Far away, in the misty mountains of Eldenmoor, lived a little dragon named Finn.
Unlike his brothers and sisters, who could already breathe great rivers of fire and roast whole trees with one mighty huff, Finn was… different.
Every time he tried to breathe fire, only a tiny puff of smoke would come out — followed by a loud sneeze! And honestly, Finn wasn’t sad about it.
Deep inside, he was afraid of fire: it was hot, wild, and unpredictable. He worried he might burn his tail, the forest, or — even worse — his friends.
Because of this, Finn felt very alone. The other young dragons laughed and raced each other in the sky, leaving fiery trails behind them.
Finn sat on the cliff’s edge, hugging his knees and watching the sunset paint the clouds gold and purple.
“Maybe I’m not a real dragon at all,” he thought sadly.
One morning, a huge commotion shook the mountain. A terrible storm had swept across the valley below, and the river that ran through the village of Willowbrook had flooded. The people there were stranded, and the bridges were broken!
The Dragon Council gathered.
“This is a time for dragons!” roared the Chief Elder. “Who will fly down and use their fire to dry the land and warm the people?”
The young dragons puffed out their chests proudly. But when they tried to fly into the stormy skies, the heavy rain snuffed out their fire-breathing almost instantly!
One after another, the brave young dragons returned, soaked and shivering.
Finn watched from behind a rock. He could feel his heart pounding.
He had no fire to lose — only himself to give.
“Maybe,” Finn thought, “you don’t always need fire to help.”
Before he could overthink it, Finn spread his little wings and leapt into the storm.
The wind howled, and rain slapped his face, but he flew low, weaving through the trees until he reached the village.
The villagers gasped when they saw a dragon — a tiny, dripping dragon with wide, gentle eyes — land in their town square.
Finn didn’t breathe fire.
Instead, he used his strong claws to clear fallen branches from the roads.
He used his wings to shield shivering children from the rain.
He helped ferry food across the flooded streets by balancing baskets on his back.
The villagers quickly realized: they didn’t need fire. They needed kindness, strength, and courage.
And Finn had all three.
When the storm finally passed and the sun rose bright and warm, the people of Willowbrook cheered for Finn. They gave him a shiny medal made of river stones and flowers and called him “The Bravest Dragon in Eldenmoor.”
Back at the mountain, when the other dragons heard the story, they no longer laughed at Finn.
They cheered, stomped their mighty feet, and lifted him onto their shoulders.
From that day on, Finn understood:
Being a dragon isn’t about breathing the biggest fire. It’s about having the biggest heart.
And whenever a storm rolled in from the mountains, the people of Willowbrook would look to the skies, hoping to catch a glimpse of their little dragon hero, flying bravely through the rain.
The End.
