Dragons

On a night that smelled of rain and memory, a silver dragon sat upon the cold stones of an ancient castle. A heavy chain rested around its neck, forged of iron...yet its true strength lay not in the metal, but in all the things that held it there: duty, fear, and habit.

Above, the moon rose, and with it came another...a white dragon, light as mist, free as the wind. Landing upon the wall, the gaze was gentle and clear. No words were spoken, no fire burned. Only presence filled the silence.

The silver dragon looked up and felt something stir within...a quiet longing for the sky long forgotten. In that reflection, freedom revealed itself: not merely the power to fly, but the courage to let go of all that binds.

The visitor had not come to rescue, but to show that even chains cannot build walls around the soul. And in that quiet closeness, amid the distance between them, something began to grow... not rebellion, but hope.

Perhaps, the dragon thought, the first step toward freedom is not breaking the chain, but realizing it is there.