‘Lennard and the Last Dragon’
In the heart of the emerald forest, there stood a time-worn castle, cradled by the undulating waves of the ancient trees. The Castle of the Old Kings, it was named, a monolith from a long-forgotten era. Our tale spins around an unusual protagonist, a humble Blacksmith named Lennard.
Lennard lead an uneventful life in the tranquil village of Thronwood, nestled at the edge of the forest. Despite the peaceful existence, Lennard always felt a pull towards the enigmatic Castle. The villagers warned him of the unspoken dread that lurked behind the moss-covered walls but Lennard was undeterred. One day, equipped with a brave heart and a satchel of tools, he embarked on the path he always desired.
Upon reaching the castle, he was met with eerie silence. In the echoing chambers of the dust-choked castle, Lennard’s bootsteps seemed to ring out a mocking challenge. He wandered through the hallways lined with grand tapestries, depicting tales of glorious battles, benevolent kings, and dauntless knights. A heavy sense of melancholy permeated the air and the once resplendent castle appeared to grieve its long-lost grandeur.
Suddenly, he came across a large, iron-studded door leading to the basement; locked and seemingly untouched. Fuelled by curiosity, Lennard donned his blacksmith gloves and picked the ancient lock. The door creaked open to reveal a dimly lit chamber, and in the centre, a colossal dragon lay, motionless as though woven from the shadows themselves.
The tales had indeed been true. The Castle of the Old Kings was the eternal prison of the last dragon. A communal gasp echoed through the village as Lennard recounted his encounter. The dragon, he learned, was trapped by an ancient spell, cursed to an eternal slumber until a pure-hearted person would break the silence and awaken it.
Lennard, being a blacksmith and having no knowledge of magic, felt helpless. But, deep inside he was determined to free the creature and restore balance to the old order. He studied the art of magic from the village elder and practiced till his fingertips became numb and his mind woozy from the potent spells.
Months turned into years, and finally, one cold winter night, Lennard was ready. His heart pounded in his chest as he stepped inside the castle, walking the same path he had tread years ago. As he unlatched the basement door, he could feel the dragon's mystic energy. It was more intense, almost sentient, resonating in harmony with his determined heart.
Lennard raised his hand, a magic rune glowing in his palm, the castle echoed with chants of an ancient spell. Suddenly, a brilliant light filled the chamber, blinding in its intensity. Yet, in the glow of the spell, the dragon's scales shimmered like a million galaxies. It blinked open its eyes, shaking off centuries-old slumber.
The dragon was a spectacular creature named Aegon, the last of his kind. He thanked Lennard and left the castle, soaring into the sky, a sight that left the villagers gaping in awe. Yet, Lennard was bestowed with an even greater reward for his kind heart. Aegon granted him a fire stone, a symbol of their bond and a key to harnessing dragon magic.
Lennard lived a tapstered life as a Hero, a title the villagers bestowed upon him. He did not just free a Dragon; he freed an era from the chains of myths. This tale of his, still a melody that lulls the village nights, a piece of heritage as profound as the Castle of the Old Kings.