The Dragon's Gold

Deep in the shadow of Yr Wyddfa, where the wind carries old tales across the stones, lived a dragon unlike any in the stories. He was small, no bigger than a sheepdog, with scales that shimmered like polished, forged gold, catching even the faintest light and turning it into something magical. Most people had never seen it, nor would they have believed such a creature existed at all, but Rhys did.

He found it on a cold, frosty morning while searching for lost lambs that had slipped through a broken fence during the night. The grass crackled under Rhys’s boots, and mist curled low around the heather, as he followed tiny hoofprints toward a hidden pool, until he noticed a strange glow flickering between the rocks. At first, he thought it was sunrise reflecting on the ice, but the light pulsed, warm and alive.

There, curled beside the water, lay the dragon. Its wings were wrapped tight around its body, trembling as though it were fighting off winter itself. When Rhys stepped closer, he realised the glow wasn’t a reflection at all. It came from the dragon’s chest, a perfect, gleaming sphere of gold nestled where its heart should be.

The dragon opened one eye, ancient and gentle, its gaze older than the mountains. “Help me,” it whispered, though its mouth never moved. The voice echoed inside Rhys’s mind like a harp string plucked in a quiet, empty hall.

Rhys knew the old legends – the Welsh Dragon guarded the land not with fire, but golden courage. If its heart dimmed, the valleys would lose their strength too. The farms, the forests, even the people, they all depended on that light.

He lifted the golden heart. It was warm, almost like it breathed. But the moment he touched it, a fierce temptation surged through him. With this bewildering amount of gold, his family could save their farm. They could repair the damaged roof, buy new sheep, and start over again. For a heartbeat, the force of his worries pressed harder than the weight of the mountains around him.

The dragon watched him silently.

Rhys swallowed hard. “It’s not mine,” he said at last, after wrestling down the greed clawing at his mind.

He placed the heart back. Light burst outward, swirling like sunrise over the peaks of the great mountains. The dragon rose, strong again, and bowed its golden head.

“Courage is worth more than gold,” the voice murmured as it lifted flawlessly into the sky.

When Rhys blinked, it was gone. Only a single gold coin lay where it had stood, stamped with a tiny dragon and warm to the touch.

He slipped it into his pocket, knowing it wasn’t payment.

It was a promise.

Lucas Zheng, 11.