The ancient dragon Azuris curled around her mountain’s peak, her iridescent scales catching the dying sunlight. Below, young dragons practiced their first flights, reminding her of her own stumbling attempts millennia ago. With a gentle exhale that sent warm currents swirling through the evening air, she began composing her letter – a tradition among elder dragons reaching their third millennium.
My dearest hatchling self,
As I watch the sun set for the thousandth thousandth time, my thoughts drift back to you – that awkward, copper-hoarding wyrmling with more enthusiasm than sense. There’s so much I wish I could tell you about the centuries ahead, but perhaps I’ll start with that embarrassing incident with Sir Galahad’s armor collection.
First, dear one, copper is a fool’s treasure. I know how the rose-gold gleam catches your eye, how you lovingly arrange each piece in careful stacks that reach the cave ceiling. But trust me – redirect that passion toward gold and gems. Not only do they hold their value better across the centuries, but they don’t turn that ghastly green that so offended your artistic sensibilities during the Great Rainfall of 1242.
Speaking of artistic sensibilities, let’s discuss your early attempts at lair decoration. While I admire your enthusiasm for intimidation, randomly scattered bones lack sophistication. You’ll learn that a carefully curated collection, thoughtfully arranged with proper lighting (achieved through strategically placed holes in the cave ceiling), creates a much more memorable impression on visiting heroes. Remember: you’re crafting an experience, not decorating a butcher’s shop.
I smile now, remembering your first attempt at roasting marshmallows for that young witch who’d lost her way. Your heart was in the right place, offering hospitality as the ancient codes demand. However, dragon-fire isn’t an all-or-nothing affair. It took three weeks for your eyebrows to grow back, and the witch’s apprentice guild still tells tales of the “Great Marshmallow Incident.” Take time to practice your flame control – start with candles, then work your way up to campfires. The marshmallows can wait.
About choosing your first lair – I know that cave near the volcano seems perfect. The constant warmth, the dramatic backdrop, the convenient hot springs. But trust me, volcanic real estate is a young dragon’s folly. By your five-hundredth year, you’ll tire of the sulfur smell, and don’t get me started on the ash’s effects on scale maintenance. Look for something in the northern mountains. The view of the aurora during winter nights is worth the extra blanket of snow.
Now, about your habit of challenging every knight who wanders into the valley… While I appreciate your dedication to upholding draconic traditions, not every human in shiny armor requires a full confrontation. Some are simply lost travelers, and others are on much more interesting quests that you might want to observe from afar. Learn to be selective with your battles. It saves on armor scorch marks, and you’d be surprised how many knights become quite fascinating conversationalists once you stop trying to flame-broil them on sight.
Remember that incident with the wizard’s tower? When you thought it would be impressive to perch on top and ended up falling through six floors of magical laboratories? There’s a lesson there about weight distribution and architectural assessment that I’ll let you learn on your own. But do try to be more careful with magical establishments – some of those transformative spells take centuries to wear off, and purple really isn’t our color.
Most importantly, dear wyrmling, don’t rush to grow up. Yes, the elder dragons seem impossibly wise and sophisticated now, but we all started as awkward hatchlings who occasionally singed our own tails. Take time to watch the sunrise. Count the stars. Make friends with a phoenix or two (they’re excellent conversation partners, though do keep them away from your treasure room – their molting season is remarkably flammable).
You have millennia ahead of you, little one. Each century will add another layer of wisdom to your scales, another story to your hoard of memories. And one day, you’ll find yourself perched on a mountain peak, watching young dragons learn to fly, writing a letter to your own past self.
With eternal flame, Your Future Self
P.S. – That golden chalice you’re so proud of? It’s brass. The merchant played you like a novice bard’s lute. But don’t worry – you’ll learn to smell the difference between metals by your third century.
Thanks for reading this. I wanted to take the daily prompts and put a more fantasy inspired spin on them since this blog is largely a fantasy story blog where i post fantasy stories. I hope you enjoyed this little story. Check out the others and subscribe to get a newsletter email when i upload new content. Oh and don’t forget to comment and share the story.
Chadwick Rye 
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