It is common knowledge that when dragons die they turn to stone. Islands are the most common forms, the side or back of a dragon that lived its final moments in the water, but if you look closely at most mountains then you’ll see the flat sides that could have once been wings. If it’s a relatively modern death, then it can be possible to see the folds of the legs, or even a head, fossilised in the side of a mountain and not yet smoothed by the elements.
Dragons that die naturally do so in a way that lets them pass as part of the world they lived on. They heighten already existing peaks, fill ravines, add another island to a cluster of dozens, until it has faded out of living memory which of the islands were naturally made, and which appeared one day, with a stone head tucked delicately under stone wings.
Dragons that die unnaturally don’t get that choice.
Scattered across the continents, rare enough to be marked on maps, are dragons, sprawled across fields, or laying, alone, in the clearing of a forest, their tail curling between the trees.
These dragons are treated like sacred sites, worshipped because of their rarity. The oldest of these tombs barely resemble dragons, so weathered by the wind and rain and time that all their features have been reduced small divots in the rock.
Even when they are unrecognisable, they are worshipped. Their stories are told and memorised and retold, passed down through generations, until the names of any dragon that died unnaturally becomes synonymous with “legend”. Any child can proudly tell you about the dragon closest to them, even if it is hundreds of kilometres away. We respect these dragons like we respect our churches, and the land surrounding them is sacred. It is the least we could do for them, after they die unnecessary deaths.
This was, of course, before the greed tore it apart. Before people forgot about our legends. Before someone realised that dead dragons can be burned.
Nothing is sacred if it can be fuel.
It was easier to excuse the earliest of these burnings, the steady taking-apart of dragons that had died within the last century or so. They weren’t legends yet, nor bedtime stories. They weren’t yet sacred grounds, and so we said nothing.
They were carved into blocks and removed from the maps and burned, and we said nothing. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing, they said, and we believed them. It even worked well, for a time. Dragon’s stone burns just as hot as dragon’s breath, and burns longer than coal by tenfold. One dragon could have powered an entire city for a year, so we believed that they would stop there. We have enough stone now, and we still have our legends.
We were fools, of course. No point in pretending otherwise. Before their stock of stone was even half empty, they would fill it again. They tore apart the older dragons next, our fairy tales and our legends. Broken apart and carted away, their time-softened edges were carved into harsh blocks and they too were burned.
There were protests of course, people calling for protections for these sites and these tombs, but our yells fell on deaf ears.
“It’s only stone,” we were told. “It’s only stone and it’s more useful this way. Nothing bad could come from burning dragons.”
They closed their eyes to the acrid smoke that curled up from our burning dragons and continued their carvings.
Soon, all our dragons were gone from the map, like they didn’t even exist. Once again, we thought that surely they will stop here. They have enough stone to last decades. By then, we will have different power, different ways of getting fuel. Soon, this will be in the past, and we can find new legends. There is nothing more for them to take, and no need for them to take it.
We were fools, of course. Our dragons and their stories weren’t enough for them. They wanted more. Sacred grounds had been destroyed, with nothing but a dragon shaped silhouette of dirt to show for it, and still they wanted more.
The mountains were next. The whole world had more dragon stone than they knew what to do with already, and yet they came for the mountains. Breaking off wings, carving open graves, they robbed the tombs of the natural deaths and left behind nothing but marble and smoke.
People stopped caring. Soon, it became something close to a fad. Dragon’s teeth as long as your arm and scales the size of your hand could be found for purchase. You can own part of a legend, part of a grave, for less than the price of a new phone. You could have a piece of a creature that died thousands of years ago to display on your desk, and all it will cost is the tap of a card.
We didn’t even notice when they stole the islands from the sea. The maps had been changed so much by then, and so frequently, that no one could blame us for failing to notice a few tiny islands disappear. There are bigger events going on in the world. Wars to be won, bets to be made, who has time to care about the dragons? Who has time to care about the smoke? They weren’t seen as graves at this point, just rock. Nothing left to be worshipped.
As I am writing this now, I worry. They have enough stone to last a thousand years, and enough smoke to suffocate the planet three times over, and still I do not think they’re satisfied. The mountains are flat, the islands are gone, and the legends were taken from us so long ago that it’s impossible to recall exactly where they once lay. Still, even now, they are not satisfied. They will not rest, they will not stop burning, until there is nothing left of the dragons at all.
They have run out of dead dragons to steal from, and I worry. I worry that they are going to start taking the ones that are still alive. If they are not stopped then they will shoot the dragons from the sky. They will be stone before they even hit the ground, and they will be torn apart and shipped away before the dust has had time to settle. They will hunt the living dragons until there are none left, unless the smoke kills the dragons first.
They will burn the skies, as they burnt our islands and our mountains and our legends, if that is what it takes to keep them warm.
Do not let them burn our dragons.
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