The mighty dragon peered down, down past his sharpened talons glistening purple in the light of the midnight moon. He stared past the rocky cliff that was lined in gravel like rocks, some reduced to sand after many occasions where they had been trodden upon. But it was past this sandy cliff that captured the focus of this colossal reptile.
The fiery serpent had grown weary many long decades ago. He spent his days and nights in this desolate space that made up the mountain’s top. He knew of every rock, nook and cranny to be found at its peak. And more than anything, he longed to be able to leave it far, far behind. He longed to leave his responsibilities early, longed to take flight once again, fly among the starry night. Instead he had to watch each night, as years rolled past him in their grinding way. He stood watch as the rolling foothills that were once a deep forest feared by the locals transformed into a gentle rolling valley filled with grasses that would hide all but the antlers of a deer hiding within its grasp. He had to stand guard as those peaceful fields gave way to developing towns, as populations grew and memories faded.
Once, when he was just a hatchling, living just beyond this former forest, it was thought to be tainted by wild magic, magic that would cause plants to grow into malignant predators and would brew up strange creatures, each one built to kill a mortal as easy as they walk. But as the forest had receded into depths of elder’s memories, travelers grew bolder. And because of that the courage grew over generations. Mortals expanded their claim upon this ever free land. Now it was a field of thatched hutches, grains and corn. The dragon watched as what was once his home before he could even fly turned new and forgot that which once was. He wished he could leave his post, bestow his thoughts and memories onto the people... But he promised he would protect.
And there was yet another problem he was unable to overcome.
The ponies of the valley though, the very valley that he watched over so very often, were not longing for a dragon to set down upon in their lands. Most of the towns had all but forgotten that the beast lived up in those mountains, having reduced him into a legend to keep their young from wandering far from home. There was only one old enough to remember the last time their village saw the mauve monster, its pupils burning a black fire, descend from its throne among the peak to fly overhead. Not even that elder though could remember a time when the dragon landed. Nor could anypony remember a time upon where the dragon would attack.
This specific dragon was not like the others, not just in size, but in behavior. Dragons were a haunting terror in these lands, foul beings who would storm through towns, sometimes in clutches, sometimes alone, but those dragons would decimate a town. Whole villages would disappear overnight, the buildings turned to ash blowing leagues away in the midnight breeze, their occupants mingling within. But this dragon, the dragon that in size made the others appear as mere cold-blooded, dull- toothed lizards, he never participated in any such acts of destruction.
There is even told a legend among the older folk of the lush valley of how on misty mornings, before the life giving sun would have her chance to break her way through the thick grey sheet, if one were to get close enough to the foot of the center most of the mountain, you could hear an ethereal song. Its melody a gentle yet haunting tune, one that sings of loss and sorrow, of days gone by. And if you slept overnight at the very base, the night before one of these dreary, yet magical days, you can see the source.
Now the stories vary, as many travelers just make up tales to impress, but the most widely believed, and most often told of these stories is of a unicorn. The ghost of a unicorn. She haunts the mountain, her horn curved gentle like and ridged like that of a prize ram’s own curled horns. This immaterial mare paces peacefully around the mountain, her flowing locks dancing in an unfelt breeze and her coat almost as pure as the driven snow, her mane like a star light sky in hue. The feature though that catches most adventures thoughts is the eyes, gleaming bright and bold of a happier times. This mysterious wonder’s eyes will speak the same tale, it is said, as the music, but it will sing the story louder and clearer than that of any tale. Of days that she remembered, days long gone, days spent frolicking in meadows, days spent happily with friends; the unicorn’s eyes spoke of days not spent in worry. No one has been able to find out what this tale might actually be though, should anyone get closer to the apparition the dragon is motivated down from his perch, raining heat and smoke down as soon as he leave the cave mouth, burning away the early fog, and with it any glimpse of the mare the brave soul might hope to get.
For, unbeknownst to anyone but the mystical mare and her beloved dragon, that was why he had to stay. A dragon, a creature viewed as one of the most violent and foul beasts out there, had made a promise, a promise that he would keep to the end of the world if he had to. He had grown up with that unicorn; he followed her everywhere when he was small. He barely came up to her shoulder when they first met. But her time came one day, and as she lay there, with her last breathe yet rattling inside of her frail chest, he made a promise. A promise to himself and to the memory of his friend. He would not let his oldest friend be forgotten into the wind of the past like he had. As long as he was still around to remember her, she would at least have someone to remember when she was alive. The dragon did not care that he was being forgotten, turned to legend as it were though through the passage of time.
And there was yet more that he promised.
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In the distance lightning flashed, a blue bolt piercing down from the heavens.
“Spike, Spike wake up.”
Great green eyes cracked open, their luminescence giving light to the darkened cave. In front of him stood the mare of his dreams. Rarity. He reached a claw out, letting it hover gently near her cheek. How he long to be able to touch her once more.
“Spike.”
Her tone had changed. Sorrow laced it yet, but now…she was serious. Something was up. Spike shifted into more alert seat, leaning his head down near hers. And her next words, despite the time he has been waiting, froze him
.
“It’s time.”
Thunder rolled through the mountains, its very core rumbling at the sound.