Song of the fireborn

The fire crackled, sending sparks into the night sky as we gathered around Elder Vael, the oldest man in our village, Brynmoor. His face was carved with deep lines, each one a testament to the years he had spent telling this same story. His voice was low and steady, carrying an eerie weight that sent chills down my spine, despite the warmth of the flames before us.

"Children, listen well," he began, his gnarled fingers tightening around his wooden staff. "For this is the story of the great war-the war between humans and dragons."

The younger children huddled closer, their eyes wide with both fear and fascination. I had heard this tale many times before, yet still, I found myself unable to look away as Elder Vael's gaze swept over us.

"Long ago, before our ancestors built these villages, before the rivers were tamed and the fields were tilled, dragons ruled the skies. They were massive creatures, their wings spanning wider than the tallest trees. Their scales shimmered like polished steel, and their eyes burned with the fury of the sun itself."

He paused, letting the words sink in. The fire before us crackled, casting flickering shadows across his face.

"But dragons were not just creatures of fire and flight," he continued. "They were beasts of destruction. Wherever they flew, ruin followed. They set villages ablaze with a single breath, their talons tore through homes like parchment, and their hunger knew no end. They devoured our cattle, destroyed our fields, and took our people."

A boy to my left whimpered softly. His sister reached for his hand, offering silent comfort.

"Our ancestors had no choice but to fight back," Elder Vael said, his voice growing heavier with each word. "But how could humans, so small and fragile, hope to defeat creatures of flame and might?" He lifted his hand, his fingers curling as though grasping something unseen. "The gods took pity on us. They blessed our greatest warriors with weapons of divine fire-spears that could pierce even the hardest dragon scales. Armed with courage and steel, our people rose against the beasts."

He struck his staff against the ground, making several children flinch.

"The battle raged for years. Many lives were lost, entire villages burned to ash. But at last, the dragons began to fall. One by one, their bodies crashed to the earth, their fire dimming forever. The sky, once darkened by their wings, became clear once more. The final dragon, a beast of black and crimson, met its end atop the mountains beyond the Forbidden Wastes. It is said its dying roar shook the heavens and cursed the land upon which it fell."

A hush fell over the group. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.

Elder Vael leaned forward, his gaze locking onto each of us in turn. "That is why we do not venture past the valley. The Forbidden Wastes are cursed, tainted with the remnants of the dragons' evil. They say the land still whispers with their rage, waiting for a fool to awaken their wrath. If any human dares step beyond, they will be lost forever-swallowed by the ghosts of the fallen beasts."

I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry.

"Do not be tempted by curiosity," Elder Vael warned. "Stay in the safety of our village, and you will live. Wander beyond... and you will never return."

Silence stretched long after he finished. The only sound was the occasional crackling of the fire and the distant hoot of an owl. Then, one by one, the children rose, murmuring their goodnights as they hurried back to their homes.

I stayed a moment longer, watching the flames dance. My mother, Lirien, placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. "Come, Seraphina. It's time to go."

I nodded but hesitated. My gaze flickered toward the dark horizon. The Forbidden Wastes. A land of death, of lost souls, of dragons.

Or at least... that was what we were told.

Beside me, my older brother, Kael, scoffed. "If I had been alive back then, I would have slain those godforsaken beasts myself."

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, would you?"

"Of course!" he declared, puffing out his chest. "Dragons are just overgrown lizards. With the right blade, I'd take them down one by one."

"You've never even seen a dragon," I pointed out. "How do you know they're not stronger than the stories say?"

Kael smirked, waving a hand dismissively. "Please. The stories are meant to scare children. They make dragons sound like demons, but in the end, they were nothing but animals. And animals can be hunted."

Mother sighed. "Enough, Kael. Arrogance is as dangerous as ignorance."

He huffed but said no more.

We neared our home, the little house that stood at the edge of the village, nestled between towering trees whose branches swayed gently in the evening breeze. The walls, made of clay and wood, showed the marks of time-cracks that had been patched up over the years, but the structure still held strong. Smoke curled from a small opening in the roof, the scent of burning firewood mixing with the earthy aroma of the village.

Mother entered first, followed by me and Kael. I took in the house as I basked in its warmth. The main room doubled as both the gathering place and the kitchen, with a wooden table at the center surrounded by three mismatched stools. A few clay pots lined the shelves, and in one corner, there was a small cooking area, where a fire crackled softly. On the far side of the room, separated by a faded curtain, was the sleeping area where my father lay on a wooden cot.

He looked even weaker than the last time I saw him. His black hair, the same as mine, was now damp with sweat, clinging to his forehead. His eyes, once sharp and full of life, were dull. He had always been my strength, my protector, but now it felt like he was slowly slipping away from us.

"Papa," I whispered, kneeling beside him.

A faint smile formed on his pale lips. "You're back."

I reached for his hand, feeling how frail it had become. His grip, once firm and strong, was light, almost as though he was holding on with the last bit of energy he had left.

My mother walked over with a small clay cup filled with a dark liquid. "It's time for your medicine," she said softly.

He sighed, but didn't resist as she helped him sit up slightly. He grimaced at the bitter taste, swallowing slowly before lying back down. The medicine never seemed to make a difference, only lulling him into a restless sleep.

Kael stood near the doorway, shifting uncomfortably, his worry evident. He always tried to be the strong one, the one who held everything together, but I could see the doubt in his eyes. We all feared the same thing, even if we couldn't say it out loud-what if our father never got better? What if this slow decline was all we had left of him?

The doctors in the village had come and gone, each one offering little more than hopeful words and herbal remedies. None of them knew what was wrong with him. For months, he had been growing weaker, his strength slipping away like sand through our fingers.

Mother gently tucked the thin blanket around him, brushing a soft hand over his forehead before stepping away. "He needs rest," she murmured.

"There must be something more we can do," Kael said, his voice tight with frustration.

Mother sighed, her hands folded in her lap. "I've tried everything I can think of. We don't have the money for outside doctors."

A heavy silence settled over us. The weight of helplessness pressed down like an unbearable burden.

Outside, the night was calm, the distant hum of insects the only sound. The village was quiet, the world around us continuing as usual, unaware of the battle we faced within our tiny home.

"Go to your rooms, Kael and Seraphina. Rest, I'll stay with your father."

We said nothing more as we both entered our rooms. But I took a last glance toward the sleeping figure of father, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. I had to believe we could find a way.

We couldn't lose him-not like this. Not now.

I would make sure of it.