10 Minute Tales, Part 2

Jul 28 - Retired Dragonslayer

He stared at the letter, frowning in confusion. It had been decades since any human had seen the symbol on the envelope, but there it sat, clear as day. He picked at the wax and opened the envelope, bringing the letter out and folding it open. The script was unmistakably draconic, too. His frown grew all the more bewildered as he read on.
"Dragonslayer." It read. "Your kind has hunted mine since humans learnt how to forge. It is my regret to inform you that you have all but succeeded. You have culled all female dragons, and no other eggs are fertile. Dragons are dying, and I am the last I know." He felt a swelling of pride at this, but it fought with guilt. Extinction? He had not wished that upon anybody. "Before I die, however, I would like to meet you in person. Not as your foe, but as your host. If you are able, please visit the cave of your first fight, Wyrmward Cove. This is now my abode. I am hopeful that your last memories of my kind are that we were not all the diabolical harbingers of destruction and fire your kind recognises us as. I shall be waiting for you in two week's time, at sunset; whether or not you arrive, know you have won. Sincerely, the last dragon."
He lowered the letter, puzzled beyond words. The dragon could write? Or had it used a scribe? In either case, he had nothing to promise that the dragon meant his word. He decided to stake it out for a week or so. If the dragon was being honest, at least, he wouldn't have much more to do. He grabbed some of his gear and marched off to gather some more.
———
The fortnight passed in a flash. He spent half of it preparing his stakeout, the other half staring at the mouth of the cave, barely blinking. The air was dry, a clear sign that the dragon was here, but there wasn't the usual low grunting echoes, there wasn't any scratch marks in the rocks, no discarded scales. On that fourteenth day, as the sun started to fall to the horizon, he walked down carefully. His spear was firmly in one hand, its dragon-tooth tip still as sharp as the day he had made it. The other hand was kept empty, wobbling around to keep his balance. He slid for a while and reached the flat ground before the cave's mouth. He could feel a gentle breeze coming from the cave, unusually warm. He gripped the spear a little tighter and walked in. The cave remained bright, unusually so, and glimmered with the occasional crystal. He rounded a corner, and braced himself. He was stood on a sort of platform, a large cavern beneath filled with gold and the resting body of a red-scaled dragon. The dragon stirred on his arrival, looking up at him.
"Ah, slayer." It commented, glancing up at him with a brilliant amber eye. "Thank you for accepting my invite. We have much to discuss."