There was always a story my father used to tell me when I was a child—a story about dragons and their riders, and the unbreakable bond that tied them together. He spoke of how, once a dragon and rider were bound, they gained incredible power, their lives intertwined so completely that they became immortal as long as they remained together. The stronger their bond, the greater their strength. But it was a fragile immortality; if one died, the other would soon follow, their connection so deep that even distance could cause the magic in their veins to ache and burn until they were forced apart. Each rider bore a tattoo somewhere on their body, a symbol of the dragon they were bound to—a mark of pride, of loyalty, of destiny. He would always end the story with the same tale: the legend of a young boy and his Night Fury, the rarest and most feared of dragons. It was a legend I never truly believed, just another one of my father's many bedtime tales. Yet now, years later, after his death, it's those stories I find myself clinging to—the memories of his voice, his laughter, and the unconditional love he gave me. Now here I am, well into my twenties, working as a search and rescue specialist in the mountains, chasing down the lost and the desperate.
Sitting at my desk, I studied the spread of maps laid out before me—topographical charts of the Rocky Mountains in British Columbia, Canada. My eyes traced the rugged terrain, searching for any clue that might help us find a missing ten-year-old girl named Alessa. She had vanished sometime during the night, after a heated argument with her parents on a family camping trip. In a moment of anger or hurt—or maybe both-she had run off into the wilderness alone. Why would a child do something so reckless? It was beyond me. But I didn't have time to dwell on it. It was already 7 a.m., and we were scheduled to leave within the hour.
I quickly gathered my gear—radio, survival pack, first aid kit, ropes, flares—double-checking everything before calling out to my team. "Ready to go, team? Helicopter will be here any minute," I said, pushing away from the desk. Waiting for me, as always, were my teammates: Ruffnut and her twin brother Tuffnut, along with Heather and Dagur. We'd been together since my first day on the job—an odd but tight-knit group who had long since become my second family. They stood ready, gear slung over their shoulders, faces set with determination.
The helicopter ride to the search zone was relatively short, though the engine's roar did little to quiet the knot of worry tightening in my chest. When we touched down, we were only a short distance from the family's campsite. The world around us was a sea of towering, jagged peaks and endless, vivid green fields. The mountains loomed high, their rocky faces cutting into the sky like the teeth of some ancient beast. It was beautiful—wildly, heartbreakingly beautiful—but deadly for anyone who didn't know their way. Out here, it didn't take long to get turned around, and panic only made it worse. One wrong step, one wrong choice, and even a seasoned hiker could disappear without a trace.
It had been hours, and still, no sign of her. "How far behind do you think we are?" Tuffnut asked, his voice tight with frustration. We'd been combing this stretch of forest for what felt like forever. The only clue we'd found was a scattered trail of footprints, half-faded in the underbrush. She had to be close. At ten years old, Alessa couldn't have gone far… but with how cold it had gotten last night, a new kind of fear had begun to settle in my chest. What if she hadn't made it?
"Just a little longer," I said, more to myself than the others. "She has to be here." We kept calling her name, voices echoing through the dense trees. Then something caught my eye—a strip of fabric snagged on a low-hanging branch, torn and fluttering slightly in the breeze. It looked like part of a shirt. My heart jumped. I pushed deeper into the brush, moving quickly but carefully. That's when I saw her.
Alessa stood beneath the trees, barefoot and covered in dirt. Her cheeks were flushed from the cold, and twigs tangled in her hair—but she didn't look scared. Just... tired. And calm. She was smiling. "Hey," I said gently, crouching to her level. "My name's Astrid. I'm here to take you home. Are you hurt?" She blinked up at me, then slowly glanced around the forest before returning her gaze to mine. With a quiet shake of her head, she reached into her small backpack and pulled out a blanket, wrapping it tightly around her shoulders. That's when I noticed something strange—clutched in her hand was a dark, gleaming object. "What's that you've got there?" I asked, gently reaching for it as I wrapped the blanket more securely around her.
She held it a little closer at first, hesitant. "I got it from a friend I just met," she said softly, her smile returning.
"A friend?" I frowned. "There's nobody out here. We're in the middle of nowhere—no one could've gotten to you."
"He was here," she said, matter-of-factly. "He kept me warm all night. He had this big animal he called Toothless. He gave me this as a gift."
She extended her hand, slowly offering me the object. It was smooth and black, almost glassy with a slight shimmer. A scale—large, much too large to belong to any animal native to Canada. I turned it over in my hand, feeling a strange warmth radiating from it. I knelt beside her, puzzled but careful not to alarm her. "It's very pretty," I said, handing it back. She smiled again, then tucked it carefully into her blanket.
"Ready to go home?" I asked. Alessa hesitated. Her eyes flicked over her shoulder toward the forest again, as if she were waiting for something. Or someone. Then she nodded, slowly. We walked back through the trees, my team silently falling beside us. I stayed close to Alessa, watching her eyes constantly scan the trees, like she wasn't quite ready to leave.
When we reached the helicopter, she stopped just short of stepping in. She turned back to the woods and lifted her hand in a small wave. I followed her gaze, expecting to see nothing. But then, for the briefest of moments, I saw it. A shadow moved through the trees, sleek and impossibly fast, vanishing before I could focus on it. My breath caught. There was someone out there. Something.
Alessa was safe at home, curled up on her couch with a mug of hot chocolate and her worried parents hovering nearby. Meanwhile, I was packing up my gear and getting ready to leave base. As I slung my backpack over my shoulder, I turned to Heather. "She said someone helped her. A man with a big animal. And she was holding a scale—black, smooth, definitely from something big."
Heather glanced up from organizing a map. "Yeah, I heard her. But come on, Astrid. Who would be out there in the middle of nowhere? Maybe she was hallucinating… dreaming."
"Maybe." I tried to sound convinced, but the image of that shimmering scale still burned in my mind. So did the fleeting shadow I'd seen in the trees. "It just doesn't add up."
Heather shrugged. "You've barely slept. You said it yourself—weird things start making sense when your brain's running on fumes."
"Yeah… maybe." But even as I said it, doubt gnawed at me.
The drive home was quiet, but my thoughts were anything but. I couldn't stop thinking about Alessa. About the strange calm in her eyes. About the way she smiled when she spoke of the man and his dragon. It didn't sound like a dream. It sounded like a memory. And I couldn't shake what I saw in those woods. A figure. A presence. Real or imagined, I wasn't sure anymore.
Back home, I dropped my keys on the counter and collapsed onto the couch, exhaustion pulling at my limbs. I needed sleep. I wanted to sleep. But the moment I closed my eyes, the dreams came. Dreams of my father. He was sitting beside me, just like he used to when I was a child, his voice deep and warm as he wove stories of dragons and their riders. Of ancient bonds and powerful creatures. Of a young rider chosen not by destiny, but by heart. "You'll be next," he said in the dream, eyes shining. "The bond is in your blood."
I jolted upright, breath catching in my throat. He'd never said that to me. Not once in real life. Just stories. Just legends. Nothing more... right? I ran a hand through my hair, heart pounding. Maybe I was just missing him. It had only been two years since he passed—cancer. Quiet, cruel. But his stories had never left me. Maybe they were all I had left. Unable to sit still, I got up, padded barefoot into the kitchen, and started the coffee machine. The hum and click of it were a comfort in the early morning stillness. I reheated some leftovers from the night before, trying to ground myself in the mundane. Work started in an hour. There were more people to help. More mountains to search.
I pulled into my usual spot just off the gravel lot, the early morning air crisp and cool against the windshield. The mountains stood like silent sentinels in the distance, their peaks brushed with mist. As I stepped out of the truck, I spotted a familiar figure.
"Mark," I called, walking toward him.
He turned at the sound of my voice, flashing a tired but friendly smile. "Astrid. Hey! How've you been?"
"Busy," I said with a shrug, falling into step beside him. "But nothing I can't handle. You?"
"Same here. Non-stop lately, but I'm not complaining." Mark was taller than me, with shaggy blond hair that curled slightly at the ends and sharp blue eyes that always seemed to be studying the terrain—or the people in it.
I hesitated a moment before asking, "Hey, this might sound weird, but… have any of the people you've rescued mentioned someone—anyone—giving them a black scale?"
Mark blinked. "Huh. Actually… yeah. A few, now that you mention it. Most of them said they found it or that someone gave it to them. One guy claimed he was saved by some man and his dragon."
I stopped walking. "They said dragon?"
He gave a low chuckle. "Yeah, but honestly, they were probably delusional. You know how it is—exhaustion, dehydration, fear… it messes with your head. I figured they mistook a bear for something else or were just dreaming things up to cope."
My heart thudded. That couldn't be a coincidence. Alessa had said the same thing. A man. A big creature. A black scale.
"Are you okay, Astrid?" Mark had stopped too, glancing back at me with concern.
"Yeah," I said quickly, forcing a smile. "Just… thinking. Thanks for the chat." I gave him a short wave and turned back toward my vehicle, but my mind was racing. More than one person had said it. And they all had the same scale. That couldn't be chance.
What if my father's stories weren't just bedtime tales?
I shook the thought away. Maybe they were hallucinating. Maybe they saw a moose and imagined wings. Maybe I was just tired and letting memories of my dad twist reality.
Or maybe… I'm finally starting to believe him.