It drifted soundlessly through the smoke, pale flakes settling over the blackened trees and melting into thin trails of steam. The air smelled of frost and ash — of something ending and refusing to end.
In the midst of it all, a little boy ran out of the burning village, gasping and panting. Wrapped in a wool coat far too large for him. He hid behind a fallen trunk, though not out of fear — it was simply the last place that still stood. The snow gathered on his shoulders, in his hair, on his boots. He didn't brush it away.
Behind him, the world burned quietly. Flames hissed beneath the blanket of falling white. The wind carried the sound of collapsing wood, and every so often, a tree gave out a final, aching groan.
The boy turned his eyes to the ground.
He found a stick half-buried in the frost — its tip still warm from the fire. Slowly, he cleared a patch of snow until the black earth showed through. Then he drew.
A curved neck. Wings stretched wide. A long tail coiled around the ash.
A dragon.
He stared at his drawing for a moment, then pressed the stick against one of the eyes until it broke apart. The mark spread like a dark wound across the snow.
Steam curled upward.
The boy tilted his head, curious, almost proud of what he'd made. He did not see the shadow lengthening behind him.
Through the drifting smoke, something stirred — something vast.
The Bone Dragon's skull rose above the ruined trees, its bones faintly aglow beneath the frost. Snowflakes melted before they could touch it. Its empty eyes burned faintly blue, locked on the small figure by the trunk.
The child hummed softly, tracing the lines again, the tune trembling like breath in winter air.
The dragon didn't move. It simply watched. Its presence filled the forest with a deep, unspoken grief — ancient, patient, endless.
The boy paused, tilting his head as if hearing something distant. The dragon's ribs shifted, and a low growl rolled through the ground — not loud, but heavy enough to make the snow tremble.
He didn't look up.
A single snowflake landed on the edge of his drawing, and melted instantly. The world went silent, wrapped in frost and fire.
And for that one still moment — child and dragon — neither alive nor gone, simply were.
--------------------The End------------------------