If someone had asked me ten years ago what I expected the future would be like, I would gaze starry-eyed to the questioner and tell them of the wonders of dragons and humans getting along with the world working together. The slow heartbeat of two fairly ancient races synchronising together. I would have told them that I’d be there with my family—in the future—we’d be here a long time.

My father had once asked Stefan how long dragons lived.

According to my father, Stefan was surprised. It was hard to imagine a look of surprise on the steely cold agent of my father’s. He replied, ‘how long do you wish to live, my lord?’

That was food for thought. Barring disease, injury and existential meltdown, a dragon could live forever. My lips curled in amusement as we kept that morsel of knowledge away from the humans. Their medical scientists would have given their right arm to study us. Perhaps, in their avarice to see us extinct for popular opinion polls and a nice target to focus all their xenophobia without repercussions, the humans gave up their one chance to cast away the shackles of their mortality and live with us.

Perhaps one day—when both sides taste the ashes of regret—they might find me, alone all alone in the empty shack of what I once called home, and beg for my forgiveness.

But all I could give them in return would be a torn heart and silent tears.

For anger will have all but died away…

–––––

As we flew I felt the wind currents and air flows around me. According to my father I was part Shen Lung. These ancient dragons were the keepers of our dear planet Earth before the dragons with wings, the six limbed kind, stumbled their way through the dimensions and arrived on their planet. The Shen Lung were a very accepting race, but a shy one filled with caution and wisdom. They kept away from the petty politics and incessant bickering that the ‘Western’ dragons were keen on living for.

The Shen Lung are no more. The last vestiges of their kind was wiped away by a combination of the incited war in the West by the Western dragons and a failed attempt to foster a wise society in the East. With too few to maintain power they were exterminated when Mao rose to power.

My father had to struggle with the death of his Ancestry, often he would visit their watery grave. A place flooded constantly by the rising water table. He would use the sphere of the Lung to clear the area and revealed to him would be the markings on the wall following a spiral pattern outwards from the central column. The markings told those who could read it (so it would only be those with the blood of the Lung as the sphere could only help translate it) of the history of the Lung.

One night, I was taken there with my father. I was always interested in any workings of Power, but I felt oddly disconnected from the writings on the wall. He gave me the sphere silently and I read the contents on the columns. Hours passed me by in a flash as I saw images and impressions from thousands of dragons that made up my bloodline, my history.

It began simply, with the scratchings on the wall celebrating the birth of their kind, the Shen Lung. They loved the land and the land loved them back. The world was beautiful and bountiful. It was paradise. Soon though, they had to share, as others came from the ground. It seemed that as they blinked, a new creature would wander into the world. One kind intrigued them, they were tenacious and strong willed and they walked on two stubby legs. The writings conveyed cautious optimism. A little guidance and these bipedal creatures could live in peace and they would work together to bring the world into a new age of prosperity.

The writing also talked of the dragons of the West. How they had arrived through a portal, ragtag and exhausted. The Shen Lung took pity on them but they mainly ignored them. Some of the Shen Lung’s civilisation were eager to make contact with their curious winged brethren though and they flew off to entreaty with them. After that, there was a feeling that the scratching paused. A feeling that they were truncated, though the markings flowed one after the other.

As I approached the end, the mood of the history got darker. Their glorious civilisation had suffered losses, the war between the Western dragons and the humans had taken the highest toll on the Shen Lung, only a few remained. They toppled with one last effort to make peace with the humans, but they were too few, which you now know is our history. My father told me sadly that it was not much of a history. It was an epitaph.

–––––

“Are you alright? You’ve been silent for a while.”

I shook myself out of my mustiness, concentrating on the winged unicorn that had pulled up beside me. She flapped wastefully, she was adept, but not a creature that preferred to fly.

I nodded emphatically.

She eyed Spike. “She doesn’t say much, does she?”

Spike shook his head in reply. “Huh, no,” he said, glancing back at me. “I haven’t heard her say a word.”

They both looked at me as we glided on a thermal. I did my best impression of a dragon’s shrug. It wouldn’t translate well, but I knew they knew about shrugs, and whiplashing my tail the dragon way would seriously unbalance my flight.

Twilight looked like she wanted to say more but instead she just shrugged like I did—awkwardly—and we continued towards our destination. I was hoping it wouldn’t be the hospital. I mean, sure these creatures appeared friendly, but I wouldn’t extend that courtesy to their government, whatever it was.

Which reminded me… My scales needed a thorough cleaning. I still reeked of oil, gas and gunpowder. The river that I had run by back in that forest was starting to look more and more tempting. I could deal with freezing water if that meant I could feel clean again.

“Oh! We’re here!”

I saw Twilight bank sharply to the left and ahead I could a village of sorts. There were houses made of stone and wood, but I couldn’t see any architecture composed of iron or steel. Perhaps I had stumbled onto some sort of rural community? There were train track leading into the small town and away. So there must be some knowledge of steel or metalworking. I got hopeful. Maybe this place wouldn’t be so bad after all. I could recuperate here and then find out how I would retrieve the sphere of the Lung.

The sphere had a special connection with my father. With a single thought, the sphere would quietly snap into existence at my father’s side. It was an interesting phenomenon and I had thought to try it before, but it didn’t click for me. When I asked my father about it, he merely shrugged and told me that the sphere probably didn’t recognise me as the heiress yet. I asked him how long I’d have to wait. He grinned at me back then, replying, ‘probably until I died’. I snorted back then. I thought it would take forever, I’d never be in charge of the sphere…

We arrived at the edge of the town with Spike climbing off Twilight’s back.

“Would you mind staying here?” she asked me, her tone somewhere between commanding and pleading. It was a strange mix. I nodded in response and that seemed to satisfy Twilight.

“Right. I’ll be back in a few minutes. I just need to let the mayor know that you’re staying here for a while.”

With a cheery wave, Twilight took off and left me alone with Spike again.

Spike glanced sidelong at me.

“So,” he said. “What’s up?”

I tried not to sigh.

Author's Notes:

There's a bit of backgrounding involved with the main character. Like I said, it's a crossover, but I want to make it so people don't actually have to read the source material to understand what's going on.

Weeeee! I'm tired. Enough work. Time to relax.

Next Chapter: A little of this, a little of that. Mainly dragon-talk and a demonstration of magic.

As always, my committed readers, thanks for reading!