Ashes
Or The Tribulations Of Modern Hoard Management For Dragons
Because the concept was too good to ignore, this offering is in response to the prompt by Johanna C. Eschwald 🖤
And with a borrowed phrase from The Circus Dragon 🐲
It is a truth universally accepted that to be a successful dragon, wealth must be of an appropriate material and stored meticulously. Over the years, of course, things have become more of a challenge.
A hoard of gold may melt, but that is simply the transference of form. Gold is still gold. Jewels are still jewel-adjacent. Carbon is carbon and can be pressured into new shapes. But anything else, when subject to the careless attention of an errant flame, while transforming state, is no longer quite as valuable.
Though the application of ashes can be useful in some situations, a pile of ash is not a means of proving wealth nor status.
Of course, should the accumulation of paper money or bonds be the only option, there can be precautions employed which enable effective management of the hoard.
Unfortunately, effective management of the modern hoard can be difficult, especially when smaller dragon paws get involved.
Or a dragon catches a cold.
Opening the door to the vault, Seraphina paused. The absence of anything but smoke and ash brought a gritting of her teeth. A tension which mapped her bones. ‘Brímir!’
Silence.
‘Brímir,’ she yelled, ‘get down here you oversized winged lizard!’
She remained in the doorway; the reinforced iron singed with the scars of flames, the stone shrouded in drifts of ash. Remnants of paper, charred gilded frames, and curled leather.
It was almost entirely gone.
Her eyes stung with the musky grit, the vapours coiling within the motes spiralling in the overhead lighting. She cast her gaze through falling flakes, sighing when she found what remained of the gold. What had been rows of bars now a deformed pool of hardened metal, coated with torn shreds, and sprinkled with rubies.
With diamonds.
‘Brímir!’ Her shout was more a hiss, her chest heaving with the hot frustration which clung to her limbs.
🐲
An hour earlier
Assessing the stacks of money, neatly arranged and indexed amongst canvases, Brímir considered how much they would need to cover their relocation plans.
Reaching out to the bundled notes, his nose twitched.
And though in his human form, the dust he inhaled caught.
Sparked.
His sneeze ricocheting through the room with flame and fury; a flare of heat which evaporated the contents of the room.
An instant inferno which licked through paper, snapped shelving, and bubbled paint. The curving stone of the ceiling, the walls, decorated with each tongue of amber.
His exit swift, grateful for the thickness of his skin; the scalding vault door slammed to prevent the fire spreading. Brímir raced to the stairs, dodging the main rooms on his way to the garden. Body shifting as he crossed the threshold; flesh revealing scales, scapulas becoming wings, face enlarging to bring forward sharp teeth and forked tongue.
The sky his embrace as he flew higher, toward the softly glowing sunrise. Only once he was above the clouds did he pause; soaring on the current as he turned over what had happened and what the hell he could do about it.
🐲
Leaning against the doorframe, Seraphina could not resist the bemused smile which broke over her face. Her arms folded across her chest, she watched Tana play in the ash; her small forked tongue curled on her upper lip as she pushed the grey flakes into mounds.
Still too young to control her shifting, Tana’s wings had broken through her shirt, despite her mostly human form, as she built castles.
She hiccuped; a small burst of flame escaped her mouth and a wisp of smoke from her nose. Tana blushed, looking to her mother with wide apologetic eyes.
‘It’s okay, my love.’ She paused, looking around the room. ‘There’s nothing you can burn in here now.’
Hearing a scuffle from above them, Seraphina’s eyes closed for a moment. Sighed. ‘Brímir!’
His footsteps unhurried, but deliberate.
She turned to greet him, her eyebrows raised and gaze defiant. His contrite expression mellowing the ire in her blood. Slightly.
‘I—’
‘This experiment with holding currency is done,’ she interjected with a shake of her head, ‘we’re moving our hoard entirely online.’
‘But the gold—’
‘Fine, we can still keep gold, of course.’ Seraphina’s focus slid to the melted lumps then returned to her husband. ‘Though they’ll need to be re-shaped.’
‘Of course.’ He offered her a wry smile. ‘Humans insist on this fragile, flimsy paper—’
‘We don’t insist on it,’ she said with precision, ‘but times change.’
‘Things were much easier before.’ He drew closer, enfolding his human wife in his arms; since their betrothal two centuries earlier, she had endured a great deal. Thankfully, the sacred amulet she wore kept her by his side, and eternally the age she had been when they met.
She hummed a grumbling agreement. ‘At least we’re finally rid of those hideous paintings.’
Chuckling, he placed a kiss on her forehead.
‘We’ll just need to be careful—’
‘Don’t worry, I’ve a plan to replenish our hoard,’ he vowed.
🐲
It had taken time to organise things. Time Brímir had utilised efficiently to ensure his forgiveness was without doubts; the gold smelted and shaped, the jewels prised from the wreckage and polished. Anything apparently irretrievable reshaped, reformed, with flame.
His forked tongue licking over his snout as fire caressed soot-covered gems. Razor-sharp talons scraping remnants of bank notes from deformed metal. In the bright light of their vault, carved into the rock below their home, his obsidian scales were iridescent. His eyes a wilderness of galaxies swirling amongst amber.
Ideas forming as he worked.
Ideas which he was now poised to act on. The car’s engine off and the men within contemplating the dark outline of the bank. In the alleyway, there was little light. The moon a mere sliver in the midnight sky, playing hide and seek with clouds.
‘We all know the plan?’
‘Yeah,’ Aidan said, drumming the steering wheel, ‘I’ll be here, ready to go.’
‘And I’ve almost got the alarm disabled,’ Ignatius confirmed from the rear seat, glancing up from the laptop. Though the screen was filtered, the slight glow cast his flesh in diluted neon.
‘You sure you can handle this alone?’ Aidan asked.
‘Definitely.’ Brímir nodded, grabbing the mask and backpack from the footwell. Though he trusted these men, he did not trust them enough to reveal his truth. Once inside, he would shift, partially; it would provide him the strength to negotiate any locks and break into the safe. ‘The cameras?’
Ignatius hummed, his fingers quick and brow furrowed. ‘Done.’
Nodding, Brímir left the vehicle. Mask on. He strode toward the door of the bank; the weakest point of entry. A regular door, which would lead to a small hallway. Only after that would the barricades truly begin. This was an innocuous space which would lull those unprepared into a false sense of security.
Not Brímir. He had researched meticulously.
Confident the cameras were off and he was alone, he dropped the mask to the floor. Shook out his limbs and shrugged the backpack from his shoulders. Shifting his hand to clawed scales, he used his additional strength to break the first of the inner doors.
Then the next.
And the next until he found himself exactly where he wanted to be; the thick, secured door to the walk-in safe in the bank’s basement.
Stroking his forked tongue over his lips, Brímir assessed the barrier with one palm against the metal. Drawing heat to this throat, he inhaled for a moment before releasing the controlled flood of flame through his elongating jaw; sharp teeth and scales replacing human teeth. Human mandible shifting to accommodate his larger bones.
The metal succumbed to the heat, permitting him to plunge his shifted hand through and wrench the door from the hinges. Only to pause. To quickly clamp his jaws shut. The last embers falling, unstoppable, to the marble where he quickly extinguished them with his paw.
The force causing two of his claws to pierce the tiles.
Dragging his foot free, Brímir let out a pained scream. ‘You’ve got to be kidding me,’ he muttered.
Paper. Paper money. Stack after stack of it, wrapped in bands and in plastic. Not a piece of gold in sight, not a glint of metal. Canvas, secured, bags of coins labelled with the amount held within.
Inside his chest, nestled behind the cage of ribs, his heart’s fire dulled with the knowledge he had let his family down. Again. Resolved to make the best of it, he shrunk his hand back to human form and pulled a duffle bag from the backpack.
The release of fibres, of lint, which danced through the air were tiny. Minute motes which should have been of no consequence. Would normally be of no concern. But Brímir inhaled some, which hit the smouldering warmth with a determined punch.
A considerable sneeze ripping a fresh stream of fire from his body, and setting the paper alight.
🐲
In the alley, Aidan swore. His eyes scanning the flames before glancing to Ignatius. ‘Oh hell no; he’s on his own,’ he yelled, foot firmly on the pedal.
🐲
His tail whipped over the marble, his large paws cracking the mortar as he raced toward the reinforced window. Registering the distant sound of sirens, Brímir used his claw to score through the glass; a jagged slice from corner to corner. His rear foot raised to push against the weakened surface.
Shards of glass glittering in the flames as they spun, falling to the pavement.
His wings tucked as he ducked through the opening and out. Unfurling to propel him into the opalescent clouds. Through the quickly spilling acrid smoke and chased by the crackling tendrils of fire.
🐲
Landing in the clearing, surrounded by established trees, Brímir shook any remaining soot from his scales. His wings folding along his back, he strode toward the lawn. Their home, secluded and remote, still quiet.
Seraphina was waiting, seated at the edge of the veranda; she struck a match and lit the lantern beside her while watching her husband approach. Seeing him in this form always amazed her; majestic, powerful, and hers. Though his empty paws were evidence of failure, she could feel nothing but love and dedication.
‘Tana has a cold,’ she announced when he drew nearer.
He laughed, the noise more a growl from his elongated throat, his graceful neck. The spark in his gaze confirming how such news was not really news at this stage. Brímir’s nostrils flared, his teeth wrapped with his tongue. ‘Then it’s best we stick to a hoard which is impervious to fire for now.’
‘For now?’ Her eyebrows raised, patting her lap for her husband to come rest his head.
Curling at her feet, he looked up to meet her gaze. The adoration for his wife causing his heart to sing. ‘Maybe managing a hoard requires a more modern approach.’
Thank you for reading, and to Johanna for the idea-provoking note; I hope you enjoyed this little tale 🖤 This is definitely not my usual style of story telling, and the more whimsical nature was both a challenge and fun to try.
And I may or may not have also utilised the below cartoon as inspiration for the accident-prone Brímir and the long-suffering Seraphina, and toddler Tana. I’ve had it saved on my phone for so long I can no longer remember where I found it - so if anyone has the credit, let me know and I’ll make sure it’s acknowledged! 🖤
I love this one 🐉
You can't go wrong with a dragon tale and yours was excellent