Strength of the Dragon

By RaistlinofMetallica

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Blanket disclaimer: Anything you recognize, except for my OCs and the plot, I don't own. I do this for fun and absolutely no profit.

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January the first, After Colony 205

A new year begins and here I sit, in bed, shaking off the remnants of a nightmare. I dreamt of dragons, the genesis of my name. Dei Draghi: it means “of the dragon” in Italian. My grandfather told me much about my name before he died in the war. My name, Gabriela, means “God is my strength.” He told me once, when I was little, that I had all the nobility and perseverance of the dragon with my power in my faith. He died in the war, as did my father.

Anyway, I dreamt of dragons. They flooded my dreams: fiery red, lightning blue, onyx black, emerald green, and snow white. They were brilliant and alarming, and so many! I walked among them, unafraid. They bowed their heads to me, making way for me to pass. It was so strange: these magnificent creatures bowing their slender necks to me. But it felt eerily familiar. The feeling followed me throughout the dream. At the end of the path gilded by dragons, there was a chair shaped like a crescent. It looked like a chair that the Roman emperors of yore sat upon during their brief reigns. A terribly inviting pillow of red velvet rested in the shallow of the chair.

The dragons seemed anxious to see me take the seat among their great number. Then, the dragons shrieked in pain and vanished. A chill sunk into my bones and I looked around, shivering with fear. The ground was gray and the sky pink as the predawn. There was a glowing oval of light in the distance. It was the only thing there, in that empty gray place.

I began to walk forward when a hand clasped my arm. It was weird looking, having a strange golden cast to it. I stared up at its owner, a man in black robes. His shoulder length white hair fluttered slightly as if a breeze touched them. I felt a distinct sense of déjà vu when I looked into his golden eyes.

“There is danger in that path, Little Dragon. Avoid the Dark Stranger. He brings pain and deceit,” he said.

I shuddered. How did he know my father’s nickname for me? I hadn’t been called that since before the war, before my father was killed.

“Should you need help, all you must do is call for me,” the golden man continued, smiling at me softly. “And I will come.”

I woke then, shivering with fear. This dream wasn’t like my other dreams. Usually, I don’t remember. But whenever I remember a dream, it always comes true. I shivered and looked up at my wall. In a frame was a picture I had drawn when I was very young. I must have been about four or five, judging by the quality of my stick figures. But for some reason, something else caught my attention about it.

One of the stick figures was wearing black. His face was yellow. His hair was colored with scribbled white crayon. I paled a little. My mind raced, looking for the elusive memories of the drawing. My mother had told me that it was of my imaginary friend and I, from when I was still in preschool. I remembered then what she had said I called him: “Raistlin.”