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."

The boy didn't leave. He sat in the cave mouth, wrapped his thin arms around his knees, and talked. He told the dragon his little sister's name. He told it about the bread his mother baked. He talked all night, his voice cracking. The dragon listened, silent. Near dawn, something old and heavy stirred in its chest. It hadn't felt it in three hundred years.