The Legend of Iris

An excerpt from Chapter 7 of Professor Fireheart’s Life Amongst the Dragons:

There is an old legend in the Kingdom of Draconia—the land of the dragons. It dates back several thousands of years, long before the reign of the princess diarchy over the heavens above, and still longer before chaos ruled the land. It was long before the time ponies ruled the earth. It was a time of struggle. It was a world fire. It was the Age of Dragons.

The legend begins with a dragon named Iris. Iris was an old dragon, how old exactly varies from dragon to dragon. Some say he was no older than two thousand, others an eon, and still others claim that he was there at the beginning standing watch over the earth as it emerged from the darkness. None of the dragons could agree on that, but, when prompted, each would state without variation that Iris had a hoard the size of Mount Canterlot. It was filled with all the rubies, diamonds, emeralds, and gold of the earth. He devotedly guarded his keep—much to the dismay of would be thieves. For each time one dragon would be foolhardy enough to try and pad out their hoard of silver with a little gold, Iris would be upon them before they even placed one claw on what is his.

The details of what exactly Iris did to those who tried to rob from him are something I shall refrain from repeating. Suffice to say, after a while, a boneyard had formed at the base of Iris’ mountain.

This had gone on for several thousand years. Every decade or so, a young dragon would ignore the bones of his forefathers, make his way to Iris’ hoard, and end up dead just after getting a close glimpse of the legendary riches.

Each time a dragon came, Iris loved it. It was a change from the usual routine. Something new was here at his side. Often times, Iris would circle high above the interloper trying to guess where he was going to try and strike out for the pile. He would wait in the clouds, his head poking through just far enough so that his eyes could see down below, until just the moment the foolish thief would try to place his claw on the pile. Iris would strike at that moment, and all dragons around Draconia would know it. For every time Iris moved upon his prey, an explosion of rainbow color would burst out from sky expanding outward for miles on end. Those few dragons who lost their nerve and turned around before reaching out to the hoard would remember that not a single claw of the skeletons around them ever reached the gold. The claws would always be just short of their mark.

However, the thieves learned that to even try to take what belonged to Iris was a foolhardy errand. They eventually stopped coming, leaving Iris with nothing but what was his and his alone.

Iris’ hoard was his greatest treasure. There was no doubt in his mind about that. At least there wasn’t until a new thought entered his mind while roasting his evening meal over the bones of dead thieves. He realized that he truly enjoyed the company those dragons gave him while they were alive. It wasn’t close company, or even company that talked to him (aside from their screams as he ripped them to pieces), but it was company in that he wasn’t the only living and thinking being as far as the eye could see.

In the end, all that guarding had created nothing more than a dragon with a hoard unmatched by anybeing in existence, save for the lonely heart that beat steadily in his chest.

Most dragons would, at this point, trail off leaving their listener with the moral that wealth isn’t everything it’s all cracked up to be and it is completely empty without somedragon to share it with. However, if one were to make their way past the Smaug Mountains, down the Valley of Norbert, following the River Draco as it entered the Forest of the Elders, one would eventually come to a scorched tree by the bank. Take a left at the tree, trot about five miles, and then take a right at the boulder in the shape of a cross at the foot of an unnamed mountain. Follow the path just behind the rock and make your way into a cave that glows with a blue light. Walk towards the light, never taking your eyes off it, and eventually you’ll come upon a cavern adorned with sapphires in every direction that you look. Once there, be sure to look down, and gaze into the eyes of Old Squirt.

Old Squirt isn’t like most dragons one would typically see in Equestria. For one thing, he’s about half the height of a fully grown stallion. For another, he’ll give you a cup of tea, a plate of chocolate chip cookies, and invite you to sit next to him as he goes about breathing his blue fire onto various scrolls of parchment strewn about the floor. Do not think him odd nor somedragon to be belittled. Be respectful, graciously sip the tea, and come to terms with the fact that you are sitting with the Lord Draco—the great king of all dragons—himself.

Now Old Squirt would begin the Legend of Iris much like any other dragon. Eldest of all dragons. Richer than all dragons. Prideful, boastful, and loyal only to himself and his hoard, so much so that eventually all he was left with was nothing but his hoard and a lonely heart. Then Old Squirt would continue on past the previous moral and mention that Iris remained alone for several thousand more years, until one fateful day when a little unicorn pony made her way through his domain.

Habits, as they are, don’t break easily. Even after several millennia alone, Iris’ first action was to fly up to the clouds and watch her from above. He gazed upon her as she struggled through the bones of his fellow dragons, pranced through the rib cages, and slept in their hollow skulls. For a being no bigger than his right claw, this little pony had impressed Iris. It was several hundred miles to the farthest horizon line, and the fact that this little pony here was the first to have made the trip into his territory, dragon or otherwise, in thousands of years was something to look upon with pride.

Iris stayed up in the clouds for weeks as the little unicorn made her way towards his hoard. He slowly began to learn her habits. The way she would tilt her head slightly to the left whenever she came upon a particularly difficult pile of bones to climb over. The way she would scruff her right hoof along the ground when trying to visualize a solution to her current problem. The way that she would look to her right, look to her left, and then look straight up before settling down to eat her meals. He was able to recognize the golden color her horn glowed as she performed her magic. He knew how her golden mane fell upon her back, curling ever so slightly at the end, forming a tip. He could recognize her yellow fur from anywhere in the sky or from his hoard. To Iris, he found that each movement of hers held a subtle grace that dragons lacked when they were still trying to steal from him.

From above he watched her struggle through the boneyard and eventually found himself wishing her luck as she made her way towards what was his. Every so often, the little unicorn would end up coming upon an obstacle that even she couldn’t overcome. It wasn’t for a lack of trying though. The little unicorn would spend her entire day working on solving it, fall asleep each night, and then continue with her problem solving in the morning. She never had to wait more than three days and three nights, for on the dawn of the fourth day, whatever was blocking her path would be gone. And always on that fourth day she would look up to the sky, gaze towards the clouds hovering just near the horizon, and smile.

Every obstacle that the little unicorn couldn’t overcome would find itself solved by the dawn, and Iris couldn’t be happier. All those thieves who had come before could not have prepared him for finding himself robbed of one of his greatest treasures. His beating dragon heart had been stolen by the tiniest, most fragile of creatures to ever grace his land. Iris found, as he munched on his mid-evening snack, that he didn’t mind it at all. He realized that perhaps having all the wealth in the world means a little bit more with someone to share it with.

At this point, Old Squirt would place another cup of tea before you and would go into another tale as he gazed into the fire that kept his cave warm. He would speak of six stone orbs that would pulse with the light and power of the Six Draconic Virtues. What each of those virtues are is something that even Old Squirt can’t remember. However, he does remember that each one was powerful enough to accomplish great feats of magic. United, they were strong enough to reshape reality to their master’s desire.

He would go in detail about how the virtues had existed since the beginning, exist to this day, and would be there when the end finally came to claim them all. He would go on to mention that the Six Virtues’ power could be augmented by the power of a hidden seventh. This one, unlike the other six that have been lost to obscurity, is one that Old Squirt gives the impression that he knows what it is, but is refusing to elaborate on. Instead, he would crick his neck once, arc his back, and then spread his wings while circling you.

He would mention that two months after the little unicorn had entered into the boneyard and was no more than just a two day trot from the base of the golden mountain, that her journey stopped. Iris watched her for two days as she just lay on the ground, unmoving save for the slow rise and fall of her chest. However, even from his perch in the clouds above, Iris could tell that the little unicorn’s breaths were becoming shallower and shallower.

It was breathing that he had seen many times before. It was the same pattern that Iris had seen after he had broken each and every thief that dared to steal from him. The little unicorn who had come so far, had been so close to reaching her goal, would die before she ever place her hoof upon the golden pile.

It hardly seemed fair to Iris. But he recalled that it was hardly fair to all those thieves of the past to end their lives just before they reached their goal. Perhaps this was the earth’s way of reminding Iris of what he had done. Perhaps it was a cruel joke the earth decided to play on Iris now that he finally had someone to care for, someone who he actually wanted to reach his mountain hoard.

Iris left from his perch in the clouds and glided down to her. He landed softly on his legs and knelt down before her. His eyes meet her magenta orbs and, for several long moments, neither spoke a word. The little unicorn smiled at him. Iris reached toward her with one extended claw and stroked her golden mane. She placed a hoof on his claw and said, “Thank you for watching over me.” The little unicorn closed her eyes as her hoof slowly fell from Iris’ claw.

Distraught, Iris gently cradled her body in his claws and flew to the top of his hoard. Unlike most dragon hoards, Iris did not keep his most precious gold there. No, what Iris kept were six round stones that glowed with an interior power. Most dragons don’t remember that Iris, aside from being the eldest of all dragons, was also the keeper of not just his hoard, but of the Six Draconic Virtues. When he obtained them, how he obtained them, and why he obtained them is something that even he had long since forgotten by the time Iris had brought the little pony to his keep. He only remembered that he had them, and, that if nothing else, he would use them to save her.

However, the Virtues do not operate in the same manner as our Elements of Harmony. In order for them to give their power to one, even with noble intentions, they must first receive something of great importance. Iris knew this. He was prepared to give up his entire hoard if the virtues would bring her back to him. If he could just have one moment to grant her wish, whatever it may have been.

The virtues would not accept his material wealth. It was, after all, his stubborn pride and loyalty to the material world that brought him to his current predicament. He asked them what they would accept, and they told him.

Old Squirt would then settle down on his hind legs and finish his cup. He would mention that on the dawn of the next day, Iris’ mountain hoard, and the boneyard that surrounded it, had vanished from the land. Dragons from far and wide searched for it and the dragon that had once terrorized their ancestors. But Iris was nowhere to be found. The old cerulean dragon had simply vanished.

It was at this moment that dragons all around the world began discovering something extraordinary. Gold. Gold buried in the ground. Gold deep within the mountain ranges. Gold flowing in the rivers. Gold appeared everywhere and not just gold. Sapphires, rubies, and gemstones of all shapes, colors, and sizes began appearing everywhere a dragon looked. As each deposit was found, the hoards of the dragons grew in wealth and prestige. None knew where the gold came from, though a few suspected that it was Iris’ hoard returned to the land. Was it truly his? Or just wealth previously undiscovered before? No dragon was sure, and no dragon cared after they had their fill of it.

Old Squirt would then relate that many years later, one young dragon would come upon the spot that had been at the very center of Iris’ mountain of gold. The young dragon had found nothing of the one who had made his home there, not even a trace of the gold that once been the envy of dragons everywhere or even the six spheres that contained the virtues of all dragon kind. What he had found was only a single set of hoofprints continuing on their journey through the kingdom and towards the land that would one day be Equestria.

Even the Lord Draco knows not what the six virtues exactly asked of Iris on that day, though he could hazard a guess. As to what that guess was, he would shake his head, smile, and then pat you on your noggin saying that such things are not for minds so young to comprehend.

And so, the Legend of Iris comes to a close. It closes not with a moral on the dangers of greed and the lonely life that it leaves you to, but rather with a mystery. What happened to Iris on that fateful day? What did the virtues ask of him? What exactly did he have to give up? And what sorts of consequences did his sacrifice have on the world around him, and are those consequences still felt to this day?