A boy's frozen fingers slipped on the icy rock, and he nearly fell off the mountain. He caught himself and kept climbing. At the top he crawled into a black cave that smelled of old smoke. Deep inside, one huge yellow eye slid open. "Go away, child," the dragon rumbled. "Please," the boy gasped. "The Ashen Legion is coming. They burn my village at sunrise. You're the last dragon. You have to fight them." The eye narrowed. "I don't fight. Not anymore."

"I won't fight," the dragon said. "But fighting isn't the only way to win." It rose up, enormous, scales scraping the stone. "The Ashen Legion fears two things. Old magic, and the dark. Lucky for your village, I am both." It crawled toward the gray morning light. "Come, boy. We have until sunrise to be clever."

They reached the village at dawn. The dragon coiled itself around the whole town like a wall, scales facing out, and went very still. From the ridge, the Legion saw only a sleeping monster the size of a hill. Their commander raised a fist. The soldiers stopped cold. Nobody wanted to be the first to wake it.

For an hour no one moved. Then the commander, ashamed of his fear, drew his sword and struck the dragon's scales himself. The dragon's eye snapped open. It uncoiled in one terrible motion and roared fire into the sky, high above the men, not at them. That was enough. The Legion turned and fled, and the village was saved without a single death.