Gareth Rathkar:
The first thing I remember of that day is fire.
Flames dancing across the city.
A scaley shadow crossing over the castle , reigning hell and death upon my old home.
A Western Dragon.
Covetous and greedy.
I was fifteen— that age when you start thinking yourself invincible. I thought myself a hero already, having beat up some of my little brother's bullies just last week. So, what's a dragon then?
I soon figured out that a dragon… well a dragon is a hells-damned dragon.
…
"In here! Now!" I yelled, cracking open the pantry room door. The kitchen maidens in their grease-stained aprons filed in one by one, some whimpering, some crying.
I didn't understand why they were so scared. All I could do was smile; this was everything I ever wanted. Everything.
My mother came in last. She looked at me, my axe bearing hand, my stupid smile, and I could see the realization come to her.
Her face went dead: "Gareth, no," she begged.
Her hand reached out to mine. I withdrew and sprinted down the halls, waving her goodbye. "I'll be fine!" I told her as I ran off.
She yelled something — I didn't hear it. I was too busy careening down the castle halls, laughing to myself while my eyes searched for the orange glow of dragonfire.
I knew the castle like I knew every contour, every carving in my axe. I was the son of a battle commander and I grew up surrounded by a wealth of heroes. My education was of war and legend.
I thought myself ready. I thought myself a prime warrior.
I took to the North Tower, climbing two steps at a time. From one of the windows, I saw the snarling, drooling maw of the fat dragon that bellowed about, spewing flames that licked up the throne room.
"Aragor!" I yelled just as I came to the battlements. The dragon didn't hear me the first time, so I yelled his name again and again.
"Aragor! You fat stinking bastard! You petulant little—"
"ENOUGH WORM!" The dragon roared, his brown scales rattling as he turned, eyes narrowed and blazing fury.
Good, I thought. The heat from the smoking castle-grounds vented up to the tower's top as well, making me sweat my nerves off. Let's end this.
I took a step on one of the half stones. The dragon's bulbous neck craned out, leveling with the tower a few feet away from me. He regarded me with that black-eyed and smiled, yellow fangs glistening in the light.
"WELL, YOU AREN'T EVEN A GROWN WORM! YOU'RE JUST A LITTLE BALL-LESS WORM! NO MATTER, I WILL MAKE IT QUICK WORM. I HAVE A CASTLE TO BURN."
"And I have a dragon to kill!" I roared. Then, I planted feet down, and pushed off my heels, arcing high in the smoke-ridden wind.
I raised my axe.
Aragor fluttered its wings mockingly and grit its teeth, a trail of smoke and burgeoning fire forming from the seams of his gums.
"HAVE AT IT THEN WORM!"
…
Two minutes later, I lay half burnt, back broken, against the crumbling walls of the throne room.
Aragor laughed at me, swinging his belly fat around while swishing his tail across the battlements, cracking stone in his uproar.
"OH THAT WAS FUN, THAT WAS GREAT FUN LITTLE WORM. YOU PROVED MORE ENTERTAINING THAN I THOUGHT. BUT ALL FUN MUST COME TO AN END WORM. WHAT IS YOUR NAME? I WILL GIVE YOU THAT HONOR AT THE LEAST."
Well this wasn't how it was supposed to go, I thought. I was supposed to be a damn hero. I was supposed to save everyone. But there I lay, half dead.
"Go," I coughed up some blacked blood. Burnt blood. "Go to hell."
"WHAT A WASTE OF WORDS WORM. I SUPPOSE YOU —"
"I don't know, I thought his choice of last words was perfect," a voice called, cutting through the battlefield. The dragon spun slowly, eyes searching for the caller.
"IS THAT YOU BIG WORM?"
"Yes, it's me, Aragor." The response sounded annoyed, as if meeting some casual acquaintance.
A feminine figure dressed in a Western war uniform and dawning an Eastern, red-black cape landed in front of me. The cape flapped in the smoky wind.
Even through the pain, I could see how beautiful she was. How strong she was.
"OH BIG WORM. I MISSED YOU. COME FOR A REMATCH?"
The woman turned to me, and I saw a face unlike any other I've seen throughout the Western lands. Her hair was white and cut to her shoulders.
She smiled at me. "Don't worry." Then she drew forth a sword that pulsed with energy. From its tip, came forth a sleek, snake-like dragon of wood that curled up around me, almost protectively.
"She will heal you," the girl said.
"BIG WORM? ARE YOU IGNORING ME?"
"Yes," the girl said, once again acting as though the dragon was no big deal. "Just give me a second."
"I DON'T LIKE SECONDS, BIG WORM. I EAT FIRST, NOT SECOND."
"No dumbass, that's not what—" she sighed. "You know what? Fine Aragor. Let's just end this quickly."
"VERY GOOD BIG WORM. I HOPE YOU'VE IMPROVED SINCE LAST TIME. IF YOU HAVEN'T YOU WILL SURELY—"
In a flash, the girl was gone.
She's was running across the castle grounds, sword outstretched. Aragor snorted and flapped his wings, backing up on his stumpy feet while spewing fire to scorch the castle grounds beneath. But the girl summoned another snake-like, wingless dragon — this one of ice. She leapt upon it and the beast swam into the air, circling around Aragor. Before the big bastard could spew more flame, the girl leapt off the dragon of ice and made a clean, swiping cut.
Then, Aragor's fat-neck was sliced through and his head fell to the ground, eyes dead, maw curled into an eternal smile.
And that is how I met Hui Long. The love of my life.