Page 2 of Of Flames and Fallacies

A dark figure glides in and out of the clouds above the Northern Forest. I stiffen as it turns back toward Padmoor and grows larger.

And larger.

Closer and closer.

Close enough that I note it’s a red dragon, with scales shimmering blood-red in the sunlight. Monstrous twisted blackhorns crown its head, with smaller spikes outlining its face. The creature parts its jaws, and daylight gleams against rows of black daggered teeth the length of my forearm. The thick scales armoring its chest glow a soft orange, its black talons flexing open and closed as it gathers its strength.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

My legs freeze in position, my mind screaming at me to run. I glance left then right, but the vast open space leaves me no place to hide. The red dragon releases a high-pitched roar, a cacophony more terrifying than any beast known to humans. My ears ring, and my blood shudders in my veins.

The beast’s molten yellow eyes lock with mine.

My breath is stuck in my throat.

I’m as dead as the man in the street.

I drag my gaze away, looking down at my feet and accepting my fate. A wall of solid wind hits me, knocking me off balance. I fall backwards, landing on the ground with a splitting ache in my head. Blinking open my eyes, the scaled underbelly of the beast bullets past me. The air around me stills.

I shift up to my elbows and toss a glance over my shoulder.

The dragon dips low and glides toward Padmoor again.

Steel javelins from the Padmoor outpost’s ballista rocket toward the creature. From this distance, the sharp slivers of metal are no bigger than the size of a child’s arm. But up close, they’re as tall as a doorframe, with multiple sets of metal barbs lining its column.

Several of the javelins sink into the red webbing of the dragon’s wings. The beast screeches, and I clap my hands over my ears as its high-pitched cries reverberate within me. The dragon falters mid-flight, the flap of its wings becoming erratic as it careens toward the ground. It slams into the earth, rocks and dirt bursting into the air on contact, and the groundshudders underneath my feet. The dragon attempts to rise, its thick talons sinking into the ground for leverage, but with its wings punctured, it’s unable to maintain balance.

Soldiers close in, swarming around the beast, their weapons raised and aimed on their target. I look away as a strained roar dies, and triumphant cheers ring out across the land—confirmation of the soldiers’ success.

I’ve always wondered what they do with the bodies. It would take at least two dozen men to drag something of that size, but to where? By the next day, there will be no trace of the animal. It will be as though it never existed. The only remaining evidence will be the crater left behind where it landed, and the char marks in the streets of Padmoor.

And the empty bed where the dead man used to lay.

My heart sinks. He was probably someone’s father, brother, husband, or friend.He could have been me.

Or Cole.

My heart tumbles at the thought of Cole. Memories crash and swarm around me, drowning every other thought aside from him. I force my steps forward, walking west toward home, one foot in front of the other.

It’s been months since I’ve seen or heard from Cole—the longest we’ve ever gone without speaking. Knowing we may never speak again pains me. The military doesn’t allow correspondence except from family members or spouses. Had I agreed to his proposal, I would have fit in that latter category.

I shove the thought away. I have too much to do and too many worries to spend additional time or energy thinking about Cole or what could’ve been. In fact, I’m more pissed off than sad—at least that’s what I tell myself.

The ground beneath my feet rises and falls as I trek through the hills. The sun warms my back, and the wind picks up, brushing against my clothes. As I near the familiar angled roofof my home, free of any flames or scorch marks, I loose a shaky breath. The doorknob squeaks in my hand as I twist it and open the front door.

“Mother?” I call out as I enter. My gaze sweeps across the kitchen with our rickety wooden table and chairs, to the makeshift fireplace in the opposite corner of the room. Despite the season nearing fall, the room is uncomfortably warm. Flecks of dust fall like snow in the rays of light streaking through the windows across the room. I walk toward the windows, cracking them open to admit fresh air. My gaze catches on the distant speck of the dragon and the swarm of soldiers. I glance toward the sky and breathe out a sigh of relief. No trails of smoke nor flares of orange block out the sky. The city Padmoor will survive another day.

I set my satchel down in my room then walk across the hallway to my mother’s bedroom. I stare at the doorknob, debating whether to disturb her. I turn the knob, achingly slow, hoping she might be asleep. The door squeaks open, and I peer through the few inches of space.

Mother sits on the edge of her bed, back facing me, and her attention focused out the window at the forest behind our house. She’s still, animated only by the gentle rise and fall of her shoulders.

I wait a second, maybe two, then walk toward her as she lifts a hand and points one finger toward the window. As I turn the corner of the bed I scan her face. Her skin is pale, the sockets of her eyes deepening with each passing day. Even her long, blonde hair has lost its luster. But what haunts me most is the glazed vacancy in her eyes and the way she fixes her gaze at the window. The first time I discovered her this way was terrifying, her body so eerily still and quiet, yet somehow a warning.

I lay my hand on her outstretched one, then crouch in front of her. “Mother.” My voice is only a hair louder than a breath.

Her gaze remains focused on an invisible something in the distance, and her hand trembles, the shaking rising up her arm.

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