The Last Dragon of the East

Chapter 30

30

The first time he is reborn, the red dragon returns in the form of a pauper’s son. He mistakes the memories of his past life for nothing more than the most vivid of dreams. The boy is fascinated by the red thread tied around his finger, though his parents do not seem to know it is there. He grows to the tender age of four before a pox sweeps through the village.

It takes his mother first, then his father. He cries until his eyes run dry, his stomach cramping with hunger. A strange woman finds him a few days later, her brilliant green eyes the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.

It is too late, however. His light flickers out only a minute later. He dies in her arms.

The second time he is reborn, he grows into a beautiful bird of paradise with colorful feathers that could rival the rarest of gems. He enjoys soaring through the skies. It feels familiar to him, being so high up above. It reminds him of a past life that he scarcely remembers.

But humans are incapable of letting beautiful things be.

Enamored by his sweet morning songs and dazzled by his brilliant plumage, a hunter snatches the bird from his nest in the dead of night. Trapped in a golden cage, the bird can no longer spread his wings. Resigned to his newfound confinement, he ceases his songs and his feathers slowly dull—only for him to die in captivity a week later.

Alone.

The twentieth time he is reborn, he returns to the mortal realm in the form of a fei beast. He lives alone in the sticky humidity of the southern jungles, clinging to the shadows and dense underbrush. He is particularly afraid of the humans who live around the river bend. They have sharp sticks and move in packs, their faces painted with root dyes in patterns that make him dreadfully dizzy. He lives most of his life in fear, spending his days staring at the skies above, yearning for something he cannot name.

Miracle of miracles, he comes across a green dragon who is as lonely as he. There are no words for the bond that they share—he only knows that when he is with her, he feels whole and safe. They do not share the same language, and although their friendship is an unlikely one, it is perfect.

They spend their mornings swimming in the lagoon, and their afternoons lounging together in the warm sun. The dragon and the fei are always on the move, making sure to stay as far from the growing settlement of humans as possible. They can both smell people drawing near. The last thing they want is trouble.

One day, while crossing the riverbed, one of the fei’s front hoofs gets stuck in the mud. He panics as he sinks, thrashing about to free himself—to no avail. Afraid that he might hurt himself, the dragon shifts into her smaller human form in the hopes that her nimble hands may serve to help him better.

This is a mistake.

Startled and afraid of the human’s sudden presence, the fei howls frantically. Humans have only ever hurt him. They only ever yell and scream and give chase.

She pleads with him, her hands raised before her. “Be still, my love! I mean you no harm.”

His simple mind cannot comprehend her words. He howls and snarls and kicks, afraid for his life and heartbroken at his great love’s sudden disappearance.

Drawn to the commotion, a group of hunters emerge from the jungle with weapons at the ready. Humans see what they want to see—a woman desperately crying out as a monster prepares to attack.

They riddle him with arrows, piercing him through the eyes, the neck, the belly, and the heart. He dies slowly and painfully, all to the sound of the green-eyed woman’s heart-wrenching wails.

With his last breath, he hopes that his dragon will be safe without him.

The fiftieth time he is reborn, he is a stillborn fox pup. His family moves on while his body remains behind to be reclaimed by the earth. His Fated One senses their bond forming for a moment, only to then feel it disintegrate, never to know what happened.

The hundredth time, the red dragon is reborn as a human girl. She is by far the fairest young maiden in the village. On the day of her birth, the village shaman sensed the magic running through her veins. It is an ancient thing—remnants of a history locked away beneath her pretty smile and light brown eyes. In the sunshine, her irises appear to have an almost crimson hue.

She marries the village elder’s son. They have four beautiful children together. She is happy and lives to a ripe old age. The last thought she has before passing away peacefully in her sleep is to wonder why the soul on the other end of her red thread never came to find her.