The Dragon Who Crashed into a Graveyard

Red not only covered the sunsetting sky; it drowned the world below.

Scaled bodies of the Crimson Clan scattered across the open fields, staining the soil crimson. An army of human soldiers still firing their iron bolts, thumping into the remnants of these great creatures, ensuring their lives are extinguished. 

Hundreds of miles away, the now field of bodies nothing but an utter thought, a small dragon struggling to stay a float amongst the trees.

Solan never turned back. He couldn't. He forced all of his will into his one healthy wing beating against the wind, while the other- shredded and useless- hung down like an anchor.

Tears blurred his vision, his eyes stung as the screams of his clan echoed in his mind

“SOLAN FLY!”

“HEAD FOR THE TREES!” 

“SOLAN, RUN”

The shouts of his family and friends haunted him with every flap of his wing. His Clan. His mother. They had all drawn the soldiers' fire, becoming targets so that he could reach the trees.

Pushing his wounded body as long as it could go, trying to live up to his clan's last hope; that he would survive.

But that seemed impossible.

Hmph… Groan…

Nearing the young dragons limit he breaks through a clearing in the dense forest, revealing a small, fog-choked clearing. Not being able to handle much more he tried to angle his wings to glide down, but was still coming in too fast.

CRASH.

He hit the earth like a falling star, carving a trench through the dirt and smashing into ancient stone markers. If he had the strength to lift his head, he would have seen where he had landed.

It was a graveyard. Tombstones lay scattered everywhere, bits of some amongst the rubble of poor Solan. And not far away, nearing the center of the graveyard, stood a crypt- ominous, cracked and leaking cold, dark essence.

For a moment, the only sounds were the ragged breathing of a dragon.

Then, the wind changed. A low howl stirred the dead leaves. Dirt vibrated. Pieces of tombstone began to levitate, hovering inches off the ground as a ghostly blue energy seeped from every grave. Combining with the wind, this energy swirls into a floating mass of this graveyard, condensing into a humanoid shape.

“WHO'S MAKING ALL THIS RACKET?!” 

The finished form of the energy shouts. A ghostly, pale-blue old man hovered in the air. He had a beard neatly pointed down his chest and his head was half-bald with what hair remained sticking out like an electrocuted bush. He wore a long flowing cloak covered in shifting ruins that hid whatever feet he might have had.

The ghost zeroed in on the crater, floating down to peer into the hole.

“Who are you?” the ghost demanded, crossing his translucent arms. “I don't remember giving anyone permission to loiter around my home. And you've smashed my dead rose bush!”

Receiving no response, he floats down into the pit. He drifted closer to the dragon's snout, adjusting a pair of spectral goggles. He took a deep, exaggerated breath.

“Mmmh… interesting.” Smelling an almost overwhelming stench of death on this dragon he becomes intrigued.

Mumbling to himself “I haven't smelt some much death since my younger years in the Great Wars. And I've never got to study a dragon this close. If I were still alive I'd have jumped on this opportunity.” Staring down at the dragon the ghost ponders.

Sensing something,Solan managed to crack an eye open. He saw a faint blue blur staring at him. He tried to growl, to move, to run—but his body was stone. He could feel his heart fluttering like a dying bird.

“Oh, you still have some fight left in you.” the ghost leaned in, poking a spectral finger through Solan's snout. “Ive seen a lot of beings die from a lot less. Your flame sacs ruptured, that left wings almost none existant, and your scales. Pitiful.” 

“He.. lp… me…” the young dragon whispers faintly drawing upon some of his last breaths, coughing up black smoke like a fire going out.

The old ghost looks down at the dying dragon stroking his beard “Help you? You want I, the great Zarek, the most brilliant Necromancer and Scientist who has kept his own soul alive after death for hundreds of years to help you. And just what would this handsome fellow get in return?”

“An..y…thing.” Solan wheezed, blood bubbling past his lips.

Zarek stopped. His spectral eyes widened.

“Ohhh.. anything you say. Well I just might have an offer. You see, although being an embodiment of a soul myself has been a marvel of science of my own creation, it gets rather lonely here. Along with not being tangible enough to interact with the outside world and create my lovely skeletons I've become rather bored with my experiments mostly pertaining to watching fungi grow in my dungeon.”

Zarek drifted closer, his grin widened maniacally.

“SO! How about this? I, the Great and Humble Zarek the Lich, will take you on as my apprentice. How does that sound.” The pleading eyes of Zarek nearly scream for any answer except no.

The dragon struggling to keep his eyes open, not even processing the blue floating man's words nods his head. Hoping that Zarek might end the pain.

The old ghost's body nearly exploding with excitement leaps further into the air doing a spectral backflip. “FINALLY, A SUCCESSOR! MY WORK WON'T DIE WITH ME!” 

Remembering the dragon below was on death's door he hurriedly rushes back down. “Alright, alright. I've never done this with a dragon before so the variables are a little… exciting.” 

Waving his hands in a precise manner a book materializes. An aura of pure death and history seeping from its very bindings it almost seemed like death itself had blessed this book.

Opening the book up halfway Zarek clears his throat preparing, “*cough* This seems to be the right page. Now then… yes here it is.” 

The frantic excitement from his voice dropped; replaced by a voice of ancient power. The air of the graveyard harmonized with his words.

“The sun must set for the stars to rise,

Just as the body fails so the spirit flies.” 

Whisps of cold, blue energy began to rip themselves from the soil, floating all around.

“Life is the waking, loud and bright, 

Death is the focus found in the night.” 

The wisps of energy formed into floating orbs, circling the amazed dragon. The pain in Solan's chest began to numb- not healing, but freezing.

“One circle breaks. 

Another is spun.” 

​The wind roared, a mixture of nature and magic, rattling the trees. The orbs blurred into a ring of cold light, humming their own tune.

“Your life is over.” 

The orbs hitting their highest speed yet becoming a blur of one another, creating a beautiful song

Finishing off Zarek slammed the book shut “Your existence has begun.”

The orbs slammed into Solan's chest.

He didn't scream. He gasped. It wasn't painful- it was the absolute absence of heat. Like he never had and never would feel heat again.

“ It's alright my dear apprentice.” Zarek said soothingly, watched with fascination at his newest experiment. “You'll grow to enjoy the chill.”

The young dragon now shivered violently, feeling that the fire of his had been replaced with a much colder feeling. His crimson scales sliding off his body clattering across the dirt like coins. Underneath, something harder, whiter, and sharper was growing. Bone armour plated over his skin.

Then came the true change. Solan felt his heart stop.

Thump. Thump. …Silence.

Unbeknownst to him, Zarek reached into his coat and pulled out a pale crystal. He held it toward the dragon, catching a faint, golden wisp that drifted from Solan’s chest—the last spark of his living soul. Zarek pocketed the crystal with a satisfied smirk.

And the now useless fire sac and organs fell from his now skeleton body. Being replaced by the only source that his body would need from now on. Death.

He tried to roar, but the sound never left his teeth. He had no lungs, the only air that fueled any sound from him was the wind whistling through his hollow ribs. A shrill, empty shriek.

He grips his now ivory-white claws and punches the ground leaving small holes.

Then, he felt relief as his eyes faded to black.

“Haha, it reminds me of my changing.” Zarek chuckled

​He waved a hand, wrapping the unconscious, skeletal dragon in magic, lifting him effortlessly.

Bringing him to the depths of the tomb Zarek lays the skeleton on a stone bed and lets him rest. And as Zarek watches the resting apprentice all he can think to himself is “Success!”