The Tale of The Golden Flower

                       Once upon a time, in the kingdom of Nathaldra, there bloomed a bright golden flower. The flower bloomed in a mystical forest and remained shrouded by thick mist. No one had ever actually seen the flower and very few knew how to reach it. But everyone in the kingdom knew the lores of the flower by heart. It was said that the flower could bring peace to the most troubled people. It could bring luck to the most unlucky and prosperity to the most unprosperous.

               But the Nathaldrans have always been a prosperous people. They had their bellies full and their hearts leaping. They sang their way through the harvest seasons and sang their heart out in between. They lived happily under the kind rule of their king. In fact they were so happy, that you could swear you saw the cows smile at you when you passed by their grassy fields. 

                 But despair touches all. A little by little their streams started drying out. Their fields started turning a little more brown with every passing year and their animals grew skinnier. Soon they realised that they barely had enough food to last the whole year. It was like life was sucked out of nathaldra. “Lets pray.” they said, “maybe it’ll pass.” But years of praying didn’t amount to anything. Time passed and Nathadra only grew weaker by the day. The Prince was worried. He was soon supposed to take over the duties of his father, the King. Known to be a brave warrior and a skilled statesman, he was well liked by his people. But what plagued his kingdom was beyond anything he knew how to fight. And what good is a king who cannot defend his own people? He consulted the elders, he consulted experts from all over the world, but nothing bore any fruit. In the end he decided what he needed was a miracle. So he visited the king. 

“Father, our land has been in peril for far too long. No more can we bear this. Allow me to go on the quest for the golden flower.”

“I do not wish to lose you my son,” the King sighed, “ neither do the people. It’s a dangerous path and besides, who knows if the stories are even true?”

But the Prince’s mind was made up. “What other choice do we have? We have already tried everything we could have we not? Even if there is a small possibility that the golden flower can bring life back to our kingdom, shouldn’t we take it? The way I see it, we can either spend our days hoping for a miracle to save us, or we can be the miracle and save ourselves. The choice is very clear for me.” 

The king’s eyes teared up a little, but his face smiled faintly. He was proud to see his little prince growing up to be a King, yet he was terrified of losing his only son. Being a father and a King was no easy task. 

“Your courage inspires me, my son. You are a grown man now. It’s about time you stopped asking for my permission and started making your own decisions. They are your people. Do what you feel is best for them. You have my blessings.” 

           The prince gathered a platoon of Nathaldra’s finest soldiers and set out in search of the flower. Everyone was scared. They didn’t know if the prince would return. But as they saw him ride off into the horizon with a brave smile on his face, they believed. That’s the thing about hope, it’s infectious. People held their breath and waited for the prince’s return. Days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months, yet there was no sign of him or anyone from his team. The king fell sick and lay in his deathbed. He turned and twisted worrying about the coming winter, and more importantly, his son’s safety. With the king’s survival in question, the people desperately prayed for the safe return of their prince with the golden flower so that he may save them from this peril and restore Nathaldra’s former glory. But slowly hope started fading away and fear took over. 

                After months of prayers went unanswered, finally someone spotted a tired horse panting in the shed of a tree with one of the soldiers who had left with the king. They carried the injured soldier to a healer. The sick king rushed there to see him. It took him a while to regain consciousness. At first he could barely speak. But as he collected himself a little, his eyes widened with terror, remembering what had happened. He told the villagers that his platoon reached the mystical forest without much trouble. The road wasn’t clearly visible due to the thick mist. The only thing they had to go on was a light golden hue towards the north. It had to have been the golden flower. They followed the hue, and for a while it seemed like the end was in sight. That was until they heard high pitched screeching noises coming from far away. They continued moving forward and the screeching noises started getting louder and louder.

On top of that, some of them swore they could see a giant dark shadow circling above them in the sky. The prince halted the platoon and contemplated return. But right at that moment the mist started clearing away and the golden hue started getting brighter and brighter. They were close. They knew it. Before they could decide whether to turn around or to keep moving forward, they heard a chilling, loud roar and the forest was set afire. From the fire, appeared a dark, giant figure. The scaly creature that looked like a lizard but had wings. Within moments the organised platoon of soldiers turned into a chaotic group of little children. Some of them ran, some hid and some charged towards the creature with the prince.

But fire came out of that creature's mouth. It burned most of them alive and chewed up the rest. Luckily the soldier fell into a ditch, out of the creature’s sight. He waited as he could hear the creature sniffing and looking around, roaring as if to instil fear into the hearts of anyone who would dare to cross paths with it. Every passing moment felt like an hour. But after what could have been a day or a few minutes, he could hear it flap its wings and fly away. The soldier slowly climbed out of the ditch. He looked around and all he could see through the mist, thicker than ever before, was death and desolation. The forest had been reduced to ashes, turned black and white. And there was burnt skin. Yes. He could smell burnt skin. 

          The News of his son’s death hit the king hard. The hope of getting a last glimpse of his face kept the King alive against all odds. He collapsed to the floor and with his dying breath swore vengeance against the beast. The entire Kingdom was up in arms. With the prince gone and now the king, they felt lost. As if they had no future. Nathaldrans were a proud people. The murder of their future king was an insult they were not going to take lightly. And who knew that the beast wouldn’t one day attack their home too? They had to retaliate. The people gathered every bit of resource they could find. They emptied out their storages, butchered all the animals, melted all the metal and the Nathaldran Army marched out. 

           As they reached the mystical forest, winter was upon them. They could hear the screeching noises, they could see the circling shadow in the sky. But oddly, no golden hue. Maybe because they weren’t looking for one. They rode against the snow, they rode against the mist. They charged at the shadow from different directions. Nobody fully knew what was happening, but they could smell the smoke, they could see glimpses of fire and they could hear the dying wails of their fellow men only to be drowned out by a thundering roar. The battle raged on. The creature was strong, but against an unrelenting foe, it started weakening. Arrows pierced through his scale and one hit him in the eye

. He grew tired of fighting, but with his remaining strength he made a dying attempt to fight off his attackers. With victory in sight, the remaining Nathaldran soldiers charged with newfound courage. It wasn’t easy, but against all odds, the creature dropped dead right before nightfall. At first, no one approached the creature. But after a while it became clear that what lay in front of them was a lifeless body. The Nathaldrans rejoiced. They had done it. They had vanquished the beast. They had avenged their prince. They had defended their honor. They lit bonfires and prepared a feast. They laid down their swords and danced around the fire and sang. They told and retold the story of the battle like it was a bedtime story from childhood. 

                  Nobody noticed, not that anybody cared to notice, in the middle of the raging battle, in the middle of gallantry never seen before, in the middle of the legends of tomorrow being written today, the golden flower was trampled to death.