Before there was Ashdale Village, there were just trees. And mushrooms. A whole lot of mushrooms growing on trees. A passerby unfortunate enough to have wandered into the forest during the winter found the tiny, bulbous fungi spotting the trunks and branches, uncreatively named them “ash mushrooms” for their ash-colored caps and slightly ashy taste, and took some specimens away, where they landed in the hands of a master alchemist.

  The ash mushrooms were discovered to possess an extremely rare effect which drastically speeds up growth for almost all magical flora. It instantly became the hottest topic in the alchemy world. But no matter what methods were tried, attempts to grow the ash mushrooms outside of their native forest proved to be futile.

  Sensing a profit to be made, a particularly entrepreneurial family, the Dalesworths, hacked a path through the freezing forest valley and settled right in the thickest cluster of mushrooms. The families who joined later on settled around the original homestead, and the buildings gradually multiplied into a small village called Ashdale—which grew relatively wealthy with trade.

  Merchants would come in during the spring just as the harvest came in, then leave with their wares to other human cities around the continent, selling their mushrooms to all manner of clients, from magical academies and apothecaries to the odd aspiring alchemist.

  The merchants left now, a full week after they first came. Fin and Matron Floris watched the last wagon of the caravan vanish around the bend in the road. The beige bed sheets hanging on clotheslines around the two fluttered lightly in the wind.

  After that first day, neither Fin or Oswelda had sought each other out, though he did see her occasionally when he ran a few more errands at the market. He had wondered many times in the middle of the night if he should just find her again and take back his refusal. Would it even work? Would she add additional requirements seeing his desperation? Was he making the wrong choice?

  And now, the merchants were gone. Time had made the decision for him. Fin kicked the ground and looked over at the rest of the bed sheets, piled sad and wet in the buckets. He got up from the bench and put his hands on his hips.

  “Should we get back to work, Matron?”

  Matron Floris shook her head. “The laundry isn’t going anywhere. You seem to be, though. Sit down.”

  Fin obeyed, plopping down with a suppressed sigh. He wasn’t sure how to feel about anything.

  Matron Floris was not supposed to be out here. She wasn’t supposed to be doing any labor, in fact, because she was recently sick. But somehow, she had woken up early this morning, sent the other boy who was assigned to be doing the laundry back to bed, and joined Fin in hanging up the sheets.

  They had worked for an hour in the cold silence. The repeated motions—grab, rinse, unfold, fold, throw over the clothesline, and repeat—were almost therapeutic. Or maybe it was just the effect of working next to Matron Floris. For the first time in a week, Fin could empty his head of anxieties and just focus on the task in front of him.

  Taking a break, of course, had brought all the stress back. Questions stirred again, restless and murky like silt in storm water—clouding everything.

  The first doubt floated to his lips. “Do you think… I would make a good merchant?”

  Matron Floris was unresponsive for so long, Fin almost thought she hadn’t heard him, and awkwardly wondered if he should repeat himself.

  “I think you have a lot of initiative,” she eventually said. “But you don’t have enough greed to be a good merchant. And you prefer to make things—rather than buy and sell them without passion.”

  “Then what about an artist? Specialize in carving or painting or something else and sell them for their aesthetic value.”

  “I have no doubt you would make a great craftsman if you worked at it, Fin. But for all that you like art, I do not think you will like such a mundane life.”

  Fin heard the words but didn’t understand them. Matron Floris didn't elaborate. They sat in silence for a few more minutes.

  “I really wanted to go.”

  “I know.”

  Fin shook his head. “No, it wasn’t just a want. But calling it a need wouldn’t be right either.”

  “It’s destiny,” she said quietly, so quiet that Fin almost hadn’t heard her despite sitting right next to her. Matron Floris leaned back on the bench and exhaled. “The woman, what was her name?”

  “Oswelda.”

  “Yes, Oswelda. She was right when she made that offer. This town is too small for you.”

  “So do you think I should’ve—”

  “No. I think you made the right choice. I’ve known people like you. It’s not just that this town is small, but the world is too. Parts of it are undeniably magnificent and vast, but for you, it may still be too small.”

  “But I haven’t even seen it. Any of it.” Fin looked down and clenched his hands.

  Every part of him felt like simply imploding on itself. He stared at the veins of his hands, imagined them as roots stretching down into the earth, and wondered what it would be like to suddenly break into foliage, for the tips of branches to push through his skin and stretch upwards. Reaching and being pulled in both directions. Unable to release his frustration, he kicked the ground again.

  “But you feel it,” Matron Floris continued. “I’ve seen the way you gaze up at the stars or the mountains. Those are not the eyes of a boy who intends to keep his feet on the ground.”

  She gestured at the courtyard, the hanging bed sheets still dripping with water, the rolling clouds up above, barely shadowy wisps in the weak sunlight. “You feel it now, don’t you? There’s nothing vast enough out there to contain your longing. You will lust for the next magical adventure and enchanting vista, chasing after fleeting beauty until it takes you around the world.”

  She took a breath. “And then, you will inevitably die, a lonely corpse on a golden cliffside overlooking the sea.”

  Fin’s throat grew drier as she spoke. Although strange, he didn’t find the matron’s words harsh by any means. In fact, she said it like a blessing, full of tenderness and a twinge of pride.

  “So what do I do?” Fin wrapped his arms around his chance. “Now, and in the future? When do I choose?”

  “Learn first to live with the smallness. Stay here in this village for a few more years, maybe until you’re fully grown, then go.”

  “I also,” Fin paused, choking. His eyes stung. “I also didn’t want to leave you all.”

  “I know.”

  Did she know? Of course she knew. Whether it was him or the dozen other orphans living in the Ashgrove House, she always knew what they were feeling like a telepath.

  Something in his heart untangled, and the world made more sense.

  “Can I head out?” Fin stood. He needed to see Izkarius.

  “To the forest?” Matron Floris rose after him.

  “Where else?” Something about Fin’s voice sounded far away, even to himself. He looked at the rest of the soaked bed sheets guiltily. “May I? Please?”

  She smiled. And maybe Fin had just been blind to it before, or it had appeared overnight, but faint wrinkles of age lined her mouth and eyes. “Take as much time as you need,” she said.

  In the dorm, Fin organized his materials, slung the satchel over his shoulder, wiggled his toes in his new boots, and trudged down to the entrance hall.

  Matron Floris was waiting with a small cloth-wrapped package. She pressed it into Fin’s hands. “Some food. Enough to last you a few meals. Or to share with a friend.”

  Fin’s eyes widened slightly in surprise. It wasn’t the first time Matron Floris has implied she knew there was someone in the forest, but this was by far the most direct. All of a sudden, Fin felt like telling her everything—the glint of amber, translucent scales, the twisting caverns lined with glowing magic herbs and mushrooms, the way coinage of kingdoms long gone lay piled up warm and content around a sleeping, breathing mass of magic, and the sheer wonder of it all—but forced it down. This wasn’t his secret.

  He felt his eyes stinging with tears once more, this time really threatening to spill down his cheeks, and he looked down in apology. “Thank you.”

  She brushed at something on Fin’s shoulder, maybe some dust or invisible weight, and murmured, “Stay safe.”

  “Always.”

  ***

  Had the walls been growing closer all along?

  The city loomed overhead now when it had just been a blip in the distance at the beginning of the day. Around Izkarius, other humans were staring in awe at the circular stone walls of the city, which, in the sunset, burned gold. He vaguely remembered it had the title of the “Aureus City.”

  The gold sheen was not enough to distract Izkarius from the pervasive decay that lurked within, however. On the walls themselves, countless fungi networks and moss grew between the cracks. Izkarius sensed each and every fault in the integrity of the walls. If he wanted, he could use his magic, reach into the stone, and just pull until the whole thing came apart like a fraying edge.

  How much damage could he do if he destroyed the walls? Then, Izkarius frowned, as a not-quite-foreign memory of a burning city flashed briefly in his mind. No, how much damage had he done? To this city? To all the others?

  Izkarius blinked and found himself outside of his body, a human-shaped body. Oh, it was a dream, a memory from that time. He took a breath and centered himself once more. Getting used to the sensation of lucid dreaming was tricky at first, but Izkarius had gotten a lot of practice over the years.

  Why did this memory exist again? His thoughts spiraled, and he cast a stun spell on himself to stop. Thinking even more about it would just rekindle the memory and undo the magic that had locked it away. He was stuck here until the dream ended, and he tried his best not to think or look at the city.

  “Why do you never go outside?” The boy had asked him once. Izkarius had given him a vague and nonsensical answer then. Something about being too lazy or finding it too annoying or how his hoard was big enough already (which it isn’t).

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  He did not want to say it was because he spent all his dreams “outside” already. Because the outside was dangerous and filled with sorrow. Because if Izkarius left, he wouldn’t be able to resist searching. And after searching, he wouldn’t be able to accept the world’s silence.

  The edges of the dream world were blurring, much to Izkarius’s relief. The line of shuffling humans faded away until only Izkarius’s memory-self remained. He stared at his human form. It must’ve been one of the first times he had shifted into a human, Izkarius thought. He was bundled up in clothes that covered almost every inch of his skin despite the oppressively humid heat, and what he could see of the face was just subtly wrong and inhuman.

  Even he faded as the dream came to an end. A faint, echoing voice floated into his ears, and Izkarius opened one eye just in time to see a blurry figure jump off the lair entrance’s ledge and slide to the ground in a shower of gold coins.

  “Good morning?” The boy asked. “Sleep well?”

  Within just three years, Fin had grown a head and half taller than his original height. He could comfortably reach out to scratch Izkarius’s horns now. That’s what he did now as he reached up and gave them two gentle pats each.

  “Stop sliding like that. You’re ruining my piles again,” Izkarius complained.

  “You stop being a grouch. It’s fun! Try it yourself if you're jealous.” Fin stretched and checked his bag. “You can just levitate them all back up.”

  The dragon humphed but still did exactly that. The coins individually floated up towards the ceiling in a gold shower and organized themselves neatly back into a towering pile. The boy watched the telekinetic display with unchecked awe, even when it was probably the fiftieth time he witnessed it. For that reason alone, Izkarius kept putting on the show.

  Izkarius huffed, then closed his eyes again, feeling out his limbs, wings, and tail just to make sure they were still there. It was always difficult waking up from a lucid dream.

  The dragon opened an eye just a sliver, stared down at the human’s messy auburn head, then opened his mouth and yawned. A low thrum emanated from the dragon’s chest, making the ground tremble quake. Fin stepped lightly out of the way to avoid a miniature avalanche of silver and gold.

  “Sorry for the past week, I was busy. But I can stay a little longer this time.” Fin said, plopping down at his usual place by Izka’s stomach. This time, he had some paper with him instead of wood. “Can we finish the story from last time?”

  Izkarius paused, thinking that the boy seemed a little strange today. A little more down than usual. What had happened outside? He supposed he would have to indulge him a bit. “You’ll have to remind me where we left off then.”

  “About midway. The siege had just started, and Vel-Karoth’s guardians were at an advantage.”

  “Ah, yes. The Vel-Karothians. “Ah, yes. The Vel-Karothians. They had obsidian-scale armor forged in mountain fire, and breath that could melt through siege walls. All bogus, of course, if you are familiar with dragons. But a war is fought with brains and not just brawn. So the humans brought no glory to the gates—only sickness, and silence, and smoke.”

  “Sickness?”

  “Alchemical diseases, the most malicious sort.” Izkarius stopped himself from saying further. He was on the verge of remembering a name, and that would not do.

  “A dragon’s arrogance is both warranted and a weakness,” he continued. “The humans waited, and the Vel-Karothians refused to flee. That pride held them behind their gates longer than it should have. Until even their youngest had forgotten what open sky felt like.”

  “And they lost?” Fin asked, quietly. He had made it a few lines into his sketch before starting over.

  Izkarius snorted. “Can you lose when you no longer exist? In a sense, yes, eventually. But not all at once. Vel-Karoth didn’t fall in a blaze like depicted in poems. It melted like ice.” He paused. “But the humans, too, waited too long. By the time the dragon hold disappeared, it had been three generations since the war started and another empire had annexed it.

  “There are many versions of the story, but whether it was a brutal bloodbath or a silent erosion, the end truth is the same: both disappear,” Izkarius finished.

  Fin stared down at his paper absent-mindedly, crumpled his paper, and got a fresh sheet. “Is that your favorite version?”

  “It’s the one that made the most sense to me.”

  “Then does the empire that annexed them still exist today?”

  The dragon laughed. “That story was told to me well over a millennia ago by another dragon five times my age. When I asked her when the story took place, she said she had heard the story when she was just a hatchling, from her grandmother.”

  “That makes sense.” The boy hummed. He was halfway through his third attempt. Izkarius took a closer look.

  “Who’s that?”

  “A girl from a village. Her name’s Maryanne.”

  “Is she your lover?”

  The pencil abruptly went off its mark. “What? No, she’s just a client! She commissioned a self portrait. This one.”

  “Hm. Well, it’s about time you considered finding a mate. You humans still stick to that custom, yes?”

  “No? I mean, yes, we have that custom, but I’m still young, ya know? I’m still living at the orphanage!”

  “Not for much longer.”

  Fin did not immediately respond, and Izkarius sensed that this was the moment he had been waiting for since Fin first walked in.

  “I'm feeling a bit lost,” the boy confessed. “I was given a really golden opportunity by a merchant who wanted me to travel with them to the larger cities and get me an apprenticeship with a master. But they wanted me to leave with them today.”

  “And you’re still here.”

  “Yes, I didn’t take the offer. I’ve been agonizing over it all week. I can’t help but second-guess. What if she never comes back again? What if I never get another chance?” Fin took a deep breath and continued venting, his words spilling and frothing like bubbles in a magma pool. “Matron Floris thinks I made the right decision. She thinks that my destiny is to go out into the world either way and there is no harm in taking it slow and spending more time with friends here.”

  “Foolishness” the dragon exhaled. “There’s no such thing as destiny. No such thing as inevitability. I respect your Matron. Very few humans have such clear and broad vision. But she’s a human, and you humans are shackled on all levels, physical and mental, by your mortality. There are two paths to burning: one is long and low, the other bright and brief. As a dragon who will never die from time, I have the luxury of choice between these two. As a human, you are already confined to a brief life, which makes it all the more imperative for you to act accordingly.”

  Fin hugged his knees up to his chest. “So you think I should’ve gone?”

  “That’s not what I’m saying. I know your instinct and your soul will not have failed you in making that critical choice. If this was how it played out, then trust it is for the best. What I’m telling you instead, Fin,” the dragon hissed, , “is to not make peace with waiting. Do not be content that your ‘destiny’ is going to take you out there someday. You’ve always prided yourself with making and shaping things with your own hands. There is no reason for you to be distressed over a missed opportunity when you can sculpt the world into your own.”

  The boy’s puffy eyes met the dragon’s narrowed, amber ones, and he nodded once, a little hesitant. A second time, with something in his expression steeling up. The tension passed, diffusing like a white cloud torn to mists from a dragon’s flight.

  Fin let his hands flop to his sides again and made a self-deprecative scoff. “Doesn’t change the fact that I still need to find a job. I can’t rely on the orphanage forever. Both my Matrons agree I’ve always had artisan hands, but they aren’t doing much for me at the moment.”

  “Have you ever considered taking a job that’s unrelated?”

  “To what?” Fin frowned.

  “To everything you’re currently doing.” Before Fin would exclaim his outrage, Izkarius pressed on. “It seems to me your problem is thinking you should be something defined already. You say you’re an artist, but will not working in that particular field no longer make you an artist? Of course not. Your artistry isn’t going anywhere. It’s a tool, not a chain. Try something new, and keep up your hobbies on the side.”

  The boy pondered. “Something new… like what?”

  “Become a bartender,” the dragon said. “Your village has a couple taverns, no?”

  “There are two, but only one’s hiring at the moment, and the owner is looking for a bouncer, so someone who’s bulkier and meaner-looking. Not anything like me.”

  “It’s fine,” the dragon flicked the tip of his tail in dismissal. “He’s looking for a bouncer, so what? He just can’t take another bar boy then? And you bring something else very valuable to the table.”

  Seeing Fin’s confusion, Izkarius grinned and added, “And I mean it literally.”

  The boy’s expression morphed from blank uncertainty to curiosity to something close to awe. He breathed, “You’re saying, I should offer to engrave the tavern’s furnishing?”

  “Isn’t it a magnificent idea?”

  The boy’s brows pinched together. Quiet. Still. But something shifted in him like a splinter of light weaving into a dark cavern. The idea had struck, whether Fin would admit it or not. Izkarius rumbled a low chuckle, smug.

  Fin shut his gaping mouth and swallowed. “I’ve somehow never thought of that before.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  ***

  “Mr. Lohaus said no.”

  Izkarius jolted upright, tail lashing behind him. “What? Did you make him the offer like I said?”

  Fin threw his hands up. “I told it to him word for word! But he took a look at my carvings and said that his tavern didn’t need such frivolousness, and would rather get a helper who’s more brawny.”

  “Preposterous.” Izkarius raised his wings. “You mean to say, he saw your creations and deemed them inadequate for his ale-sodden tavern? Do you want me to eat this tavern owner, Fin? Then you can take over.”

  “No, no! For the hundredth time, Izka, eating people is not the solution.”

  “It is most of the time,” Izkarius sniffed, and settled back down.

  "Not this time, okay?” Fin gave two pats on Izkarius’s scales and sighed. “It’s fine. I’m sure other kids who are leaving the orphanage this year will take that job. My friend, Locke, would fit in with the mischief just fine, I think.”

  Izkarius felt his pride flaring. “Unacceptable. I do not allow you to accept defeat. Which carvings did you show him exactly?”

  “The one with the bird perched on a teacup.”

  Izkarius gently tapped Fin’s forehead with a claw. “You dolt! Of course he would think it’s frivolous. With these types of short-sighted people, you need to show them exactly what they want. It’s a tavern, so you need to show him something tavern themed. Something adventurous. Something he can envision on his walls or on his countertop.”

  “Like, what though?”

  “Like a dragon.”

  Fin froze and stared up at Izkarius, who met his eyes unblinkingly.

  “Why are you gaping? Is it truly that outrageous? You have a dragon right here to reference. Or do you think I am not worthy of being carved?”

  “No! No it’s the opposite. I actually tried carving you once, but I messed up the first time, and then a second, and I couldn’t salvage it after that. I guessed I still needed to get a bit better before doing a second attempt.”

  “And how long ago was that?”

  “About two years.”

  “You have improved greatly since then, I can attest to that,” Izkarius gestured at the pile of tributes. “Try it again. I will allow you to stay in my lair as long as you need to finish.”

  The boy pondered the offer, his eyes slowly widening. “That… could work. That could work! The day just started. I need to find a log big enough for the carving. I think, maybe about this big? And then…”

  The boy busied himself, and hurried out of the lair. He came back barely a half hour later, lugging a giant log bigger than his entire upper body. Izkarius glanced around, but still deemed the open space in the middle of his lair as the most suitable place for Fin to work. The coins would be out of the way, and Fin would have a mostly flat surface to work with.

  Izkarius focused on the boy again and frowned. Fin was frozen, a pensive and peaceful look on his face. The dragon glanced at the wooden log, then back at the boy.

  “Hey, boy,” Izkarius nudged him with a bit of magic. “What’s wrong?” No response. He nudged him again. “Fin?”

  Fin was still as stone, lips parted. “It’s singing to me,” he whispered. “I can hear it. The wood.”

  Then, he burst into movement—frantic, desperate, searching. “Oh gods, where’s my knife? My pencil? I need to get it all down before it fades.”

  Izkarius blinked warily. Something about the boy's voice sent a flicker down his spine—not fear, but… awe. The air shifted.

  Fin plopped down and immediately got to work. His gaze was faraway and unfocused, and he occasionally muttered half-sentences to himself.

  The sun fell and rose once, then twice. Izkarius cast a spell of revitalization on Fin after the first day to make up for the boy’s lack of sleep and food, for fear that he would collapse before he finished whatever enlightened trance he was in. He went on to cast it regularly over the next three days, and mixed in a healing spell when Fin’s hands began to bleed. The boy completely ignored both injury and recovery.

  It had been a bit annoying at first for the dragon to pose and twist his body at odd angles for Fin’s reference, and even more annoying to be ordered around in terse commands, but this was a special scenario and Izkarius could make an exception because he was a generous dragon.

  Fin chipped away at his carving, and one scale at a time, a dragon took shape. Izkarius looked on with approval. He had long known about his own spectacular looks but after not seeing himself through a mirrored surface for so long, Izkarius couldn’t help but admire his own majesty. He was just as draconic as the day he entered hibernation.

  The sculpture was detailed down to each of Izkarius’s individual scales, and had accurate proportions. It depicted Izkarius about to take flight, his wings half raised, his neck bent low, and his two hind legs braced to push off. And the horns! Fin spent a good half day on them, and they turned out far above Izkarius’s expectations.

  The dragon couldn’t help but feel a smidgen of pride. Certainly, this work would be the boy’s most masterful one yet.

  As the sun rose on the third day, Fin’s hands, red and sore, finally faltered. He blinked at the carving, looked between it and Izkarius in awe as if seeing it for the first time, and fainted straight away. It was nothing a good healing spell couldn’t fix, however, and within an hour, Fin was up and good as new.

  “It’s been three days?”

  The dragon felt a bit of deja vu. “Positively.”

  Fin rubbed his eyes, still in shock. “The last thing I remember clearly was coming back to your lair. After that, it was like I blinked and then boom, my own carving which I don’t consciously remember carving!”

  Izkarius shrugged. “You have a way with wood, and the arbor has blessed you. It is a valuable gift, and good for not just sculpting.”

  The boy stared wordlessly at the dragon carving, awed by his own masterpiece. Excitement thrummed in his veins. “Even if I don’t get the job at the tavern, the next time the merchant caravan comes around, you can be sure this will go for a whole lot of money!”

  “It won’t come to that. The tavern owner will hire you, Fin. If he is blind to see the service and talent you offer, he deserves to be eaten. Now go, and show the world your masterpiece.”

  The next day, when Fin slid down the gold pile with a bigger, cheerier whoop than usual, Izkarius allowed himself a small, sharp grin of triumph.