The Conqueror of Flame

Victory can feel like many things all at once. The climax of years of work. The relief that it all went your way. Pure joy and ecstasy that everything you did was worth it. But as the death wails of the tyrannical dragon that had terrorised my people for decades echoed throughout the walls, that isn’t what I felt. My world was my heart trying to escape my chest, my breath the hard labour of an army of men, and the volcanic heat of the dragon's breath against my skin. I fought off the exhaustion until the beast stopped moving and its final roar stopped echoing around me. 

As I fell onto my back, armour clanking against the hard stone, I felt my stress melt away into hysterical laughter and tears. My laughter faded into a sigh as my tear-blurred vision grows dim. I can hear people coming to see the results of my divinely appointed task that I know will become a legend. 

~<*>*<*>~ 

They call me The Conqueror of Flame now. The title bestowed upon me by our people's royal family and the very Gods who look over us. I’m the conquering hero, bedecked in a share of the dragon’s considerable wealth. We are all free from the tyranny of the dragon. 

At least, almost free. That is why I have sought out them. It’s not the place for mortals to seek out the Gods. At least, not for most. 

“Dearest Conqueror,” they say, a nation's worth of voices speaking at once. “Why do you seek us?” 

I look unto the ever-shifting body of the pantheon running from one form to another like running water. They used to fill me with a sense of dread and awe, their ever-shifting nature making them impossible to read. But I’ve grown numb to the horror.  

I speak with my head bowed, “The dragon. I understand it was a great threat to us. To–” 

“Yes, the dragon was one of the greatest threats the mortal realm has faced,” they said to me, condescending, like a parent to a child. “You were one of the best the mortal world had. The most capable to slay it.”  

“And while I understand that I feel I deserve to know why you didn’t slay the beast.” 

“Oh, dear conqueror, we can’t do that. We slay this beast, then we must slay them all. The mortal world grows dependent and stagnant. But heroes bring new inspiration to the masses. Why do you seem so bothered by this? You won, dear Conqueror of Flames.” 

As I look at my knuckles, I see how my story has planted seeds of hope in the people. But they are so curious, like dogs starving for the tale of how it all happened. It keeps me trapped there, in that battle. I find myself flinching at the crackle of fire some nights if I let my thoughts wander too much. I feel myself reach for a sword whenever I hear someone flap out a sheet to hang.  

~<*>*<*>~ 

I sit on the green grass outside my gated home, pondering what the Gods said. I never considered that the Gods could be short-sighted. That immortality could rob them of the complexities of death.  

ThE cOnQUeRor of FLaMe. How can I have conquered what now terrifies me to inaction? The title has turned into a chain, a farce I must maintain of the dashing hero. 

I hear the crack of footsteps walking towards me. I should have gone inside if I didn’t want to be pestered.  

I don’t bother looking up, “I’m sorry, but I have no more tales for tonight.” 

“Oh, I don’t need no tale, thanks.” I look up to a confused stranger. “I just came to offer you a blanket. You look cold.” 

“Thanks. Sorry for… that.” I make awkward eye contact.  

“Do you speak of the conqueror’s tale?” They laugh, throwing the tattered blanket into my chest. “I’ve had enough of that to last me a lifetime. The guy seems like a bit self-absorbed if I’m honest. You some bard he hired?” 

I feel the heat of the flames from my story die down, if only a little bit, as realisation dawns on me. They don’t know who I am.  

A weak smile graces my face, “I’m sure you have far more interesting stories than some tale about a silly dragon slayer,” I pat the space next to me, “If you’d like to share them?”