The wind carries the scent of salt and something else—something faint, almost lost beneath the sharp bite of the ocean breeze. Decay. Not fresh, but old, lingering like a whisper from the past. I keep flying, my wings steady as I follow the shoreline, careful to stay inland enough to see the land's scars.
Something about this place gnaws at the edges of my mind, tugging at memories that refuse to form. Images flicker—shadows, half-shapes, the sound of rushing wind. I try to grasp them, but they slip away, like mist through my claws.
And then I see them.
Bones.
I bank sharply, circling before landing on a patch of cracked earth. The remains are scattered, tangled in what was once a battlefield.
A dragon's ribcage, half-buried.
I hesitate before stepping closer, my claws pressing into the dry, brittle ground. The ribcage is massive—larger than I expected, towering over me even in its ruined state. I lift a clawed hand and press it against one of the ribs. The bone is thick, sturdy even in death. I glance at my own body. My limbs, my wings, my tail—they are strong, but I am small compared to this fallen giant.
Was this what I was meant to become?
I swallow hard and continue moving. The rest of the skeleton lies in pieces—vertebrae scattered, the skull half-buried beneath layers of dust. Its empty sockets stare back at me. I kneel, brushing dirt away from its long, curved horns. My chest tightens.
This dragon must have been ancient, far older than I am. Its bones have been here for centuries, maybe millennia.
And yet, they are not as broken as they should be.
I pause, running a claw along the smooth surface of one rib. A faint shimmer lingers where I touch, a whisper of energy, long faded but not entirely gone. Mana.
Dragon bones hold power, even in death. It preserves them, slowing decay, keeping them from turning to dust like the humanoid remains nearby. That means this battle wasn't just centuries old—it was ancient.
If this battlefield has been untouched for millennia, then what does that mean for me?
I freeze, my breath catching.
I thought I had only slept for a short time, maybe a few years at most. But if the war was this long ago, then I must have been asleep for far longer. My body—my very being—must have been trapped in hibernation, suspended in time, only working just enough to heal my injuries, just enough to keep me alive.
A slow, crawling dread settles over me.
Millennia.
If that is true, then everyone I knew, everything I remembered—my family, my kind—would be long gone. I am not just waking up after a battle. I am waking up in a world that has forgotten dragons.
I stagger back from the bones, my head spinning.
A flash of white. A roar splitting the sky. A blinding light. A force ripping me from the air. My wings struggling, the wind roaring. Something slamming into my chest.
I gasp, clutching my ribs as if I can still feel the impact. The memory fades as quickly as it came, leaving behind only emptiness.
I don't know what happened to me.
I don't know why I survived when the others didn't.
But I do know one thing.
I am alone.
Or… am I?
A thought takes root, stubborn against the fear. Dragons can live for thousands of years—at least five millennia, sometimes longer if they hibernate.
I survived because I was in hibernation. What if others did too?
What if some of my kind escaped?
My heart pounds at the thought. If I survived, then maybe others did as well. Maybe they aren't here—maybe they fled before the battle turned to slaughter. Maybe my family survived.
A deep breath fills my lungs.
I am not guaranteed to be alone.
I will not believe that I am the last.
The thought steadies me. It plants itself in my chest like a seed refusing to die. I can't linger here, drowning in what was lost. I need to find what remains.
With a deep breath, I take to the skies again. I leave the graveyard behind, but it follows me. Everywhere I go, more bones.
More dragons.
More humanoids.
Some of the dragon skeletons are massive, their skulls nearly twice my size. Others are smaller, perhaps younger, not much larger than I am now. The sight unsettles me. How young were they when they fell? I glance at my own limbs again, at my still-growing body. If I had been here when this battle took place, would my remains have been among them?
The weight in my chest grows heavier with each discovery. Whatever happened here, it was vast. A war unlike anything I can remember. Or maybe that's the problem—I can't remember.
Days pass in a blur of hunger and exhaustion. I force down the last of my meager provisions, barely tasting them. Sleep is fleeting, haunted by glimpses of fire and falling bodies, of a sky that once felt safe turning into something violent and unforgiving.
Eventually, the landscape begins to change. The dead earth gives way to sparse grass, and then trees—tall, strong, pulsing with life. The scent of rain lingers in the air, washing away the dust and decay. I inhale deeply, my body relaxing for the first time in days.
Then I see it.
The mountains.
The same jagged peaks I left behind.
My stomach twists as realization dawns. I am flying north again.
I have come full circle.
The ocean to the west, the forest to the east, and the mountains ahead—there is no way forward except over those peaks.
A chill runs down my spine. I glance back at the scarred land behind me. The silent graveyard stretching farther than I can see.
But I turn forward again.
The mountains loom in the distance.
And beyond them?
There is a chance.
A chance that I am not alone.
I spread my wings and fly toward them.