The world has always belonged to dragons, to beasts, to unicorns, and to children. The first ruled the sky, the second the earth, the third the spaces between—where light bends strange and dreams take root—and the last, the realm of becoming, where all things are possible.
Dragons devour time itself, hoarding knowledge and fire in equal measure. Beasts carve their paths through the undergrowth, bound to the weight of survival. But unicorns—unicorns are something else entirely. They slip between shadows and sunlight, vanishing the moment doubt takes hold, lingering only in the hearts of those who still believe.
And then there are children. They do not hoard like dragons, nor hunt like beasts, nor vanish like unicorns. But they *believe*. A child sees a dragon and does not yet fear it; sees a beast and does not yet know to flee; sees a unicorn and *follows*. And because of this, the world opens for them.
A child tames dragons not with swords, but with wonder. They sit beside beasts, not as prey, but as something gentle and bright. And unicorns? Unicorns do not run from them. They lower their heads and let small hands trace spirals of light across their horns.
In time, children grow. Some become dragons, their wisdom soaring, their voices carrying like thunder. Some become seekers, chasing the shimmer of lost magic through forests of years. And the rarest ones—the ones who never stop believing in what *could be*—they do not just chase unicorns.
They ride them.
And from the back of a unicorn, high above the weight of the world, they leave behind only stardust in their wake.
@dragonsbeasts @thecenterjh #dragonsandbeasts #centerforthearts
