The Last Dragon of Edinburgh

Eleven-year-old Isla thought moving to Edinburgh from the Highlands would be boring. No mountains, no lochs, just old buildings and tourists. But on her first day at the new school, something strange happened. During a field trip to Edinburgh Castle, Isla heard a voice - a deep, rumbling whisper coming from beneath the ancient stones. "Finally, someone who can hear me," the voice said. Isla looked around. None of her classmates seemed to notice. "Who's there?" she whispered back. "Follow the thistle path at midnight. Come alone." That night, Isla snuck out (something she'd never done before). Behind the castle, she found a trail of purple thistles - Scotland's national flower - glowing faintly in the moonlight. The trail led to a hidden cave beneath Arthur's Seat, the ancient volcano overlooking the city. And there, curled among the rocks, was a dragon. Not a huge, fearsome dragon from movies - this one was about the size of a horse, with scales that shimmered like Scottish heather, and eyes as green as the hills of home. "You're... you're real," Isla breathed. "As real as the stones beneath your feet, lass," the dragon said in a voice like distant thunder. "My name is Cailleach, and I am the last of the Edinburgh dragons." "I thought dragons were myths," Isla said, sitting down carefully. "Most are now," Cailleach sighed, smoke puffing from her nostrils. "Centuries ago, we lived alongside humans. We protected the land, kept the balance. But as cities grew, we faded into legends. I'm the last one left, and I'm fading too." "Fading? You mean... dying?" "Dragons are connected to the land and its stories. When people forget the old tales, when they stop believing in magic, we lose our strength." Cailleach's voice grew softer. "I can feel myself becoming less real each day." Isla's heart ached. "What can I do?" "Tell my story. Remind people that magic lives in every stone of this city, in every legend, in every old tale. Help them remember." Over the next weeks, Isla became a storyteller. She wrote a blog about Edinburgh's legends. She created a club at school called "Keepers of Scottish Tales." She interviewed elders about old stories and shared them online. Her classmate, Hamish, was the first to join. "My gran told me about the dragon of Arthur's Seat," he said. "I always thought it was just a story." "The best stories are the ones that might be true," Isla replied with a mysterious smile. Soon, more kids joined. They explored Edinburgh's hidden places, learned Gaelic words, drew pictures of mythical creatures, and shared stories from their own families - Scottish, Polish, Pakistani, Chinese. They discovered that every culture had stories of magic and wonder. Isla's teacher, Ms. Ferguson, was so impressed she organized a "Festival of Scottish Legends" at the school. Students performed plays, created art, and shared tales. Parents and grandparents came to watch, their eyes shining with memories. That night, Isla rushed to the cave. Cailleach was brighter than ever, her scales gleaming like stars. "You did it, young keeper," the dragon said, her voice strong again. "You reminded them that stories are alive. That magic exists when we believe in it." "Will you stay now?" Isla asked hopefully. "Aye, for a while longer. And when I do fade, I know the stories will carry on through you and your friends. That's the real magic, Isla - stories never truly die as long as someone remembers to tell them." Isla visited Cailleach every week, learning dragon lore and ancient tales. She recorded everything in a special journal, knowing that one day she'd pass these stories to the next generation. And sometimes, late at night, people claim to see a shadow pass over Arthur's Seat - too large to be a bird, moving too gracefully to be a plane. The children of Edinburgh smile when they hear these reports. They know it's Cailleach, the last dragon of Edinburgh, kept alive by the power of stories and the hearts of those who still believe in magic.