To Meet the Eye of a Dragon

(Attention: This story contains mental health issues, self-harm, and some violence)

Fire. Everywhere. Smoke. Gasping for breath, Cassian rolled, hitting the ground hard. He coughed and covered his mouth with a shaking hand. No use. Fire burned all around, stealing whatever oxygen he tried to inhale. Smoke stung his lungs. He opened his eyes, which had been shut, already knowing what he’d see… Except.

Cassian saw no fire. No smoke. He saw no raging battlefield or serpentine enemy. He was prostrate beside his bed. The blankets were still twisted around his legs. Slow, deep breaths dispelled the memory of smoke from his lungs, and he stood from the floor with a groan. Mornings were never easy.

After dressing and splashing cold water on his face, Cassian walked to the kitchen. He passed by a shelf on the way. Gold dragon statues of varying sizes, one medallion with a flame in the center, and a worn leather belt with various ribbons sat there. Useless. The trinkets were covered in a thick layer of dust, a testimony to his disinterest in reliving the past. Somedays he thought about donating them to the newly established Dragon War Museum, and other days he wanted to dump them in the lake. Either way, he had no interest.

In the kitchen, Cassian pulled back the wooden shutter enclosing his pantry, and sighed. It was empty. Of course. He had forgotten to go to the market the day before… or maybe his subconscious had attempted to save him from the pain of human interaction. He felt a familiar pang in his chest as his heart rate sped up at the thought. He hated leaving the house.

…

The market was always the same. There were farmers selling produce, butchers with jerky and fresh caught meat, merchants trying to pawn off fake magical potions and two-cent trinkets, as well as musicians playing various genres. The mixture of clashing sounds, and opposing scents was almost too much, but it created an atmosphere that was easy to slip in and out of unnoticed. Usually.

Cassian kept his chin low, while scanning the crowds and stalls. He bought bread, eggs, and fruit. Once his canvas sack was full, he knew it was time to head home. Turning, he bumped shoulders with a woman standing behind him.

“Watch it!” she said. As soon as their eyes met, her face lit up with recognition. “Captain Cassian! Wow! Could you sign this? My son wanted your autograph for his birthday.” Her exclamations caught the attention of many people near her, and soon a crowd formed.

Cassian stumbled as the people pressed in around him. Many people asked to hear stories of his battles. Others wanted a hug, or an autograph as proof they had met the famed dragon slayer.

Unable to focus in on one person, Cassian kept taking steps backwards. He was trying to create space, but the crowd pressed forwards, gossiping to each other as they did so.

“Wait, Cassian… as in one of the survivors from the Battle of Flaming Hill?”

“No! He was the only survivor.”

“How’s that possible?”

“I heard he killed a dragon with his bare hands.

“I’ve never seen any of his medals at the museum.”

“Well, he probably kept all of them, dummy.”

“Can I get your autograph?”

“I would’ve paid in gold to watch him kill one. I bet the fight was beautiful.”

Cassian stared at the crowd. “Beautiful?” he asked. “If beauty is drawing blood. If beauty is chaos. If beauty is killing…” He took a breath, “No, it was not beautiful. It was necessary. As many dragons as I killed, I had friends die, and if I didn’t stop, then I would’ve died too.” His face was red, and his throat hurt from yelling at the crowd, but he had gotten the whole market’s attention.

The crowd stared at him. Not a single one of them looked saddened by his outburst, or guilty for their senseless comments. They looked confused, unable to understand the lack of pride he had for his accomplishments. Cassian took the opportunity to turn and run from the market. He raced through town as fast as he could. His face burned with anger. None of them understood the price that had been paid. He was alone in his guilt. A lone survivor. A lonelier hero.

…

Back at the house, Cassian found a folded letter nailed to his door. On the front was a seal with a small flame in the center. Cassian’s eyebrow rose. He hadn’t been expecting anything. He opened it.

Addressed: Captain Cassian Magnus

Signed: Lord Larencian

Greetings.

As you have no doubt heard, the dispersed dragon clans have been attacking our villages at random. Although they lost the war, they are refusing to submit peacefully. Our scouts have spotted a squad headed towards your village. They are estimated to arrive around midday the day after you receive this notice. I’ve notified a platoon of soldiers to ready themselves for the attack, and I need you to lead them. With your extensive battle experience, I am confident the village will be kept safe.

Thank you for your service.

Cassian’s hands trembled. No. This wasn’t happening. The paper dropped to the ground, immediately followed by his sack of groceries. His movements were erratic and clumsy as he entered his house, like a drunk man. He wasn’t drunk though. The memories swamping his brain were drowning him.

Bright, orange flames licked Cassian’s arms and legs as he ducked for cover. A bandana wrapped around his face siphoned out poisonous smoke from breathable air, but he struggled to take a breath anyway. Blood pooled around the bodies covering the battle ground. Dragon and man merged as one in death. Roars and heart-wrenching screams echoed, sounding far away, although he was at the center of it all. Serpentine bodies sprawled all over the trampled grass. Their once colorful and vibrant eyes turned stone gray. And, almost equal in number, the bodies of men lay beside the dragons. Neighbors. Friends. Brothers. Tears streaked down his face. If he had fought harder, maybe they would still be alive.

Cassian wiped the tears from his cheeks. His kitchen looked nothing like a battlefield anymore, but… he couldn’t bear the thought of repeating the worst moments in his life. He noticed a knife resting by the hearth. It was meant for filleting fish. That would do. He could hear his heartbeat slowing down to a steady rhythm as he made his decision and reached for the knife. He grasped the hilt, curling his fingers around it. The worn wood created slight friction underneath his fingertips, but he hardly noticed as his sight zeroed in on his opposite wrist. His veins there were blue, fragile.

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

Dropping the knife, Cassian spun around. His neighbor was staring from the open doorway, holding the letter he had dropped. One of her hands was raised where she had knocked.

“Are you okay,” she asked. Her eyes were focused on the knife laying at his feet.

“I’m fine.”

“You, uh, dropped this.” Cassian walked towards her and took the letter back. “Do you need help?” she asked.

“No. I just got bad news. That’s all.”

Slowly, she reached up and patted his arm, “Uh, if you do need anything, I’m across the street.”

“I know. Thank you.” Cassian shut the door. As soon as he heard her leave, he sat down on the floor. He rested his face in his hands, closing his eyes. Why did he have to go back? He couldn’t handle death. Not anymore.

…

Precisely at noon the next day, Cassian stood on the summit of a hill. He had a platoon of soldiers beside him, counting on him. The town was a few miles behind, hidden behind rolling hills, and a thicket of trees. A lake began at the base of their hill, surrounded by gravel and shrubbery. Its clear waters spread wide to the left and right, and extended so far that they could barely see the other side.

Cassian and the other soldiers were decked out in matching leather armor, which had been soaked in fire resistant gel, and they were given obsidian weapons specifically meant for piercing dragon scales. To others it seemed that they were as prepared as anyone could be, but Cassian knew how unpredictable the battlefield could be. A scout in the distance blew a horn, signaling the approaching enemy forces. They could see several dark shapes flying through the sky towards them, reflecting off the surface of the lake.

“Ready men,” Cassian yelled, “Don’t let yourselves get distracted. Hoorah!”

“Hoorah!” His men replied.

Cassian waited until the dragons were close enough. The sun reflected off their gray, orange, and green scales. They roared as a unit, their mouths pulled back into snarls as they descended on the men. “Crossbows ready,” he said, “Aim, fire!”

A torrent of bolts soared overhead towards the advancing dragons, but they did something unexpected. Moving their wings forward to deflect the bolts, they fell to the ground like cannonballs. When they hit the hill, it was like an earthquake, sending soldiers stumbling. Dirt and grass plumed into the air.

Cassian fell to one knee, managing to keep his sword and shield raised. His heart was pounding, but he had a job to do. If he could locate the dragon commander and take him out, the other beasts would most likely back down. Scanned the dragons from where he was crouched.

There. A dragon with the telltale, curved horns of a higher up had just landed. Cassian focused on that beast. His body moved instinctively, dodging and jumping to avoid dragon fire and claws as opponents fought around him. He was closing in on his target, who had also taken notice of him. The dragon reared back and spread his wings out, in a challenge.

Yelling, Cassian ran at the dragon commander. He rolled at the last second, avoiding the bout of flame the dragon spewed from his mouth. He slashed at one scaly ankle but was kicked back. He landed hard and brought his shield up just in time. Heat blistered his skin, but he pushed forward until the fire subsided again. He met the dragon’s eyes as he raised his sword over its exposed neck. They were blue, like the lake, but the color would fade once the dragon was dead. He had seen it happen before. Cassian’s sword froze in its downward swing. He couldn’t watch that. Not again.

Cassian squeezed his eyes shut as he saw the dragon’s chest expand with flames. He ducked his head, knowing his moment of hesitation would cost his life. Nothing happened. He looked up and found the dragon was now watching him. Its head was bent close to his, studying. Although the battle was raging around them, the two stared at each other.

There were countless scars marring the beast’s scales and wings. Its horns were long and worn, and the tip of one was broken off. This dragon had seen many battles. Maybe they had even fought each other before.

Cassian met the dragon’s eyes again. He noticed that they didn’t resemble the lake as much as he thought. The lake shimmered with sunshine and light, but the dragon’s eyes were shining with tears. A single drop fell as he watched. It sizzled when it hit the ground, steam rising up and heating his face. Cassian’s eyes filled with tears too as he understood.

The dragon didn’t want to fight. Slowly, Cassian lowered his sword, setting it gently on the grass. The dragon brought his head lower, barely a foot from Cassian’s face. He didn’t move for a moment, but then slowly brought his hand up and rested it on top of the dragon’s snout. Immediately, a shock ran up his arm and he was filled with terrible, familiar emotions. Grief. Anger. Loneliness. Tears fell down his face, and he tried desperately to convey his own feeling to the dragon. Understanding. Shared pain. The dragon didn’t move for a moment, then it abruptly stepped back, making Cassian jump. It threw back its head and roared.

The other dragons around froze and turned to stare at their leader. The soldiers stopped fighting as well when they noticed the position their captain was in. Cassian and the dragon watched each other. He smiled. There would be no killing today. No fighting. In the most unexpected place, he had found someone like him. Someone who understood. He was not alone.