by John Xero
Yoltan's dragon-scale armour is lighter than leather but stronger than steel. Each time he wears it, it feels more comfortable, more of a second skin.
The scales are a deep red, like the memory of fire, and they speak to Yoltan in a voice like sparks on tinder.
'Fire', they say fiercely. And 'flight.' And 'revenge.'
The longhouses burn around him. His brothers-in-arms approach warily, swords in their hands and murder in their eyes.
As the heat rises, he feels the armour meld with him, and he becomes fire, he becomes flight. He stretches his wings and he becomes dragon.