A Tale of the Shapeshifters

𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑿𝑳𝑽𝑰𝑰 - 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑺𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒕 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒎

Sir Claudius's soul drifted into the fireplace. He was born out of fire, and so he returned to it.

The stone had finally reached his heart, turning it hard and cold like the fierce Ireland winters. And the rest of his body followed soon after—his chest, forelimbs, underbelly, neck, and lastly, his long snout and eyes.

Flames whisked his silvery-blue soul up out of the chimney and into the moonbeams. Moonlight sucked him up and carried him away.

Everything was just as it had been on earth. Beochaoineadh Castle remained, as well as the cliffs and forests and sea. But the land was covered in a light blue haze, like mists in the early morning. And shimmering spirits—púcaí, wisps, ghosts, and others—bounced about in the gardens. Deer spirits frolicked in the nearby fields, skipping and leaping like dolphins over the ocean.

There were hardly any sounds, just the sea waves lolling and crashing against the cliffs. Every step Sir Claudius made into the dirt was silent, and his tracks disappeared behind him as he walked down the pebbled driveway leading into his castle.

But then, a voice:

"So, you have a human soul."

Sir Claudius's ears perked. It was a voice he had almost forgotten. Everything in him stopped. His blue lips trembled. "H-hello... Father."

"Hello, my son," the voice returned, low and calm.

Claudius inched around, stiff as a tall oak. Never before had Claudius seen his father's soul, for it was not black and red as his earthly form was. Instead, there was a dark, navy blue dragon standing before him, basking in the moonbeams. The patriarch was enormous, larger than both Sir Claudius and Heart of the Flame combined—practically trumping Beochaoineadh Castle. Loose skin hung down from his neck, almost like a beard, and it swung in the slight breeze. Multiple silvery brandings scattered all across his body like a patterned tapestry was draped over his scaly skin.

"Am I blue, too?" Claudius asked, holding his hands out in front of him.

"Everything is this hue in the spirit realm, Claudius," the Patriarch replied.

The man bobbed his head up and down, his face stuck in an expression of both awe and hesitation. "Are we both... dead?"

The Patriarch shook his head. "You are. However, I am not, my son. Since I am an Elder, I can pass through the realms as I please." He hung his head. "I keep tabs on all of my children. I always make it a priority, whenever one of my children pass—whether they have remained in the clan or ventured out on their own—to visit them."

Claudius took in a deep breath. "So, my soul is human... but where is my dragon body?"

"Right where you left it. You could travel to the dungeons if you wanted and find it."

"Oh, no. I never want to see that skin ever again. I'm... oh..." His skin turned bright white as he sighed with relief and a blue flame ignited in his eyes. "Oh, I'm so glad to be rid of it!" Running his hands through his shimmering blue hair, Claudius grinned and hollered for joy.

The Dragon Patriarch frowned, his old, saggy scales shifting downward. "I wish you would not speak like that, Claudius."

The man's arms fell to his side. "Why not? You know better than anybody how much I loathed my dragon skin. And now I can be forever free from it!"

"I know, I know," the Patriarch spoke. "But... oh, Claudius, you never learned, did you?"

"Learned what?"