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For centuries, dragons had spoken.
Not in roars or fire or smoke, as old stories claimed, but in a language older than human kingdoms. It was a spoken tongue, deep and resonant, layered with harmonics that most human ears could not parse. To the untrained, dragon speech sounded like thunder rolling through a cavern or wind howling through stone.
To translators, it was language.
Harua had spent twenty years learning it.
The Council chamber echoed softly with murmuring voices as he stood before them, hands clasped behind his back. Through the tall windows he could see the distant mountain range, its peaks swallowed by dark, churning storm clouds.
Lightning flickered along the ridges.
The mountains had not been calm for weeks.
“ Harua,” the eldest councilwoman said, leaning forward across the long stone table, “you understand the importance of this mission.”
Harua inclined his head. “I do.”
“The storms are worsening. Three villages have already been evacuated. If this continues, the entire valley may become uninhabitable.”
Another council member spoke sharply. “There is only one dragon left alive. And wherever it goes, these magical storms follow.”
Harua said nothing. He had studied dragons all his life. Their language, their history, their strange and careful diplomacy with humankind.
Dragons were not creatures of random destruction. They never had been.
The councilwoman continued. “For centuries our treaty with the dragons was maintained through translators like you. But now there is only one dragon remaining.” Her voice softened. “And only one translator capable of speaking with it.”
Harua felt the weight of the words settle over the room.
The last dragon. The last translator.
“You must go to the mountains,” she said. “You must tell the dragon it can no longer remain here.”
Harua finally spoke. “You want me to ask it to leave its home.”
“We want you to explain that its presence is causing the storms.”
Lightning flashed across the mountains again. Harua watched it for a long moment. “Where should it go?” he asked quietly.
The council exchanged uneasy looks.
“That,” someone said after a pause, “is for the dragon to decide.”
Harua knew what they were really saying. Just make it leave.
He bowed his head. “When do I depart?”
<<>><<>><<>><<>>
The storm followed him into the mountains.
Wind tore through the pine forests as Harua climbed the final ridge toward the old stone tower. Rain streaked across the rocks, turning the path slick beneath his boots. He reached the door just as thunder rolled across the sky.
Harua hesitated only a moment before knocking. Heavy footsteps approached from inside.
The door opened.
Nicholas stood there.
For a heartbeat the storm vanished from Harua’s awareness entirely. Nicholas looked older, silver threaded through his dark hair now, and a scar curved faintly across his jaw, but the quiet intensity in his eyes had not changed.
They stared at each other.
Ten years collapsed into silence.
Nicholas spoke first. “You shouldn’t be here.”
Harua let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Hello to you too.”
Nicholas leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. “I thought the translation order dissolved years ago.”
“Almost.”
Nicholas studied him. “Then why send you?”
“Because the dragon refuses to speak to anyone else,” Harua answered carefully.
Nicholas frowned. “What do you mean?”
“It won’t respond to envoys or scholars. Not even when they attempted basic dragon speech.”
Nicholas looked surprised. “They tried to speak its language?”
“They tried,” Harua said dryly. “Badly.”
Nicholas looked away toward the mountains.
The storm cracked with thunder. Finally he stepped aside.
“Come in.”
<<>><<>><<>><<>>
The tower was warm inside, lit by a small hearth fire. Harua sat at the rough wooden table while Nicholas poured tea. Neither of them touched their cups.
“You vanished,” Harua said after a long silence.
Nicholas didn’t look up. “I retired.”
“You abandoned your knighthood.”
“I left the order.”
“You left me.”
The words slipped out before Harua could stop them. Nicholas froze.
For a moment the storm outside filled the room with sound.
Then Nicholas spoke quietly. “You think I wanted to?”
Harua frowned. “You didn’t say anything.”
“Because if I had,” Nicholas said, “you would have asked me to stay.”
Harua blinked.
“And I wouldn’t have been able to say no.”
The confession hung between them like lightning waiting to strike.
Nicholas exhaled slowly. “But we’re not here to discuss that.” He gestured toward the mountains. “The dragon is dying.”
Harua shot to his feet. “What?”
Nicholas finally met his eyes. “You didn’t know.”
“No.”
“They wouldn’t tell you,” Nicholas said bitterly. “They’re hoping she leaves before the storms destroy their farmland.”
Harua’s stomach twisted. “If the dragon is dying, she can’t travel.”
“I know.” Nicholas picked up his cloak. “That’s why she refuses to.”
<<>><<>><<>><<>>
They found the dragon in a wide valley carved deep into the mountains. Harua saw her immediately.
Even lying across the stone like a fallen hill, the creature was enormous. Her copper scales were dulled with age, and one wing rested awkwardly against the ground. Old wounds.
The dragon lifted her head slowly as they approached. Her golden eyes focused first on Nicholas. Then on Harua.
When she spoke, the sound shook the valley. The language rolled out like distant thunder layered over itself, deep tones and strange harmonic echoes.
To Nicholas it sounded like noise.
To Harua it was perfectly clear.
“Nicholas-of-the-Quiet-Blade.”
Nicholas blinked. “Was that my name?”
Harua nodded slowly. The dragon continued speaking, her ancient voice vibrating through the air. “You return at last. The storms grow restless.”
Harua translated aloud. Nicholas frowned. “Ask her why the storms are happening.”
Harua turned back to the dragon and replied in her language. Dragon speech was difficult for humans, the sounds resonated in the chest more than the throat, but Harua had practiced since childhood.
The dragon answered. Harua listened carefully. Then his blood ran cold. “She says the storms aren’t caused by it.”
Nicholas stared at him.
“What?”
“The storms are something else.”
Thunder cracked overhead.
Harua swallowed.
“The world is trying to make another dragon.”
<<>><<>><<>><<>>
Nicholas stared at him like he’d misheard. “That’s impossible.”
Harua turned back to the dragon. She spoke again, slower now, her voice carrying the weight of great age.
“The world remembers what it was shaped for. It cannot exist without us.”
Harua translated quietly. Nicholas ran a hand through his hair. “So the storms are… what? Magic gathering?”
“Yes.”
“For what?”
Harua listened as the dragon spoke again. The answer made his stomach twist. “She says the birth of a dragon requires two things.”
Nicholas folded his arms. “And those are?”
Harua looked at him. “A translator.”
Nicholas blinked. “Why?”
“Because dragons are born through language as much as magic,” Harua said. “Their first breath must be understood.”
Nicholas stared toward the aging dragon. “And the second thing?”
Harua hesitated.
The dragon spoke again. Her voice was softer this time. Almost tired.
Harua forced the words out. “A knight to guard the hatching.”
Nicholas groaned quietly. “You’re kidding.”
Harua shook his head. “She says the only knight she trusts…”
Nicholas closed his eyes.
“…is you.”
<<>><<>><<>><<>>
“You expect us to help create a dragon?” Nicholas paced across the valley.
Harua shrugged helplessly. “The alternative is letting the storms do it on their own.”
Nicholas stopped pacing. “That could destroy half the mountains.”
“Yes.”
“And you think we can control it?”
Harua looked at the dragon. She was breathing slowly now. Weaker than before. “I think she believes we can.”
Nicholas sighed. “You always did trust dragons more than people.”
Harua smiled faintly. “They’ve given me fewer reasons not to.”
Lightning flashed across the sky again. Nicholas looked at him. “You never stopped trying to save everyone, did you?”
“Someone has to.”
Nicholas was quiet for a long moment. Then he said softly, “And if this works?”
Harua met his eyes. “Then dragons won’t disappear.”
Nicholas smiled faintly. “And translators won’t either.”
Silence settled between them.
Finally Nicholas said, “You hate unfinished conversations.”
Harua blinked. “What?”
Nicholas shrugged. “Maybe when this is over… we should finish the one we started ten years ago.”
Harua felt something warm bloom in his chest.
Behind them, the dragon spoke again. Harua listened. A small smile spread across his face.
Nicholas raised an eyebrow. “What did it say?”
Harua translated, “She says storms pass faster…” He looked at Nicholas. “…when two stubborn humans stop pretending they don’t still care about each other.”
Nicholas groaned. “The dragon understood that?”
Harua laughed softly. “Dragons understand a lot.”
The dragon did not move for a long time after speaking.
Wind swept through the valley, bending the high mountain grass into silver waves. Above them, the storm circled slowly, lightning crawling across the clouds like veins of pale fire.
Harua stood beside Nicholas, listening. The dragon’s breathing had grown shallow. Finally she spoke again. The sound rolled across the valley like distant thunder. Harua straightened immediately.
Nicholas glanced at him. “What’s she saying?”
Harua closed his eyes, concentrating. Dragon speech carried layers of meaning, tones within tones, pauses that changed the shape of a sentence. Translators spent decades learning how to hear those subtleties.
“She’s explaining the ritual,” Harua said quietly.
Nicholas folded his arms. “That sounds promising.”
Harua ignored the sarcasm. “The storms are gathering magic,” he continued. “Dragon magic. Enough to create new life.”
Nicholas looked up at the dark sky. “And we’re supposed to… guide it?”
Harua nodded. “The magic needs direction. Language.”
“Language?”
“Dragons are creatures of meaning,” Harua said. “Their first breath forms the structure of their being. Without language, the magic becomes chaotic.”
Nicholas grimaced. “Chaotic sounds bad.”
“It would be.”
Harua looked toward the dragon again. “She says I must speak the First Words.”
Nicholas raised an eyebrow. “That sounds extremely dramatic.”
“It is.”
“And what do I do?”
The dragon spoke again. Harua translated slowly. “You guard the circle. The storm will try to break the ritual. You have to hold it back long enough for the dragons to form.”
Nicholas stared. “With a sword?”
Harua gave a small smile. “You’re the one it chose.”
Nicholas groaned. “That dragon has terrible judgment.”
From across the valley, the dragon let out a low rumble that sounded suspiciously like amusement.
<<>><<>><<>><<>>
They spent the afternoon preparing. The dragon guided Harua through the ancient words of the ritual. Nicholas cleared a wide circle in the valley floor, moving fallen stones and carving marks into the earth where Harua instructed.
By nightfall the storm had grown enormous.
Lightning illuminated the mountains every few seconds.
Nicholas wiped sweat from his brow. “So let me get this straight,” he said. “You stand in the middle of the storm and speak dragon poetry while I fight weather.”
Harua shrugged. “That’s a simplified version.”
Nicholas leaned against a rock. “Fantastic.”
Silence stretched between them. Harua kept tracing the ritual symbols into the ground. Nicholas watched him for a long moment. Then he said quietly, “I never stopped thinking about you.”
Harua’s hand froze. The wind rustled through the valley. Nicholas stared at the mountains. “I tried,” he continued. “I told myself leaving was the right choice. That you’d be safer without me dragging you into knight politics.”
Harua looked up slowly. “You didn’t even give me the chance to decide.”
Nicholas nodded once. “I know.” His voice was rough. “I thought if I stayed… I’d ask you to leave everything and come with me.”
Harua laughed softly. “You should have asked.”
Nicholas blinked. “What?”
Harua stood. “You never understood something, Nicholas.”
“What’s that?”
Harua stepped closer. “I probably would have said yes.”
The storm cracked overhead. Nicholas stared at him. Ten years of silence hung between them.
Then Nicholas said hoarsely, “I’m sorry.”
Harua’s throat tightened. “So am I.”
Nicholas took a slow step forward. “You’re still the bravest person I know.”
Harua smiled faintly. “And you’re still terrible at apologizing.”
Nicholas huffed out a laugh. The tension between them shifted, something long frozen finally thawing.
Harua spoke softly. “If we survive this ritual…”
Nicholas tilted his head. “Yes?”
“We should stop pretending we’re strangers.”
Nicholas didn’t hesitate.
“Deal.”
<<>><<>><<>><<>>
Night fell completely. The ritual circle glowed faintly where Harua had carved the dragon runes. Above them the storm had become enormous. Lightning flashed continuously now.
The dragon lifted her great head one final time. Her golden eyes found Harua. Then Nicholas.
She spoke slowly. Every word carried centuries of memory. Harua listened with complete stillness.
When the dragon finished, his vision blurred.
Nicholas noticed immediately. “What did she say?”
Harua swallowed. “She said… thank you.”
Nicholas frowned. “For what?”
Harua translated softly. “For saving her life long ago. For protecting the valley all these years. For bringing a translator back before it was too late.”
Nicholas looked toward the dragon. The ancient creature continued speaking. Her voice was weaker now.
Harua forced himself to translate. “She says dragons were never meant to disappear.” Lightning flared overhead. “She says the world still needs wonder.”
Harua’s voice shook slightly. “And she says…”
He paused. Nicholas waited quietly.
“…that humans are stubborn, fragile creatures who somehow keep choosing hope.”
Nicholas smiled faintly. “That sounds about right.”
The dragon spoke once more. Her final sentence. Harua closed his eyes as he translated. “She says… she is not afraid to rest now.”
The great dragon slowly lowered her head to the valley floor. Her breathing grew quiet. Peaceful.
<<>><<>><<>><<>>
The storm exploded. Wind tore through the valley as the ritual circle began to glow.
Harua stepped into the center. Nicholas drew his sword. Lightning struck the mountainside nearby, sending stone shards across the ground.
“NOW WOULD BE A GREAT TIME FOR THE LANGUAGE PART,” Nicholas shouted over the wind.
Harua lifted his head. Then he began to speak. Dragon language filled the valley. Deep, resonant words older than human civilization rolled from his voice. The sounds vibrated through the ground, through the storm, through the gathering magic.
The clouds twisted violently. A pillar of lightning slammed into the ritual circle. Nicholas stepped forward, sword raised. Wind howled like a living creature. The magic tried to break the circle. Nicholas held his ground. Harua continued speaking. Word after word. Sentence after sentence.
The language of dragons shaped the storm. Lightning bent inward. The magic condensed. Shapes began to form within the circle.
Small at first. Then larger. Flames erupted around the forming bodies, twisting into wings and curling tails of light.
Nicholas shielded his eyes. “Harua!”
Harua’s voice never faltered. The final word of the ritual rang across the mountains.
The storm stopped. Complete silence fell over the valley.
Within the ritual circle lay several small shapes. Dragons. Newly born. One lifted its tiny head first. Then another. Then another.
Soft, curious voices filled the quiet valley as they spoke their first uncertain sounds in the ancient language.
Harua laughed in stunned relief.
Nicholas approached slowly. “Well?” he asked.
Harua listened for a moment. Then he smiled wider than Nicholas had seen in decades. “They’re saying…” He glanced down at the cluster of young dragons blinking up at the sky. “…hello.”
Nicholas exhaled.
The storm clouds above them finally began to break apart. Sunlight crept over the mountains for the first time in weeks. Harua looked at Nicholas. Nicholas looked back.
“So,” Nicholas said.
Harua raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”
Nicholas sheathed his sword. “Now we raise dragons together.”
Harua laughed. “I suppose we do.”
Far behind them, the old dragon rested peacefully beneath the returning sunlight. And in the center of the valley, several new voices had entered the world.
Voices Harua would spend the rest of his life translating.