Old Times (Between 300 and 400 Years Ago).
This place could have been called enchanting. A green carpet of grass covered everything except the cobblestone paths. Surrounding the area, about a hundred paces away, stood ancient trees, and the scent of pine urged you to breathe deeply. Nearby were a few small statues, their pedestals jutting out of the grass as if they had grown there naturally, just like the trees, the grass, and the bushes a little farther off, rather than being crafted by human hands.
Truth be told, it was clear there was no gardener here, and no one tended to the plants regularly. The grass and bushes were untrimmed, weeds poked through the cracks between the cobblestones on the paths, and in the grass—which could hardly be called a lawn—wildflowers bloomed. Honestly, though, it might even be better this way. At least, that’s how it seemed to Magda right now.
But the main attraction here, of course, wasn’t nature.
A little farther off, on a small rise accessed by stone steps (with more small statues perched atop the stone pillars of the railing), stood the castle.
Magda had never been inside a real castle before—how could she, when she’d never left Ostenfreyburg? But she had seen them, the ones built hundreds of years ago, in engravings. And she understood that this castle was entirely different. Unique. Without fortress walls, though the area around it was enclosed by a palisade, the castle didn’t take up much space here on the hilltop, yet it seemed to strive upward, reaching for the sky. It wasn’t just the building’s proportions, the tall windows, or the number of floors that gave this impression, but also the shape of the roof. Most of all, though, it was the tall, relatively narrow towers that created this effect. What could be up there, and how did one even get to the top?
Overall, this wasn’t an ordinary castle but something between a castle, a palace, and simply a large house. Though it was larger than any house in town, even those of the wealthiest merchants or the burgomaster. It wasn’t built in a rush or poorly, but without much attention to certain details. For instance, some walls were made of stone, others of brick, and the sections of stone and brick were arranged without any apparent order. Over there, in a gray stone wall, was a reddish patch where bricks showed through, and here, it was the opposite. This wasn’t a matter of patching up holes, as no one had ever stormed or bombarded this castle with cannons—no, it had been built this way from the start. It looked as if they used whatever materials were on hand at the time.
Even from out here, it felt like this place had been conceived and designed not for a human, even the most powerful one. In fact, not by a human at all.
Everything here seemed to breathe with that feeling. Even the statues nearby. Perhaps that was the intention. But who could have ever come here?
Be that as it may, the place was enchanting. And one could have enjoyed being here. Just sitting, in her finest dress (which she rarely had the chance to wear), on this large wrought-iron chest placed right on the grass, breathing deeply, and, if she wanted, even swinging her legs.
Both at once. Because Magda’s legs were tightly bound. As were her hands, tied behind her back. So, enjoying life was the last thing on her mind right now. Not to mention the thoughts swirling in the girl’s head, thoughts that were anything but cheerful.
When they brought her here—in an ordinary cart—she had asked those driving why they were treating her so cruelly.
“It’s the order of Lord Dragon,” replied the man handling the reins. He sat with his back to her, of course, and didn’t even turn his head to answer her question. These two didn’t hurt her—she had to give them that—but they acted as if Magda were just part of the cargo they’d been ordered to deliver here. As if she weren’t alive. Perhaps they truly believed she already wasn’t.
And it was clear they wanted to spend as little time here as possible. So, when the cart passed through the open gates of the palisade and stopped in what could be called the castle’s courtyard, the drivers quickly unloaded two wrought-iron chests and set them on the ground. Then they helped Magda down and sat her on one of them. Again, they took care not to hurt her, but that was all. They didn’t even say goodbye as they left. And there was no one else here.
Though, as soon as the cart disappeared beyond the gates, they closed on their own with a creak, making the situation even more eerie. Not to mention that those gates now cut Magda off from the world of the living.
But her eyes, ears, and nose still took in her surroundings. Including the pair of black dogs that appeared as if from nowhere. Meanwhile, her mind, while registering impressions of this place—perhaps the last she’d ever see in her life—was simultaneously searching for a way out. And finding none.
Let’s say she could fall off this chest onto the ground, pull her legs up, and, scraping her nails, untie them. But then what? With her hands bound at the wrists and elbows, that was impossible. Opening the gates or climbing over the palisade to escape was out of the question too. Worst of all, even if by some miracle she managed it, leaving the island—connected to the mainland by a single bridge—without being noticed was impossible. And anyone who saw a runaway, instead of helping her—say, by ferrying her across in a boat—would do everything to bring her back here. Every resident of the town who had once admired her. Even those who had wanted to marry her, or for their sons to marry her, would now do everything to ensure Magda returned here. They no longer considered her one of them. They no longer considered her alive.
So, there was no point in even trying. At least not now. For the moment, she had to wait and see what would happen next, sitting here, breathing the wonderful air, feeling the sun’s rays on her face and bare shoulders. Watching the dogs, one of which approached and started licking her leg—not exactly a pleasant sensation, but the dog seemed friendly, and if she tried to shoo it away, it might bite (and she had no way to defend herself right now). And remembering how all this began, trying to understand how it came to this—how all these people, born in her town, decent, religious, mostly rational, and who had liked her (some even much more than that), had brought her here to hand her over to the owner of this castle.
Lord Dragon.
Two Years Earlier.
Heinz Tobenau had every reason to be satisfied with life. At least as long as Ostenfreyburg remained a prosperous trading town. If the townsfolk were earning well, they built new houses. How could they not? Merchants, craftsmen—all of them needed new homes from time to time. Some found their current space too cramped, others had growing families, another wanted a shop in the same building as their home, or needed a warehouse on the outskirts. And so on, until there was no more room on the island, though that was still a long way off. And Heinz was there to help.
There were no stone quarries near the town—there had been an attempt once, in the northern part of the island, but it proved pointless. So, building materials had to be brought in. And that’s what Heinz did.
Carts loaded with bricks crossed the bridge. Stone was unloaded from ships docking at the small port. All of it ended up at a large lot on the edge of town, owned by Heinz Tobenau. He was glad this merchandise didn’t require special storage conditions—yes, it made things simpler. He also employed stonemasons who built walls for future homeowners. Not for everyone, of course—some hired their own workers. But Heinz made a profit either way, as he had no competitors in town.
Naturally, he had a fine house of his own, a wife, and two kids. What was there to be unhappy about?
And so, this time, he was returning home. Of course, deals for purchasing materials weren’t made in Ostenfreyburg. Truth be told, Heinz’s wife didn’t like these trips, because after finishing his business, he always found a way to visit a tavern and came back far from sober. And what wife would appreciate that?
Especially this time, since Heinz hadn’t gone to the neighboring town, where he needed to negotiate brick purchases, alone. He was accompanied by an old friend, Josef Gossel. Josef had said he also had business there, though he was reluctant to explain what exactly to anyone except Heinz. This meant they’d drink more than usual and return even later.
They crossed the bridge to the island in the dark. Each rode on horseback—it was necessary to get to the neighboring town. Ostenfreyburg itself was small, so most townsfolk walked. With one exception. But trips beyond the island required a different mode of transport.
Especially a comfortable one when you weren’t entirely sober. The key was to ride slowly, at a walking pace. Definitely better than walking on foot. Plus, the moon and stars lit the way—they’d gotten lucky with that. Home wasn’t far now. And that was good too.
For now, they could ride together, humming a tune. Not to mention discussing not just business, but the quality of the wine they’d drunk, and more… There were topics you could only talk about with a friend, and only when no one else was listening.
Maybe Josef was a bit more sober. Or maybe he had better hearing. But it was he who stopped singing, raised a hand, and asked:
“What’s that?”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t you hear it, Heinz?”
At first, Heinz didn’t understand what he was talking about. The sounds were the kind you’d hear riding through a forest, especially with a strong wind. The rustling of treetops, the creaking of old trees—hopefully none would fall right in front of them! Some cry, probably from a nocturnal bird. And somewhere farther off—that was definitely an owl… At least it was good that no wolves had been seen on the island for decades. Maybe because no livestock was raised here.
But then Heinz heard it too, and he had to agree:
“Yeah. There’s something here.”
A strange flapping sound came from somewhere above, but the trees blocked the view of whatever was making it. It was like a large flag whipping in the wind, but where would something like that come from in the middle of a forest?
“I don’t like this,” Josef muttered; he was indeed more sober than his friend.
“Don’t worry. We’re already on the island; no one will mess with us here. Bandits don’t… What?!”
The exclamation escaped both of them at the same time. Something huge had momentarily blocked out the stars, flying over the road. But since the strip of sky above the path was narrow, with tall trees on either side, neither of them got a good look.
They sobered up instantly, though, realizing they’d encountered something they’d never seen before. And they couldn’t even fathom what it was.
“Did you see that?” Josef asked quietly.
“Yeah. But what was it?”
“No idea. But let’s keep our eyes peeled.” The friends stopped their horses; though neither was sure if they were doing the right thing—maybe they should be galloping away instead? But neither wanted to look like a coward in front of the other. So, they looked up, roughly in the direction where whatever they’d seen had disappeared. And where those strange flapping sounds were coming from.
Their attention was soon rewarded.
“Look!” Josef exclaimed, pointing ahead, and Heinz also caught sight of a silhouette crossing the patch of sky above the path again. Seeing it, he said:
“You know what… Let’s get out of here. Whatever that is, I really don’t like it.”
“Hold on. What is it?”
“I don’t know. But I don’t like it,” Heinz repeated, loosening the reins.
The problem was that to get home, they had to ride right through the area where whatever it was was flying. But they had no choice, so the friends moved forward. Straight toward the sound…
“It’s…”
“Sounds like wings.” Josef listened closely. “But if it’s a bird, it’s bigger than anything I’ve ever seen. I don’t know what could’ve flown here…”
Whoever or whatever it was, it flew over the road again. And Heinz, who managed to glimpse the silhouette flashing above them, shuddered and said:
“That’s no bird.”
“Why do you think that?”
“The wings. I saw them in the moonlight. They’ve got no feathers. More like… a bat’s.”
“But there’s no way bats get that big,” Josef countered, considering himself the more pragmatic and grounded of the two, despite his friend being a merchant.
“I-I don’t know… Maybe it’s not a bat!”
At that moment, something flew over them again—it seemed to be circling. And the friends, whose eyes had adjusted to the dim light and knew what to expect, got a better look. Membranous wings. A head on a long neck, and an equally long tail.
“Could it be…”
“Look!”
To the left of the road, beyond a few rows of trees, was an open space; no one ever went there: every resident of Ostenfreyburg knew it was a swamp. In the middle, there must’ve been slightly firmer ground, because two pine trees stood there, separate from the others—somehow, they’d managed to grow in that spot. They stood tall until this very moment, because just as whatever was flying above the friends disappeared in that direction, a new sound reached them—a kind of hissing—and then the two lone pines burst into flames like torches.
“Damn it!”
Heinz and Josef now wanted only one thing: to get as far away from this place as possible. They spurred their horses, especially since the dark silhouette flew over their heads once more.
It didn’t take long before their sweat-soaked horses brought the travelers into town. By the time they reached their homes, both had recounted what they’d seen—and their conclusions—to a few late-night passersby. So, by morning, rumors had spread through the town that two travelers had seen a dragon flying over the road. A real, even fire-breathing, dragon!
Many, of course, didn’t believe it—especially since they knew the state Heinz and Josef usually returned in from such trips. But enough did believe to start a mild panic spreading through the town—still light, but it needed to be contained. So, the burgomaster, who first thing in the morning spoke with both witnesses himself—though he remained skeptical—sent two sober men to the location they’d described.
But when they returned, they reported that, of course, they found no traces (except for hoofprints), but the two pines standing alone in the swamp had indeed burned, now stretching their dead, charred branches toward the sky.
It was as if a wave of cold swept through the town after this news. And over the next few weeks, three more late-night travelers saw the dragon flying above them. The fact that nothing else had caught fire from its flames no longer mattered.
All the residents of Ostenfreyburg understood that life had split into “before” and “after,” though they didn’t yet know how exactly this “after” would differ from what they were used to.
Everything, truly, was just beginning.