The Spirit of the Dragon

She stood, her back against the seemingly impenetrable wall, waiting for his fist to connect. She closed her eyes, refusing to give him the satisfaction of her tears and the pain reflected in her gaze.
In the span of a second, everything changed
She saw a dragon, soaring above a much bluer ocean than she knew, delighted at the fair winds and clear skies. She saw the same dragon roaring in fury at another, viciously attacking it until it stopped moving. She watched as it practically seethed anger at the dead dragon, its eyes colder than ice yet strangely sorrowful.
The scene shifted to a mage, her royal blue cloak with a gold dragon insignia billowing in the wind as she fired spells, fighting alongside knights and cavalry. It was absolute chaos as seemingly perpetually spilling blood made the mud slicker and horses’ hoofbeats echoed on the rocky ground. She watched as the mage engaged in a sort of graceful death dance, pushing the enemy back with each spell fired.
In a flash, she watched as a knight clad in gleaming yet dented armor fought her way through a battlefield, broadsword practically spinning. Her blue shield bore a gold dragon insignia, the only piece of equipment that remained pristine. The knight darted through enemy lines, settling into a rhythm as she decimated their numbers.
The girl closed her hand around the pen in her pocket, the one with the blue and gold dragon insignia on the bottom of the cap. This is my fight, she thought. This is my time. She opened her eyes, filled with fury fueled flames as she swung her fist for the first time in centuries. 
At once, thousands of now soundless voices cried out, most hopeful, some vengeful;
The dragon spirit has been rekindled
Category:Original Stories
Category:Stories
Category:Literature
Category:Original Stories (Unfinished)