Reading Time: 6 min
About Story: The Ancient Dragon of Vyšehrad is a Legend from czech-republic set in the Medieval. This Descriptive tale explores themes of Wisdom and is suitable for Young. It offers Historical insights. A forgotten legend awakens—can one man rewrite fate before Prague falls into ruin?.
Atop the cliffs of Vyšehrad, where the Vltava River glistened under the Prague moonlight, stood an ancient fortress. Its walls, weathered by time, bore witness to the rise and fall of kings, the march of armies, and the whispered legends that had outlived history itself.
For centuries, the people of Prague spoke of a guardian—an ancient dragon slumbering beneath Vyšehrad’s stone foundation. Some dismissed it as folklore, a tale to frighten children and entertain wandering poets. Others swore that deep within the catacombs, the earth still pulsed with an unseen force, as if something vast and powerful merely *rested*, waiting.
Few dared to search for the truth.
But Marek Veselý was not like most men.
A historian obsessed with uncovering Prague’s hidden past, he had spent his life sifting through forgotten manuscripts and forbidden texts. Yet nothing had prepared him for what he was about to find. The University of Prague’s archives were a labyrinth of dust-laden books and crumbling parchment. Hidden among them was the *Vyšehrad Codex Draconis*, a fragile collection of vellum pages bound in deteriorating leather. The text, nearly illegible with age, was filled with symbols Marek had never seen before. His fingers traced the fading ink, lips moving silently as he attempted to piece together the meaning. *"When the city stands at the precipice of ruin, the guardian shall rise from the depths. The fire of Vyšehrad shall awaken, and the fate of Prague shall be decided by the one who calls it forth."* Marek felt a chill run through him. The passage was old—perhaps older than the Přemyslid dynasty itself. That night, he could hardly sleep. He had spent years following mere fragments of this legend, yet now, the truth seemed just within reach. If the dragon was real—if there was even a *chance* it existed—what else had history chosen to forget? He had to find out. The entrance to the Vyšehrad catacombs was hidden beneath the ruins of an abandoned chapel. Most believed it led nowhere—a dead-end passage buried under centuries of debris. But Marek knew better. Armed with a lantern and a worn leather satchel, he descended the uneven stone steps, each one colder than the last. The deeper he went, the heavier the air became, thick with damp earth and something else—something old. Then he saw it. A wall, covered in ancient carvings. Unlike anything he had ever seen before. Runes. Not Latin, nor Slavic. Something older. His lantern’s glow flickered against the carvings, and as he reached out to touch them, a sudden warmth spread through his fingertips. The symbols pulsed, faintly, like the embers of a dying fire. Then, the earth trembled. A low rumble, distant yet unmistakable, echoed through the cavern. The floor beneath him *shifted*. Marek stumbled back as dust and stone rained down from the ceiling. The air grew heavy with heat, and a deep, guttural sound—half growl, half breath—rose from below. Then came the voice. *"Who dares disturb my slumber?"* It was not spoken, not truly. The words resonated through the chamber, *inside* Marek’s very bones. His breath hitched. This was no legend. The dragon of Vyšehrad was real. A crack formed in the ground before him, jagged and wide. The heat intensified, waves of it distorting the air like a mirage. From within the crevice, two immense golden eyes flickered open. The dragon. Marek stood frozen, every instinct screaming at him to flee. But his mind, the mind of a scholar, refused to let fear take hold. It *had* to be reasoned with. He steadied his breathing and stepped forward, voice trembling but firm. "I—" He swallowed hard. "I seek knowledge." Silence. Then, slowly, the ground beneath him rumbled as the dragon's massive form shifted. Its head, crowned with curved horns that gleamed like obsidian, emerged from the darkness. Its scales, though dulled by centuries of dust, shimmered like molten gold beneath the lantern’s flickering light. "You know not what you have done, mortal." The voice was deep, ancient, and filled with something Marek couldn’t quite place. Was it *amusement*? The dragon exhaled, and the warm gust sent ripples through Marek’s coat. "Do you even know why I was sealed away?" Marek hesitated. "The manuscripts say you are a guardian," he said carefully. "A protector of Prague, bound by magic in times of peace." A deep, resonant chuckle echoed through the cavern. "How little your kind remembers." The dragon’s eyes locked onto him, studying, weighing. "Tell me, scholar… do you fear what you have awoken?" Marek did not answer. Because for the first time in his life, he truly did not know. Above ground, unrest stirred. The air in Prague was thick with whispers—of war, of revolution. Political tensions had reached their breaking point, and the city stood on the edge of something dangerous. Marek now understood the truth hidden within the *Codex Draconis*. The dragon’s awakening was no accident. It was a warning. And if history had buried the truth of its power, what else had it erased? He sought answers among the secretive Order of the Silver Flame, an ancient society sworn to protect the balance between magic and man. "The dragon’s power is not one of destruction," an elder told him, "but of fate. If it is forced into war, the consequences will be irreversible." Marek felt the weight of his mistake settle over him. He had woken something that was never meant to wake. And now, the world would pay the price. He returned to the catacombs, heart pounding. The dragon watched him approach, its golden eyes unreadable. "You must return," Marek pleaded. "If you rise, the city will fall." The dragon inhaled deeply, the embers in its throat glowing. "It is not my choice to make." Marek understood. The bond had already been forged. The only way to stop the destruction was to *become* the dragon’s vessel—to wield its power not as a force of war, but of wisdom. The dragon's gaze bore into him, searching, deciding. Then, it spoke. "Then let us forge a new pact." The air trembled as the ritual began. Magic—old, raw, *pure*—coursed through Marek, filling his veins with fire. He gasped as centuries of knowledge, of history long lost, flooded his mind. And then, silence. The dragon’s form began to fade, its golden light retreating into Marek’s chest, its power now his own. He was no longer just a historian. He was the *guardian* of Vyšehrad. The war never came. Perhaps it was fate. Perhaps it was the unseen hand of a scholar who had glimpsed too much of history’s design. The people of Prague still whispered of the dragon beneath Vyšehrad. Some claimed to hear a distant roar on stormy nights, others swore they saw golden embers flicker in the darkened streets. But Marek knew the truth. The dragon had not vanished. It lived *within him*. And as long as Prague stood, so too would its guardian.The Forgotten Manuscript
The Passage Below
The Awakening
The Shadow of War
The Guardian's Choice
A Legend Lives On
