A Dragon’s Gentle Awakening

A Dragon’s Gentle Awakening

The meadow had seen better days. Between the relentless winter and whatever those drunken wizards did last spring, the flowers hadn’t exactly bounced back. Patches of scorched earth still dotted the field, as if the land itself had given up and decided, "Screw it, we’re done."

And that’s when Ziggy, a newly hatched dragon, decided to make his grand entrance into the world.

Ziggy wasn’t your typical dragon. Sure, he had the sharp claws, the fiery breath, and those cute little wings that hadn’t quite figured out how to lift him off the ground yet. But his real power? Timing. Ziggy had the gift of showing up precisely when life hit rock bottom, like a beacon of hope... or at least, a mildly entertaining distraction from the dumpster fire of existence.

Emerging from his egg, Ziggy blinked at the world, stretching his tiny pink wings and yawning as if he'd just woken up from a hundred-year nap. The sun kissed his iridescent scales, casting a glow that would’ve been poetic if the damn field wasn’t so dead.

His first thought? “Well, this sucks.”

Ziggy trotted through the wilted flowers, his feet crunching through dried leaves. The meadow had been described to him by his ancestors as “a lush paradise, perfect for your first flight.” Right now, it looked more like the kind of place where hope goes to die.

“Guess I missed the memo on the apocalypse,” he muttered, kicking over a burnt dandelion. “First day out of the shell, and I get... this?”

He plopped down, tail twitching in frustration, and looked around for something to do. Ziggy wasn’t exactly big on “destiny” or “greatness” just yet. At the moment, his priorities were food, naps, and figuring out what the hell that weird itch was under his wing. But then, a noise caught his attention. It was faint, but it sounded like someone in the distance was having a really bad day. Or a really good brawl.

Curiosity piqued, Ziggy trotted toward the sound. As he crested a small hill, he found the source—two travelers, battered and bruised, sitting next to a dying campfire. One, a burly warrior with more scars than social skills, grumbled as he tried to wrap a bandage around his leg. The other, a roguish figure, held a flask to his lips like it was the last drink on earth.

“Of course, we get attacked by ogres,” the rogue said, taking a swig. “Why wouldn’t we? Just our luck.”

“At least we didn’t die,” the warrior growled. “Yet.”

Ziggy watched them from a distance, intrigued. These two looked like they had been through hell, and judging by their conversation, they weren’t exactly brimming with optimism. In fact, the rogue was muttering about how they’d probably end up as ogre poop in a ditch somewhere. Real uplifting stuff.

But there was something in the way they carried on, even in their defeat, that struck a chord with Ziggy. These idiots weren’t giving up. They’d been knocked down—hard—but they were still here, bandaging their wounds and cursing the universe, but not quitting.

“Dumbasses,” Ziggy snorted. “Guess someone’s gotta help ‘em out.”

With a little dragon-sized puff of determination, Ziggy stepped out into the clearing.

“Hey, jackasses!” he called out, his voice cracking adorably. “Need a hand?”

The rogue nearly choked on his drink. “What the—”

The warrior blinked. “Is that... a dragon?”

“Congratulations, you’ve got eyes,” Ziggy retorted. “Look, I’m new here, but even I can tell you two need all the help you can get. What happened, anyway? Ogre? Goblin? Or did you just trip over your own egos?”

The rogue smirked despite himself. “A dragon with an attitude. I like this kid.”

“Trust me, it’s mutual. Now, what’s the plan? Or are we just gonna sit here and wait for death to take us like a bad date?”

The warrior grunted. “No plan. Just... survive. Maybe make it to the next village, if we’re lucky.”

Ziggy rolled his eyes. “Wow. Inspiring. Listen, you two look like you’ve had a rough day, so here’s the deal: I’m sticking with you. Consider me your new bodyguard.”

“Bodyguard?” The rogue raised an eyebrow. “You? You’re like... two feet tall.”

“Yeah, but I breathe fire,” Ziggy shot back, blowing a small flame for emphasis. “And believe me, I’ve got plenty of fuel in the tank. So, are we doing this or not?”

The warrior stared at the tiny dragon for a moment, then sighed. “Screw it. Welcome to the team, dragon.”

And so, Ziggy—newly hatched, slightly crass, and full of sass—joined the ragtag duo. Together, they limped through the wastelands, fighting off monsters, bad luck, and occasionally each other. But through it all, Ziggy became more than just a source of sarcastic commentary. His small but fiery presence gave the two travelers something they hadn’t had in a long time—hope.

Because sometimes, the greatest strength comes from the smallest, most unexpected places. And in a world full of chaos, death, and disaster, a tiny dragon with a big mouth was exactly what they needed.

After all, hope doesn’t always come wrapped in a shining knight or a legendary warrior. Sometimes, it looks like a pink-scaled, fire-breathing smartass who refuses to let you give up.

And that was how Ziggy, the dragon who thought the world was pretty much garbage, learned that even in the worst of times, there's strength in showing up. Even if you don’t know what the hell you’re doing.

The End

 


 

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A Dragon’s Gentle Awakening

Comments

1 comment

Big love for the Little Dragon! Great story.

Nancy McKenzie

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