Prologue: Dry bones into flesh
Once upon a time, in a distant land, there lived a dragon who had been asleep from before the Twelfth Era began. She was a rather large dragon, a little too large to have been overlooked so easily, yet she was forgotten, for the world was preoccupied with fighting its wars into the very end of the Eleventh Era.
The dragon was asleep, yes, but it was an odd sort of slumber. Her body lay motionless, her chest not even rising to draw breath, and she was so still upon the dirt that the trees grew about her, almost protectively. So unmoving that even time—in its pride and mischief—corroded and tore away at her flesh, till there was nothing but bones left, almost an artful but macabre collection of ivory beams and pillars.
Still, the Earth did not dare swallow her bones. The trees grew over her instead, as though protecting her.
For, let her rest, the Earth had been told, she is only asleep. And when the Wind spoke, the Earth obeyed.
One day, along came a King who went by many names, walking through the forest in search of the dragon, alongside the Wind. The King eventually found her nestled within a glade, with the conifers growing broad and high about her, shading and blessing her with their dry, needle-like leaves. Yet apart from the trees, not a creature was found near her bones, or within the glade for that matter. Not the smallest mouse, nor the largest stag, dared to inch close to her shadow. There was not even a hint of mankind, despite their infamous virulence upon the earth. No, her blood had tainted the ground, it was said. The glade was cursed, and the forest around it.
Nevertheless, the King went up to her, stepping upon ground apparently defiled by the death of a monster, stepping where no other creature had dared set foot, and simply lay his hand upon the smooth ivory of her jawbone.
“Brave little dragon,” he said, though she towered high above him.
“It is time.”
At his words, the air about them began to tremble. The ground began to shake. Birdsong fell silent as the winged creatures watched from their nests. And all the creatures of the earth emerged from their hiding places, in the dirt, or between the trees, and peered into the glade. All that was made seemed to be leaning inwards, curious and hungry to touch the power that brought them to life. Yet terrified. They kept back, for so great was that power.
Then the Wind sang, sonorous, and a low hum filled the glade, one that was felt more than heard.
The King stepped back as flesh began to coat those dry bones, starting as a faint film of moisture that began to condense upon her, rusty red and gleaming like stardust and raindrops. The collections began to coalesce into structures, forming muscles and organs, great vessels and nerves that trailed across her body, connecting the scattered pieces of her to form a whole once again. The hollow space inside her chest filled out as her heart swelled. Her lungs bubbled into place, spongy but still dense and devoid of air. Her liver and her spleen and her kidneys and her fire sac budded and grew like fruit from a vine, the ropes of her intestines coiled and shifted. Just as her skin began to form over her, the King gave a nod, and her great heart started to beat. Her body gave an abrupt heave as her lungs drew in the breath that had been given to her, her first breath in a long time.
He smiled as her vessels bloomed with crimson blood. Her new skin and scales flowed over her, covering her like a beautiful garment. The King then walked about her, studying the glint of her scales, the leather of her wings. He circled her sleeping form, once, twice, thrice. Perfect, she was perfect, he nodded to himself.
He stopped by her head, his hand resting upon the angle of her jaw, feeling her body move with each breath. It was time to go now, he knew. There were others, calling out to him. His own, who knew him, and those who were lost, who had yet to know. The Wind was poised, ready to take him.
“Wait,” he said. The growing Zephyr stilled.
He looked upon the dragon again, a great and mounting emotion rising behind his eyes, weighing down his heart. “Wake up soon, little dragon,” he said, even though he knew that she would rise when her body was ready. He turned to leave and hesitated, mossy undergrowth sighing beneath his boots. It would be a long time before they saw one another again. “Open your eyes soon, dear dragon. Awaken. And when you do,” he pressed his cheek against the cool of her scales, whispering softly.
“Find me.”
© May 2026, Leira Loong AKA the Circus Dragon. All rights reserved.
Ahhh!!! Love this! Can’t wait to keep reading!!
The prose 😍 I cannot wait to read more