When Seel Froze

Tanson was a dragon. He was a young dragon whose head was always held high with pride. He by himself was as strong as a herd of oxen. His heart burned with a zest for life that no one could quench. He was the last of his kind. The very last dragon in all of the millions of planets and galaxies that were spread out over the vast universe.

Tanson didn’t bow before anyone—not kings or queens, no man or beast.

Tanson could fly across galaxies with his powerful wings and sturdy lungs. He could swing from planet to planet in the span of a few days. He was capable of leveling entire lands with one puff of his fiery breath.

Tanson slept on moons. He danced on suns. He played with meteors like a human child plays with plastic toys.

He kept himself a secret from all the species that dwelled on every planet. There was only one race in all of the universe to whom Tanson would reveal himself. This exception was on account of his bond with a young woman.

The woman was a princess named Cassiopeia. She lived on a planet far, far away from the galaxy that held the planet Earth. The planet Cassiopeia resided on was called Seel. Seel was a planet with lands made up of grimy gray sand and oceans green from the pollution of fallen space rocks. Seel was concealed by an impenetrable fog. The fog engulfed the world in a blanket of darkness. The darkness was blacker than a raven’s feathers, and Seel’s hazy skies were void of any stars. It was so severely cold on the planet that the people were only kept alive by the warmth generated from fires they brought into existence by igniting ashes that came from a special kind of meteor—Fireballs, the people of Seel referred to them as. Fireballs were flaming balls of green fire that spun through space. They were drawn to Seel’s surface. Perhaps Seel had a strong gravitational pull that drew the meteors in, or maybe the planet was just in the path of the great balls of fire. Whatever the case, Fireball ash was never hard to find on Seel. 

If the Fireballs were to ever go away, the people of Seel would lose their heat. They would be forever lost to an eternal cold.

Tanson was born on Seel. His mother had died soon after he’d hatched. Cassiopeia found him as a hatchling. She’d taken him in and raised him in the castle of Seel. The castle was a structure made up of a moat of slimy, snot-like water, accompanied by a wooden drawbridge, strong walls made from sandstone the color of silver, and several sets of towers. It resided high above all the other buildings on the planet. Throughout his hatchling years, Tanson and Cassiopeia spent their days wandering that massive castle. The two young warriors had let their imaginations run wild in the spooky corridors and high-up watchtowers. There had been no thirteen-year-old girl or baby dragon there. Only a brave queen and her ferocious beast companion.

When Tanson grew old enough to care for himself, he left Seel in search of grander societies. However, he never forgot his birthplace or the woman who’d cared for him in the tender years of his youth.

Every fifty years, Tanson returned to Seel. The people on the bleak planet aged at a slower rate than other species, such as the fragile beings of Earth. Fifty years for them was no more than five months for others.

Tanson always received a warm welcome when he visited his home planet. So, he was puzzled when he landed on Seel for his annual visit to find the streets empty. No one rushed from their houses to greet him. There were no cheerful voices or jolly pats to his flank. The windows normally flew open when he arrived, as children— bundled in snug clothes and weighed down by heavy jackets—cheered his name, begging for a ride. Today, there was nothing.

Tanson swished his tail. His icy blue eyes raked over the deserted village. The streets, made of polished Fireball stone, had a thin layer of dust over them. The houses, with their rock walls and roofs of sticks, had icicles hanging from their sheaths. Tanson’s scales itched with agitation over the eerie stillness.

He huffed, smoke flowing from his mouth and nostrils. Flicking his tongue, Tanson lumbered his way around the town. He peered into the windows of homes. There was no sign of life in any of them. There was no fresh aroma of dinner being cooked. There was no clicking of shoes against solid floors. There was no squeaking of chairs.

There was only silence.

Tanson quickened his pace. He bounded from house to house, his feet thundering against the ground in an earth-shaking booming. When he became absolutely certain that there was no one in any of the houses, he gave a roar of alarm. 

Cassiopeia! The name rippled around his ears with enough force to make him light-headed.

Tanson leapt into the air. He spread his wings. As he launched himself into the blackness of the sky above, the biting air made him twitch.

Tanson saw the pillars of sandstone that made up the castle. He landed on a balcony. He pressed his wings against his side so that he could fit through the balcony door. Tanson made his way down a long corridor. At the end of the hall, he nudged open a set of wooden doors with his snout. They opened with an ear splitting whine.

A reek like one he’d never before smelled choked him. Tanson reared back, coughing at the dense odor. It was like a physical thing. A physical creature that, no matter how much he shook it away, came back for another attack.

Tanson screwed his face up. He held his breath. With watery eyes, he scanned the vast throne room where he’d spent his younger days darting around, playing with Cassiopeia, while the king and queen watched their daughter and her reptilian companion in bemusement.

The room was littered with bodies. They were stacked against one wall in a heap of dangling arms, limp legs, and lolling heads. Others lined the floor and sagged against pillars. Their eyes were glazed. Their skin was white and tinged with purple and red, and their fingers were an artistic blue. They were all bundled in layers upon layers of animal skins and blankets. The materials meant to keep the individuals warm were frozen. Streaks of ice, which glistened like crystal, ran along the stitches in the fabric.

Tanson trembled. He stepped into the room, his feet unsteady.

"T-T-Tanson, my friend..."

Tanson spotted her. She sat in the center of a red rug with golden swirls. The rug stretched from the entrance to the throne room all the way to the copper throne against the back wall. In front of her, smoking only ever so slightly, was a pile of Fireball ash. Her face was pale. Her hair, which was the color of a crow’s shiny underbelly, was stiff and frozen. Her blue eyes dulled and pained. They were glazed, as though they had been layered over by a sheet of ice. 

My friend, Tanson spoke to her in a language only she’d ever been able to understand. A language not of a people, but a secret understanding that he and Cassiopeia had. He crept over to her. Tanson sat. He leaned back on his haunches and gazed at her in sorrow. What is all this?

“It got cold.” Cassiopeia whispered. Her teeth chattered. “It was gradual at first, but eventually we all noticed. The planet was growing colder than ever before. The Fireball ash stopped burning. It grew so cold that no fire would stay lit. We tried everything. We tried… When we realized how bad things had gotten, we told everyone to come here. We thought we could conserve body heat and perhaps keep a small fire burning if we all worked together.” The princess closed her eyes. Her breath came out in a shaky sigh. “However, we couldn’t…”

Tanson saw her head begin to droop. He swallowed in panic. Gently, he reached out and rested his head on top of hers.

Don’t worry, Princess. He purred fondly. He wasn’t worried. Of course, he wasn’t worried. He was a dragon. What fear should he have of the cold? He was a living flame! I’ll light the fire for you. I can burn fire even in a world of darkness.

“Oh, Tanson. No-.”

Tanson pulled away. He took a step back. He opened his mouth and felt the tight coil of heat in his gut unravel. He drew in a breath, then let it out in a sharp blast of orange blaze. The fire hit the ash pile. The ash crackled and flared up in a show of sturdy flame. A fire that twitched and wagged in the chilly air like a cat’s tail.

See? Tanson smiled, a smirk that stretched from his snout all the way up to his eyes. Cassiopeia gave a small uplift of her lips, her dreary eyes never leaving the fire. Tanson’s grin slipped as the flame began to dwindle. The cold ate away at the fire, putting it out bite by bite. At last, it swallowed the blaze with a poof.

Fine, Tanson growled. He shoved feelings of unease and weariness deep down inside him, into the fiery pits of his belly, where the unwanted concern would burn to nothing. He reared up. I’ll do it again.

“My friend, Tanson, you beautiful creature.” Cassiopeia coughed. Her tender eyes welled with tears of grief and affection, a sight that turned Tanson’s stomach. “It’s no use.”

Tanson didn’t listen. He blasted the ash once more. It lit up, and then, just as quickly, it died. Tanson created a fire over and over again. He refused to quit. He was a dragon. He could cross galaxies and level mountains; he could keep a small flame burning.

Tanson huffed and spurted. He spit embers and snorted out heat. He hacked as the flame inside him grew tired and old.

“Tanson. Stop.” The princess ordered him. Tanson shook his head. He had to keep the fire going. If he didn't, Cassiopeia wouldn’t survive. But eventually, no matter how hard Tanson gagged and spat, nothing would come from his tired jaws. He had no more flame to give.

Tanson stopped. He dropped to his stomach, stretching out his lanky neck as he gasped for breath. He peeked at Cassiopeia through bleary eyes.

I’ll fly you then. He whimpered. Tanson’s body shook, and his gallant wings were spread out to either side of him like those of a dead butterfly. He didn’t feel mighty. He didn’t feel like a living flame anymore. He was cold. He’d never been cold before. He was a dragon. That was supposed to mean he could do anything and fix anything. I’ll fly you to a warmer planet.

“No, Tanson.” Cassiopeia whispered. Her face was the color of the sand on Earth’s moon. She held out her arms like a child. “I won’t survive the flight through space. It’s… it’s too late, sweet boy. Come. Come lay by me.”

Tanson crawled over to his oldest and dearest friend. He wrapped his neck around her. She rubbed her icy hands over his sweaty scales. She pressed her cheek to his.

“I love you.” She murmured. “My brother.”

The last sparks of fire faded to frozen ash, and the last of the blaze in Cassiopeia’s eyes flickered out, and they became as cold and as black as the cruel world around them.

 ***

Tanson lay with her for years. He refused to leave her body to freeze along with the rest of Seel. He lay with his head on her shoulder for a century.

However, Tanson was a dragon. He was destined to live for thousands and thousands of years to come with the knowledge that he had failed the only being he’d ever loved.

With his heart weighed down like a boulder in his chest, his stomach empty, and his scales crusted with ice, ten years after Seel’s freeze, Tanson rose to his feet. He staggered his way from the room, his eyelids frozen together. He smelled the fresh tang of the sky; it mingled in his nostrils with the rotten odor of death that clung to his scales. The scent of Cassiopeia.

Tanson limped out onto the balcony he’d landed on a century ago. He lifted his head. Fog swirled above him. It twisted and spun like a hurricane of black tar. Snowflakes fell from the inky sky. The balcony was buried under ice and snow. Tanson’s talons sank into chilly white fluff as he reared up to place his front feet up on the balcony railing. He drew in a deep breath, and biting air filled his lungs. Tanson glanced over his shoulder and into the castle.

Goodbye, my friend. He thought, a lump forming in his throat. With a broken sigh, Tanson shook the icicles from his tired wings. He spread them and, with a huff, took off into the snowfall.

A dragon he was. But not even a dragon was immune to the heartache and crushing guilt that were bestowed on all living creatures when an inevitable moment came when they found themselves helpless to stop the unstoppable.

When they found themselves incapable of keeping a fire lit in a world of darkness.