Not many people found themselves the victim of Matron Rena’s signature death stare. It was just rather unfortunate that Fin had the honor of experiencing it this time around. She was waiting by the orphanage doors, her arms crossed and her face a mask of cool and simmering fury.

  “Finnian Summer,” she said in a clipped and low tone. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

  Fin recalled the particularly grumpy guards he had passed on the way into the village and could guess. He shook his head anyway. Speaking wouldn't be very smart in this scenario.

  “Ten guards spent the entire night scouring the mountain for you, trudging through all the snow and muck! And also very conveniently leaving our village undefended. We all thought you got eaten by a wolf or something or froze to death. No one in the orphanage got a wink of sleep! Where were you?”

  Fin hung his head. “I, uh, fell asleep.” It was technically not a lie.

  “You fell asleep? In the storm?”

  “I found a cave. It was warm, so I forgot to wake up in time.” Also technically not a lie.

  “You forgot to—” Matron Rena pinched her nose bridge. “What am I going to do with you?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Sorry creates no miracles! To compensate the guards for their hard work dealing with your idiocy”—Fin flinched, as that was the second time that day someone had called him an idiot, not that they were wrong—“you’ll be helping out with their barracks and each of the families of the ten guards for the next two weeks. And you will not be allowed in the forest until you prove you are responsible enough to take on such duties again.”

  “Yes, Matron!” Fin bowed low and wisely scampered off before Matron Rena could decide that the punishment was too light.

  The fourteen other kids who dwelled under the care of Ashdale Orphanage stared at him like he had grown an extra eye on his forehead. And the half dozen younger kids under seven years old swarmed him as he entered the mess hall.

  “Fin! You’re back!”

  “Where did you spend the night?”

  “Matron Floris was soooo mad! And worried. But mostly mad. I don’t think she really thought something happened to you.”

  “Did Matron Rena say anything earlier?”

  “Alright, stop shouting! I’ll tell you guys what happened but only after you let me eat. I’m starving.” And with that concession extracted from Fin, the younger kids parted to let him through to his usual place at the table, where a cold meal was waiting.

  Locke Autumn plopped down next to Fin, sending a glare at the other kids as if saying: This is my privilege as a best friend to hear the story first. The rest of you can scram.

  They wisely complied and kept their distance, though the relative crampedness of the mess hall meant every word would reach their side of the room regardless.

  “So? C’mon!” Locke started. He nudged Fin with his shoulder. “Tell me everything.”

  Fin shrugged, wolfing down a mouthful. “I found a cave and fell asleep.”

  Locke stared at him expectantly. Then, his gaze turned incredulous. “That’s it?”

  “That’s it.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding. That’s so boring! Are you sure there wasn’t more to it?”

  Though a best friend was a best friend, a dragon was, well, a dragon. Fin met the other boy’s eyes and lied without remorse. “Nope! Very plain and simple.”

  “You also said that to Matron Rena?”

  “Basically word-for-word.”

  Locke grinned. “That’s actually pretty hilarious. I can almost imagine her face as you told her that.”

  “It’s not funny, Locke. You try standing in my place and telling her that.”

  “What punishment did she assign you?”

  Fin rolled his eyes and pushed his empty bowl away. It had been barely four mouthfuls and his stomach still felt half full, but it was winter, and he was glad to have eaten even that much. “I had my chores changed to working in the barracks for the next couple of weeks,” he sighed.

  “You’re saying that like it’s a bad thing! That’s not a punishment at all! You’ll get to see all the weapons up close, and maybe even watch the guards fight!” Locke slammed his palms on the table in outrage.

  “Keep it down!” Fin gave a futile attempt, but the other orphans’ gazes were already filling up with excitement. “And no, it’s not going to be as fun as you make it out to be. I’m still going to be dealing with the mundane stuff, probably, like cleaning the outhouses or shoveling snow. And besides, I don’t really want to watch the guards fight.”

  “That’s fine, though! Hey, Fin,” Locke said, his voice low. “Let’s trade chores.”

  “Are you even listening to me?”

  “It doesn’t matter! You don’t want to see the guards and their daily routines up close? Then I do!” Locke gestured wildly, then whispered, “Here’s what we’ll do, in the morning, once you leave, you can take a detour and meet me at the vegetable patch outside, and we can switch places.”

  “Locke,” Fin took a deep breath. “This is a very bad idea.”

  “I concur,” a stern, feminine voice came from behind the boys, and they froze. Fin realized belatedly that the rest of the mess hall had gone completely silent. Matron Floris glared down at the two of them.

  “Mr. Locke Autumn, I distinctly recall telling you to send Finnian up to my office when he returned. So why do I find you engaging in such foolishness?”

  Locke turned his head around slowly, “Ah. I was just kidding, Matron! I wasn’t really going to go through with it.”

  Unimpressed by his feeble attempt, Matron Floris turned to Fin instead. “Follow me.”

  The two marched up the stairs, creaking with each step. Though Matron Floris was younger and of smaller stature than both Matron Rena and the now-retired Matron Elema, she commanded a quiet authority and could be far, far more intimidating than either matron when she wanted to be. Though, Fin assessed that he was mostly on her good side since he was one of the few kids who at least somewhat tried during classes.

  “Sit,” she said when they arrived.

  Fin had rarely been in Matron Floris’s office, as it was a privilege reserved for repeat troublemakers. At most, once or twice when he was younger. The office was sparse and clean, just a desk in the center of the room, a small bookshelf next to the double-paned window, and some framed art pieces hung around the walls. Fin flushed when he recognized his very first sketch, an amaranth flower, placed on her desk, right next to her ink pot.

  As Matron Floris sat in her cushioned chair, so old that the leather was visibly cracked, Fin pulled out the wooden stool on the other side of the desk and sat down as well.

  “Tell me what really happened,” she said, before Fin could even open his mouth. “I’ve heard the absurd story you told Matron Rena, but it’s so obviously a lie that it frankly hurts to think about it.”

  Fin squirmed. He obviously couldn’t say he had met a real dragon who had knocked him out, but he also couldn’t tell the same story as before, so he settled for a half-truth.

  “I was looking for Thunder Wood.” It was also technically not a lie. Every single time Fin had ventured into the woods during the winter, he had kept his eyes peeled for it.

  “And what’s that?”

  “It’s supposedly a magic wood that only forms during a heavy snowstorm.”

  “And where did you hear of this… Thunder Wood?”

  “From Mister Nellison! He told us the story once, and I made a note of it. Apparently, Thunder Wood can glow in the dark! And I just—”

  “Wanted to make a wooden sculpture of it, I see.” Matron Floris took a deep breath. Fin almost didn’t hear the words she muttered under her breath, “That son of a bitch.”

  He looked away, mentally apologizing to Mister Nel and promising to buy him a drink at the tavern in a few more years when he’s old enough.

  “And then? You were looking for Thunder Wood. What happened after that?”

  “Right. And then I tripped and fell through a pile of snow into a cave, and spent the night trying to get back out.”

  Madam Floris sighed. “Somehow, that’s a less ridiculous story than the first one you gave. At least the cave protected you from the worst of the storm.” She furrowed her brow and studied Fin. “So you didn’t sleep the entire night? Are you feeling alright?”

  “Um, a little tired. But I think I’m still a bit hyperactive from everything.”

  “Okay, I see.” Madam Floris took a deep breath, and Fin braced for her judgement. She pushed her spectacles up, brushed aside her sleek black hair and declared, “Finnian. You are an idiot.”

  Fin nodded numbly. “Yes, Matron.”

  “It was utterly idiotic to believe in that foolish, good-for-nothing drunk’s stories in the first place, and even more idiotic to try and look for that magic wood in the middle of a snowstorm that could’ve easily turned into a blizzard. You were supposed to go out to collect some firewood! Not venture deep into the mountains chasing after smoke and mirrors!”

  “Yes, Matron.”

  “And as for your sculpting, if it’s the cause of another bout of stupidity like this, I’ll take away that knife of yours and ban you from carving wood until you’ve grown out of this orphanage. Understood?”

  “Um, not even carving the plates and utensils?”

  “Not even that. Am I understood?” she repeated.

  “Yes, Matron!”

  “As for your current punishment, I agree with Madam Rena’s sentencing. It’s a bit light, but considering your clean record so far, I won’t increase it further. Do not get in more trouble, and we can put this behind us.” She paused and studied Fin once more. “However, in light of the fact that you’ve been wandering around all night, you may take the rest of the day off and go rest up. Your chores at the barracks will begin tomorrow. Dismissed.”

  Fin got up and bowed in gratitude. He eyed his drawing on her desk once more, and scampered out of the room.

  He went straight up to the communal bedroom on the third floor. As everyone was downstairs or outside busying about, it was completely empty. He had the whole place to himself.

  Fin collapsed on his bed and stared at the wooden ceiling. The memories filtered past one by one and his heart suddenly started racing again in belated shock and awe.

  “Oh my gods,” he whispered. He recalled the gold, the flames, the majestic, deer-like horns, and brought his hands up to his face and rubbed it hard, just to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.

  "Oh my gods,” he repeated. “I met an actual dragon.”

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  ***

  The guards were surprisingly nice, given how much work Fin had given them. For two weeks, Fin scrubbed their chamber pots, reorganized their weapon racks, and climbed the roof of the shed each day to shovel snow. In the evenings, Fin would drop by each of the 10 guards’ households to deliver mail, if needed, and sweep chimney soot or hang up laundry.

  It was less busy than Fin imagined, and he still found quite a bit of time to work on more wooden carvings. He gifted a small apple carving to the guard captain, who was so impressed with Fin’s skill with a knife that when the guards hauled back the corpses of two giant deer wolves, the guard captain called Fin to help skin them. But the sight of the beasts’ chopped antlers, the warm guts spilling from its body, and the smell of the blood coagulating onto the frozen dirt made Fin throw up all over another guard’s snow boots, and he was never called for knife-work again. Fin, of course, also had to clean up the boots.

  The rest of the winter passed without incident (aside from a thwarted attempt by Locke to repeat Fin’s feat), and Fin was allowed back in the forest, with only Matron Rena occasionally casting a suspicious glance at him as he walked out the orphanage doors.

  To compensate for the three months that Fin had been grounded, he prepared an extra impressive tribute the next time—a snow fox sleeping under a tree. It had taken him hours to try and get the fox’s fluffiness and the snow on the branches just right. And without showing itself, the dragon told him to place it on the ground and then to “get out” once more, to which Fin happily complied.

  This became their routine over the next half year. As the snow melted and young shoots pushed through the drowsy earth, as shoots became sapling and then thick, trunking brush, the dragon and the idiot continued this contactless dance between self-ordained vassal and lord. Fin never saw the inside of Izkarius’s lair afterwards, nor did the dragon ever make any comments about his creations, despite the fact that Fin tried continuously to surpass the caliber and quality of his previous tribute.

  It was, ironically, another storm that led to their next face-to-face meeting.

  Fin frowned, looking up as the insignificant drizzle suddenly turned into thick, fat droplets. So late into the summer, flash storms were almost unheard of.

  Fin hurriedly gathered his things—the carving knife, the wood block he had been studying, and the bundle of herbs he had gathered for the orphanage.

  A slurry of branches and mud from the slope above shot overhead, flooding the ground and cutting off the dense forest path. Fin skidded to a stop. More trickles of water were already forming great streams down the mountainside, and Fin struggled down the muddy slope.

  After a futile few minutes of slipping and sliding, Fin found a relatively dry rock outcrop and took a breather. He peered through the haze from the rain, now pouring down in heaps, but couldn’t make out the village in the distance. Fin was stuck and would have to find shelter, which, in the mountains, simply meant a cave.

  He could only hope his matrons wouldn’t worry as much as they had during the winter.

  ***

  The tributes were piling up, Izkarius thought. There was a small corner in his cave nicknamed The Pile for simplicity with about a dozen creations accumulated over the past year, from a wooden, deformed horse to an embroidered art piece depicting a sunset to a bouquet of remarkably well-dried flowers that Izkarius almost squished between his talons before realizing it was, in fact, not wood.

  The Pile didn’t look as out-of-place as Izkarius had expected when he first moved it to their own section. Sure, the heaps of gold and silver looked more imposing and grand, but the small ring of art creations had a charm to it that drew the eye, something almost sacred and grounding.

  Whenever Izkarius dreamed these days, he found himself staying in control of his body more often, no longer a spectator to his own fraying memories but an anchored participant.

  The dragon wasn’t sure what to make of the situation. On one talon, it went against his goals. Already, the massive ritual and spellwork around him was decaying from his extended period of wakefulness. A century of set-up and a millennia of waiting for its progression: erased in a matter of months. On the other talon, Izkarius wasn’t sure he minded that fact.

  A foreign presence entered Izkarius’s range of senses. At first, he thought it would be the whelp coming to give a tribute again—surprising, since he had given his latest work just a week ago, and it was quite early for him to return—then realized that it wasn’t the usual cave entrance. Someone had found the second, larger entrance to Izkarius’s lair on the other side of the mountain.

  He snarled, stretched his wings, and flew to greet the intruder. Izkarius would tolerate no thieves in—Izkarius stumbled, choking on a fireball halfway up his throat. It was the human, still?

  The whelp stared back at him, wide-eyed and gaping. “Lord Izkarius? How are you here?”

  Izkarius folded his wings and landed with a thud on the earthen floor. This entrance was just tall enough for the dragon to somewhat crouch without awkwardly bending his head too much.

  “Are you an idiot? This entire mountain is part of my lair. This is a different entrance.”

  "Oh, that makes sense.” The boy nodded, then froze. “There was an entrance down here? Then, all those times I went to give you tribute, I didn’t need to trek all the way up the mountain to find you?”

  Izkarius tossed his head. The base of his horns were feeling a little itchy. “I suppose so.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  The boy’s shrill voice gave the dragon a pause. Was the dolt actually upset? At him? Izkarius had done nothing wrong, and he told the boy so. “You never asked.”

  The boy sputtered then swallowed his outrage. He meekly bowed his head.

  “I should be asking you what you’re doing here,” the dragon swiped at his horns but his talons were a tad too sharp to comfortably scratch that sensitIve area. “Have you come to give another tribute?”

  “I came to seek shelter. I didn’t mean to disturb you, Lord Izkarius!”

  A low hum rose from Izkarius’s throat. Yes, that made perfect sense. The whelp may have grown a bit since the first time Izkarius had laid eyes on him, but he was still more bone than blood, and even a simple storm of this caliber could sweep him away like a helpless leaf. Even now, the wind continuously blew rain into the cave, soaking the boy as he stood there, shivering.

  A genius idea suddenly occurred to the dragon and he suddenly lowered his head to ground level.

  “Scratch my horns,” he commanded. “They’re itchy. And if you do it well, I will allow you shelter in my lair.”

  Blinking as if to register what he had just heard, the boy hesitated then practically jumped at the opportunity. “Of course, my lord! Where? Here?”

  “The other one.”

  “Yes sir!”

  The human was just tall enough to reach the base of Izkarius’s horns while standing on his toes. He reached out a hand and gently rubbed Izkarius’s head.

  “Too soft. Use your claws.”

  “Nails, you mean?'“

  “All nails are claws, but not all claws are nails.”

  A pause. “Wouldn’t it be the opposite?”

  “Claws are superior versions of nails, so no.”

  “Understood, my lord!”

  The boy was very thorough, and Izkarius rumbled with contentment.

  “Hm, that was satisfactory. Very well, let’s head inside.” Without even waiting for the boy’s response, Izkarius wrapped the boy in his talons and took off deeper into the cave networks. To the boy’s credit, his screaming didn’t last long enough for Izkarius to bother casting a muffling spell on him. The whole journey took barely a few seconds with Izkarius’s semi-flying sprint.

  He dumped the boy unceremoniously on a pile of gold just like the first time and settled back into position.

  “Lord Dragon,” the boy whispered. “I think I’m going to throw up.”

  “Do not, or I will kill you.”

  “Okay.”

  Izkarius dug his body deeper into the warm gold and sighed in contentment. There was truly nothing more comfortable than burying oneself in treasure. The boy stayed as still as possible. The dragon supposed he did look a little green. Hmph. Humans, so fragile. He shook his head in annoyance, but cast a cleansing spell on the boy. He was truly too magnanimous.

  The whelp fell on all fours in relief. “T-Thank you, Lord Izkarius!”

  Izkarius snorted in acknowledgement.

  The fool sat down, but seemed rather restless. With all the treasure around him, who wouldn’t? Though Izkarius had his eyes closed, he sensed the boy get up and take a few tentative steps in a random direction. Wait, that wasn’t random. That was Izkarius’s direction.

  The boy got a bit closer, then curled back up. He looked up, saw Izkarius staring at him, and hastily explained, “It’s a bit warmer where you are.”

  Izkarius sniffed. That was true. “Very well, you may come closer.” Pause. “Really, if I was going to eat you, I would’ve done so the first time.”

  “Ah, I see.” The boy shuffled closer so that not only was he within Izkarius’s reach, Izkarius was also in his. He crouched down by Izkarius’s stomach and cautiously leaned his back against the scales. Izkarius could feel his tiny heartbeat. Seeing was believing, it seemed, as the boy relaxed after several tense seconds when Izkarius didn’t move.

  “It feels like I’m in a steam bath,” the whelp remarked after some time. Izkarius gave no response, which somehow the human interpreted as permission to continue speaking. “Not that I’ve been in an actual one before! There’s just this one adventurer who visits our village from time to time, and he tells us stories about the cities he’s traveled to. And steam baths are this kind of thing where you sit in a really hot place, and there’s water and steam, and it bathes you.”

  The boy must’ve realized how his own words sounded because he sheepishly added, “That’s what the adventurer said! Not me. I don’t… really know what it means, but I think this would feel a lot like it.”

  His voice bounced off the gold and gleaming jewels, somehow echoing back with more wealth. “The adventurer tells us other things too, like the monsters he fights, or his failed romances, or about the dragons.”

  Izkarius opened one eye just a sliver, indicating his interest.

  “The last dragon story he told was about a dragon whose hoard gained sentience and started hoarding dragons in return.”

  “Whoever this person is, he is a fool spewing blasphemy,” the dragon said. “Dragons are masters of all that glitter. It is incomprehensible for it to be the other way around.”

  “Ah, yeah, you’re probably right.”

  “Has he ever told you how a dragon could be killed?”

  The boy shrugged. “He just says you’ll have to be a very powerful archmage and have a team on the same level.”

  “Archmage? Hmph. Dragons eat those for breakfast. Ask him next time about the Bardic Wars. I’m very curious about what he has to say.”

  “Your wish is my command!” The boy paused. “Um, could you tell me about the Bardic Wars?”

  “No. I am in the process of forgetting them.”

  “Huh?” The boy furrowed his brow at the choice of words.

  The dragon did not elaborate, and as bold as the boy seemed to be growing around him, he still retained the good sense not to ask further.

  The silence stretched on, and the boy seemed to go drowsy in the heat. Izkarius focused on his hearing. The storm outside was fading, and the sound reminded the dragon of a question he had always wanted to ask.

  “Why were you looking for me? That first time?”

  The boy stirred, and his first words were slurred. “The first…? Oh! I, uh, actually wasn’t really looking for you. I mean, I was. But, I’ve been looking for a dragon since I was a little kid. I didn’t think I’d actually find one. My main purpose that day was just to get myself a nice cave where I could store my carvings.”

  “Why? Do you not have adequate shelter?”

  “I do, but there were a couple boys at my orphanage who… didn’t really like what I did. They found all my carvings that I hid under my bed and used them as firewood,” the boy paused, and Izkarius felt a small strain in his voice. “So, I needed to find a new place to hide them. And it just so happened that the cave I checked that day also was your home.”

  Izkarius thought about it, and made a generous offer. “Those kids who destroyed your creations, would you like me to eat them?”

  “What?” The boy sputtered. “No! It’s fine. They both got apprenticeships earlier this year and moved out from the orphanage. They don’t bother me anymore. And I had it coming anyway. The wood was originally intended to be used for fire. I took it.”

  “You stole it.”

  The boy squirmed. “Um, I guess.”

  “Hm,” the dragon licked his teeth. He didn’t like thieves, but he did sort of like the boy. What a dilemma. He decided to fulfill his other curiosity first. “So it was just by luck that you found me?”

  “I did check about 6 or 7 caves before yours, but it wasn’t fully random,” the boy mused. “I always had good instincts, I’d say. Something about the cave was joyful.”

  What? “Elaborate.”

  “It’s hard to describe. It felt fortunate, like I wasn’t going to die there.”

  “And it’s all just your instinct?”

  “I think so.” The boy cocked his head, as if listening. He raised a hand and gestured, making circles with his finger. “It’s kind of in the air. I can feel it, and it’s happy right now, especially around you.”

  The dragon understood. “Magic. You’re feeling the world’s magic.”

  "I’m a mage?” the boy exclaimed.

  “If you were a true mage, you would’ve been born with a core,” Izkarius scoffed. “You just have some good senses, that’s all.”

  “Oh.” The boy’s disappointment was written all over his face. “It would’ve been cool if I had magic.”

  “What would you do with it?”

  The boy paused and scratched his head. “Huh. I haven’t thought about it very much. I guess… I would make fire!”

  “Why fire? Why not shoot lightning? Or fly? Or survey the land to dig up priceless jewels?”

  “Ah, well, those are also good ideas, I suppose. But fire would still be the best. It’s always cold up here in these mountains, and if I had the ability to make flame from my fingertips, I’d leave it going all the time.”

  It was a good desire, the dragon thought. It was pure and had no true greed to it. And for reasons Izkarius couldn’t quite explain, he bent his head down next to the boy and nudged him in the chest, leaving an imperceptible, golden spark in his heart.

  “I have granted you a bit of my flame. It will keep you warm, even on the coldest night.”

  The boy’s jaw dropped and he tentatively clasped both hands over his chest, as if feeling the magical warmth spreading through his bones. “You—Oh wow. I can’t thank you enough, Lord Izkarius!” He scrambled to his feet and bowed his head three times.

  The dragon snorted, “Just call me Izkarius.”

  “Thank you, Izkarius!”

  “Keep in mind, its only purpose is to keep you warm. You won’t be able to channel it externally and make fire.”

  “Understood! Thank you again!”

  He raised his head and gestured to the cave entrance—the closer one—where the rain had become a faint drumming. “The storm has passed. Get going,”

  His magic flexed and he lifted the boy and his items up to the ledge. The boy didn’t scream this time and simply continued to thank him profusely. It was starting to get a bit exhausting hearing the repeated thanks, Izkarius thought. Maybe next time, he’ll tell the boy to decrease the frequency of his “thank yous.” Or maybe Izkarius was the one being too generous. Ah, the pains of being a benevolent creature.

  As the boy turned to leave, Izkarius called after him one last time. “And in the future, you do not need to bring a tribute to visit me.”

  A massive smile stretched across the whelp’s face. “No take backs!” he said, and Izkarius had a feeling of slight dread. But indeed, no take backs. The dragon narrowed his eyes, then pushed the boy out of his lair.

  It would be a long time before Izkarius would hibernate again.