The Dreamweaver

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As Spirits of varying sizes and transparency flitted through the airstream, allowing the gusts to lead them as nature desired, the fields of orange and crimson floras swayed in the breeze. They whirled in perfect harmony, enjoying the vistas of colour and beauty below them. They only stopped when the ginger burn of both suns dropping behind the horizon signalled the end of one cycle till the next, yet even when at rest, their bodies would glow radiant.

Daylight beaming down upon their clusters, the Spirits knew nothing but colour, which was why they were ever attracted to the fields of flowers that the shade so infrequently invaded. Their nature was pure, unyielding to the problems of man and beast, yet many were captured and contained by the bipedal creatures of skin, muscle and bone and sold between them within glass containers that were never opened. As human evolved and wars struck, the fields of previous beauty and vibrance became beaten and barren, devoid of all but steel and mud. Spirits had to flee and disperse, alongside all other manner of creatures in the wake of man. The Dreamweaver was no exception.

She never knew if she had a name before her time as a deadly dragon, all she knew was what the people called her. The one that all saw in their slumbers, even if they woke without recollection. The Dreamweaver.

Some were so inspired that they spoke of mad tales, worshipped her fervently, or had nightmares in fear of her wrath upon the mortal world should they stray too far from the moral path. The humans couldn’t have been further from the truth.

In the many centuries she had spent atop the tallest mountain she could find, she had seldom spent time awake. Since the evolution of humans from apes, there was no need to reveal herself; magic was all but dwindling from the world—and dragons too. Her sleep was so concentrated at times that her mind simply connected to the rest of the globe. She never meant to haunt or inspire the people, only to wait until it was safe for her to return to the lower world, but she knew she couldn’t. Not for a long time.

Every few hundred years, when both burning stars in the sky were at the zenith of their phases, the blazing daylight would pierce her cave and awaken her. Each time, with hopes that the world had evolved past the need for anger and agony, the Dreamweaver would stretch her iridescent, scaly form and rise from her rest on ever-weakening talons.

Within the cavern, her home, she had preserved assortments of seemingly random objects. Starlight crystals, storm hail, condensed lightning shards, etcetera. Anything that could shine with colour, the Dreamweaver would collect and store it. Even some man-made objects from a time long past. She had no need for any of it, but she enjoyed waking up to the colours of the rainbow, not the blackness of her hovel. Her own motivations and desires were sometimes a mystery. She had been in the cave for so long, who knew what had happened since her last cycle?

This time around, her legs wobbled slightly as she rose. Likely over a thousand years old, her time in this form was limited to one or two more cycles. Whether she would reincarnate as the humans believed or simply perish, she did not know. The Dreamweaver had never met another dragon; perhaps dying was a different experience for them. Even so, among humans and dragons alike, she would still not find the acceptance that she desired.

After taking a moment to gather her strength, Dreamweaver began to tremble towards the entrance of her mountain cavity. This time, what would await her there? She couldn’t help but ponder how the world had evolved, but somehow she knew the magic in the air was even thinner than last time. The humans were still spreading. She feared one day they would find her, but be it as it may, she had accepted every outcome. She hadn’t the strength to resist or retreat anymore.

Dreamweaver poked her head out of the mountain's crevice, eyes adjusting to the light, and squinted as much as she could without eyelids. Even so, almost to her expectation, she was met with nothing but disappointment for the evolution of the world. The first sensation to return, save for her sight, was her scent.

Smoke, steam, haze and pollution.

The human colonies below had advanced yet again, having extinguished all the land in their way, approaching eerily close to the base of her mountain. She had little question that they were soon to discover her.

As Dreamweaver took a deeper look at the world around, she noted the smoke rising from their tallest buildings, piercing the skies and clouds alike. Dozens of shining metal objects zoomed through the air with bangs of acceleration, trails of fog looming behind each. By some means, they had even taken the heavens from her. Maybe retreating to the ocean as a kraken would have suited Dreamweaver better, yet they had likely invaded there too. 

She sighed within and made the decision to go back inside—she had another cycle of sleep ahead of her. She had seen plenty. In addition to destroying their surroundings, the humans were also destroying themselves.

Dreamweaver staggered backwards and tried to blow flames onto the floor below so she could at least have warm bedding, but all she could muster were dull gusts of smoke. She fell to the ground of icy rock and let herself drift once more. All she wanted was for them to realise before it was too late. Their time was finite. Their world was finite.

Years, decades, and centuries went by. As the outside earth sank into chaos and the magic that had sustained Dreamweaver was further stripped from it, she grew increasingly powerless.

Despite everything that had occurred, including everything the Dreamweaver had witnessed humans do to one another and the other species in their dystopia, they still had not learned. She never noticed it in her mountain of dreams, but the heavens were aflame for a number of years. When they invented weapons that could murder millions in a single detonation, their futures were set. It only took a single misstep for one power to become enraged with the others. Even if the majority were innocent and voiceless, only one percent might ever govern the rest in their crooked society.

One by one, atomic weapons decimated the planet, each one deadlier than the last, but the Dreamweaver slept through, unable to leave her cave as it crumbled around her. The humans’ home eventually went silent. Ash was all that was left, falling from the skies for years to come.

The Dreamweaver slept through her following cycle in the complete absence of light. The centuries rolled on. The thoughts of others disappeared from her consciousness, and she was left alone with her own shattered mind. When she was ready, and only then, did she allow herself to wake once again.

Instead of the glaring sunlight forcing her conscious, this time the Dreamweaver felt willing. With the vibrant colours still shimmering across the fractured walls of her cavern, she was pleased to return to the waking realm for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

There was magic restoring to the air, and she could sense it. It gave her a purpose to persevere. Her desire to attain amity with the world was finally realised; she was no longer existing for the mere sake of existing; her wait was over. Finally, she could go back.

As the Dreamweaver drew her last breath, she let off a blaze that tore a passageway through the frozen mountaintop. She was free.

She welcomed the sunshine and the comfort it had brought into her home. She began shedding her dragon-like form even before she emerged from the grotto. Dreamweaver gave in to the inevitable disintegration of the borrowed body she had been using, which was nothing more than a façade to aid in avoiding her capture. Soon, she neared the apex of her bitter mountain. Looking down, the world beneath was breath-taking in every way.

As far as the eye could see, colour. Without humans, nature had reclaimed its place. Dreamweaver's equilibrium on the cliff tipped over, and she took her final step as a serpent. She dove, her body evaporating into flecks of golden essence as the wind captured her true form.

After waiting for an eternity, the Dreamweaver returned to the fields of colour with the help of the earth’s natural breeze. Other Spirits in hiding had, too, returned to their genesis. All they ever wanted was a chance to live free, and they were prepared to wait an infinity if that’s what it took.

They whirled in perfect harmony, enjoying the vistas of colour and beauty below them. They only stopped when the ginger burn of both suns dropping behind the horizon signalled the end of their cycle till the next.

The world was ready for them, once again.

Thanks for reading! This story was inspired both by the Dragons of Elden Ring alongside the Spren (Spirits) from THE WAY OF KINGS by Brandon Sanderson. As an avid fantasy enthusiast, I highly recommend both. And if you’re willing, I would love to hear your feedback in the comments :)