the open. More than one gray-hued dragon had spent their days perched on a cathedral roof while people snapped pictures of what they took to be a gargoyle and marveled at the intricacy and skill of the stone cutter.

But cities built of glass and steel have no such places to hide and dragons like Maeron were forced down into the sewers to hunt for rats and spend their days guarding a treasure hoard made up of glittery pieces of trash. The old stories of silver, gold and precious gems piled in a dragon’s lair filled Maeron with a mixture of longing for days gone by and self-loathing for his own situation. He was aware that his treasures were nothing more than piles of aluminum cans and bits of broken, colored glass but he couldn’t help how he picked them up when he discovered them or how he felt, somehow, more complete when he added each piece to the hoard.

His head jerked and Maeron realized he had slipped off into that ever increasing world of reverie again. He cursed himself for being so careless when people were close by. He thought for a moment about taking a look at whoever was around the corner. Sometimes a homeless wino wandered the sewers and Maeron could easily confront such a person to shoo them away. Nobody ever believed an eyewitness account of a dragon in the sewers when it came from someone who spent their days inebriated to the point of falling down. But his carelessness served as a warning about how complacent he had become and he knew it would be best to move on and find a new place to hide in the city.

His body sagged forward and began the long walk towards a place he could use as a temporary shelter. He walked with resignation through the labyrinthine caverns until a whiff of fresh air pulled his eyes off the concrete path to notice a sewer grate above his head. The sounds of the city are different after dark and they called out to the old dragon, tempting him to chance a glimpse at the night sky.

Cautiously staying within the shadows, Maeron looked up. A towering, black skyscraper blocked the night sky. From way up there a dragon could rule the city; soaring, swooping and sneezing fire on a frightened populace. That was the dragon he was born to be…in another time… in another place.

To really start this story you'll have to go back about a week to my chance encounter with these two "gentlemen" at the local fair.

(Well, to be honest, you'd probably have to go as far back as Mr. Sonofsky's infancy, when, one can only assume, he was bashed about the head repeatedly by a spoon-wielding harpy and forced to wear frilly dresses until the age of ten. But that's possibly going back too far.)

"You say something?"

"Sorry?"

"Stop mumbling back there. I can't hear myself dig."

"Sorry."

"Yeah, you just hold that thing good and tight until I tell ya different, okay?"

"Right."

That was the aforementioned Mr. Sonofsky and that "thing" he mentioned is Horace, my miniature dragon.

Dragon, you ask. Well, see when I was a lad at university, I was studying genetics, and upon returning from a delightful trip to the Galapagos Islands...

"Boss?"

"What is it Butchie?"

"He's narrating again."

Mr. Sonofsky turned back to me and growled. "I told you, didn't I?"

I shrugged. "Sorry."

"One more 'sorry' outta you and I'll leave you both down here to rot."

Butchie reeled, "what, me too Boss?"

"Nah, Mr. Wizard and Mr. Lizard over there. Keep digging."

Butchie, a man built out of muscle and sinew, raised the pick axe over his head and smashed it into the rock wall. A tumbling of rocks scattered at his feet. One more smash and "clunk."

"Boss! I think I hit something."

The men scrabbled at the loose rock. Mr. Sonofsky knocked against the smooth metal wall beyond. "That's it, Butchie. Well, done." He looked back at me.

"This is the right vault?"

I nodded. "The largest and oldest vault in the bank. I still don't understand why you wanted this one, all the cash is in the upper vaults."

Mr. Sonofsky snickered. "Cash. Nothing but little I.O.U.s. Nah, what we want is what the old families have. Gold and jewels, my friend. Tangible, real and accepted everywhere."

"Gold and jewels," Butchie squealed. He clapped his hands together like a little boy, then started moving the larger stones out of the clearing.

Mr. Sonofsky looked back at me, smiled, then down at Horace, and frowned. Horace, about as big as a German Shepard, with iridescent blue scales and a sweet round face, stared back at the man, eyes glowing yellow.

"That thing ready?"

"Ready?" I asked. "I doubt it has any idea what's going on, let alone 'ready' for anything."

Mr. Sonofsky took off his hat and wiped his brow. "I mean, is it lit? Ready to burn."

"Oh!" I said, understanding. "Horace is always 'lit', as you say. Just let me know when you're ready."

I had been worried that Horace would be uncomfortable in the catacombs. But from the moment of our descent, he jogged along beside me, sniffing and snorting, eyes glowing in the dim light. The dragons of myth may have been made for the skies, but Horace was discovering his nocturnal self, and he was the calmest of all of us.

He purred and rubbed his head against my leg. It's really like having a large, scaly cat.

"Ok Boss," Butchie grunted, heaving the last of the large stones out of the way. "Is that enough room?"

Mr. Sonofsky looked back at me. "Is that enough room?"

I considered the large opening and the thick wall of steel behind it. "Should be fine. Will you both be going through, or just you, Mr. Sonofsky?"

He squinted his eyes at me. "Why?"

"Well, a hole to fit the likes of Butchie here would be considerably larger, and thereby take more time. You, on the other hand, are a slight man," and upon seeing the look on Mr. Sonofsky's face I added "yet powerful, but you need less room to get in."

He considered it, sized up Butchie, then me, then realized how the odds were stacked against any double-cross. Reading the odds wrong, he agreed.

"Fine, just me then. Butchie, I'll hand you the stuff back out the hole. Just keep an eye on the professor here."

"Will do Boss." Butchie glared at me with his simple sweaty face. It was quite sweet.

"Alright," Mr. Sonofsky said, stepping as far back in the cave as he could without actually leaving. "Light her up."

I clicked out of the side of my mouth and led Horace to the wall. Kneeling down beside him, I started rubbing the side of his belly, while holding his muzzle foward, aiming. I whispered in his ear. "Not too much, just a small straight stream of fire." Horace's eye's blazed with light briefly, then a grumble in his throat told me he was ready to burn.

Another thing most people don't realize about real dragons is the relative quietness of their burn-off. It's not the thundering roar of the movie dragons, but a small hiss with a faint hint of sulfur.

I guided Horace's remarkably cool muzzle around the wall in a circle. Then I had a funny thought. "Mr. Sonofsky. I just had a funny thought."

"Oh yeah," he called back, a little shakily. "What's that?"

"Did I mention that Horace wasn't my first dragon? He's actually my eighth. That's why we named him Horace, you see. H being the eighth letter of the alphabet."

Mr. Sonofsky walked forward, staring at the glowing circle in the steel wall. "Really. Great."

I edged the flame around toward the beginning of the cut and rubbed Horace's belly again, slowing down the burn. "Yes, we tried with several types of dragons, all of our ideas coming from myths and legends. Unfortunately, they were long on story and short on biology."

With a loud "plunk" a perfect circle of steel fell back, into the vault. The edges cooled quickly as Butchie splashed water on the metal. Through the steam, you could see the vault shelves beyond and the dim flicker of gold.

And green too. There was a flicker of green, for an instant.

Mr. Sonofsky scuttled forward and peered into the hole. "Of course," I continued, backing away from the area, "it wasn't until Horace here that we realized we were working too big."

"Butchie, will you look at that. There's more gold in there than in Fort Knox. Get the bags ready." He poked his head through the opening and peered around. He came back out, smiled, clapped his hands and stepped back, into the vault.

"We did have one good prospect though," I said, watching Butchie stack bags as Mr. Sonofsky disappeared into the dark interior of the safe. "Emily, her name was. She was a great big red one, of the Chinese variety, you might say. She couldn't fly though and her movement was hindered by a strangely hinged spine."

Mr. Sonofsky turned back and said "will you shut him up" before being engulfed in a ball of green fire.

"But she could flame! Boy, could she ever."

Butchie lunged to the wall calling "Boss! Boss!" He leaned all the way in, trying to see through the smoke. "Boss!" A second ball of green fire lit up the vault and the cave beyond.

"No," I continued, keeping a struggling Horace steady. "She could never fly, poor thing. But she makes a great guard dragon. Well, as long as there's no cash around."

Horace struggled against his leash and wimpered. "Ok, go ahead boy."

I let go of the leash as Horace leapt over the smoking remains of Butchie to see his Mama.

Popocatépetl erupts in fury, forcing evacuation of portions of Mexico City...

George put the paper down and sipped at his cold coffee. He made a face, but drained the last of the bitter drink. He was going to need the caffeine today. When his cell phone rang, he picked it up.

"Yes,"

"That's another one George," Col. Janson shouted, "How many of these damn things can erupt?"

"All of them, sir."

"What!" The colonel's voice went up an octave. "They're all going to erupt?"

"No, sir," George poured himself another cup of coffee. "You asked how many could erupt, not will erupt."

"Dammit man, don't do that to me." The colonel's voice dropped to its normal tenor. "You just about gave me a heart attack. So what are your predictions as to how many volcanos will erupt?"

"I can't say, the data is... what the heck" George dropped the phone on the table and went to the window. He ignored the buzzing of Janson's voice shouting at him and peered out over the range. He could see the plume of Mount St. Helens' eruption in the distance. Profiled against the plume for a brief moment had been what looked like a bird. The mountain was fifty miles away, there was no way that George could have seen a bird from that distance. There was nothing out there now. He picked up the phone again.

"....nswer me man! What's going on?"

"Sorry Colonel, I thought I saw a bird."

"So what? Is that enough to leave me hanging in mid sentence?"

"There are no birds out here, sir. They don't like the ash."

"I swear I am going to conscript you into the army just so I can court martial you."

"That would get in the way of my work, sir." George hung up the phone without saying good-bye. The phone calls from Colonel Janson were a necessary interruption. The Defence Department was paying for his work. He was very close to being able to predict volcanic eruptions anywhere in the world, or at least he thought he was close. This catastrophic burst of activity didn't show up anywhere in his calculations.

George sat himself at his computer and pulled up the newest seismic charts. They looked random, but he was sure there was a pattern in their somewhere. He was soon lost in the numbers.

He wasn't sure how many times the phone rang before he noticed it. George walked over to the table and picked up the phone.

"Yes," he said, and took a swig of cold coffee, "I hate cold coffee."
"So do I," said the voice on the phone.

"You're not Colonel Janson," George said, "How did you get this number?"

"I need to talk to you."

"The Colonel could have you arrested for just knowing this number."

"Give me five minutes."

George poured out the cold coffee and refilled his cup.

"Five minutes." He looked at his watch.

"The Mayan calendar finished in 2012," the voice said, "this year..."

"I don't have time for nonsense," George said.

"My five minutes aren't up," the voice said.

"OK, you have four minutes and thirty seconds left."

"2012 the calendar ends, eruptions begin. What if the calendar wasn't a calendar, but a count down? Something is returning when the calendar ends."

"Nonsense."

"Look out your window. Do you see flying things in the eruption plume?"

He looked and saw vague shapes floating through the ash.

"They're not birds."

"No, they're not. All the old legends talk about them. In every place there were people four thousand years ago. The legends were so powerful that people brought them into more recent times."

"What are you talking about?"

"Dragons, creatures who lived in fire and earth. They were part of the world, then they disappeared."

"Children's stories."

"Not any more. People have reported seeing large flying creatures in eruption plumes all over the world."

"Fantasies," George said, "hysteria."

"You saw them yourself," the voice accused, "You said it yourself. They are not birds. What are they?"

"I don't know, not dragons."

"It doesn't matter what you call them," the voice said, "They're here and we will need to deal with them."

"Why call me?"

"You're the guy the bigwigs listen to. You couldn't lie even if you wanted. If you tell them, they'll have to listen."

"Then what?"

"I don't know. I'm going to try to get close enough to video one. I don't know if they'll remember that they used to talk to humans. I'm feeding the video live to your phone."

George looked at the screen of his phone and sure enough he could see a shaky video picture of a volcanic plume. He couldn't see much on the tiny screen. He plugged the phone into his computer and watched on the much larger screen. Now he could see creatures flying through the ash. With the mountain as a reference point George could see that they must be huge, yet they soared gracefully in and out of the plume like birds playing in an updraft.

The person with the camera was getting closer quickly. They must have been riding a motorcycle or some other vehicle. George was able to pick out some details in the creatures. They had long tails and wings that looked very much like bat wings. Yet even at this distance he could see that they had four legs.

"My God, they are beautiful," the voice on the phone said, "I've got as close as I can. Wait, one is coming this way. I can't believe how fast it is moving."

"Get down, hide," George said, "That looks like a predatory glide."

"You're a vulcanologist, what do you know about predatory glides?"

"There used to be a lot of birds on the mountain," George said, "before the eruption."

"Just look at it. It's magnificent, no, no, NO" The video suddenly changed angle as the phone was dropped. George heard a roar almost drowning out a terrified scream and a swift shadow crossed the screen. A moment later he saw the creature flying back toward the plume. A tiny figure dangled in its grip.

George hung up the phone and called the colonel.

"Yes, George what is it?"

"The volcanoes," George said, "It's the dragons hatching."

"Dragons?" the Colonel said, "What are you talking about? Have you gone mad?"

"Unfortunately, I am quite sane. I'm sending you a video feed, sir." George tapped at his computer. "I'm sure you are connected to the video from my lab here." He looked out the window. He could see the dragons dropping out of the plume. The caller was right. They were incredibly fast.

"Watch the video and learn what you can."

"What is going on? George, you aren't making sense. Is this some kind of joke?"

George walked over to the window. They were almost at his lab.

"I don't have a sense of humour, sir."

"Wait, I'm getting reports from all over the globe. Big flying lizards are attacking anybody near a volcano. Get out of there, George."

"It's too late," George said, "The dragons have returned, sir. I think they want their world back."

Lomo, a fully-grown male Komodo dragon, shifted slightly on the rocks that had been warmed by the infra-red lamps. Basking is what he liked to do, especially after a good meal. He flicked his forked tongue around the inside of his mouth, tasting the heady flavour of the black rat emanating from the scraps of its skin that clung to the gaps between his razor sharp teeth.

He eyed up the inviting pool at the far end of the enclosure and considered whether it was time to cool down. But after a few blinks his eyes closed as lethargy won the day.

A loud bang on the glass finally disturbed him. He opened one eye and look disdainfully at the creature that was peering in at him. His reptilian brain lit up as the juvenile jumped back in fear. In the past he had attempted to make a meal of these creatures, but experience had taught him that the glass between them was too great a barrier.

He opened his other eye. Everything seemed normal. He flicked out his tongue and moved it back and forth tasting the air. His great hope, the scent of a female, was unfounded. He rocked his head slowly back and forth listening. For an instant he was aware of the hiss of cockroaches and the scampering of the mice hiding in the crevices between the rocks. Then silence fell. Could they tell he was listening. He couldn’t shake off the feeling, there was something new.

He stretched his claws, then heaved himself up onto his powerful legs. He set out around the perimeter of his enclosure snaking his massive tail from side to side. Six, long, slow laps later, the line of creatures peering through the window had disappeared.

There was just one creature left. He was standing upright as was their custom, his legs apart, staring straight at him. Lomo pushed his head up against the glass and towered above him. This one did not flinch. Pale-blue eyes stared at him unblinkingly from an ugly pink face surrounded by a mass of curly, black hair. Its snout was thin and its jaw was weak, as ineffective as any he’d seen.

Lomo fancied a meal. He clawed at the glass and flicked out his tongue.

The creature laughed. It drew a shiny-metal object from beneath its hide and held it up to the glass.

Lomo’s simple train of thought came to an abrupt end as an excruciating pain shot from ear to ear right through the centre of his head.

Stunned, he dropped to the ground. He didn’t know how, but the pain was something to do with this creature and his metal object. Lomo's first instinct was to put as much distance as he could between himself and the source of the pain. But, when he tried to move away, the pain intensified. He collapsed in agony. The man took the object away from the glass and the pain subsided. Lomo gathered himself together. This creature was dangerous.

Then the dangerous one stuck out its tongue and moved it from side to side. Lomo was enraged. His powerful back legs exploded and ninety kilograms of pure muscle smashed against the glass. The whole pane rocked in its frame, but it held secure.

The creature put the object back up to the glass.

When the pain subsided, Lomo found himself slumped against the window. He tied to shy away. But every time he moved the pain came back. Soon he realised that there was only one option. He lay quietly by the window, not daring to move.

The dangerous creature smiled with satisfaction.

Lomo had never had to learn anything before. Now life was going to be different.

***

Head Keeper Tony McPhereson was stroking the trunk of his favourite Indian Elephant when his two-way radio crackled into life.

Nonchalantly, he put the receiver to his ear. It was security.

Two seconds later he was sprinting towards the Islands in Danger House. What was going on. Lomo was docile. He always had been. But CCTV couldn’t lie. The animal had all but smashed through the security glass. Luckily the crowds had gone. There were only a few stragglers making their way to the zoo’s exit. Breathless, he flung open the door. He stopped for a second to compose himself. Then he made his way down the wooden corridor. Lomo’s enclosure was near the far end.

When he rounded the final bend everything seemed normal. There was just one man in a brown leather jacket and trousers standing by the viewing window. Lomo was lying nearby, apparently calm. What had all the fuss been about. Controlling his breath, Tony walked up to man. “Did you see what happened?” he asked.

The man turned and slowly stroked his beard. “Well he did seem a little excited earlier. Wonderful creatures aren’t they. You know, they’re the last remaining link to the true dragons that used to rule the world.”

Tony’s eyebrows lifted. “Well, if you say so. You’re sure you didn’t see anything that may have spooked him.”

The man shook his head. “No, sorry. Got to be going, otherwise you’ll lock me in. I think I’ll come back tomorrow.”

“You didn’t have anything to do with it did you?”

The man smiled. “No, of course not.” He patted his jacket pocket, turned and walked away.

***

Lomo had been very still. But his great yellow eye had been busy. He recognised Tony. He was one of those special creatures who provided his food and water. He’d also noticed that the dangerous one had gone. He raised a claw tentatively to the window. There was no pain. Tony put his puny claw against the glass near his, and as Lomo moved his claw around the glass, Tony's claw followed.

Lomo felt good.

After a while Tony made that funny back and forth movement with his forepaw that he often did before he went away. Soon the bright lights would go out.

Then for the second time that day Lomo realised that he had learned something. And this something was going to help him in this new world that had been forced upon him: it was the difference between good and evil.

George breathed in the crisp clean air near the top of the mountain. It was good to get away from the city where he had toiled for years writing a popular comic strip. The strip had made him more money than he could ever spend, and he had retired from it at the top of its popularity, never looking back.

He sniffed the air again, and suddenly noticed a strange odor, like some exotic wood burning. He made his way up a faint trail he had been following up the mountain. It was chilly, even in summer, at this altitude. He had gone a little further when he noticed a large opening in the side of the mountain. The smell was coming from there, and he spied what appeared to be whiffs of steam or smoke emanating from the opening.

He entered the opening, which turned out to be a cave. He had not brought a means of light with him, so he could only journey in so far, but he noticed a large mound of something lying in the corner. Suddenly he realized the mound had eyes, and more importantly, long sharp teeth. He started to back out slowly.

“So where are you going so soon, after taking all that time to get here?” a voice asked.

“I'm sorry to disturb you,” George stammered. “I didn't know the cave was occupied.

“It would seem to me one would be wise to check that out before hand. Of course if you were a thief, you would also have brought a light. Hard to explore a cave without one. So why are you here?”

“I was just hiking, enjoying the day, when I noticed a strange smell coming from the opening in the mountain. I was curious so I investigated.”

“That's what they make cats for. They have nine lives you know.”

“That is just a myth.”

“Really? Have you ever counted them?” The mound thought for a moment, “actually, neither have I. It might only be seven. Possibly six.”

“Um, what are you anyway?” George found the courage to say.

“Well, not a cat certainly. No, I definitely am not one of them.” The mound snorted fire in mirth.

It was a dragon. Thirty feet long, wings, talons, fire breathing. George let out a squeak. It was all the noise he could muster.

“And it's a good thing I am not a cat, because you sound like a mouse,” the dragon added. “I am Drache, by-the-by. What is your name?”

“G-G-G-George?”

“Are you not sure of your name?”

“I am. I am just scared out of my mind.”

“Well why, is there a bear in here or something?” Drache said, looking around.

“No, I was just scared if, um...”

“Me? No silly, if I was going to eat you I would have done so already. Frankly you folks give me indigestion. I am fond of sheep and goats though. You wouldn't happen to have any handy would you?”

“No, I'm afraid I don't. No cows either.”

“Well, that's a fine affair. And I was willing to pay you a lot of gold if you had them.”

“I don't really need gold,” George said.

“Really? I thought your species salivated at the thought of it,” Drache commented.

“Usually, but I have all I need, and I am not greedy.”

“Well that's a first. So you won't help me then?”

“That depends. What did you want help with?”

“I need to go to town to purchase supplies. Unfortunately anybody who sees me has the same reaction you did.”

“Hmmm... So you need a disguise I would assume. Tell you what, let me see what I can do.”

George started down the mountain deep in thought. He arrived in a small town at the base of the mountain, and noticed handbills for a circus. He thought about that, then purchased five gallons of gray paint, some paper mache paste, a can of white spray paint, and a couple of newspapers, then made his way back to the cave.

Drache looked in interest as he unpacked his supplies. “Looks like Halloween came early this year,” she commented, “so what am I going as?”

“An elephant,” George replied “It's the largest land animal that exists today. Yourself excluded of course,” he said, regarding her much larger than elephant-sized form.

“This ought to be good,” Drache said, as George painted her gray, then fashioned two 'tusks' from the newspaper and paint, and fastened them to her face.

He stepped back to admire his work. “You know, with the proper patter, I think we can pull this off. There is a circus coming to town, that will be our cover.”

They made their way into town the next morning. “I don't think you should talk,” George told Drache, “this is going to be hard enough to pull off as it is.

That's OK, I can just think at you anyway, Drache thought.

Handy, George thought back.

The first person they met gawked at Drache. “What in tarnation is that?” he gulped.

“An elephant.”

“With wings?”

“Well there are different kinds of elephants you know. African and Indian for example. This one is a Chinese elephant”

“Chinese, eh?” the man said, unconvinced.

“You know, like Dumbo, the elephant in the movie,” George lied.

“Oh, yeah. Well if you are looking for the circus, it is over on the other side of town,” the man said, and quickly wandered off.

You're good, Drache giggled.

Well we will find out how good in a while, George thought back.

They found the circus, gaining a lot of curious looks from people along the way. A person dressed in a ringmaster's outfit came out to great them.

“What is that?” he asked, staring at Drache. George went into his usual patter concerning the dragon.

“That ain't no elephant,” the Ringmaster said.

“OK then, what is it?” George asked innocently.

The Ringmaster walked around Drache, studying her closely, and Drache stared back at him. “What it is is one heck of an attraction. Is it for sale?”

“No,” George said, “but we are willing to tour with you. The deal is you feed her, she lets people gawk.”

“And what do you get out of it?” the Ringmaster asked.

George thought about it. “I am kind of curious as to how she will be taken by strangers. That's about it. Oh, yeah, and I need a place to stay.”

“You got it,” the Ringmaster said, rubbing his hands. “What does it eat?”

“Drache prefers sheep and goats, but cows, pigs, and any other large animal will do,” George said.

The Ringmaster nodded. “You have a deal. I will get a wagon ready for you. Now what is that thing, really?”

Drache yawned, setting fire to a nearby tree.

“A Chinese Elephant, very tame, just don't annoy it.”

“Don't worry about that,” the Ringmaster said. “What if someone tries to steal her though?”

“You will not have to feed her that night.”

“Sort of what I figured. Well, welcome aboard,” he said, and walked away.

You really are a genius. I was prepared to pay in gold for my food Drache thought, This is going to be far more interesting.

Yes it is, George thought back, It most definitely will be.

Time. Like every other dimension, it is perceived by each creature differently. It seems to speed up during nights of impassioned love in unkempt motels and slow down during office meetings at dead-end jobs. Behind the iron bars at the zoo, the oldest turtles watch as our faces come and go, and to them we are nothing but transient leaves to be blown away at season’s end. But in the dumpsters, the flies marvel at how we endure through many of their lifetimes, towering over them like Atlas who held up the sky on his shoulders.

One time, high in the sky beyond even Atlas’s reach, the great dragon Leonus flew, waiting. His golden scales glimmered in the sunlight, the flaps from his powerful, majestic wings easily keeping him in the air. He had lived for countless eternities, unaware of how much time had passed. Ancient magicks protected him from radar, and the thick grey clouds that had formed over the city prevented him from being seen from below. But humans were not his concern; he was there with a single purpose.

He was there to meet his nemesis Grendyl, and to slay him or be slain in deadly combat. And this had always been his only purpose, since the day he was created.

Lifetime after lifetime, Leonus and Grendyl gravitated towards each other — travelled across the world to meet if need be — and fought until one of them met their demise in the sky. The loser would then be reborn, but in that new life he would remember all the previous lives he had lived, and the cycle would begin again: meet, fight, die.

It was a purpose that defined Leonus and made him alive as much as the air that he breathed. Over the years, he had tried to search within himself for a tangible reason for his fights with Grendyl, and although he could surely say that he hated everything Grendyl stood for, he knew that the feeling was merely another factor used to propel him along some grand design.

Just as thoughts about his true purpose in the world began to wash over him again, Leonus glimpsed a small but growing speck in the sky. He did not need to get a closer look to know who it was that flew towards him now; after eternities spent in rivalry, he simply knew. Grendyl.

Grendyl’s jet black scales were a sharp contrast with Leonus’s gold, and although Grendyl did not have Leonus’s powerful frame, he made up for it with his snakelike agility. It was only a matter of minutes before the two dragons hovered face to face in the sky, eyes interlocked, claws tense. Leonus found himself feeling the same sense of duty and finality he felt before every fight, in every lifetime.

“You’ve come,” said Leonus, the deep tones of his voice filling the sky.

“Of course,” hissed Grendyl. The dragons began circling each other, eyes still locked and claws ready, the first step of the dance they both knew so well.

“Then you know you’ve come to your death, Grendyl,” said Leonus nobly. “I won’t allow the world to suffer from another of your victories.”

Leonus did not actually know what happened when Grendyl won, but just like he knew he hated Grendyl, he somehow knew that Grendyl’s victory affected the world in a way that was a violation of his very core. Perhaps these feelings were just more gears that ran the grand design.

As if sensing his musings, Grendyl laughed.

“And what do you think happens when I win, Leonus?” He asked.

Leonus felt anger burn through him, rage at having his ignorance revealed. With one swift motion of his wings, he lunged forward, arms raised. He slashed down at Grendyl’s neck, magickal fire trailing his claws as they sliced through the air in a burst of red light, but Grendyl was ready for him. Their claws met, Grendyl blocking Leonus’s blow with surprising strength.

“It matters not,” Leonus snarled, his arm shaking in a power struggle against Grendyl’s. “Today you will fall, and with you your evil deeds.”

Leonus pulled back and the two began circling again. When they had regained their distance from each other, Grendyl laughed again, but with a hint of bitterness.

“Evil? Are you so sure, Leonus? How many years has it been, and you still have no idea...”

“Of course you’re evil!” Leonus bellowed. “The Gods made me in their image, to cleanse the world of the darkness that you are, so the good people who belong to this world can live their lives in peace. You are nothing but a failed creation!”

And so the dragons engaged again, a tangle of black and gold in the sky, a storm of claws and magick. For several minutes, their roars and cries echoed through the empty air. And perhaps it was because of his uncontrolled rage, or perhaps this time it was simply meant to be, but it was Leonus who eventually fell.

As Leonus’s body disappeared under the grey clouds below, Grendyl looked down in what could only be genuine pity.

“You are not the hero you think you are,” he whispered.

Down in the city below, the first raindrop fell, unnoticed, followed by another, and another. Then, drops began hitting the heads of shoppers on the street, or falling neatly into the cupped hands of amused children. Soon, the whole city was covered in rain, pattering the windows of corporate skyscrapers, falling down below to where umbrellas were blooming like roses.

For the beachgoers with spray-on tans and Bowflex bodies, and the business executives in the middle of their three-martini rooftop lunches, the rain was evil, and the world had taken a turn for the worse. But even as they were making their way inside for shelter, another breed of people were emerging from the darkness of their apartments to draw open their blinds.

They looked outside, and their souls found a sense of belonging, because today the whole city felt the melancholy that they always felt. They found comfort in the fact that sometimes even the sky grew dark and shed tears, and that they were not the only ones who were damaged. And in the rain, however briefly it may have fallen, their hearts found a lasting solace.

Time is perceived by each creature differently. Meteorologists say that the next cloudy day is only three days away, fifty percent chance of rain. But for Leonus and Grendyl, three human days feel like a lifetime. In that time, they go through rebirth, encounter, and combat.

On every cloudy day, up high in the sky, Leonus and Grendyl are re-enacting their never-ending battle to decide the fate of the city below. If Leonus wins, the clouds will miraculously part to let the sunlight through, and if Grendyl wins, by a miracle of a different kind, the rain will begin to fall. And thus it has been for all eternity.