I do not have to explain myself

Sun lights the ruins in such an odd way, with the way it rises behind it casting the front of the castle into deep shadow devoid of all light - but the crumbling sections and gaps in masonry allowed for starkly contrasting rays of light to burst through and highlight the swathes of decrepit stone and the growing shrubbery that supported it. 

When the sun reached the zenith of midday it was far more visible, but the scorching heat rising off the wasteland made the whole horizon blurry with wavy mirage. 

It made the whole thing far more mysterious and terrifying, to never have truly seen the place up close, and only now in the eleventh hour would you fulfil your curiosity. Hardly the reward you wanted, but a reward nonetheless.

You could at least admit to yourself that underneath the grumbling swell of emotions: of shock and sadness and pain and fear - there was a curiosity that had gnawed at you for years.

The elusive dragon who you had over ever really heard, aside from the occasional sliver of wing or horn - a great and mighty beast who’s very presence completely dominated your life, the lives of everyone you knew - and yet seemed oh so disconnected from daily life. A waking terror that haunted the minds of every man woman and child to know that a painful and horrific death was always close at hand, always needed satisfying, but functionally didn’t truly exist.

A lord to be satiated and pray never looked down to see the peasants lay at his feet lest he finds himself wanting.

And you had known, or course, that other kingdoms and towns offered up ‘pretty young things’ as you had heard it so neatly summarised - but never understood why. The offering of gold and heirlooms and other treasures and tithes made sense, everyone knew dragons kept mighty hoards. 

You supposed it was to instill terror. 

The people would have to turn on each other to decide whose child would be sent unto their own death and breed a resentment between them. They could not rise up and fight against him if they were too busy fighting amongst each other to survive, to appease. 

And that was your role now, to appease, in whatever delightful death awaited you at the end of this long, dusty road at the hands of the Pale One.

“Don’t think too hard, ‘s not worth the pain.”

His voice is gruff, hard from years of little use and age combined, but there's an underlying sorrow to it, a hint that betrays him more than his actions have damned him.

You want to protest that it’s all you can do now, but the words rise up your throat and die there. He was trying to be kind, to soothe you in his own way. 

There was no need to create more pain to leave behind you with cutting words.

You would find comfort in the solitude - focus on the way the dust kicked up from the back wheels and created swirling patterns in the early light still rising.

The ride continues in silence, which would have been comfortable if not for the cycling of thoughts and emotions that washed over you with each turn of the wheel. You tried not to think too hard - really tried, 

It was just then, as your stared out that the clouds shift, the ground now more mottled and dappled with light, which was odd - you’d never seen such a patter in the dust cracked earth before. Then again, you’ve never been so close to the castle either, now closer to its towering form that home.

Closer than ever before you can see what must have been the initial grandeur of the place, with crumbling facades and fascias giving way to roughly hewn stone. 

Everything so was so much more starkly lit now, but all it reminded you of was the constant onslaught of time working against you. 

The continual clip of the mare’s hooves, the turning of the wheel, the rising sun casting shorter and shorter shadows - and the thump of your heart, gradually beating faster and faster.

Everything blurs. Nothing changes.

Closer and closer the shadows grow.

This close and the plains begin to give way to sparse forests, untouched by the town for how close they sit to the dragons domain. You’d never seen trees loom over you like this.

Bittersweet. New emotions and an escape from the life of old. Everything you’d ever hoped for but not in the way you’d planned.

And then you arrived. Hooves clattered to a stop on the dusty road and wheels stopped creaking. The old man went still above you.

Your time was up.

“…Alright. We’re here,” his voice is weary, resigned to both your fates. 

There is no great rush for him to dismount, every step drawn out, even though you knew him to be deceptively spry for his age. You weren’t sure if it was a blessing or a mercy, if you wanted every second you could grasp or for it to just be over.

Still, time marched on and soon enough he stood at the back, only just taller than you with the level back of the carriage. 

His hands are rough with old callouses and weathered from years in the harsh sun, but he uses them with a betraying gentleness as he helps you sit up and swing your legs over the back.

The world sways as his hands steady you into standing. A long time spent on your side over uneven terrain and your own spinning head contributing into making sure you could barely support your own weight as everything threatened to topple.

“That’s it lass, here, here,”

Before you can process anything, cool water is tipping down your throat, relieving the ache you didn’t even realise had built. 

It was a great kindness, water was a precious resource to waste, especially on a dead woman.

Still, kindness only extended so far, and the sun was more than halfway down now, well into the early afternoon where you had set off just before the dawn. He would leave you here before long, it was a fools errand to leave late and risk the horrors night alone would bring, and even more foolish to stick around a dragon’s sacrifice to wait for it.

So he helps you sit, back to a small boulder and propped in the shade of a wizened white oak. 

You look up at the last face you’ll ever see.

There are pricks of tears in his eyes where yours have run freely, wrinkles where your face is smooth and wisps of white where your hair will never grey. So much unfairness, so much difference, yet in the moment your eyes meet you’d never felt so close to another, such understanding to his agony and him yours.

Kinship where there should have been none, connection in the end.

There was not another in all of Barbarus who had been here besides him, and now you, and it was surprisingly peaceful. 

The kiss placed on your head invokes a familiar emotion, something buried deep - perhaps from old memories in long forgotten dreams where your father tucks you into bed and tells you of all the treasures he’ll bring you back from his travels. But its warm, and sweet, and brings you a sort of peace that you were looking for.

Your mouth moves before your mind, impulsive thoughts that might as well be spoken, “S-stay? Just for a moment?”

His eyes and hands tighten in synchronisation as he peers up at the sun, then slowly releases you with a sigh. You didn't actually expect him to say yes, but still part of you had hoped.

“I’m sorry.”

You know.

He leaves, old mare trotting off with little care for its cargo left behind. If he turns back you don’t see between the blurring of the world from more unshed tears.

You stare for a long time.

Nothing feels real anymore. 

Half formed and fleeting thoughts of running, exploring and the unfulfilled dream you had come and go while your body buzzes beneath your skin.

Everything aches.

Neither your body or mind knows what to do with itself, physical strain and emotional exhaustion combining into a malaise that drags you down into the depths of something.

Instead you focus on the ground in front of you, tuning out how your ankles are wrapped with tight rope you can't relieve and looking out at how the sunlight falls so softly here. Such a change from the harsh desert sun, from cracked and droughted ground.

There's more rocks here, not yet taken for construction, more vegetation too, not dared to be picked even in famine. A clearing at the base of that colossal wreck untouched by humanity.

And then mottled sunlight descends.

The shadows grow darker and spots of sunlight wider, and your head snaps up in confusion.

Wings.

Tattered wings, holes ripped through that let sunlight pass through and camouflages him amongst the skies.

You have no time to process your demise, and just barely enough air in your lungs to scream as a gigantic claws thicker than tree saplings grasp around you into the ground, bringing up your prone form along with the cracked earth beneath you. 

You’re scooped up at the lowest point in the dive, with the ground now rapidly escaping your reach as wind rushes around you, disguising your screams amongst it. Clumps of rock and dirt tumble out of the Pale One’s claws at the edge, crumbling away where you remained firmly trapped in the centre.

You can’t even tell how high up you are, faced to the sky as you are, expect for the fact that the clouds are too close for comfort and despite the bright sunlight contracting so starkly against the dark silhouette engulfing you, darkness swallows your mind whole.

You don’t expect to wake, not truly, but when you do, it’s to a deep ache through your whole body, sharp shooting pains throughout your back where rubble digs in, and a pounding headache to match. Your limbs are weak, trembling and barely able to support yourself as you try and raise your torso up - spurred on by intense thirst and immeasurably dry mouth, lips chapped and throat raw and parched for a drop of moisture.

Maybe if your head hadn’t hurt so much you’d have thought this through, took a second to recover or even tried to crack open a scrunched up eye.

Maybe you wouldn’t have pushed yourself up, soft palm of your hand being stabbed by rock and earth as you shudder and wobble.

Maybe you wouldn’t have let out a deep, shaky exhale and feel a huff of hot air wash back over you in response, blowing back your hair.