Utopia

Jasoar Redking, Lord of Fire and Bringer of Death, arrived on wings of flame to defend the sacred border march. The astral paths blazed like kindling behind him as they closed, and he touched down on hard mountain soil overlooking a blighted and ugly world.

His thoughts were flame, quick and destructive.

'Terra. The world of Man.'

The Redking snapped a maple tree underfoot and watched it sizzle beneath his smoldering claws. He sniffed the air and folded his wings.

The sun sat high in the sky, centered over the concrete wasteland surrounding the mountain's base. It was noon on Terra.

'Close,' Jasoar thought. "The trespasser's stink permeates the area.'

The red dragon's snout wrinkled. Time moved unreasonably quickly on Terra.

Pollution from Mankind's cities choked and tainted the air while metal birds carried delicate humans through the skies. Snake-like caravans of steel wound across the planet on metal and wooden paths that looked like stitches from dragon-view, ushering goods from one people to the next. And everything that man created spat black smoke and poisoned the land, killing or crippling their food supplies.

They were a small and physically frail people, Jasoar thought, out of tune with nature and reliant on cunning and intellect for survival. It was his purpose and pleasure to keep them from entering his home. He would deter them if they were good and devour them if evil.

The tantalizing thought made the enormous dragon's mouth water. He set off in the direction of the intruders, tasting the air occasionally with his long, forked tongue.

Jasoar's sense of smell was accurate up to five miles, and he moved quickly, following the growing scent of recently lit tobacco, spilt alcohol, and stale urine. The smells were out of place this high in the mountains. The humans had come close, too close, to the border between worlds. They would have to be made an example of.

Too large for this world, the Redking bent and splintered the trees as he passed. His footfalls shook the mountain, leaving deep imprints in the rocky earth, and flame trailed from his maw. He was eager for the destruction to come, and his powerful body trembled with excitement.

'Just ahead!' Jasoar thought hungrily, putting on a burst of speed.

A roar built in the Redking's throat and he unleashed it as he trampled the insignificant pines standing between him and his prey. His powerful body crackled with infernal intent as the dust from the trees rose around him.

"FEAR ME!" Jasoar bellowed, his red eyes scanning the area. "I am fire and death!"

His words rumbled across the mountain, absolute and undeniable. No creature dared make a sound in the presence of the primeval gargantuan. Every animal cowered in their dens or had long fled the mountain.

The clearing lay empty and in ruins. Where were the human warriors with their rock shooters and swords? The trespassers he'd sensed from the other side of the world?

"Hey! You!" A tiny voice called out from the clearing below.

Jasoar peered down into the dust. A diminutive creature stumbled near his claws, coughing. With a mighty growl, the Redking swept a wing over the clearing, sending the dust flying from the mountain. There, small and fierce, glaring up at him with light brown eyes, was a young boy of no more than three.

The tiny youth had shaggy brown hair that matched a rugged and ripped bomber jacket he tugged on nervously. He wore grass-stained, dirty blue jeans and a pair of little black boots too big for his feet. His eyes were red from crying, and there were scratches on his cheeks and hands.

"A child?" Jasoar asked, growling.

The Redking planted his feet and scanned the area. The trampled Pine trees had crushed most of the clearing, but remnants of the human camp remained. Jasoar identified food and drink packages scattered amongst the bushes and broken glass bottles that caught the light of the mid-afternoon sun.

There were other things that the great dragon could not identify, syringes and medical supplies, bottles of pills, and strangely shaped glass pipes. Broken musical instruments and portable amplification devices littered the camp, and a trail of footsteps lead down the mountain in a hurry.

In their haste, the trespassers had abandoned the boy.

Jasoar Redking growled low and turned his blazing eyes to the child stumbling near his claws. The little boy looked around at the destruction the dragon had caused and gestured to the trees.

"Why you do that?" the young boy asked.

Jasoar glared down at the fleshy creature. Stubborn defiance burned in the toddler's brown eyes. He had lines on his dirt-smeared cheeks, riverbeds carved by his tears.

The Lord of Flame had not come here on blazing wings to kill a child. He found the thought as distasteful as the crowded and filthy cities humanity called home. And yet, Mankind was a race prone to violence and destruction. Many grew to be evil. Would it not be a mercy to stomp this tiny creature from existence?

After all, it had been abandoned.

"Where are your parents, child?" Jasoar asked though he knew the answer to the question.

The youth's eyes darkened. He put his head down and pointed at the tracks leading down the mountain. His aura changed from one of defiance and curiosity to defensiveness and withdrawal. Despite the wonder before him, with but a question, the boy grew still.

A growl of disproval curled from the lips of the great red dragon.

'Cowards! Who would abandon a child!?'He thought, shaking his head.

Jasoar's eyes flashed with magic as he curled low around the boy, bristling with fury and as much tenderness as he could manage. His sunset wings and warm, spined tail wrapped the youth in a pleasant embrace. Fresh tears manifested at the tender gesture, and the boy hid them, as though ashamed. He leaned into the warm, red scales of Jasoar and shuddered.

Flashes of pain manifested in the child's aura. The Redking studied them, noting lacerations along his ribs and a pool of blood drying in the boy's jeans. He pressed into the dragon, and Jasoar could feel his pain and confusion, the hurt of loss, and the relief of safety. With every shiver, the Redking became more enraged, his burning eyes flashing in the direction of the nearby city.

Someone had hurt this child, intentionally.

"Boy," Jasoar rumbled as soft as he could. "What is your name?"

The rumble of the dragon's voice was like soothing thunder, and the tiny human looked up.

"Oliver," the youth said.

Jasoar nodded and drew closer, curling about himself until the boy was close to his snout. Despite the proximity to the dragon's maw, fear never clouded Oliver's aura. This was good and strange. Why would the boy feel safer in the clutches of an ancient foe than with his own people?

"What happened here?" Jasoar asked.

Oliver's head immediately went down. He began to absently play with the dragon's hide, picking dirt from between the massive scales. His aura became instantly clouded and distracted, almost purposefully so. Jasoar watched and waited, but no answer came.

'He has suffered,' Jasoar realized. 'Like the veterans of the Giant wars, he owns experiences he cannot speak on! But he is a welp! A Wyrmling!'

A great fire burned in the belly of the Redking, and he desired nothing more than to unleash it on those who had hurt Oliver.

But his rage mingled with sorrow as he looked at the boy. Jasoar had come to slay humans, trespassers. His duty called on him to devour this youth and be done with it. A message to the lower races: stay low and far from the border marches. Do not exceed your station.

Yet something in him stayed his teeth. The defiance in the child's brown eyes as he'd stared at the approaching dragon was like nothing Jasoar had ever seen. A boy more afraid of his kind than the bringer of death and flame.

A decision needed to be made, and Jasoar knew just how to make it.

'Oliver,' Jasoar said, speaking directly into the child's mind.

The youth snapped up, brown eyes wide with wonder. His thoughts were wild and unfocused but guarded. So very guarded.

Jasoar laid his head on the ground and tucked his feet beneath him. He settled his gaze on the boy's shimmering brown eyes and sighed.

'I am going to use an ability my people call 'The Scales'. It reads your soul, determining your nature from your memories, and then reveals fragments of your future.'

Oliver stared at Jasaor, transfixed by the mesmeric glow of the dragon's immense red eyes, then nodded. The Redking smiled, despite himself.

'I know you don't understand, but your fate lies in the balance. Unveil yourself, little one.'

Jasoar's red eyes flashed gold, and he was in, past the meager defenses of the three-year-old boy, swimming through the endless expanse of his soul.

It was darker than Jasoar had expected. Light struggled to pierce the gloom. The world of Oliver's soul was viscous and murky, but the power of the Scales would show him the way. Jasoar pumped his wings and made for the nearest source of light. A memory.

He was there in an instant, breaking through into sporadic immersion. What he saw sent ripples of discord shivering down his spine.

Fragments.

A room of medicine. The boy, an infant, surrounded by healers. A machine that kept the tiny infant alive.

Jasoar could feel Oliver's heart desperately pumping. His little fists were closed tight as he fought for a chance at tomorrow. The healers discussed the facts in cold undertones. There were drugs in his blood, and he was underweight and sick.

The Redking pulled from the memory and moved to the next seamlessly. He was in control now, riding the turbulent waters of the soul. He moved forward in time, pushing towards another source of light. More memories.

Glimpses.

A dark room full of people. The pungent smell of tobacco smoke and Marijuana choked the air, mingling with spilled beer and bodily excretions. Oliver was crying. His face was red, and his cradle was soiled. His cries went unanswered. The music was too loud.

Jasoar could feel the fire in his belly growing hotter in direct response to his rage. He breathed deep, struggling to maintain neutrality as he continued.

The next source of light, another memory, was a ways away. The Redking pumped flame through his wings and hastened on, surfacing into a world of twisted justice.

This memory was bright. A room of human law where those with power judged those with less. A wooden mallet came down, and a woman began to scream. She called Oliver's name as the boy, now about two, was escorted from the room by strangers.

The Redking didn't understand the details, but the image haunted him as he moved to the next memory, this one more recent.

He saw the forest clearing as it was before he'd smashed Pine trees into it. The trespassers danced and laughed in the mid-afternoon sun, drinking heavily and inhaling fumes from their glass pipes. One of them, a male, hurt the young boy and laughed, and the others joined in, mocking Oliver's pain. They left him, humiliated and bloody when the shadow of the Redking passed over. In their inebriated state, they fled the mountain, leaving Oliver behind.

Enraged, Jasoar pulled from the visions. He raised to his full height, smoke snorting from his nostrils. Fire crackled along his wings, blazing suddenly into existence, and it took all of his self-control not to launch into the sky and burn the city to ash. Down below, the human world carried on, oblivious to the suffering of one of their own.

Gently, Jasoar unwound from Oliver, and the toddler stumbled, uncertain on his little feet. He stared up at the red dragon with a strange mix of understanding and empathy.

"Don't be sad," Oliver said, sounding out the words carefully. He put a hand on Jasoar's tail. The great dragon could hardly feel it.

"You were in here?" Oliver asked.

He put a hand to his head. Jasoar nodded and came closer. Gingerly, he tapped the boy's chest with a single claw.

"And also in there, your heart," Jasoar said.

He sighed, conflicted. If he left the child and did not slay it, what would become of it? More of the same? Jasoar had to know.

Understanding the nature of the boy's violations, Jasoar proceeded more respectfully. He lay his head on the ground again and softened his voice. His tail curled around Oliver as his eyes flashed with mesmeric and mysterious power.

'May I proceed again, Oliver? Jasoar asked, speaking into the child's thoughts.

There was a moment of hesitation from Oliver, and then he agreed. Jasoar thanked him and dove. In a wave of transference, the dragon's consciousness shot into the depths of Oliver's soul and the power of The Scales took over.

'Show me the fragments of possibility. What awaits this one?' Jasoar commanded.

Though sluggish to respond, the dark and murky world began to churn, as if caught in a whirlpool. Beyond, like an oasis in a sandstorm, lay bits and pieces of what could and would be. Jasoar need only reach them to see.

In a burst of astral might, The Redking surged forward, breaking through the murky barrier into the ocean of destiny. Glistening in the darkness like stars amidst an endless, midnight tapestry were glowing islands, fragments of possibility. Some were iron-clad, unavoidable no matter what path Oliver took. Others seemed more flimsy, images made of dreams and clouds, barely able to support weight.

Jasoar flew past them all, taking them in like kaleidoscope fragments, letting the pieces form a whole.

Pieces.

Low-funded child halls and orphan institutions dotted the landscape. Shimmers of hope, rainbows in an otherwise ebon world, represented chances at freedom, at normality. A word flitted through the darkness on wings of light.

Adoption.

It was shot down by a smiling hunter and Oliver was returned to the cage.

Everywhere Jasoar looked, evil festered, allowed to rot in the same space human society raised their unwanted children. The dragon saw child cruelty disguised as punishment by Oliver's caretakers and vicious beatings in the night at the hands of the other children. A boy took advantage of him the first day they met, leaving him bloody and broken in a bathroom.

The encounter would scar Oliver for the rest of his life.

Jasoar plunged forward, searching for hope but each fragment of what could be only painted a more damning whole. A pure, white-hot rage threatened to consume the red dragon, and he pulled from the Scales and the visions they offered.

There, waiting, looking up at him with patient, sleepy brown eyes, was Oliver.

"You ok?" the young boy asked.

Jasoar raised his head and looked away.

He was not ok. His entire draconic body trembled with righteous fury. At every turn, the world of Man would fail this child, cultivating within him dark and terrible anger that would burn him like a pyre. Nothing but darkness and a fine, red mist of rage existed beyond Oliver's teenage years, rendering the Scales useless. Though the boy's nature was good, Jasoar would have to make a tough decision.

The Redking knew that he should slay the child. Only misery and suffering awaited young Oliver. His path was predestined by the lawmakers of his world, and they would fail him.

How could any good come from so much suffering? Should not he spare the world another evil, snuff it out before the candle became a blaze that threatened others? It was a question of morality the dragon hadn't expected to answer today.

"They hurt you," Jasoar said, looking out over the city from his mountain perch. "And they have darkened your path."

A sound, like a little cough, was Oliver's only answer, and Jasoar turned to see him curled up in his tail, sound asleep. Without realizing it, Jasoar had laid his wing across the boy's chest like a warm, weighted blanket. Oliver gripped it tight in tiny hands.

Failed by his parents. By his people.

Jasoar could not bring death to slumbering humanity below; to do so would be a violation of his oath to protect the border marches, but he wanted to. In the name of vengeance and righteousness, he wanted to. But Jasoar was locked, sworn to duty. He could defend the gateway between worlds with lethal authority, but no more.

"You would be better off raised by dragon-kind than these animals," Jasoar rumbled.

The thought struck The Redking like lightning, and his head shot up, eyes alight with passion. This boy would become evil, yes. The red mist of rage would color his world as he was failed time after time by his people.

But what if Oliver was not raised by his people? What if Jasoar Redking raised him?

The question was tantalizing and tasted like electricity on his tongue. He considered the possibilities. It wasn't against dragon law. Though their worlds were separate, a small portion of humanity had managed to slip through over the eons. They had acclimated nicely to the magical climate of the land, forming small kingdoms and pleasant villages.

Jasoar could do this, but he would have to consult the Scales. Given what he'd seen, it would be irresponsible not to.

The red dragon took a deep breath and turned the mighty power of prophecy on himself. As the Scales activated, peering deep into the volcanic ocean of Jasoar's soul, he closed his eyes and listened to the gentle breathing of the child sleeping in his curled tail.

'Show me. What if I raised the boy?' Jasoar asked the scales.

His ability did not work all that well on himself. The Scales weighed the souls of others, not the self. Even still, Jasoar settled and focused. He allowed his soul to unfurl like a great set of wings, and the Scales took root.

Fragments.

Glimpses.

Pieces of a whole, but it was enough.

In those momentary images, wisps of possibility that may or may not come to pass, Jasoar saw what he needed to see. The boy was smiling. Astride the back of the Redking, in the cave palace of Durumthall, he was smiling. Atop a cliff overlooking the world, spear in hand, he was smiling.

Jasoar broke from The Scales and rose, gently lifting the sleeping boy with his curled tail. He placed the small child in a crook between his wings, nestled against the red dragon's warm neck.

'Sleep well, young Oliver,' Jasoar whispered into the boys resting subconscious.

With a few massive wingbeats, the Lord of Flame lifted into the air. He bugled a warning that echoed across the disgusting cityscape and then turned and began to soar toward the mountain's peak. It shimmered, ready to welcome the dragon home, and Jasoar put on speed, eager to breathe clean air.

'Terra was hell for you, but none shall harm you again while you rest beneath my wing,' Jasoar promised.

The world pulsed, and reality warped around them as Jasoar crested inches above the top of the mountain, sliding between realms, his wings tucked tight. The roars of dragon-kind greeted him as he unfurled his wings in a fiery orange sky, catching the sweet updraft of home.

Jasoar craned his neck to look at his sleeping charge and smiled.

'There is no proper translation in the human tongue for my, for our home,' Jasoar said gently, not wanting to wake Oliver. 'But a land must have a name, one that you can speak with pride.'

The Redking thought for a moment, letting the wind drift across his blazing wings like a massage. It came to him in a burst of inspiration.

'Yes, that will do. Oliver Redking, welcome home. To Utopia.'

The End