The blast of fire from the dragon's breath scorched the ground all around the boulder that barely concealed Aaron, the Cartwright's eldest son.
After what seemed an eternity the flames subsided at last as the dragon rocketed through the sky overhead, finishing another of several barrages against the village. Aaron lifted his head and chanced a look around during the brief respite only to see the dragon's fire rapidly consuming everything around him. The shouts and screams of the dieing villagers flooding his ears and all he could do was huddle tighter into a ball under the relative safety of the massive stone in his front yard.
The creature had arrived in the dark of twilight, hailing directly out of the worst nightmares. It's rage was directed at nothing and everything at once. This once peaceful fishing village had never before seen such terror and destruction as this night, and it likely never would again - for the village would be no more. Remaining huddled in hiding, the boy watched as his home, family and friends were needlessly slaughtered before his tearfilled eyes. As the dragon made another pass overhead his fear began transforming into a rage of his own, pure and deep in his soul. He vowed to one day seek revenge on this horrid beast and to never be as weak and fearful as he was in this moment.
His anger clouding his vision he emerged from his hiding spot as the dragon soared past once more and Aaron dashed to the nearest building that still remained somewhat intact. He waited a brief moment, listening for the thundering wind that accompanied the dragon's passage. As he stood there pressed against the single unburning wall, all he heard was the crackling of the fires and crash of burning timbers as his village slowly crumbled. He expected the dragon to reappear at any moment, and then he would make his move. He didn't quite know what he would do yet but he had to do something, and so he waited. Painful seconds passed in silence as he stood at the ready, but the dragon never returned. It's rage satiated for the moment it had flown off to whatever hell it had been birthed from.
Aaron's rage was slowly dieing with the flames of what was once his home, and he resigned himself to salvaging what he could from the wreckage. He made his way through the village searching for survivors or anything that he could possibly use in his quest for survival and revenge. Upon reaching his home, the wreckage brought a wave of sadness and despair that nearly overtook him had it not been for the heat of anger burning inside him. He walked through the burned out doorframe and into his home, when he heard a cough and a groan from nearby where the roof had caved in. He spotted his father pinned beneath the wreckage and bleeding profusely, and darted to his side to clear away the broken wood and shingle.
After removing a few pieces, he quickly realized that it was a hopeless task...a large roof beam had pierced his father's abdomen, and he would not survive this. Clasping his father's hand, he looked deep into his eyes for what he knew would be the final time. His father coughed up more blood and pulled him close, motioning with his head to something gleaming beneath the wood just out of his reach.
"My.... s.." he uttered before another spout of blood poured from his mouth.
"Easy father, I am here" Aaron said comfortingly.
"My.... sw-" he groaned again motioning to the same spot as before.
Not wanting to miss any of this moment, Aaron did not turn his head but instead held fast to his father's hand, gripping it tightly. They gazed into each other's eyes for a lingering moment as the light of life slowly faded. Aaron grasped his father in his arms for one last time and wept.
Aaron rose to his feet after properly grieving his loss, and turned to the spot his father had been motioning towards. The gleam of steel was indistinguishable in the light of dawn, and he pushed the debris out of the way to reveal a beautiful shimmering sword. A blade of this caliber was worth enough to purchase his entire village several times over. He lifted the blade and it was astonishingly light, and it sung as it moved through the air. It's golden hilt was inscribed with an odd language he was unfamiliar with, but he easily recognized the creature on the pommel - a dragon. After admiring the blade a moment longer, he strapped it to his back and began gathering what supplies he could from the remaining houses in the village. He found no survivors.
His home destroyed and his heart lit by the slow burning embers of rage inside, he set off in the last direction he saw the dragon fly off towards. He did not know what the future held for him, but his purpose was set and the path lay before him. He set off towards his destiny with a meager pack of supplies, his father's sword and a grim determination.