The Last Dragon
His trek was long and arduos, he had sailed south from Chile and was now entering the icy water of the antarctic. Iceburgs were getting larger and more frequent but still he pressed. The ancient family herloom grew colder in his grasp. It was a scale, his grandfather had sworn it had magical powers, Yentl knew better, he had seen paintings of scales like this, it was a dragon scale.
Each hour the artifact grew more active. A layer of frost formed around it on the helm of the ship, then a loud crack. The wood splintered in the extreme cold and the scale fell through. Yentle grabbed it before it burned icily through the deck and it bonded instantly to his hand. Instead of pain he felt instant power. His own breath blew small shards of ice, his heart slowed, his blood thickened. He knew where he must go.
Within a few days he finally reached land, he knew somewhere burried under the thousands of feet of ice was the last remaining dragon, and he was going to be it’s master.