Long before time immemorial, when the universe was still raw and untamed, an existence was birthed from the final breath of a dying sun. Its collapse did not end in silence—it screamed into creation, forging a being so powerful that even gods and goddesses recoiled in fear.
From the cosmic fire emerged a dragon unlike any other. His body stretched endlessly, serpentine and majestic, scales shimmering like rivers of molten ore. He had no wings, yet his presence alone commanded the heavens. Each movement of his colossal form rippled through the void, bending starlight and shaking galaxies.
He was vast beyond comprehension, his length rivaling the size of a small town. His coils could encircle mountains, his roar could shatter valleys, and his flames carried the essence of the sun itself.
In the lofty halls of the heavens, the gods and goddesses watched with unease. From their thrones of light and dominion, they felt the tremors of his birth ripple across dimensions. His roar reached their ears like thunder, and his flames burned brighter than their divine fires. Whispers spread among them—was this dragon a herald of destruction, or a rival to their rule? Some gods clenched their weapons, others hid behind veils of silence, but all shared the same truth: they feared him. For in his existence, they saw a force that did not bow to heaven, a being born not of worship but of raw, unyielding creation.
Though newly born, his mind carried the wisdom of a seasoned man. Alone, he drifted through countless galaxies, searching for a place where he might belong. But every world he touched was barren—lifeless deserts, oceans without breath, skies without song. Loneliness became his only companion.
Then, after endless wandering, he discovered something wondrous. A planet unlike any he had seen before. Larger than Mars, its lands pulsed with life: forests thick with verdant growth, rivers that sang as they flowed, and creatures with big eyes that shone, long ears, and pale skin. These small beings, no taller than four feet, lived in villages woven into the roots of ancient trees. They tilled the soil, gathered fruits, and sang songs beneath the canopy. Fragile compared to his vast form, they were nevertheless vibrant, their laughter echoing like bells across the valleys.
From the cold silence of space, the dragon gazed down upon this world. His molten eyes glowed brighter, and for the first time since his birth, he felt something new—excitement. His coils twisted through the void, his body shimmering against the stars as he circled the planet. He longed to descend, to see these creatures up close, to feel the warmth of their world against his scales.
Unable to contain his eagerness, he plunged downward. His long body coiled through the clouds, casting shadows that swallowed the land. The creatures looked up, trembling, and one cried out:
"A demon descends from the sky!"
Though he did not understand, he knew that they feared him. He had hoped, foolishly, that this world might welcome him. But their terror was undeniable. With a heavy heart, he rose back into the heavens, his immense body vanishing into the stars.
Days passed. He lingered in space, circling the planet like a silent guardian. His excitement had not faded; it burned within him, urging him to return. He thought of ways to approach them, to show he meant no harm. Yet each time he imagined descending again, he remembered their cries of fear. So, he remained distant, watching from the void, his colossal form hidden among the constellations.
Then, on the fourth day, the silence was broken. A deafening explosion tore through the land, its echo reaching even the emptiness of space. The dragon's head rose, molten eyes narrowing. From above, he saw smoke rising, villages burning, and the creatures' screams carried on the wind of the atmosphere.
Excitement surged again—not the joy of discovery, but the thrill of battle. His coils twisted with anticipation, and with a roar that shook the stars, he descended once more.
The land was in chaos. Armies of horned, human-like beings surged across the plains, their weapons dripping with malice. Their horns curved like blades, their eyes glowed with crimson light, and their armor was forged from blackened steel. They marched in endless ranks, thousands upon thousands, trampling the soil beneath their boots. Their war cries rose like thunder, drowning out the pleas of the smaller creatures.
The dragon's molten eyes blazed. His long body coiled through the sky, scales shimmering like rivers of fire. He opened his maw, and from deep within, a roar thundered forth—a roar that shook the heavens themselves.
Then came the flames.
It was not mere fire but the essence of a dying sun—pure, scorching energy that turned the battlefield into a sea of molten light. The horned armies were engulfed, their bodies reduced to ash in an instant. The earth split beneath the heat, rivers boiled, and the sky glowed crimson as if the world itself had been reborn in fire.
The invaders screamed as their ranks collapsed. Their weapons melted, their armor turned to slag, and their war cries were silenced in the inferno. Thousands perished in moments, their bodies scattering as dust upon the wind. The dragon's tail lashed across the plains, shattering siege engines and crushing battalions beneath its weight. His coils tore through the enemy lines, scattering survivors like leaves in a storm.
When the flames subsided, silence reigned. The invaders were gone, nothing left but dust scattered in the wind. The land, though scarred, was free.
The smaller creatures trembled, staring up at the colossal dragon who had saved them. Their voices rose in unison, speaking words he could not understand. Yet their tone carried gratitude, reverence, and awe. Though their language was foreign, their emotions were clear.
The dragon lowered his massive body, coils resting gently upon the ruined land. He watched as the creatures approached, hesitant at first, then bolder, offering gestures of thanks. Some bowed, others raised their hands to the sky, and a few even dared to touch the edges of his scales, their eyes wide with wonder. Children peeked from behind their parents, their fear slowly replaced by curiosity.
Days passed. The dragon remained among them, no longer a passing shadow but a guardian. He used his flames to clear the wreckage, melting broken structures into raw material that the creatures reshaped into homes. His immense body carved new paths through the land, flattening rubble and opening space for rebuilding. Where his tail struck, foundations were laid; where his breath fell, the land was purified.
The creatures began to rebuild their world, and the dragon was at their side. They sang songs beneath his presence, their voices rising like prayers carried by the wind. Children played near his coils, fearless now, their laughter echoing across the plains. Farmers planted seeds in soil he had cleansed, and craftsmen forged tools from the ore he unearthed with his strikes.
The forests grew green again, rivers ran clear, and villages rose stronger than before. The dragon watched it all, silent yet ever-present, his molten eyes glowing with quiet pride.
For the first time since his birth, he felt something stir within him—not loneliness, not despair, but belonging. These fragile beings, so small compared to his vast form, had accepted him. And in return, he had given them protection, fire, and strength.
The ruined planet began to heal. And with it, so too did the dragon's hea