Age of the Dragons

It was the time of legend. When rulers rose and rulers fell. Songs and stories were made in their behalf, but one legend stood out from them all. One legend none dared to forget, and would always hold dear to their hearts.

As a sweat violin played softly with the crackling of the fire, an old book was taken off the shelf, but too some, not so old at all.

Inlaid on the cover was a red ruby pendant. For some they could see an eye of a red dragon, for others it was just an ordinary gem however, it was nothing of the ordinary.

The book was opened and the pages flipped. A finger traced the lines of a dying dragon painted on the title page. Beside the dragon were two figures, one in red, and the other in black.

“This is a story of a long lost brethren; a friend of the souls of dragons. It was not always so.” Said a smooth voice, but aged by many long years. “This is the story affectionately called, the Age of The Dragons.”

Younger voices brook out in awe as little children gathered closely to the reader. Sitting cross legged and waiting patiently for the story they loved most, in the company they enjoyed the most, their scaly little friends coiled in their laps, shiny eyes glittering brightly.

“Just remember not to tell your mother what I am reading to you tonight.” The librarian said as she smiled.

The children giggled helplessly then feel silent as she put a single finger to her chapped lips and begun to read in her enchanting voice that brought images flashing before them as they could hear, and see the story.

“In the time of great war. Lives were stolen and…”