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Spring, Year 1
You wake in the morning to the sound of an axe, too close to your house for comfort. Eiland, with his bright eyes and enthusiasm, is chopping down a tree beside your house. There is a flare of irritation, one you push to the side. This is your house, and your land, he could have at least asked you first. But you move on, curiosity clawing at you enough that you take the axe from his hands and fell the tree for him. It would have taken him much too long.
Behind the tree you find a statue and that statue is broken. Eiland names the figure Caldarus, mighty ancient guardian of Mistria. You have long thought names hold power, and in this name you sense purpose and power aplenty. But the statue is broken. A relic from a bygone era. It is for Eiland to handle. Except he asks you to fix it. You know nothing of fixing statues, but you are capable of lending a hand. And so together you fix the statues, and you wonder at the figure in the stone.
Then Eiland leaves and you go about your day. You buy seeds from the store and talk to the townsfolk. March is rude to you and Balor tries to sell you many things. You take soup from the inn, you plant your seeds, you water them, you go to sleep. And you do not think about the statue at the edge of your field.
But he thinks of you and your slumber is interrupted by his voice. And his request. Essence for him to restore his power. You accept, it seems easy and Eiland would approve. Maybe some part of you wonders, too, about this restoration of Mistria and what powers this dragon could truly hold.
He asks you to speak to him again the next day. And you do, though you hardly remember turning your body towards his statue. He tells you of the world as it once was. Not much has changed, and yet everything has. You bring him things to see at the statue. He seems lonely to you.
Summer, Year 1
As the days grow warmer and longer you stop thinking of him as the statue itself, but as the spirit trapped within the statue. You stop thinking of him as Caldarus, ancient and powerful, and instead you think of him as a friend.
So, you talk to him every day and tell him about all the things you see. He has only the strength to speak with you once a day, but you learn that he listens all the same. He tells you more of his world and you show him yours, best you can. A flower held high above your head in line with the statue’s eyes. A bee in a jar that you bring close to his face, climbing the platform so he can hear it buzz against the glass before you let it go. You describe the dishes you eat and the things that you smell and the breeze that you feel.
You delve the mines and when he gifts you the magic to call rain, you call it down to wash away the moss that has begun to grow on his stones. You take to scrubbing the stone everyday, a thick brush and water from the river. It seems rude to leave him unclean. He thanks you, though you sense he is amused. Maybe touched. It is hard to tell when one speaks to a dragon.
Sometimes when you walk through the woods, you wonder if he would like to walk through the woods too. And a shy part of you wonders if he would hold your hand.
Fall, Year 1
He tells you the seals in the mines restore his power, and so you continue exploring them. But the deeper you delve the more treacherous they become. The monsters grow stronger, the ore veins more difficult to crack open. One day you aren’t as careful as you should have been, worn down and tired from fighting through level after level. One moment you are in the mines, batting rocks, and the next you are waking in a bed in Valen’s clinic. Bandages wrapped tight around wounds that throb, poultices pressed against burns that arc up your side. Valen tells you that you will heal fine, so you limp back home.
In your pain-induced stupor you stumble past the statue of the dragon, quiet and cold and ever-present in the corner of your farm. You do not think about the spirit that resides within.
But he thinks of you. And he sees you in pain, feet tripping over themselves as you haul your body into your house. And he knows he asked this of you. And he knows he cannot ask you to stop, not that you would. So he must watch, and do nothing, as you crash again and again against forces you cannot possibly understand.
The next morning you tell him hello, as has become your routine, and you cannot say for sure but it seems as though he has been crying.
Winter, Year 1
You know he’s a statue, stone and rigid and unmoving, but as the snow accumulates on his horns and talons you wonder if he’s cold. Does he miss warm fires and talking with his friends? He’s an ancient beast, this you understand, but what if he was free again? Would he walk with you under the falling snow and laugh as it stuck in your hair? Would his nose turn pink in the frost? Did he have a nose that could turn pink?
You imagine him human, or human-like at least, with regal features and the same curving horns. You talk to him in the morning, your breath curling from your mouth in the winter air and he tells you that he likes talking to you but he wishes you would go someplace warm. What if he’s cold? You think again. And as the snow builds up and the sky moves from pale grey to bright, you pull the scarf from your neck and climb atop his platform. The scarf is hard to maneuver around the statue but you secure it with a tight knot. And before you lose your nerve, you press a kiss against the statue's icy cheek.
Though you have used your time with him, you swear the sun shines out of the clouds and kisses your cheek back. If stone eyes could soften, they would.
The next morning the scarf is still there and his words are shyer, softer than the day before.
Spring, Year 2
The Sealing Scroll was easy to get, but that faceted rock gem left you weary day in and day out as you delved the mines again and again. More often than not you are carried out by unseen hands. Caldarus grows quiet, and you grow distant. You cannot free the rest of his power and you are failing him.
You are tired and you are weary and you dread going into the mines. Your wounds barely heal before you take the elevator down again. The dragon, your friend, tells you that you should rest. He nearly begs for you to sleep. You will find the gem and he will be one step closer to being freed.
You find it, deep in the caves, blood dripping from the calluses that have blistered where you grip your pickaxe. You cannot believe what you have found. It is no great thing. It is a small thing in fact. And yet it is that very last thing that you need. You consider, for a moment, taking it to show Caldarus, but you rush down the elevator instead. He will know soon enough that you have broken the fire seal and you will rejoice together on the farm.
The air is still cool enough to warrant a fire, as early spring often does. You will light a fire before his statue and you will talk long into the night as you did before you wore yourself down to near nothing. For him, it is worth it.
You place the gem into the waiting hand. And the priestess returns once more, but something is not right this time. Your body constricts on itself, fire arcs through your veins and there is pain, hot and fierce and destroying. What little energy you have left is gone. You are dying. And you cannot even tell him goodbye. You try to tell him goodbye. You think of him.
And he thinks of you. And you see him, though you do not know if it is truth or dream. You see him as the dragon that he is, somewhere in a sea of black and before you lose all consciousness he screams your name and begs you to live.
You awake to his face, human-like, so like you had imagined it. And he begs you to find him in the woods. And so you run from the mines and call upon your steed, starlight woven and magical beneath you. Your thighs burn from the ride, blood drips upon the creature’s back. You have no energy left, and you shove what little food you have down your throat. It tastes of ash, though it should not. You scream fire at the vines that stop you. You slam your axe again and again against the stump that keeps you from him. Driven ever forward by this tugging string that begs you to follow. You do not know where you are going, midnight is drawing fast. Your feet are pulled forward by some unknown force.
Then he is there. In a tower. And he is beautiful. And he is alive. And you are alive. And you weep.
The next day comes and everything is different. And many days pass, ever changing as days and life should. And you walk amongst the forest, and he holds your hand.