Have you ever wondered what a dragon is? Where it came from, how it began? I was there. I witnessed it, as one does a storm gathering on the horizon, inevitable and awe-inspiring. In a world without mercy, without love or kindness, the first dragon was born, carved from the raw elements of a land that knew only survival.
The island lay isolated in an endless sea, shrouded in perpetual fog. By day, it looked like paradise—a crescent of pure white sand, shimmering beneath the sun's warmth. Light blue waves lapped gently against the shore, sparkling as if holding secrets just below the surface. Towering palms, twisted and ancient, rose from the sand, their thick trunks seeming to reach for the heavens. The air smelled faintly sweet, a perfume carried on the wind. Beneath it all was a sound, haunting and gentle, like a lullaby whispered by the island itself.
But as the sun dipped below the horizon, the island began to change, revealing a hidden side, a darker beauty. Shadows stretched and deepened across the beach, their edges alive with flickering movement. The trees took on a life of their own, branches reaching out as if in invitation, their twisted limbs seeming to breathe in the gathering night. The wind shifted, carrying with it not the sweetness of day but something darker—a sound like distant, sorrowful cries, or perhaps the call of seabirds unseen.
The ocean's surface grew still, almost too calm, as if something stirred beneath. Shapes drifted within, barely visible but undeniably there, shadows moving with a silent intent. And if one listened closely, the ocean itself seemed to murmur, a soft, seductive voice whispering from the depths, calling out, as if it knew each soul who ventured near its shores.
High above, a volcano rose from the center of the island, a dark peak piercing the mist-covered skies. It stood like a silent sentinel, scarred and ancient, its summit reaching so high it seemed almost to touch the heavens. At its mouth, glowing faintly against the black rock, lay a single egg. Unlike any other, it shimmered in the darkness, a shell that seemed to pulse with life.
Inside, three hearts beat in unison.
The first heart drew in air, filling itself with the breath of life. Its rhythm was steady, powerful, each beat a promise of flight and freedom.
The second heart gathered fire from the molten depths of the volcano itself. It pulsed with warmth and resilience, the heart of a creature that would endure the earth's fiercest challenges.
The third heart beat with restless energy, a drive that seemed to stretch beyond the island, a craving to know and to conquer. It was a heart of motion, of endless curiosity, carrying the creature's wild spirit.
And then, with a shudder, the egg began to crack.
A single claw broke through, followed by another, delicate yet razor-sharp. A glimmer of scales caught the moonlight, fiery red like molten rock. The young dragon opened its eyes for the first time, each one as bright as a star, filled with wonder, and a fierce, undeniable spark of life.
It took its first trembling steps, claws scraping against the stone, leaving faint marks in the black volcanic rock. The dragon's scales gleamed, red as flame, its form small but powerful, each movement filled with a raw, untamed grace. It lifted its head, wings slowly unfurling, each membrane translucent and glowing in the night.
Instinctively, it moved to the edge of the volcano, driven by the pull of its three hearts—air, fire, and the spirit of the unknown. Below, the island stretched out, dark and wild, a land filled with ancient secrets and beauty both harsh and alluring. The forest below swayed in the night breeze, the unblinking eyes still watching from the shadows, as though in reverence of this new creature born into their world.
The dragon paused, looking out over the ocean. The fog parted, revealing an endless expanse of waves that seemed to go on forever. It felt the pull of the world, the call of the skies and the seas, and knew, without understanding how, that it was meant to soar beyond this place.
With a beat of its powerful wings, the dragon lifted off, feeling the wind rush beneath it, holding it aloft as it rose above the island. It flew over the trees, above the watchful eyes of the shadows, past the edge of the fog, a shadow against the stars. It was the first of its kind, born of a land that demanded survival, forged in a world that knew no gentleness, yet filled with fierce beauty.
The first dragon had taken flight, and the island—its mother and creator—was left behind, its dark heart forever marked by the creature it had brought to life. In the darkness, the dragon vanished into the night sky, a legend born, a mystery soaring into the unknown.