Mist always rested upon the mountains around the little village of Luhara. The villagers said the mist was the breath of a dragon — their silent protector who watched from above. No one had seen it for centuries, yet every spring, they left flowers, rice, and lanterns by the Dragon’s Spring, whispering prayers of gratitude.

Lina, a curious ten-year-old girl, never quite believed the stories.
“Why would a dragon care about a small village like ours?” she would ask her grandmother.

Her grandmother would smile softly. “Because even great spirits remember kindness, little one. Long ago, our ancestors helped a wounded traveler here. He was no ordinary man — he was the last dragon in human form.”

That night, as rain tapped on the roof, Lina couldn’t sleep. She wanted to know the truth — not from stories, but from the dragon itself.

The Journey

At dawn, she packed a small basket — a piece of bread, a lantern, and a red ribbon she had once tied to a bird’s broken wing. Then she climbed toward the mist-covered mountain where the Dragon’s Spring was said to be hidden.

The forest was quiet except for the crunch of her footsteps and the distant sound of water. She followed a trail of glowing blue flowers, unlike any she’d ever seen. The deeper she went, the softer the air became, as though the mountain itself was watching her.

Midway up, she found a white fox caught in a hunter’s trap.
“Oh, poor thing!” Lina whispered. She freed the fox carefully, wrapping its bleeding leg with her red ribbon. The fox looked at her with golden eyes before vanishing into the mist.

When Lina finally reached the spring, it shimmered like a mirror of the sky. She knelt beside it, her reflection flickering like ripples of light.

“I came to find you,” she whispered. “I just want to know if you’re real.”

The air trembled. The mist thickened. Then, with a sound like distant thunder, a great shape rose from the water — silver scales, eyes like molten stars, and wings that shimmered as though woven from the moonlight itself.

The Dragon Appears

Lina stumbled back in awe. “You’re… real.”

The dragon’s voice echoed like wind through the mountains.
“Few come with hearts untainted by fear or greed. You freed my kin, little one.”

“My kin?” she asked, wide-eyed.

“The fox,” said the dragon. “I sent it to test your heart.”

Lina blushed. “I didn’t know it was a test.”

The dragon lowered its head, eyes softening. “That is why you passed.”

For a long moment, they were silent — a small child and an ancient being, separated by centuries, yet bound by something simple and pure.

The Secret

“Why do you protect our village?” Lina finally asked.

The dragon turned its gaze toward the valley below. “Long ago, this place was home to a man named Jian. He was a guardian who loved his people more than his own life. When darkness fell upon the land, he made a wish — to become a dragon, bound forever to protect those he loved.”

Lina’s voice trembled. “And… you’re him?”

The dragon’s eyes glowed faintly. “What remains of him, yes. But my strength fades. When my flame dies, so will the mist. The valley will no longer be safe.”

Tears filled her eyes. “There must be a way.”

“There is,” the dragon said gently. “But it requires a heart pure enough to carry my fire. Once chosen, the guardian will live as I have — half spirit, half wind, never to return to the world of men.”

Lina’s small hands tightened into fists. “Then I’ll do it.”

The dragon’s eyes widened. “Child, do you understand what that means? You will never grow old among them. You will live in the mist, unseen.”

She nodded. “If you could do it for them, then so can I.”

The dragon watched her for a long time. Then it smiled — a sad, proud smile.
“Then the mountain will remember you.”

The Passing of the Flame

Light swirled around them. The spring glowed with golden fire as the dragon lowered its head.
“Close your eyes,” it whispered.

When Lina opened them again, she stood alone by the water. The dragon was gone — but the mist had changed. It shimmered with a gentle glow, curling around her like a living breath.

Down in the valley, the villagers saw the mist swirl into the shape of wings that stretched across the sky. The next morning, they found the red ribbon floating on the spring — and beside it, a single white feather that shimmered faintly in the dawn.

From that day, whenever storms threatened the village, a dragon-shaped mist would appear above the mountains. And those who listened closely swore they could hear a child’s laughter echoing through the clouds.

The dragon’s secret lived on — not in fear or worship, but in love.

(Original short story © Deepali — all rights reserved.)