Purple Lightning

Rolfe drew his sword, the dragon’s gemstone eyes gleaming from the pommel in the growing light of dawn. The sky darkened in the presence of the naked blade. Electricity snapped in the air. Rolfe grinned. Finally. The Dragon Sword and all its power was his.

The broad-shouldered man swung the prized blade experimentally through the air. Purple lightning crackled in its wake and the sky rumbled ominously in the distance. Rolfe stuck out his tongue at the cavern’s dark mouth to his right where he’d won the blade from the beast that had guarded it. So much for those rumors of an “unstoppable creature” that could “fry you with a single glare.” All one needed to do was sneak into the dragon’s lair while it was asleep.

Bushes rustled. Rolfe swiveled on the cliff ledge to square up before the cavern and the thick forest foliage to either side of it. It could have been the wind or squirrels or a meandering skunk that had caused the noise. But the sword in his hands hummed with power and warning. Somehow, he could feel that this was not a natural noise.

Crackles of dried leaves and twigs snapping underfoot swiftly followed the rustling, proving the feeling correct that someone was approaching. The very bushes Rolfe had pushed through just fifteen minutes earlier parted, and a band of five men strode through. Each wore matching dark brown tunics and were armed with short swords. Mercenaries.

Rolfe couldn’t help the grin from spreading on his face. “You’re a little late, friends!”

A deep rumble shook the sky, and patterns of purple lightning tattooed the sky. The mercenaries fixed on the dragon sword.

One stepped forward and drew his sword, inciting the others to do the same. “You have sealed your own doom. Return the sword or succumb to the wrath of Voltwing, Terror of the Storms.”

Rolfe scoffed and advanced boldly toward the mercenaries. “Voltwing is dead. How do you think I won this blade?”

The sky rumbled again, but the mercenary leader did not seem the least bit fazed, even when the sky flashed in a bright shower of purple. “Apparently not.” He raised a gloved hand to point behind Rolfe. “That is Voltwing.”

Rolfe slowly turned. Another flash of purple lightning streaked across the sky, and Rolfe paled. In the wake of the light, a silhouette was revealed—a silhouette of a very big, very angry dragon.