The Light in the Dragons Den (On Pause)

Anthy

My father used to tell me stories when I was little. Stories of dragons that flew high above the clouds and breathed fire with roars that shook the earth. He always believed these stories, because they were more than just stories to him. They were every bit as real to him as they were to my mother and I. They were nothing like the fantasy novels I've read growing up that lay on dusty bookshelves in the school libraries.

Oh no, these were more.

My father told me that we come from a strong line of Vikings. A lineage long and proud, my mother was well rehearsed in all the tales that he and my grandparents told all through their dating lives and through marriage. Legends that dated back 2000 years, give or take.

My name is Anthy. The only girl in my fathers lineage since the first born daughter of the last chief, Bjorn the Vast. It was said that he lived his life amongst the dragons that occupied the lands with his clan. Rode them. Fought for them. Flew with them even.

In the end, he set them free.

Free from the world that was growing more and more dangerous for the dragons they called friends. Even family. A world that dared to hunt them more for power, for the jeweled scales, for the powerful bones they possessed. For the unexplainable magic they held. He and his dragon partner had found a home at the end of the world, as the book says. That's what they called it. The ancestral home of all dragons. What we call it now in 2019, it's a forgotten mystery, that's what it is. For there is no record of anything like it ever being found, not in any scientific records, magazines or travel books. The phenomenon was lost as civilization expanded, as humans gained new explorations on the lands conquered. Soon enough there were other things humanity decided to get their hands on, like technology and the fastest way to earn a quick buck or get their food faster delivered rather than leaving their couch for some sunshine. The rest became that of myth and legend that was forgotten in old children's stories.

My father explained to me that it was a huge hole in the ocean surrounded by large waterfalls that fell into a black abyss. With no sight of land in any direction for hundreds of miles. Of all the stories he knew, this one in particular he favored, even though Bjorn had written little of what it was like there saying goodbye to the fiend he had for decades.... If he had gone in at all, we'll honestly never know. Any time I asked my father why... Why he believed, why he was so set on the stories he held close to his heart, why when so many others claimed it to be nothing more than either a fairy tail... Or the delusions of an old man, he would only shake his head and smile. All he ever told me was "One day you'll understand lass. It's a story of our family's past. There are stories we forever hold onto... Whether they be real or not depends on you and you alone. No one can take that from you."

There's a book of those said stories written by my ancestors, all that was passed down from generation to generation. Treasured and valued. But the earlier pages are written in a context and language I couldn't really understand, not like my father did. It was only until my great great grandfather that passages were written in english, when he came to America from Scandinavia. Stories written in ancient runes before they blended with the Semitic alphabet and finally started to be written in English.

It's all I have left of my dad from the fire that was set ablaze to our home when I was young. The fire took both my parents that night. How it started, the police couldn't figure out the reason behind it. I was too young to really understand what was happening, or how it even started to begin with. The only memory of that night that I have was being woken up, then hurried out by firemen surrounded by burning furniture and black smoke that made me feel like I was choking on charcoal. All of them were orchestrating safe ways out with hopes of reaching my parents on the opposite side of the house. I was taken out, placed in the ambulance, and then the fire hit a gas line. The explosion took everyone with it with no mercy. Leaving me alone to deal with the pain and sorrow. The hurt that followed years of self resentment, loneliness and abandonment.

From the time I was seven, I lived with my aunt. She was my mothers sister, estranged because like my father, my mother was odd. They never really got along so it came as quite a shock to hear I had living family, considering dad was an only child. She got me through elementary, middle and high school with minimal to no real parental guidance, unlike her own offspring that I wasn't really allowed to hang out with. I didn't have friends then, so my only form of guidance was the common mother or father or friend group depicted on popular sitcoms or movies that played on the television screen with twisted rabbit ear antennas on top. One of very few luxuries I had in my little room. All too frequently I imagined myself in these lives. Shows like Friends, Everyone Loves Raymond, Sister Sister or even occasionally The Addams Family. I strongly believed for a long time I should have searched out Wednesday and Pugsley.

By the time I graduated high school, "You are officially an adult now, you're on your own now" were my aunt's last words to me. Most kids get a party, a car, a trip, or a heavy reality check. With the roll of the dice, the latter was the box I had checked off from my experience. With the mentality aunty had, once you were the age of 18, you were an adult that was to establish on your own two feet. Unless you were her own kids. All of my things were packed up and placed on the doorstep, with the locks already been changed. Honestly, I didn't even try the door that day. That's a mere assumption. All I did at that moment was grab my stuff and go. In a way I guess I knew my time was short so I took the best precautions I could by keeping my things in a bag and owning minimal personal items like photos and whatever else a 'typical teen' would usually have. I often wonder what other girls my age had on their shelves. Though, I often wondered more if their items were practical or simply clutter. I had my own car that I had worked for from the waitressing job I had. Throughout college I worked at the diner near the campus and worked in the library when I didn't have class, students got discounts on a lot of things that way. Thankfully it was big enough to live in for a while with my personal items and clothes until I found an apartment for myself.

Aunty died a few years after that. I guess you can say I wasn't too particularly attached to her, as you may have guessed. So when she passed, I wasn't sad or anything. Relieved. I think that may have been the emotion I felt. I don't talk to any of that family, not like I did when I lived in the household. My mothers side disowned her for marrying my father. He was deemed too weird, too odd, too... Unwelcomed for their tastes, and my father lost his only real family before I was born. The fact I wasn't placed into foster care, I suppose I should have been more grateful.

I graduated high school with good marks, full ride scholarship so no debt. College was a breeze and I ended up obtaining a good job as a photographer and journalist for a nature magazine that slowly climbed steps and now only needed one great story to rival that of National Geographic. They pay well enough to have my own place. It was a way for me to seek out adventures. To try to find enlightenment.

Where do I live? Not where Vikings live, that's for sure. My fathers tales were packed away in the storage space of the apartment I now live in. They were too hard to look at after a while. I live currently in a nice small town called Damascus, Virginia. I won't bore you too much with the place. Beautiful. Small. Quiet. I work remotely. Travel as I want. See beautiful places. Publish articles with shots I've taken around the city or places I'm sent to. Yet... there's no happiness like I was originally hoping for with the freedom I have obtained for myself. Don't get me wrong. The people are great. The town is amazing. But... It's hard meeting someone in their late 20's in the area who wasn't already married or batting for the same team. Hard to meet people who understood or attempted to try to understand. Online dating was never my thing, and a lot of people in this area are either new families to raise kids or retirees.

But men to meet here are a dime in a dozen.

Why not leave? I'm glad you asked. Because deep down, I suppose, I honestly don't care. Deep down I know I craved an adventure bigger than this town. And yet, I was fearful of it. My life was about to change in a way I never would have expected it.

And it all started with the stories of dragons.