The Summer's end

Finnley sat cross-legged on the soft moss, hands buried in his pockets, shifting a small stone between his fingers. The wind carried the scent of rain through the valley, and above him, Vryathar’s enormous golden wings rustled gently as the old dragon curled around the roots of a great oak.

"You always know when it's about to storm," Finnley murmured, watching the sky shift from blue to grey.

Vryathar chuckled, his deep voice rolling like distant thunder. "I have seen more storms than you have seen summers, little one. The air speaks to those who know how to listen."

Finnley kicked at the dirt. "You always talk like that. Like the world is whispering secrets to you. But if it is, why don’t I hear them?"

The dragon tilted his head, his long whiskers twitching. "Because you are still young. The world only speaks to those who have learned to be quiet enough to listen."

The boy frowned. "That doesn’t seem fair. I don’t want to be quiet."

Vryathar smiled. "No, I suppose you don’t."

A comfortable silence stretched between them, interrupted only by the rustling of leaves.

"Vryathar?" Finnley asked after a while.

"Hmm?"

"Will there always be dragons?"

The dragon shifted slightly, his tail curling around himself. "Ah. That is a question I have heard before."

"And?"

"And the answer is not as simple as you might hope."

Finnley sat up straighter. "You mean no, don’t you?"

Vryathar exhaled slowly, a wisp of golden smoke curling from his nostrils. "Not in the way you think."

Finnley scowled. "That’s just another riddle."

"Perhaps. But tell me, Finnley—do you remember the first time you saw me?"

The boy grinned. "Of course. You were huge! Bigger than the tallest tree, and your wings were like—like sunlight on a river!"

Vryathar laughed. "That is not what you said at the time. You called me a 'fat old lizard' and tried to poke me with a stick."

Finnley giggled. "Yeah, well, I was five."

"And now you are nearly ten."

The boy nodded. "So?"

"So, you see me differently now."

Finnley hesitated. "I guess. You seem… smaller, maybe? Not as bright?"

Vryathar sighed. "That is the way of things, little one. When children are small, they see dragons everywhere—in the clouds, in the forests, in the corners of their own dreams. But as they grow, the dragons grow smaller. Quieter. Until one day…"

Finnley’s stomach twisted. "Until one day what?"

The dragon did not answer. Instead, he turned his gaze toward the horizon, where the first raindrops kissed the earth.

The boy swallowed hard. "You mean until one day I won’t see you anymore."

Vryathar dipped his head.

Finnley clenched his fists. "But that’s not fair! That’s not right! I don’t want to stop seeing you!"

"Ah, but it is not a matter of wanting, Finnley. It is simply the way of things. Childhood is a season, just like summer, and no summer lasts forever."

The boy shook his head violently. "Then I’ll remember. I’ll make sure I never forget you, no matter how old I get!"

The dragon’s golden eyes softened. "I believe you will try. But memory is a strange thing, Finnley. The sharper you hold onto something, the faster it fades."

Finnley’s eyes burned. He hadn’t noticed it before, but Vryathar really did seem smaller today. His wings, once so grand, were folded tight against his body. His scales, once blinding, looked duller in the dimming light.

"But I don’t want you to go," Finnley whispered.

Vryathar lowered his head until their foreheads touched, warm scales against cool skin. "I will always be here, in the stories you tell, in the dreams you dream. And one day, if you are very lucky, you might hear the whisper of wings on the wind and remember what it was to believe."

The rain began to fall in earnest. Finnley wiped his eyes, but when he looked up again, Vryathar was already fading into the mist.

"Wait!" the boy called, but his voice was swallowed by the storm.

And just like that, the last dragon was gone.

FSF