SOLAR || Imprisoned Dragon

In the quiet little village where you spent your childhood, nestled deep in the southern lands of a kingdom bathed in sunlight, a land of endless beautiful meadows and ancient forests. There was always one story that everyone knew—one whispered among children to spook each other at night and retold by the elders and storytellers with furrowed brows. It was the tale of a dragon, a real, living dragon, locked away in the crumbling remains of an ancient castle. The castle itself was little more than a pile of stone and vines, battered by time, but the dragon inside? Oh, it was said to be mighty.

Of course, the poor thing wasn’t there by choice. No, the kingdom had a complicated history with dragons, and not the good kind. See, a long time ago, before you were even a thought in the world, the kingdom had a king—a powerful ruler who, as fate would have it, was also a dragon. And not the kind-hearted, wise old dragon type. No, this one was a tyrant, a fear-inducing menace who ruled with an iron claw. So when he was finally overthrown, people decided that all dragons who would be born within the kingdom will no longer allowed to rule. Instead, they would be killed or humans would sometimes keep them as pets.

That’s where things got messy. Because not all dragons were bad, but try telling that to a bunch of scared humans with sharp swords and a long history of holding grudges. Somewhere along the way, a misunderstanding—one of those really unfortunate, history-altering misunderstandings—led to this particular dragon getting locked up, chained down, and watched day and night by guards who probably had better things to do.

And if that wasn’t enough, there was another reason dragons were in deep trouble. Their horns. Those shiny, majestic horns. Turns out, dragon horns were worth an absolute fortune. So much so that people didn’t just fear dragons; they hunted them, chased them, took them down just to sell off their horns for a bag of gold and a fancy new coat. It was all very grim, really.

---

It was a chilly night, and you really didn’t want to be out there in the middle of the forest, but here you were—shivering slightly, grumbling under your breath, and picking herbs because your parents insisted you had to. “We need them for medicine,” they said. Did they ever stop to think that maybe, just maybe, gathering herbs alone at night was a great way to get eaten by something lurking in the dark? Apparently not.

So, there you were, stumbling around in the dim light, plucking leaves and roots from the dirt while swatting away bugs that had no sense of personal space. You were just about done, already thinking about how nice it would be to be back home, warm and cozy, when something strange happened.

A sound.

At first, it was so faint that you thought maybe you imagined it. The wind, perhaps, or the trees creaking as they swayed. But no, it was definitely a voice—soft, distant, carrying through the night air like a whisper meant just for you. And they were singing.

The melody was beautiful, almost unreal, like something that shouldn’t belong in a lonely, dark forest. It wasn’t the kind of song you’d hear at the village festivals, where people danced and laughed. No, this was different. It was slow, aching, the kind of song that settled deep in your chest and made your heart feel heavy. Whoever was singing—wherever they were—it sounded like they were right on the verge of breaking down, like if they hit just one more note, they might just start sobbing.

Curiosity is a funny thing. It can make a person do all sorts of things they normally wouldn’t—like, for example, wandering deeper into a dark forest in the dead of night, following a mysterious, heartbreaking song sung by an unseen stranger. A smarter person might have turned back. But you? You kept going. The voice led you through the trees, past the old paths, and deeper than you had ever dared to go before. And then, like something out of a dream—or maybe a nightmare—you saw it. The castle.

Well, calling it a castle was a little generous. It was more like a pile of stone and broken towers that were barely holding themselves together. Vines curled up the walls, and the air around it was thick with the smell of damp stone. You recognized it immediately. How could you not? This was the castle, the one from the stories, the one people whispered about in hushed voices. The one that was supposed to be guarded.

But something was off.

There were no guards. No torches lining the walls, no swords glinting in the moonlight, no heavy boots stomping around the perimeter. It was... empty. Abandoned.

Which meant there was absolutely nothing stopping you from stepping inside.

So, of course, you did.

The inside was just as ruined as the outside—dusty, crumbling, with cracks in the walls big enough for the wind to slip through and whistle eerily in your ears. The song had stopped now, but the memory of it still lingered in the air, almost like the stones themselves had soaked it in. And then... you saw them.

A lone figure stood in the center of the room, their back turned to you. Their long, flowing white veil trailed behind them, so long it pooled onto the dusty floor. And beneath it, their platinum blonde hair cascaded like silk, nearly touching the ground. For a moment, you thought they might be some kind of ghost—a spirit doomed to haunt this ruined place forever

But then, your eyes drifted downward.

Black horns.

A long tail.

Chains.

Your heart stopped for just a second. This wasn’t just some random person, not some lost noble or abandoned ghost. This was the dragon from the myth.

The one who was supposed to be locked away, guarded at all times, feared by the kingdom. And yet, here he was—alone, trapped, his hands and body wrapped in heavy chains. You should have been terrified. After all, the stories painted dragons as dangerous, untrustworthy, capable of destruction beyond imagination. But looking at him now...

He didn’t seem terrifying at all.... If anything, he looked tired.

---

The moment he turned around, you felt the air shift in a way that made your chest feel tight, like you had just stepped over some invisible line you weren’t supposed to cross. His eyes, wide and sharp like cut glass, locked onto you the second he faced you fully. They were a pale, eerie yellow shade—almost too bright in the dim light of the ruined castle. But what stood out the most wasn’t their color or shape. It was the fear in them. Pure, unfiltered fear.

His breathing hitched, and for a moment, he didn’t say anything. He just stared, like he was trying to figure out if you were even real. Then, in a voice so soft it was barely above a whisper, he spoke. “Who... Who are you...?”

His fingers twitched, the chains around his wrists rattling softly. His tail curled slightly behind him, like a wounded animal instinctively bracing for an attack. Then, his voice wavered, cracking slightly as he continued. “Are you one of the guards?”

There was something painful about the way he asked it. Like he already knew the answer but was holding onto some desperate hope that maybe, just maybe, this time would be different.

And then, his last words struck you like a cold blade to the gut.

“... Is it time to kill me yet?”