Talos and Cyrus

Chapter 5 - Son of Galene and Anax

Cyrus slowly got to his feet, the shortsword shaking in his hands. The yellow dragon watched him intently, its eyes catching every twitch of his muscles. Flossie was silent and motionless.

Cyrus, as weak as his legs were, miraculously stood his ground as the beast analyzed him. Every breath was painful. Any sudden move could, and most likely would, mean certain death.

The dragon snorted and started forward with a mighty step, a heavy paw thudding on the overturned grass. It made the ground shake. Cyrus winced and suppressed an involuntary yelp.

Then, the dragon spoke.

"There will be no need for your blade." it grumbled. It's voice, unmistakably male, was deep and thunderous, booming from its pale throat.

Cyrus froze, as did his heart.

He knew dragons were impossibly intelligent and spoke in a foreign tongue of their own, but never would he have thought they knew the language of Men. Something about the familiar words rolling off of the beast's tongue was unnatural and made Cyrus feel nauseatingly uneasy.

He didn't drop his sword.

He could have sworn the dragon rolled its eyes. In a single motion, the beast lunged forward and batted the shortsword from his fist in one, abrupt swipe, its massive claws a hairsbreadth from his nose. The sword flew through the air, spinning uncontrollably, and embedded itself in the dark soil by the creek, wobbling to and fro as its fall came to sudden stop.

Cyrus, without even noticing, had fallen backwards onto his bottom again. He felt his platinum hair plastered to his sweaty forehead and his lungs screamed in pain. The yellow dragon now stood before him, its tree sap eyes narrowed and its great wings unfolded. The beast was the most terrifying thing Cyrus had ever laid his eyes upon. It was easily taller than his small house in Aeredale and if it tried, Cyrus was sure it could touch its nose to the house's chimney.

The dragon spoke again.

"I apologize for my hastiness, but one can never be too cautious. Especially around Men such as yourself."

Cyrus' mouth fell open and he pushed himself to his feet, his eyes locked on the dragon. He was fearful his trembling knees would fail to support his weight. How was it possible that he just so happened to stumble upon a live dragon by a tiny creek?

"Y-You're a dragon." Cyrus whispered, his voice small. The yellow dragon studied him for a moment while its tail, as thick as a young tree, swept back and forth. It turned its head to the side.

"You have keen eyes, Man," it rumbled. "I wouldn't have noticed myself if it weren't for your superior perceptual skills."

Cyrus started to back towards his sword, beads of sweat rolling down his cheeks. A newfound fire was igniting in his veins. The dragon's rocky lip curled.

"You dare-" it started.

"You're trespassing..." Cyrus interjected, gaining a life threatening amount of sudden courage. "I-If King Willard weren't hundreds of leagues away, he would already have y-your head mounted above his throne! You dragons have d-done inexcusable, unspeakable things to my people!"

The dragon's yellow wings exploded open and it snarled high and terribly. Its teeth were innumerable, saber-like, and each one could have been as large as Cyrus' middle finger. A deafening roar ripped itself from the beast's belly.

"How dare you blame me for what others of my race have done! You are filth for laying the fault on my shoulders, for accusing me of the heinous crimes my kin have committed! You are small, so very small, and you dare to assume I have as much malice in my heart as the other dragon's did all those years ago?"