I am Ren Drakemore, age 8, the 2nd Prince of the Kingdom of Arcadia, and I am about to meet with an ancient dragon.

  "I think I’m ready," I say, trying to convince myself just as much as I’m trying to convince Lady Willow.

  We had set off on horseback at first light. The road to the kobold cave veered into wild terrain, too rough for wheels, so we left the carriage behind. The air was still crisp, the morning sun only just beginning to chase away the frost clinging to the grass.

  Last night was... interesting. I secured the authority to negotiate on behalf of Griswald’s domain far more easily than I had expected. I had come prepared to argue my case thoroughly, equipped with detailed reasoning, economic projections, and political strategies to demonstrate how every point would strengthen Griswald’s standing within the kingdom. But none of it was necessary. Griswald had been in a remarkably agreeable mood and signed the decree without a single question or moment of hesitation.

  I thought it would be a lot harder.

  "You’ll do just fine, young Master," Willow says warmly as she ties off the reins of our horse. This time, I used earth magic to conjure a proper stone hitching post. I wasn’t about to risk another Huckleberry incident.

  I don’t feel like walking back to Stonebrook tonight.

  "Remember what we discussed about dragons?" Willow asks, her voice airy and matronly. Her long silver hair catches the breeze, the strands gleaming in the pale morning light. Despite the chill in the air, she wears the same refined, oddly elegant maid’s uniform, entirely unbothered by the cold.

  "All dragons can be persuaded by offering whatever it is they hoard," I repeat. "And they have massive egos, so praise works well."

  "Exactly," she replies with a nod, but then lets out a small sigh. "There’s one more thing. Dragons and the Fae... do not get along. I can’t be seen entering with you."

  “You’re not coming?” I blurt out, startled. What little confidence I had was rooted in the assumption that Willow would be there to back me up. “I can’t face a dragon alone!”

  “You won’t be alone,” she says gently. “I’ll still be with you, though I’ll need to remain hidden.”

  “Phew,” I exhale, relieved. “Good. Don’t scare me like that.” After a moment, though, her words sink in more deeply. “Why don’t dragons and the fae get along?”

  “You remember reading about the war between the Dragon God and the God of Creation?” Willow asks.

  “Yeah,” I nod, thinking back to the tome I’d been reading on the road yesterday. “The war where the Dragon God fought against the God of Creation, and most of the dragons were killed.”

  “Correct. And the dragons who survived blamed the fae for remaining neutral, rather than joining the war on their side,” she says, looking away, her voice losing its usual warmth.

  “That’s it?” I ask, sensing something more beneath the surface.

  “Interesting choice of words, young Master,” Willow replies with a mirthless smirk. “The dragons that remain have spent the last five centuries believing they lost everything when the Dragon God was slain. Yet in all that time—despite having both the ability and the opportunity, they have done nothing to rebuild. They have lingered at the edge of extinction, choosing inaction over restoration. And still, they blame the fae for their fate, as if our refusal to intervene absolves them of their own failure to act. It is a grudge this dragon may hold against me personally.”

  “I see…” I say quietly, absorbing the weight of her words and the bemused tone with which she spoke them. I get the impression she views dragons as somewhat foolish, much like the way she often remarks on the customs and habits of humans.

  Occasionally, Lady Willow offers historical context that no book could ever provide. It’s easy to forget that she didn’t study these events, she lived through them. To her, it isn’t history. It’s memory. It’s… personal.

  “In any case, you should get going,” she says, her words sweet and reassuring once again. “Best of luck, young master. I will be right behind you.”

  And with that, she simply vanishes. No flash. No sound. Just gone, as though she had never stood there at all.

  I pause, staring at the spot where she had been. There's no trace of her, no hint of movement, just the cold morning breeze stirring the tall grass. Hesitantly, I reach out a hand toward the space she occupied, but it passes through empty air.

  With a quiet sigh, I turn toward the path that leads to the kobold cave.

  I follow the path descending into the crevasse. As I travel deeper the air grows colder. Wind whistles through the canyon, sharp and constant, and my ears start to ache from the chill. Far below, I can see a narrow stream winding its way through the rocks at the base.

  As I reach the bottom, I spot the large archway carved into the canyon wall and the dark tunnel that yawns beyond it, just as I saw in Shadow’s memories. Standing just inside the shadowed entrance are three figures: short, bipedal, lizard-like creatures resembling miniature, wingless dragons wearing clothing.

  The kobolds are waiting.

  “Welcome, Master Human Mage!” chirps a high-pitched, emerald-scaled kobold. She is shorter than the two others flanking her. While they wear gleaming mithril-plate armor and carry spears gleaming with the same iridescent blue, she is dressed in ceremonial white and brown robes. Her smile is bright, though quite a bit more toothy than I am used to, and her tail sways excitedly as she steps forward to greet me.

  “Nice to meet you in person, Lady Jade,” I reply, suppressing a chuckle at being called ‘human.’

  Jade tilts her head slightly in confusion as she looks me up and down. “You’re so small…” she accuses with surprise. “Are you a human child?”

  “Yeah… I’m almost nine though,” I reply with a sigh. I probably should’ve expected that—they were likely imagining some bearded archmage, not a kid.

  “Oh! My apologies,” she says, her smile returning with sudden understanding. “I assumed you were a child, but nine? You’re just short. I know what that’s like. I’m ten.”

  “…Wait, what?” I ask, my eyes narrowed in confusion.

  “Anyway!” she recovers with a clap of her claws, “on behalf of Crimson Scale Tribe, I welcome you to our home!” She bows formally, and the two armored kobolds behind her follow suit.

  “Please, come with us,” she adds, stepping aside and motioning toward the tunnel.

  I nod and follow her into the dark passage. Jade walks beside me while the two armored kobolds fall in behind. Though I’m average height for an eight-year-old boy, I still tower over her by a head, and I find myself looking down at the top of her scales as we descend.

  Her bright green eyes catch the last traces of surface light before we’re swallowed by the damp, chill darkness of the tunnel.

  “I know you’re here to meet the queen,” she says, voice softening as it echoes off the stone walls, “but I wanted to thank you—for sending Master Shadow to save us.”

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  The air grows colder, the shadows thicker.

  Night Sight, I think, casting the spell silently. Instantly, the world brightens as if lit by daylight. Jade's smiling face glows green in the false light, her scales gleaming faintly as we venture deeper into the earth.

  “I wish I could have done more, gotten here earlier,” I say quietly. As I glance around, I can’t help but vividly recall the blood that once coated these walls.

  “You did more than enough,” Jade replies, her eyes lowering to the ground, her smile fading away. She grips the fabric of her robe tightly. “We should have been better prepared.”

  We continue in silence, winding through the tunnels with the occasional turn. Our journey is punctuated ever so often by Jade warning me where not to step, casually pointing out hidden traps. Eventually, the passage opens into a broader corridor with doorways carved into the stone walls and faintly glowing crystals set into sconces that cast a soft, steady light. Soon, we begin to pass other kobolds going about their day. Each one pauses mid-step, turning to stare at us with wide eyes and slack jaws.

  I guess they’ve never seen a human before.

  “Master Human Mage, I hope you’re hungry. We’ve prepared a feast for you!” Jade says, looking up at me excitedly.

  “You don’t have to do that,” I reply with a chuckle.

  “Not hungry?”

  “No, I mean you don’t need to call me ‘human.’ It’s not my title. Neither is ‘master.’ Just call me Ren.”

  “Oh, sorry. Ren it is,” she says brightly, then reaches for my hand and leads me toward a large wooden door. Her small, scaled hand is cool and dry, the texture faintly rough beneath my fingers. From behind the door comes a chorus of hissing, growling, and chittering. “Right this way, Mast– I mean Ren.”

  She guides me through the door into a vast cavern filled with long banquet tables. Hundreds of kobolds of all colors and sizes fill the room, chattering excitedly, until they see me. As I step inside, the entire hall falls silent, and every eye turns toward me with cautious curiosity.

  Jade tugs me gently toward a smaller table set slightly apart from the others. As we pass the long banquet tables, I catch glimpses of the food laid out on them, large oval platters of what appear to be raw fish, sprinkled with herbs, and other trays piled with mixtures of moss, roots, and grasses.

  That... does not look like food.

  A sinking feeling settles in my stomach. I’ve never eaten raw fish before, nor weeds. My entire life has been spent eating finely prepared meals crafted for nobility. I’ve never even sampled the food of commoners, which I imagine would still be leagues above whatever this is.

  Wearing a forced smile, I allow myself to be led to the head table. It’s smaller and more formal, set with plates and utensils. Eight older kobolds are already seated around it, each wearing more ornate clothing than the others.

  These must be the tribe’s elders.

  Jade addresses the others in Draconic, gesturing toward me. I catch only one familiar word—my name. The kobolds respond with a mix of polite nods and low, rumbling growls that I assume are meant to be welcoming.

  Jade takes one of the two empty seats at the table, and I follow her lead. The chairs are simple, backless wooden stools. As Jade settles in, I notice her tail coils neatly around the base of her stool.

  Ah. That must be why their chairs have no backs. It leaves room for their tails. They probably wrap their tails like that to avoid them being stepped on in crowded spaces like this.

  “Please, eat,” Jade says, turning to me with an encouraging smile.

  I glance down at the food again, dread rising. I don’t want to offend them, but the thought of eating this raw, earthy spread turns my stomach. Could I discreetly cook the fish with magic?

  No. Any fire spell would glow like a flare in this dim cavern, giving me away instantly.

  Before I can think of another excuse, Jade—clearly mistaking my hesitation for shyness—climbs up onto her chair. Balancing on her tiptoes, her tail wrapped securely around the stool for support, she uses a three-pronged serving fork to gently place a large fish onto my plate, her bright smile unwavering.

  Resigned to my fate, I pick up the fork beside my plate and stare at the thoroughly unappetizing, future source of food poisoning sitting before me. I glance into the cloudy eye of the fish.

  I can’t do this.

  “May I have some of the vegetables?” I ask, grasping at anything that might buy me time. Honestly, moss might be better than raw fish.

  “Of course!” Jade chirps, half-climbing onto the table to reach a platter filled with what looks like moss and cave grass. She quickly scoops a generous portion onto both our plates before retaking her seat, beaming expectantly.

  “There’s a beetle in this,” I say flatly, watching a blue-shelled insect crawl leisurely across my plate.

  “Would you like more?” Jade asks cheerfully, plucking a similar beetle from her own plate. She turns toward me and, with visible delight, pops it into her sharp-toothed mouth. “They’re the best. Sour.”

  “Uh, no thank you,” I reply, doing my best to suppress a grimace.

  “Don’t like sour? Do you prefer sweet?” Jade asks, then scrambles back to her feet on the chair and ladles a small pile of thin tubers onto our plates. “These are my favorite—sweet roots!”

  I brighten at the word sweet, and for the first time during this meal, I manage a genuine smile. Sweet root sounds promising—maybe something like sweet potatoes?

  “Thank you,” I say, stabbing one with my fork and lifting it to my face. I give it a cautious sniff. Warm, earthy, and subtly sweet—close enough.

  I take a small bite, then a larger one. It’s not exactly a sweet potato, but it’s soft, mildly sweet, and, most importantly, familiar enough to stomach.

  Jade watches me closely, her expression lighting up when I take another bite. She turns to the elders at the table and says something in Draconic. I catch only one word: roots.

  I get the distinct feeling she just told them, “He eats roots.”

  That might cause a bit of a misunderstanding, but honestly, if it means she’s content to let me keep eating these and nothing else, I’m fine with that.

  “Can you tell me what human caves are like?” Jade asks before biting the head off her fish, watching me with interest.

  “Uh, well, we don’t really live in caves. We build cities—dens above ground, I guess you could say. They’re square-shaped, and many of them grouped together form a city.”

  “That sounds like a cave… but with more steps,” Jade says, tilting her head.

  I mean… she’s not wrong.

  “I’ve always wanted to see one of those city things,” she adds, a note of longing in her voice.

  “Oh? Why’s that?”

  “I heard there are all kinds of magic to be learned on the surface,” she says dreamily, resting her head on one paw, elbow propped on the table as she gazes off into the distance. “I’ve learned every bit of magic my tribe knows. I have our only grimoire memorized front to back.”

  “Your tribe has one grimoire?” I ask, stunned.

  “Yes. How many does your tribe have?” she asks, glancing at me curiously.

  My mind flashes to the towering library in my tower and, beyond that, the magical academy’s archive—a four-story building filled entirely with bookshelves crammed with tomes.

  “We have… a lot,” I say simply.

  “Oh? I’d love to read them.”

  I’m not sure you’ll live long enough to read them all.

  “That might take a while,” I say with a smile. “But I could bring you a few.”

  I know what it feels like to be starved for knowledge. Her hunger for learning hits close to home, stirring a deep sympathy in me. The thought of having only one book to learn from… it’s heartbreaking. And just like that, I decide I will bring her books—not just about magic, but about the world outside. Even if some small, sensible part of me (one that sounds suspiciously like Willow) insists it’s not worth my time.

  “I also want to see the giant pond,” Jade says casually as she takes another bite of her fish.

  I pause. Giant pond?

  “You mean… the ocean?”

  “What’s an ocean?”

  “It’s water that stretches farther than you can see,” I explain, struggling to put it into words. “You could travel across it for days and still see nothing but water in every direction.”

  “Wow… Yes, that’s what I want to see,” she says, her voice full of awe. “So you’ve seen it?”

  “No. I’ve only read about it, seen drawings… but never in person,” I admit. “But maybe we can go see the sea together someday.”

  “See the see?” she repeats, blinking.

  “It means ocean.”

  “Do humans often use words that mean other words?”

  “More often than you’d think.”

  “Huh…”

  We eat for a while longer, during which I finish all the sweet roots on my plate—only to have two more servings shoveled onto it by the elder kobold seated beside me. She doesn’t ask, just grins and piles them on with a kind of grandmotherly determination. After I clean the second helping, she reaches for the serving spoon again, and I quickly mime a polite refusal before she can bury my plate a third time.

  At that moment, one of the other kobolds at the table, a robed figure who looks much older than the others, says something in Draconic. I catch only one word I understand: dragon. The speaker’s scales are a faded blue, and she wears several layered necklaces strung with colorful gems.

  Jade nods and turns to me. “It’s time we take you to the Queen.”

  “Okay, I’m ready.”

  That’s a damn lie.

  The elder kobolds and Jade all rise at once, and I follow their lead. As we walk down the center aisle between the banquet tables, I feel hundreds of kobold eyes tracking our every move. Conversations falter and quiet murmurs take their place as we leave the hall.

  We step back into the tunnel, forming into pairs—Jade at my side. We take several turns through the winding passages of their den. I let them lead, but thanks to my perfect recall of Shadow’s memories, I know exactly where we’re headed.

  And sure enough, we soon reach the wide tunnel leading to a massive mithril door, twelve feet tall and engraved with intricate carvings of dragons and kneeling kobolds. I identify it in an instant. Last time, I hadn’t understood what it said.

  Now I do.

  “Not all who enter shall leave. If you speak, speak with respect.”

  Well, that’s not encouraging.