And Her Sapphire Glittered in the Darkest of Nights
The dragon awoke to shrieks outside his cavern.
He flicked one eye open, the slitted pupil already trained on the entrance. The screams were distant, but loud and shrill enough to echo down to him. He watched and listened for several long moments, and the sounds only grew louder.
Slowly, the dragon’s head rose. Dust tumbled from his chin, and his neck strained against the motion. Every slight movement felt like oil to his rusty bones. His muscles squealed to life, and he managed to lumber over to the cave entrance. He craned his head up.
A sinkhole just wide enough for the dragon’s body extended far above him. Magma cascaded along the walls of the pit, oozing from the rock like the planet’s lifeblood and coalescing into a small lake beneath the cavern’s entrance. Smoke smelling of sulfur flowed in much the same way as the magma—thick and slow.
The dragon looked up through it all and saw a tiny, flailing, pink thing. It fluttered closer to the pit’s basin, coughing and wailing as it thrashed about. Squinting as the thing drew nearer, the dragon made out its form: four tiny legs, two feathered wings, and a bushy mane and tail. Volcanic air burst from the dragon’s nostrils. He kept his eyes focused on the pegasus pony, never so much as blinking.
Eventually the pony came as close as it could, and it landed unceremoniously atop the dragon’s muzzle. The dragon eyed the pony more closely as it continued flailing and shrieking against his scales. It looked small, even by pony standards—a child, perhaps. Its coat and wings were light pink, and its mane and tail were striped in three different colours: yellow, pink, and purple. A pale blue scarf was wrapped around its neck, dusty and torn.
The pony’s screams died away, yet it trembled regardless. It opened its eyes and met the dragon’s glare. Squeaking one more time, the pony scrambled to its hooves and recoiled as far from the dragon’s eyes as it could. It shook wildly and opened its mouth, but no words came out.
A guttural noise rose from the dragon’s throat, and the air rumbled as he pushed the growl through his teeth. He narrowed his eyes at the pony and croaked a single word: “Flee.”
The pony gulped. “I…” the pony said, its voice distinctly feminine. “I c-can’t.”
“You have wings,” the dragon grumbled. “Use them.”
“I… I d-don’t know how,” the pony whispered. She pressed her body tight against the dragon’s muzzle, her mouth a quivering frown. “Please… please, Mister D-Dragon.” She pressed her face against one of his scales, screwing her eyes shut. “Please don’t hurt me.”
The dragon growled again. Keeping his head level, he pulled himself and the pony into his cavern. Once he had gone a reasonable distance from the lip of the cave, he tilted his head down and allowed the pony to slide onto the rock. He retreated a few more steps, his eyes never leaving her.
Still shaking, the pony peeked one eye open. Her eyes went wide, and she swiveled her head around at the cave floor. She rose to her hooves and looked up at the dragon. “Th-thank you,” she muttered, blinking a few times. The dragon snorted and turned away. He looked to his pile of treasures near the back of the cavern and started back towards it.
“Wait!” the pony called from behind. The dragon didn’t turn around, but he did stop moving. “Thank…” The dragon heard hesitation in the silence. “Thank you for saving me,” she said. “I… I accidentally fell into this hole, and I can’t fly, and… I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”
“I do not care, little pony,” the dragon grumbled. “Be on your way.”
“But… Mister Dragon, why did you save me? Elder always told me dragons were monsters, and—”
Unbridled heat flared in the dragon’s chest. He wheeled around and bore his teeth at the pony, making her shriek and stumble backwards. A constant rumble beneath his voice, the dragon said, “Be wary of how you speak, little pony.”
The pony blinked rapidly, a faint sheen covering her eyes. The dragon took a step closer and said, “We are an honourable race, not a savage one. We are ruthless and just, never cruel or unfair.” An airy hiss slithered between his teeth. “Your only crime is idiocy, little pony. If you die down here, it will not be because of your own ineptitude. It will be because I deem it necessary. Do you understand?” The pony gulped and nodded. The dragon turned away again, his tail narrowly missing the pony as he swung it behind himself. His footsteps quaked the cavern as he approached his hoard.
The dragon positioned himself so one eye was aimed at the pony, then he settled his body against the treasure. Gold coins flowed like water beneath him, and precious metals tinkled against one another as the dragon shifted. He huffed through his nose as his head hit the floor, then his eyelids slid shut.
A mere few moments passed before the pony said, “How am I supposed to get out of here?” Her voice was trembling. The dragon said nothing. “Is there another way out… Mister Dragon?” Again, the dragon chose not to respond. “Can you at least tell me your name?”
The dragon opened an eye and narrowed it at the pony. “If you muster the gall to ask me that again, I will scorch you where you stand.” He slammed his eye shut and said, “Leave me be.”
Silence fell. “Sorry…” the pony muttered. “Thanks again for saving me. My name is Cadance, by the way.”
“I still do not care, little pony.” Without another sound, the dragon concentrated on the warmth of his treasure hoard and slipped into unconsciousness.
***
The pony groaned, and the dragon stirred awake. He remained motionless, but he listened carefully as the pony grunted time and again. In the rhythm between her noises, something kept striking the cave floor with a sound like bone on rock. The dragon opened his eye a crack.
With a grunt, the pony jumped into the air and flapped her wings wildly. She hovered for a fraction of a second before falling to the ground, her hooves clicking against the stone floor. She exhaled heavily, then her eyes steeled over and she leapt into the air again. Her time in the air was shorter, and she tripped when she landed. She sighed and tried again.
The dragon watched for several of her attempts. He watched her wings buzz like a mosquito’s, watched her scarf flutter around her neck, and watched her drop from the air in a tizzy. It happened nearly identically every time. A clock could’ve been set by the pattern.
Eventually her breaths became hoarse, so she stopped and panted. She collapsed on her hindquarters and turned her head towards the cave entrance. Still breathing erratically, she fell forward and buried her face in her forelegs.
The dragon closed his eye and fell back asleep.
***
The dragon whelp’s claws were chipped and splintered and tender to the touch. He frowned and rubbed his aching jaw as he walked down the steep tunnel. A pebble dislodged itself from between his teeth, so he crunched it and swallowed the coarse dust. It tasted like nothing.
As the sloping tunnel became shallower, the whelp looked ahead and saw the orange glow of magma. He picked up his pace just a little, but his foot caught on a bump in the rock and he tumbled forward. Little grunts and groans punched their way out of his mouth as he bounced the rest of the tunnel’s length and smacked face first into the cave floor.
A low chuckle filled the chamber around him. “Eager to be done with the day’s work, my child?” his mother said.
The whelp peeled himself from the rock and coughed up dust. “You could say that,” he said. He stepped over to a boulder that was slightly larger than himself and rolled it towards the tunnel he’d just left. “I still don’t really get why I have to do this.”
“It is to prevent intruders from seeing or using the tunnel,” his mother said.
“Not the boulder,” the whelp said, settling the rock squarely into the tunnel’s mouth. “I mean the whole tunnel. I’m gonna have wings one day, and you can take me up to the surface until then.” He turned to his mother, glaring into her eyes. “Seems pointless.”
His mother snorted. Billowing green clouds exploded from her nostrils and weaved between her black scales. “So you plan on relying upon bold assumptions and the kindness of others for your entire life?”
The whelp sat himself against a small pile of gemstones sitting beside a massive hoard of treasure. He huffed and crossed his arms.
Frowning, his mother slithered closer. She wrapped her body around the whelp and his gems, then she placed her head on the ground before him, staring down her snout at him. “We live in a savage, cruel world, my son. You do not understand why this is necessary yet, but you will one day.”
The whelp rolled his eyes, “Well, isn’t that a convenient excuse.” He wrapped his tail around a sapphire and plopped it in his mouth.
“Tell me, my child, what you would do if I left tonight and never returned.” She plucked the gem from between his lips and tossed it into the magma pool beyond the cavern’s edge. “Perhaps you were born with a defect that will prevent you from being able to fly. What then? What if harpies or pegasi attack here while I am away? Will you fight them off?” She smirked and grunted. “You wouldn’t last a minute.”
And icy feeling ran through the whelp’s veins. He looked up at his mother with wide eyes and stammered, “I… uh…”
“Kindness and fortune are fleeting in this world, my child.” She ran a single claw along his spines. He could feel every bump and ridge in the appendage. His mother smiled at him and said, “I can only point you in the right direction. You must learn to forge your own path, or you will not survive. Remember that well.”
The whelp struggled with his tongue, trying to form some reply. He finally settled on a sigh, hunched his back, and said, “But that seems so unfair…”
His mother blinked at him. “Dragons are an honourable race. We are ruthless and just.” She reached into her hoard and picked up a large sapphire, placing it atop the whelp’s little pile. “But we are never unfair or cruel.” The claw stroking the whelp’s spines slid him against his mother’s body, and he pressed himself into her scales. “All in due time, little one. You will understand in due time.”
Pulling himself into a ball, the whelp yawned. “I hope so,” he said. His mother’s warmth encased him like a blanket, and he was asleep in moments.
***
“Are you awake?” the pony whispered. The dragon’s eyelid whipped open. He saw the pony jump a little, but she didn’t recoil. “Oh, sorry. Did I wake you up?”
“Yes,” the dragon said. He eyed the pony over. Sweat clung just beneath her mane, and she had taken her scarf off and had wrapped it around a stalagmite in the distance. Bags sat beneath her eyes, and she seemed visibly less shaken than when the dragon had fallen asleep.
The pony frowned and scuffed her hoof against the floor. “Sorry,” she said. “I just wanted to ask you something.”
“It is of no concern to me.” Readjusting himself against the treasure hoard, the dragon closed his eye.
“But you haven’t even heard the question yet!” the pony whined. After some time without replying, the dragon heard the pony stomp her hoof. “I don’t understand why you have to be so mean. You saved my life. Why are you ignoring me now?”
Growling, the dragon flicked his eye open again. “You are testing my patience, little pony. Find your way out of my domain, and do not disturb me again.”
“That’s actually what I wanted to ask you about,” the pony said. Her eyes flitted over to the dragon’s side, then she met his gaze again. “I’ve… I’ve been trying to fly so I can get back to my village—back to my family—but I just… I’m not having much luck.”
“I saw,” the dragon said. “Your attempts were pitiful.”
The pony hung her head and closed her eyes. “Yeah,” she muttered, “I know.” She shook her head and looked back at the dragon. “But you’re a dragon, Mister Dragon, and you have wings! So I was hoping that maybe since… since you were nice enough to save my life, you… you could… uh…” Her mouth worked wordlessly as the fire behind the dragon’s eye intensified.
The dragon’s massive head rose, and his maw swung to face the pony. She ran backwards from him, but not before he shot a puff of volcanic air at her through his nostrils, making her cough wildly. The dragon reared his head up and said, “You are walking on very thin ice, little pony. Do you have even the slightest notion of who I am?”
“You—” the pony began, but a coughing wheeze cut her off. “You never told me your name.”
Like the bark on a burning log, the dragon’s lips peeled away from his teeth. “Are you truly that thick? Even at your age you must have heard legends of my conquests. Legends of towns razed and civilizations ruined. Every battle waged against me has ended in firestorm, for I am power.” Bits of flame licked the corners of his mouth. “I am the greatest arbiter your kind has ever known, little pony. I blot out light in favour of fire. Use your brain! Or is it as deficient as your wings?”
At that, the pony flinched. She shrunk away from him, and the colour bled from her face. Barely above a whisper, she said, “The… The F-Flightless Fury.”
With another thunderous growl, the dragon brought his head back down. “That,” he said, curling back into a sleeping position, “is the title your ancestors gave me. Learn to fear it, little pony.” His eye slammed shut, and only the slow moan of cascading magma filled the silence.
***
For a reason he couldn’t name, the dragon woke again. When he didn’t hear the pony whatsoever, he opened his eye.
She slept on the cave floor, halfway between him and the entrance. A frown split the pony’s face, and her entire expression seemed pained. Her scarf was folded beneath her head, creating a thin cushion against the stone.
The dragon watched her for an unusual length of time before his eye closed.
***
He heard the pony gasp, and the dragon’s eye instantly winked open.
She still lay on her side atop her scarf, but her eyes were wide and stark. She blinked a few times before pushing herself to her hooves. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I forgot I was here, and I was kinda hoping this had all been a nightmare, and… I’m sorry.” The dragon closed his eye without a word.
The silence stretched for several minutes before the pony spoke again. “I… I was thinking last night… Can you fly?” she asked. When the dragon made no reply, she said, “Is that why you’re called Flightless Fury? Is that why you won’t help me get out of here? Because you can’t?”
“You are very strange, little pony,” the dragon grumbled. “It is not natural to be so inquisitive when faced with death.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
Still keeping his eyes closed, the dragon huffed. “Of course I can fly,” he said. “I choose not to.”
“Why?”
“Because I see no reason to.”
“It would help me get back home. Then you wouldn’t have to worry about me bothering you anymore.”
The dragon let his eyelid slide open. The pony was watching him with odd curiosity in her eyes. “Flight is my weapon, little pony, and I do not wield it lightly. I have not flown in over one hundred years, and I will not fly today. Your problem is your own, and I am no one’s chariot.” His eye slammed back shut. “Forge your own path out of this place.”
He heard the pony’s hoofsteps echoing through the cavern, growing slightly louder. She stopped moving, there was a silence, then she said, “Do you have a family?”
“This discussion is over, pony. Begone.” As he withheld the temptation to open his eye one more time, the dragon listened closely. He heard the pony sigh, heard her walk away, and heard the familiar rhythm of grunts and clicks begin anew.
***
As the dragon whelp reached the end of the tunnel, he shoved the boulder away and allowed the moonlight to wash over his face. He stepped into the cool grass, inhaling the scent of lavender from somewhere. He glanced momentarily at the dark thicket looming a short ways away, then turned to look at the open sky.
Nothing moved through the air. Only stars, clouds, and the full moon looked back at the whelp. He frowned deeply and scanned his eyes across the rest of the landscape. Silhouetted mountains towered in the distance, and the grassy plain gave way to barren, ashy rock a few hundred feet ahead of him. The only earthbound light was the orange flickering of the flaming sinkhole in the distance.
The whelp plopped himself down in the grass, leaned against the boulder, and stared out into the night. He watched as the moon dipped closer and closer to the far horizon. He watched the jagged mountain peaks slice into the moon’s perfectly circular face, rendering it ugly. He watched until the sky burned with orange and pink and red.
The sun rose behind him, and the whelp got to his feet. He pulled the boulder with him as he wandered back to the tunnel, his frown etched deeper into his face. He dragged his feet the length of the tunnel, eventually reaching the cavern he called home.
It was empty save for him, his small pile of gemstones, and his mother’s hoard.
He lumbered over to his gemstones and grabbed the largest sapphire of the lot. Staring at his reflection in the gem’s facets, he started blinking quickly as tears welled in his eyes. He clutched the gem tight, slumped against his mother’s treasure pile, and wept.
***
The dragon awoke and heard sniffles.
He opened his eyes and looked across the cave. The pony was balled up against a stalagmite with her back to him. Faint sniffles and sobs lifted from her and floated over to the dragon. He blinked once at her and said, “You are crying.” When she said nothing and choked up another sob, the dragon growled and said, “I am addressing you, little pony.”
“Right,” she said, her voice broken, “because you respond every time I try to talk to you.”
“Do not forget that it is you who are trespassing in my home,” the dragon said. “Now tell me why you are crying.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” the pony said. She shot a glare at him over her shoulder and said, “I’m tired, hungry, and thirsty. I miss my home and my friends, I can’t fly, and the only other creature here—the one who saved my life to begin with—won’t help me and has been ignoring me every chance he gets! Gee, I wonder why I might be just a little upset!” She settled her glare on him for a few moments longer before turning away and resting her head back against the stalagmite.
The dragon blinked again, and his pupil narrowed just slightly. “You are not afraid of me.”
“No,” she said. She sniffled once. “I’m not.”
“Need I remind you of—”
“Stop talking!” the pony shouted. She stood and wheeled to face him—only then did the dragon see that she had put her scarf back on. The pony walked towards him and said, “You keep trying to intimidate me by growling and hissing and stuff, and you told me that you’re the big, bad Flightless Fury. But all I’ve seen you actually do is save my life and sleep there like a log! If you want me to be scared of you, give me a real reason. Don’t just—”
A small fireball erupted from the dragon’s lips, searing the ground inches in front of the pony. She shrieked and stopped moving, but her glare quickly rehardened. “That is close enough, little pony,” the dragon said. He slid his head across the floor—his scales grinding and skidding—until he was looking down his muzzle at the pony. “I cannot make you fear me. You have done nothing but irritate me, and that is not a punishable offense. You are a pegasus who cannot fly, and even on the brink of death you have the courage to stare down a dragon. You are a very odd case.”
The pony backed up a step, her eyes still daggers. “Are you done now?” she said, wiping one eye with her hoof. “Can I go back to crying on that rock?” Without waiting for a response, she turned from the dragon and slumped against the stalagmite.
“Before I last went asleep,” the dragon said, “you asked a question. You wondered whether I have a family. Why did you ask that?” The pony didn’t reply, and silence reigned for a time. The dragon watched the pony curled up against the rock, his eyes scanning across her wings and back. He spotted a strange marking on her flank—a blue heart with gold markings underlining it.
He turned and stared through the cavern entrance, watching the magma flow. “I had a mother once,” the dragon said. “She is the only family I have ever known, and the only creature I have ever spoken at any length with before you. I cared deeply for her, and she taught me much. She left our home one night to pursue a griffon thief and never returned.” The dragon turned its eyes on the treasure hoard. A single, large sapphire rested near his belly.
“I have been alone here ever since.”
He looked back at the pony and saw that she had turned to stare at him. Her eyes were wide, and her frown was deep. The dragon blinked at her before slithering back into his sleeping position. He watched her distantly and closed his eyes.
Just as sleep began to claim him, he heard the pony approaching. Her tiny hoofsteps echoed massively in the chamber. She came to a stop somewhere near him, and deafening silence fell back across the cavern.
“I never knew my mom,” the pony said eventually. “She… She abandoned me before I had any memories of her. She just… left me in the woods. Alone.” Her words crumbled like dry leaves in the wind.
“But some ponies from an earth pony village found me, and their village leader, the Elder—he took me in. The ponies of that village became like my new family. The family I never really had.”
The dragon poked his eye open. He saw the pony smiling down at her hooves, tears leaking from her eyes in rivulets. “We love each other a lot,” the pony said. “We take good care of each other, and we try to learn from each other, too. And one of the most important things that I’ve learned…” The pony turned her smile on the dragon. “I learned that you never have to be alone. Who you are and where you come from doesn’t make any difference. You can find ponies who will love you and help you… no matter what.”
She sniffled, and her smile stretched a little wider. “Please, Mister Dragon,” she said. “I just wanna go home.” Her head tilted down and she squeezed her eyes shut. A single, breathless word left her lips: “Please.”
The dragon examined the pony. Her mane and tail were filthy with sweat and dust. Her scarf was tattered and torn. Her cheeks were matted and shallow. Her wings drooped limply at her sides, undoubtedly exhausted. She reeked of fatigue.
Yet still, the pony smiled. The dragon looked over to the large sapphire in his hoard. Pressure built behind his eyes. He blinked it away and turned back to the pony.
“Kindness and fortune are fleeting in this world, little one,” the dragon said, his eyes going glassy. “You should not rely on them… but you must be able to recognize and appreciate them when they come along. Hold onto that kindness, little pony. It is precious beyond measure.”
The dragon used his tail to push a boulder away from the far wall, revealing a small tunnel. “That tunnel leads to the surface,” he said. “Take it, and see your family once again.”
Hopping to her hooves, the pony’s eyes shot wide. She swiveled her head between the tunnel and the dragon, her lips moving uselessly. She eventually settled on the dragon and said, “Why didn’t you show me that before now?”
“Because I am draconic to a fault.” Instead of closing his eyes, the dragon turned to stare at his sapphire. Its facets had gone dull long ago, but the gem still radiated a peculiar light. “Be on your way, little pony.”
For a moment, the pony did nothing. “But… but what about you?” she asked.
The dragon flicked his eyes down to the pony. She was frowning at him. “What of me?”
The pony blinked a few times, her frown deepening. “I mean, you don’t have a family anymore, and… You’re just going to stay down here? All by yourself?”
“It is something I came to terms with long ago, little pony.” The dragon closed his eyelids. “I am a beast of solitude. That has been my fate for centuries, and it will continue to be my fate for centuries to come.” The dragon sighed inside his throat. “Such is life.”
“That’s so unfair…” the pony said, and the dragon didn’t respond. Silence brooded in the dragon’s mind, dense like sand. “What if…” The pony trailed off. “Could I… come back here sometimes? To see you? To talk, maybe?”
Something twinged in the dragon’s chest. “I do not see what is to be gained from that. Remember yourself, little one. I am a dragon, and you are a pony. I am ruthless and just, but—”
A tiny softness draped itself across the dragon’s snout. He opened his eyes and stared at the blue scarf resting between his nostrils.
The pony smirked at him. “But never cruel,” she said. “I remember. And I can’t think of anyone better to be a part of my family.” She stepped up to the dragon and wrapped herself around the end of his muzzle, her legs barely stretching the width of three scales. “Thank you so much, Mister Dragon. For everything.”
Still transfixed by the scarf, the dragon barely registered the pony trotting over to the tunnel that led to the surface. He looked over just in time to see the pony smile and wave at him. “See you later!” she called. And with that, she was gone.
The dragon blinked once, then again, then felt the corners of his mouth rise by just a smidgen. He lifted a claw and plucked the scarf from his muzzle, placing it in a ring around the large sapphire in his hoard. “You are very strange, Cadance,” he muttered. “Very, very strange.”
He didn’t bother to replace the boulder in front of the tunnel before he went back to sleep.
