The following is a tale from the Twelve Dragon Gospel, the holy book of several major Deeprealms (including the Ylissean and Hoshido-Nohr Deeprealms). Historians are currently trying determine where the story falls in the Twelve Dragon timeline, and are thus unsure of where or when it might have taken place.

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The Hearth Dragon

In a certain country, in a certain place, in a certain time, there lived a dragon god. He was neither young nor old, powerful nor weak, and was a spirit of home and hearth. He had a shrine high in the bluffs of a mountainside, north of a tiny village, where the air was cold and thin and frost rimed the rocks, even in the summer.

Not many people visited the shrine. At that time, very few even knew that it was there. So the god was very lonely.

One day, tragedy struck the village. Enemies came and raged, pillaged. The Fire Dragon, Patron of the Mighty, was strong in the vagrants, and they set the entire village aflame. Women and children were driven from their homes, and the men were killed with swords and clubs. Then, the ruffians burned the people's stores of crops and grain, and slaughtered their livestock. They took everything they had. Then, they left, leaving smoldering destruction in their wake.

The village lived in agony for a great time after that. Most of the men were gone. Those that had survived were bedridden with injuries. Most of the food was gone, the homes destroyed. Winter was coming. Many of the women wanted to move what remained of their families to the nearest settlement, but they had no oxen to carry their things or help them on the journey. Those were dark days for the village. The spirit of the Fell Dragon Grima settled heavily over them, circling like a flock of vultures.

Only a few men survived the village attack. One of them had a son. The son knew about the hearth god's shrine. One day he decided to journey up the mountainside to the shrine. He wanted to make an offering to the hearth god. His father, though alive, was dying from his injuries. He wanted the hearth god to save him.

So he packed his things into a large sack. He took with him incense and prayer beads. He also packed what little meat he had, food that his family was to eat that week. He packed water and extra clothes, and heavy coverings to ward off the cold. Then he set off for the shrine on foot, making his way slowly up the mountainside.

It took him three days to reach the shrine. Many times, the son almost died. The pass up through the mountain was rugged and treacherous. Grima saw the boy climbing the high rocks and was displeased. The god sent fierce wind and driving rain to push the boy back down the mountain. But the son held on, and made it to the shrine. His tenacity enraged Grima.

So Grima turned the mountaintop dark. He poisoned the air with the stench of death and decay. He made shadows leap and slither across the rocks. He wanted to scare the boy. He wanted to drive him home.

And the boy was scared. He was greatly afraid. He thought, "This mountain is evil. Surely this is no place to appeal to the gods!" But then he found the hearth god's shrine. It was small and humble, hewn from marble and sheltering a niche for a candle. The air was purer there, warmer. To the boy, it felt safe.

So the boy lit a candle and placed it into the shrine. He also lit three sticks of incense. He started a small fire. Over the fire, he burned the remainder of his family's stores of meat. The burning meat purified the air. It drove away the stench of death and terror. It went up to the hearth dragon.

The boy called out to the hearth god. "Hear my plea," he called. "My father is on the precipice of death. Lord Grima's hold on him grows stronger each day. He has no strength to resist. His wounds are great. He is a good man. He is one of the only men left in my village. We will die without him. Help him. Give him strength. Open his eyes. Let him walk, and speak, and direct us. Heal him so that we may rebuild. Heal him lest we perish."

The boy stayed at the shrine for three days, praying and fasting. The hearth god heard the boy's plea and felt a great joy. He was very lonely. In the boy's steadfast prayer, he felt his love for his father. He felt that love come up and into himself. It gave him great strength. And so he loved the boy. He loved the boy's father. He decided that he would save him.

Once again the boy's tenacity angered Fell Dragon Grima. He left the mountaintop and descended into the village in the form of a vicious thunderstorm. His wind rattled the weak houses. The sound of his thunder made the earth rumble and the people flee for shelter in fear. He descended onto the boy's house like a great shadow. Inside lay the boy's father. Grima struck him dead. The boy's father stopped breathing. His heart stopped beating. He faded into Grima's oblivion. This greatly pleased Grima. He thundered in ecstasy and then left.

Soon after, the hearth dragon reached the village. He entered the boy's home and found his father dead in his room. He felt a great anguish. He wept for many hours beside his bed.

The boy returned to the village. He entered his home and found his father dead in his room. He felt a great anguish. He wept for many hours beside his bed.

Then he cursed the hearth god. He slandered him. He called him a liar, a trickster, a miscreant. He vowed to tear down his shrine. This saddened the hearth god. And it pleased Grima.

That night, as the boy buried his father, the hearth god appeared unto him. The boy saw him and cursed him. He tried to drive him away. But the hearth god would not go, for he loved the boy very much.

"What is it you want from me?" the boy asked. "I cried out to you. I came to you for help. Then you lied to me. My father is dead. You said you would save him. But you didn't. You lied to me. Now I feel alone. I feel empty."

"Twas not I that took his life," the hearth god told him. "But I grieve for him as greatly as you do. I felt your love for your father. When you prayed to me, that love came up into me. I loved your father, just as I love you. So let me make you a promise. You have lost your home and your family. But that will not happen again. I will give you fortitude. I will give you stability. I will give you hearth and home. I will protect you and those you love. I will keep you from being stained by Grima's blight."

So the hearth god went into the boy, and his spirit became great. It rose up around the village like walls of holy fire. It warmed the air. It brightened the sun. It pulled the people from their despair. It made them think about rebuilding. It made them think about fortifying. No longer did they want to leave. They wanted to grow strong and defend themselves.

Many years passed. The village rebuilt, becoming larger and stronger than before. The boy whose father had died became their leader, and led them into prosperity. The spirit of hearth and home made him strong. They grew many crops. They had many oxen. They had a strong militia. They led fitful lives.

One day the air tasted of death. Grima appeared again. He did not like how well the people were living. He did not like how happy they looked. He did not like how powerful the hearth dragon had become. He thought the hearth god was weak. But the hearth god had many shrines now. His spirit was strong in the people. He made the people willing to defend themselves. They no longer wanted to run when trouble came. Grima despised their courage.

So Grima enticed the Fire Dragon. He pulled his fellow god close and said, "Look! Look at how they languish in splendor! Look at how fat and lazy they have become! Their fruitfulness is their enemy. Their greed is their grave. It is their downfall. Who will show them how wrong they are?"

The Fire Dragon said, "I will. I am strong. I bless the mighty. I crush the weak beneath my heel. I bring the foolish to their senses. I will destroy this town. I will wipe it out of existence. May it be a lesson to those who greedily seek grandeur and riches." The Fire Dragon went down to earth. He became strong in a roaming band of ruffians. He made them bloodthirsty. He made them want to fight. He drove them towards the village. He wanted to destroy the town.

The boy with the hearth god felt death coming. He looked up into the skies and saw Grima hovering, waiting for destruction and mayhem. So he readied his militia. He gathered his soldiers around him. He placed them at the city gates. He took them to keep an eye out for trouble. Then they saw the rogues coming. They readied their weapons. They went out to meet their enemies.

The city soldiers were strong. They were well-trained. The spirit of hearth and home was strong in them, stronger than the Fire Dragon was in the ruffians. They killed around 100 of the ruffians. The rogues were astonished at their power. They had expected for the militia to be weaker. They wondered if they should retreat.

The Fire Dragon became angry at Grima. "Do you mean to mock me?" he asked the Fell Dragon. "You told me these people were weak. But they are not. The hearth dragon is strong in them. Are you trying to make a fool of me?"

Grima said, "You are more powerful than the hearth dragon. He is nothing. He gives the people a sense of entitlement, of ownership. Nothing more. You can defeat him. You are strong." Then he gave the Fire Dragon power. It was an evil, hideous power. It polluted the Fire Dragon. It made him savage. The spirit energy in the ruffians became dark. Evil poisoned their hearts. They became even more vicious. They bludgeoned their enemies to death. They cut off their limbs. They beat them to death even when they were begged for mercy. They killed about 300 of the city's militia.

The boy with the hearth god saw the evil grow in his enemies. He saw them beat his men to death. He became afraid. He wondered what he should do. He wondered if he should retreat. The hearth dragon's spirit grew weaker in him. He brought his troops back into the city gate. They closed the doors. But the ruffians broke them down with their savage energy. They advanced into the city. They were going to destroy everything inside.

But when they stepped past the city lines, something strange happened. The rogues screamed. They clutched at their bodies as though they were burning. They fell to the ground, begging for mercy. The boy with the hearth god saw the evil energy inside them extinguish. He saw it leave the ruffians' bodies and wheel into the sky. He saw that the hearth dragon's energy was strongest around the city's perimeter. It rose like a wall of invisible fire. It cleansed their enemies of evil. It sent it away, back to Grima.

The city began to fight back. Grima saw this and was enraged. He had been foiled. The hearth god had overcome his power. He left the Fire Dragon and descended on the city like a hurricane. He tried to rip homes from the street. He tried to throw people into the sky. He tried to strike them down with lightning.

But he could not pierce the hearth dragon's barrier. The hearth god was too strong. His spirit in the people was strong. They did not want their lives uprooted once again. They had stability and happiness and wellness here. They were not going to be driven out. They were not going to run.

Grima did not give up. Even as they fought, he rained his evil down on the city. He tried to get past the hearth god. But the hearth god burned up his energy. He boiled away Grima's poison. He prevented it from reaching anyone inside the city.

So Grima came up with a clever plan. "Call away your people," he told the Fire Dragon. "Bring them outside the city gates. There, I will hand you your victory."

The Fire Dragon obeyed. He left the ruffians. Without his energy, they became weak and powerless. They became afraid. They turned and ran from the city's militia. They were chased past the gates, out into the surrounding hills. The boy with the hearth dragon led the charge. He stepped past the city lines. He had no idea of what the Fell Dragon was planning.

When the boy with the hearth dragon passed the city gates, Grima twisted down from the sky. He made for the boy like a tempest of death. The hearth dragon saw this and was frightened. He loved the boy. He did not want him to die. So he rose from the boy. He came before him like a shield. He tried to protect him.

But Grima was clever. Like a snake, he ducked under the hearth dragon's energy and pierced the boy in the back. He severed the boy's spine. The boy died instantly. He was sucked away into Grima's oblivion, just like his father.

The hearth dragon felt the boy's spirit go and become overcome with anguish. But he did not falter, as Grima thought he would. He became angry. He went up to Grima in a wall of fire. He struck the Fell Dragon a significant blow. The attack surprised Grima. It was more powerful than he expected. It drove him skyward, up and away from the village. The hearth dragon came after them. Grima wanted to fight back. But he had been greatly injured. So he and the Fire Dragon retreated. When they left, the sky cleared. The wind the stopped. The sun came from behind the clouds. The battle had been won.

But the people of the city were crippled with sorrow. Their leader had perished protecting their home. They took the boy and the bodies of their brave dead and buried them in a tomb in the center of town. Much later, they would build a great hearth over the crypt in honor of the boy and the dragon god that had led them to such prosperity.

The hearth dragon went with the boy deep into the crypt, where he was buried. He cried over him for many days. The people of the city had secured their home. But he had lost his.

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2-12-18

This was inspired by a weird-a** dream I had after school yesterday. I thought about writing it out like an actual story, but it wound up sounding more like a tale from the Bible. A Fire Emblem Bible. What do you think?