“Aster! Wake up! You aren’t going believe what’s happening!” A dark figured shouted into the thatched hut and disappeared into the bright sunny daylight. The old man jerked his head up from the old dusty tome laid open before him. He wiped the moisture from his mouth and noticed a dark circle soaked into the parchment. A deep thrumming vibrated in his skull and he massaged the back of his neck.

“Aster come on!” The figure had returned and shouted once again for the man. The sudden outburst of sound felt like daggers in his brain. Grumbling and growling he threw on his cloak and stumbled out into the world.

Townsfolk ran to and fro in the village square. Shouting and pointing at the peak of the Meister’s home, Aster glanced up. Spotting nothing out of the ordinary, he grumbled to himself that his eyesight must be failing in his advanced age.

“Aster, can you believe it?” Said a villager. “Isn’t wonderful! I thought it was a myth!” Said another. I wonder what they are going on about, he thought to himself. He joined the throng moving towards the home of their village elder, the Meister.

As he neared the rustic wooden structure the thrumming grew and grew. He rubbed his temples with the tips of his fingers trying to find relief from the pins deep in his grey matter. He looked around and didn’t see anyone else in agony.

“Excuse me, Bartleman, is it? Do you hear anything, like a humming or something?” He asked the young man wearing a dirty apron. Aster, guessed that he was the tavern keeper and whatever it was that was going on must be important enough to drag the barman from his tavern. The younger man nodded and pointed to the peak, just like everyone else.

Aster once again looked up at the home and he spotted the life size wooden carving of the legendary hero, Maxim. The thrumming grew to a deafening roar. Aster grimaced and held his head.

“Aster? You okay?” Bartleman asked. The thrumming sound abated for a moment allowing the old man to glance up once more. It was then that he saw what everyone else had already known. The wooden carving held an equally wooden sword aloft. Atop its head was a painted crown encrusted with rocks painted bright colors to look like precious gems. In the statues other hand he held a crystal sphere the size of a mans head. It glowed brightly and in time with the thrumming. Aster’s eyes flew wide as understanding flooded through him.

“It’d can’t be!” He said to himself.

Everyone man, woman and child knew the legend of Maxim the Great and his battle with the dragon, Fangore the Fearsome. Over a hundred years ago, the dragon had come from the north, terrorizing village after village, eating the livestock and incinerating any and all that stood in its way. Maxim, the villages bravest defender, swore to protect them. He set out with a squad of the toughest and roughest men to confront the dragon before he came to their village. Only Maxim returned, bloody and burnt, but alive. He brought with him a crystal sphere. The same sphere that the dragon had guarded with its last dying breath. Rumors swirled that the crystal wasn’t a crystal at all but instead was a dragon egg that would hatch when the the last hero fell in battle and to bring about the rise of the dragons. Many thought it was a myth and just a story to scare the children. The townsfolk erected the statue after Maxim died in honor of his feats. The crystal was placed in the statues hand and the story fell into legend. Until now.

Aster gazed up at the crystal, now pulsing in rhythm with the thrumming in his skull and the pace was quickening. Aster glanced around the crowd and saw only smiling faces and laughing children. Many sang Maxim’s praises and recounted the legend. Why aren’t they hearing the sound? He thought. His eyes darted about as sweat beaded on his forehead. The thrumming reached a crescendo and suddenly stopped. Aster’s eyes shot up to the brightly glowing orb. His stomach churned and his chest thumped loudly. *CRACK! A jagged line appeared in the orb.

“Oh. no. Doom is upon us.” Aster muttered as another jagged line appeared followed by another and another. The voices had died away and all eyes were on the orb. A sudden high pitched whine echoed through the village, dropping everyone but Aster to their knees. The orb suddenly shattered, sending dull white shards flying into the air. A cloud of smoke hung in the air, and many that were present that day told their children that they had seen death as it took to the air.