The golem swings. Several tons of solid granite—lovingly spiked with obsidian, diamond, and just a hint of adamantanium—meet my chest. Plumes of snow explode as I burst through the drifts—one, two, three, I count before stopping when my back finds a solid rock to crack into. The rock, that is; my scales took it on like a champ. The armor protecting my chest, not so much. I can feel the mithril moving against itself, which is generally not a good thing when it comes to plate armor.
I let out a snort of emerald fire, flash-fried snow becoming steam before being carried off by the bitter wind. Grunting, I put a knuckle on the ground to force myself back up—
—before falling right back down. A whimper escapes my throat as I clutch my chest—claws tangled in the scarf I’m wearing—to which the golem responds with something that sounds like gravel being dragged down a chalkboard.
I try to open my eyes, only to realize that tears have frozen them shut. Desperately, I scratch at the ice, freeing them in time to see the golem plod over. It’s only a little larger than me, and I’m not exactly big myself. No real dragon would have trouble taking down a midget golem.
It raises a sandstone foot as I raise my arms and cower.
The problem is, I’m not a real dragon, and I don’t think I’m going to get the chance to become one.
I’m finally going to be a proper dragon, and I’m definitely not going to let some rock-for-brains creature take away my chance to become one.
I grab the foot as it descends with all the weight of a twenty foot-tall mound of sentient stone behind it. I know I’m not strong enough to stop it, so instead I offer a little guidance. With an earth-rending crack it crushes the rock beside my head into dust. I’ve been told my snout is a little long, but I can think of better ways than a golem-prescribed facial to fix that problem.
Drawing in as much air as my lungs would allow, I let loose with a searing burst of flame and smile in satisfaction as its slagged foot becomes one with the earth once more. Before the golem could process that it still had another foot to work with, I—
—roll away as it tries to stomp me again. And again, and again, and again. I can’t tear my eyes away from the shattered stones the golem leaves in its wake. Can’t help but see a reflection of my head in the rocks, webbed by cracks in a cruel facsimile.
The wind whips across the mountain, briefly shrouding it in a white veil. I’m blinded but, then again, so is the golem. I scramble away from the dull thumping where the monster’s foot is still trying to find something soft and purple. In a few seconds all of the world’s sound is swallowed by the snow, leaving only the thumping of my heart. I gasp, trying to regain control of my lungs as they suck up icy daggers of thin air.
I let out a pitiful ember of fire. So cold. The wind dies down as quickly as it came and everything hangs still, sober, silent.
So I decide to make some noise.
My claws easily eat through the straps on broken the plate armor. I pull it off and begin to hammer it with my fist. The clanging clarion call shatters the silence, and the mountain responds with a rumble; I think I just triggered an avalanche somewhere. The mountain’s guardian isn’t far behind, its thumping steps clear even with the soft blanket of snow to mask them.
Wisps of snow curl around its body as it steps out from the icy fog. I look up at its burning ruby eyes; I’m fifteen feet tall and still only come up to its chest, never mind it being roughly ten times as heavy.
I settle into a low stance. It’s going to need every pound to take me on.
With a roar the golem stampedes towards me with an awkward lop, courtesy of a freshly-shortened leg. I watch it draw back its left arm, the one studded with gems, while its right arm, barely a quarter the size of its superior, hangs limply.
I throw my chest plate like a discus and grin as the metal embeds itself into the golem’s brow, cracking its head back. It stumbles forward—
—and I lunge, madly trying to rip one of its faceted eyes out. I can feel my claw dig into the flaky rock before finding something hard. The squeal of my claw stripping off a layer from the ruby makes me cringe and the golem bellow in pain. I leap backwards just in time to avoid a retaliatory punch.
The creature screeches at me. A scar runs along its face, deep and long, and its eye is fractured.
Suddenly, I feel confident.
Experience tempers my bravado. I retreat a few steps and slip the ruby eye into a pouch. Even with it inside the bag I can feel its steely gaze.
A finger the size of a small tree trunk probes the new hole. It takes several seconds for the golem to understand what’s happened. Golem’s generally aren’t expressive things, being made of stone, but from its single scarred eye I could see a fury that would outmatch even the most explosive of volcanoes. What little hesitation it had possessed was long gone now.
I’ve waited a long time to finish what I started.
Instinct takes over. In a moment, so is the fight.
I crawl, defeated by my own stupidity. The pain blossoms in me like a vile flower, every shallow breath wracking my body with a fresh wave of agony. A shadow looms and I look up to see my end. I pray to Celestia and the Greater Dragons that it will be a swift and painless one.
I just wish I could tell Twilight how much I love her one more time.
I can’t wait to tell Twilight about this.
I rip my hand out from the fallen golem’s back and clutch my prize. A purple gem, only a little larger than an apple, ebbs with the power that had given life to a mass of stones. A Wyrmstone.
I swallow it whole.
My body feels like it’s burning, but not in pain. With a wet tearing sound I feel something sprout from my back and a shadow falls over me. An experimental flap of my new wings sends snow rushing into the sky. I aim towards the heavens and release an inferno that burns away the clouds. I pick up a nearby boulder and toss it as easily as I would have a pebble mere minutes before.
I’m no overgrown lizard with a pile of trinkets anymore. I am a dragon. My roar shakes the very foundations of the mountain.
His roar shakes my bones.
The golem tumbles in the snow, tossed like a ragdoll by a grumpy child. My teacher lands, the air warping as the heat from his maw escapes. He puts himself between me and the creature.
Even a golem can recognize when it doesn’t stand a chance. Tucking itself into a ball, it lets gravity take over and rolls down the side of the mountain.
Several seconds pass before he looks down at me, the disappointment in his eyes all too obvious, and the weight of failure settles over me like a lead blanket. I remember when Twilight would give me that same look, except the difference is that back then I felt like I had failed her. Now I feel like I failed myself, and it’s even worse.
His sigh is hot enough to melt the ice off of my body. Gingerly, he picks me up in a hand that’s at least three times larger than I am and takes off.
I land, prize in tow, at the entrance to the cavern. Music and the chatter of fifty or so dragons winds its way out to greet me, soon followed by silence as my presence is recognized. The sea of scales parts before me as I make my way to the head table, the golem’s jewel-spiked arm making a fresh scar in the well-worn floor.
The Greater Dragon, my teacher, looks down in stoic silence. I lift the golem’s arm up and present it. Proof of my passage into maturity and a gift to the one that guided me to finding it.
He takes it and, with little more than a twitch, snaps it in two. He takes half, mounts it on the wall alongside the hundreds of other arms lining it, and gives the rest back to me.
The crowd erupts in cheers and the occasional ball of fire, claws that could put a hole through a foot of solid basalt slapping me on the back. The dragon whelps form around my wings, poking and prodding at its leathery purple membrane as they talk about what it would be like to get their own.
The music starts up again with renewed vigour. A wiry drake begins to drunkenly sing a two-thousand year-old bawdy song about an Elder Dragon whose beard had been burnt off by his irate nest mate. The dragon in question, with a good-natured smile on his face, stroked his hair, as if to remind the listeners that it had been only a temporary setback.
With a wave my old teacher motions for me to take a place beside him, the one reserved for dragons that have passed their last trials. Within seconds of me sitting down a stack of gems, charred meat and a more-than-ample supply of boiling mead is placed at my feet.
I lift the cauldron of mead up in a toast, which the cavern joins in on, and take a long draw from it. Sticky juice flows down my chin as I put the vessel down and, in traditional dragon manner, I expel a sickly-sweet belch. Again, the other dragons join in on it and dust falls from the roof as the cacophony echoes a thousand times.
My whistle wetted, as Applejack would have said, I decide it’s time to whet my appetite. I’m just glad Fluttershy isn’t around to see me eating meat; I don’t think she’d ever talk to me again. It’s mostly mutton from the mountain sheep that live along the cliff face, but there’s also the occasional bit of boar when a dragon decides to make the trip down to the forest.
I finish off with the gem pile, the likes of which would probably make Rarity faint from the sight of seeing flawless specimens eaten like so much popcorn. Emerald dusted with crushed sapphire, or sapphire dusted with crushed emerald? I devour both. A hollowed-out diamond filled with still-cooling lava tops it off. As I bite into it I can’t help but think of it as being an especially angry pimple; it’s only been a few months since I moved out of my adolescent phase.
The night drags on until the sun’s light peaks into the cave. Some of the revellers have gone off to their alcove to sleep off their excess, most sleep it off on the floor. The whelps are curled up around my feet, having nodded off one by one as I told them stories about my time in Equestria. I’m fighting to keep my own eyes open as I stand up, carefully avoid the dragon minefield, and stagger deeper into the cave.
I reach into a hole, one among a thousand, and pull out a roll of parchment and a quill. With a level of delicateness learned over countless snapped feathers and ripped paper, I write.
I don’t really know how to start this, Twilight. I’m sorry I left without telling you again but, you know, it’s one of those dragon things. Besides, I don’t think the costume would fool these guys.
Don’t worry, though. I’m not hanging around with some jerks like last time. In fact, one of the adult dragons took me on as his student! How crazy is that? It’s not exactly the same, but I think I’m beginning to understand why you’re so nutty about impressing Celestia (no offence).
Speaking of impressing, I kinda tried to fight a golem. Just a little one, I swear! Even then, though, it didn’t turn out too well… Don’t worry, I’m fine; the bruising has almost healed and it only hurts when I take a really deep breath. Actually, that probably made you worry more. And no, my teacher didn’t make me fight the golem. It was a dumb decision on my part and he actually saved me in the end. He’s tough, but really cool and smart. I bet you’d like to talk to him since he’s, like, super old! He says he was a baby dragon like me when Luna did the whole, you know, Nightmare thing. And he’s not even the oldest! One of them is almost three-thousand! He’s got this really big beard (you know how cool I think beards and moustaches are). One time I asked him how a dragon grows a beard and he told me ‘Very carefully’. I think something may have happened to it before since the ends were black.
Oh, but I’m just writing junk now. Anyways, I really, really miss you, Twilight. When I was fighting that golem, I thought… well, let’s just say I didn’t know if I’d get to write to you again, so I’m doing it now, just in case.
Twilight, I love you. You know, in that brother sort of way or something, not that yucky kissy-romance stuff (is that the kind of love I had for Rarity?). I just wanted you to know.
Anyways, I’d better get going. I hear my teacher calling; we’re going to practice fire-breathing today! Even if it hurts a little, it’s still my favourite thing to do.
Love, Spike
P.S. I’ll write again soon!
I put my fire-breathing training to good use and watched as the edges of the paper curled up in green fire and turned to ash. An instant later it weaved its way through the cave.
I yawned and, after a few hearty pounds, softened the rock enough to make for a good bed. I’d need to be rested up for flying back to Ponyville tomorrow, especially if I wanted to make it in time for the new year celebration.