S
Sir Drake was the greatest dragonslayer in the realm. He was seven feet tall, invincible in battle, and breathed smoke from his helmet.
"He fights with the fury of a beast!" the King praised.
Drake never took off his armor. He claimed it was a vow of chastity or something. The truth was simpler: he was a dragon.
He had been cursed into human form by a wizard who thought it would be funny. "You want to hoard gold? Fine. Go earn it."
Drake hated being human. He was cold. He was small. And he had to pay taxes.
He killed other dragons because they were rivals. "Get off my turf!" he would roar, stabbing them with a lance.
But one day, he met a dragon who didn't fight back. She was small, pearlescent, and weeping.
"They stole my egg," she hissed.
Drake lowered his sword. He remembered his own egg. He remembered the warmth of the nest.
"Who stole it?" he asked.
"The King. For an omelet."
Drake saw red. He marched back to the castle. He stormed into the royal kitchen. The chef was cracking the giant egg.
Drake didn't use his sword. He opened his mouth and let go of the spell holding him back. He exploded out of his armor, expanding, scaling, burning. The kitchen roof blew off.
He was a dragon again. A massive, angry, red dragon.
He grabbed the egg. He grabbed the chef (gently). He flew away.
He returned the egg to the mother. She nuzzled him.
"Thank you, knight," she said.
"I'm not a knight," Drake rumbled, curling up on a pile of gold he had stolen from the treasury on his way out. "I'm just a lizard with a day job."