The Dragon Rider
In the highlands of Elarion, where the stars shone brighter and the wind whispered secrets of the ancients, there existed a legend: When the moon turns silver and the mountain breathes fire, a rider will rise to awaken the last dragon.
No one believed the tale anymore—except for Kaelen.
Kaelen was a shepherd’s orphan, raised on stories of old magic by a grandmother who spoke to shadows and brewed tea from glowing herbs. The villagers called her a witch, and Kaelen, her cursed echo. But the boy, now seventeen, held on to her stories as tightly as he held the bone-pendant around his neck—the last gift from his grandmother before she vanished on a storm-lit night.
One autumn evening, the moon turned silver.
Not pale or pearl-white as it often did, but truly silver—shining like a blade drawn in moonlight. The villagers whispered of bad omens and stayed inside, doors barred. But Kaelen, heart pounding like thunder against stone, climbed the rocky path to Mount Velthur, the dormant volcano that loomed above the valley like a sleeping god.
At the summit, the wind howled. Sparks rose from a crack in the earth, and in the red-glow Kaelen saw an eye—vast, golden, slit-pupiled.
The dragon, Aerionth, rose from the mountain like a living storm. His scales shimmered between obsidian and starlight, and his voice entered Kaelen’s mind like the echo of a thousand songs.
“You wear the mark of Elarion’s heir. Why do you call me from slumber?”
Kaelen dropped to his knees, overwhelmed. The pendant around his neck glowed fiercely.
“I—I don’t know,” he whispered. “But the moon is silver. The mountain breathes. I think… it’s time.”
Aerionth studied him, and Kaelen felt his soul bared like a scroll beneath divine eyes.
“Long ago, the bond between rider and dragon kept this realm in balance,” the dragon rumbled. “But the last rider betrayed the pact. She sought power, not harmony. My kind fell, one by one. I am the last.”
Kaelen’s voice cracked. “What must I do?”
The dragon extended a claw, and Kaelen stepped forward. A mark flared to life on his chest—the same one on the pendant. Fire, wind, and starlight whirled around him, reshaping his bones, awakening ancient blood.
The bond was forged.
Over the months that followed, Kaelen and Aerionth flew across Elarion, their presence a spark in the hearts of the forgotten. Forests healed. Rivers cleared. Magic, dormant for centuries, stirred like spring beneath snow. But peace never comes unchallenged.
From the east rose the Order of the Hollow Flame, remnants of the rider who betrayed the dragons long ago. They rode false beasts—constructs of metal and malice—and sought to snuff out Aerionth’s fire.
In the final battle beneath the twin moons, Kaelen faced the Hollow Flame’s leader: a woman cloaked in night, whose mask bore the mark of the traitor.
“You carry her blood,” she hissed. “You will fail, just as she did.”
Kaelen stood tall. “I carry her blood, yes—but I carry the world’s hope too.”
With Aerionth by his side, they clashed—fire against shadow, spirit against steel. When dawn broke, the mountain trembled no more, and the silver moon faded into morning.
Kaelen, now the true Dragon Rider, looked to the horizon.
And the world breathed again.
Thank-you for reading.
Much Love and Light,
Brenda Marie
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