The first time I saw another dragon, I thought I had imagined him.
He was only a shadow against an overcast sky – a dark silhouette gliding far beyond the southern ridgeline. Massive. Slow. Effortless. His wings barely moved, yet he cut through the air like something born to dominate it.
I hovered mid-flight, heart hammering. For a moment I didn't breathe.
He did not streak toward me. He did not roar at me. He did not acknowledge my existence. He simply passed by.
I landed hard outside of our cavern, snow exploding beneath my weight as my claws dug into the icy rock. My pulse hadn't slowed by the time my mother emerged.
"You saw him," she said. Not a question.
"Yes."
She followed my gaze southward. "He hunts along the lower valleys when winter deepened."
"You know him?"
"I know of him." That was not comforting at all.
I waited, expecting some elaboration. It did not come
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The second time I saw him, he saw me.
I was higher in the sky than usual, testing altitude, chasing the thrill of thin air and sharper winds. My wings strained but held. The world below had shrunken into abstract shapes – ridges, plains, frozen rives threading through a blanket of white.
And then he rose from below. No Warning.
One moment the sky was empty – the next, a dark mass surged into view like a storm given flesh. He was larger than my mother. Not by much, but enough to make a noticeable difference undeniably. His scales were not gold, nor blue – they were iron-black, scarred and ridged. One horn had been broken off near the base, and his wings bore tears that had healed into a mangled mass.
He circled me once. Slow. Assessing.
My instincts screamed at me to flare up, to roar, to assert my dominance. Instead, I held my glide steady. Not submissive, not aggressive. Measured.
His eyes locked onto mine; intelligence was reflected back at me. And hunger.
Not for meat, but for challenge. He dove first.
It was not a serious attack – more of a test. He cut downward past my flank close enough that the wind shear from his passing knocked me off balance. I corrected immediately, climbing sharply to avoid losing too much altitude.
He rose again to meet me.
This time he spoke. "You smell wrong."
The voice carried through the air without effort, pressing against my thought like a heavy weight. I resisted the urge to snap back.
"I've been told that before."
"You are young."
"Yes."
"You have not killed a man."
It was not an interrogation, just simple curiosity.
"No."
Silence stretched between us as we circled in tight spirals.
"Why?"
I could have lied. But dragons, I was learning, did not respect lies or deceit. The respected power and dominance.
"I choose not to."
That earned a rumble. No laughter. Not mockery. Interest.
"You think that makes you strong?"
"I think it makes me deliberate."
He surged forward suddenly, closing the gap between us until our wings nearly clipped. His eyes burned – not with fire, but with something older. Cynicism, perhaps.
"You are naïve."
"Probably."
"You will learn."
"Maybe."
That seemed to irritate him. He roared then – a real one. It split the sky open and shook the ice down below. My chest vibrated in response before I could stop it.
He climbed sharply and angled south.
"You will be forced to eventually, little gold, he called back. "And when you do – we will see what you do then."
And then he was gone
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I landed shaking. Not from fear, but from adrenaline.
Mother was waiting. "You met him."
"Yes."
"You did not fight."
"No."
Her eyes studied me carefully before nodding. "Good."
"Who is he?"
"Older than you. Younger than the First. He has burned many cities."
"That doesn't tell me anything."
"It answers enough." She turned away and retreated back into the cavern.
I followed. "You said there were others."
"There are."
"Do they al – "
"Yes."
Her answer was sharp. I swallowed.
"They will smell you eventually," she continued. "And they do not understand restraint."
"Then let them misunderstand."
She stopped, turning slowly. For a moment, I saw something raw in her expression.
"You think this is about pride?" she asked quietly. "It is about survival. If they see you as weak, they will test you. If they see you as hesitant, they will break you. If they see you as a traitor, they will kill you."
"Which one am I?"
Her silence was heavier than any answer.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
That night I did not sleep.
I lay awake listening to the wind, replaying the encounter over and over. The way he moved. The way he analyzed me. The way he dismissed me.
Dragons weren't mindless. They were predators. The confirmation was unsettling.
The following weeks were different. I trained harder, not in hunting – in fighting.
I practiced hovering in place against strong winds. Practiced controlled dives that ended six inches above the ground instead of shattered craters. Practiced igniting the flame in my belly. Fire gathered in my throat like a molten breath begging for release.
And I did. Again. And again. And again.
My mother watched. She did not interrupt, but she approved. I could tell.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The third time I saw him, he wasn't alone.
Three shapes were with him, all way smaller. All circling low over distant smoke rising from somewhere beyond the southern ridge. Too far to see clearly. But not too far to smell.
Burning timber. Roasted flesh.
My heart pounded. They were not hunting elk.
I turned. And flew home. Faster than I had ever flown before.
My mother was already waiting outside the cavern when I arrived. "You saw."
"Yes."
"They have begun."
"Begun what?"
She did not answer. Instead, she looked at me – truly looked at me – and I understood.
This was the edge. The line I had pretended was still distant. The world was no longer unaware of us. It was burning and the smoke would carry. To them. To us. To everyone.
"You will choose," she reminded me softly.
For the first time, I realized something else. Choice doesn't always arrive dramatically. Sometimes it sneaks up slowly.
In the form of smoke on the horizon.