As was customary during the first few moments of flight, I was blinded by my own bangs as the wind shoved my hair back into my face. Despite the number of times I'd flown on a broomstick, flying was still something that came as naturally to me as it did to Tutu.

Thus, I was pleasantly surprised when the little ball of fur in my arms took to the sensation of being swept into the air the same way he took to our new spring menu.

Namely, with a yawn.

I looked at him with renewed curiosity. Perhaps the feeling of being airborne was simply cosy to a creature born with wings. Given that his wings weren't capable of levitating him beyond what his regular jumps could do, I'd always assumed that the magical part of him had more or less faded.

I didn’t complain. And more importantly, neither did Tutu.

I took in his latest blasé yawn, then looked ahead at the dragon sized task in the near distance.

The very near distance, in fact.

Barely reaching an altitude past the nearest steeple, I was forced to barrel roll out of the way as a shadow the size of the church beneath me almost tackled me back down to the ground. I heard a muffled squeak of complaint as Tutu voiced his displeasure at the unexpected turbulence.

Unable to fulfil his high standards for passenger service, I was forced to pull the nose of my broomstick vertically upwards as the dragon-shaped shadow returned for a second pass.

Lacking the raw magic that a witch could provide, I instead engaged the emergency blast charger that was not illegally installed on my broomstick. The detonation sent me hurtling into the clouds, leaving a trail of black smoke to puff ineffectually into the eyes of the dragon that was already about to touch the end of my broomstick with his nose.

And that was fine. Because I didn’t come to flee from him.

I rotated my broomstick.

Rising into my field of view, Oirdan slowly beat his magnificent wings as he sent the clouds beneath me away. Hovering in all his splendour, he postured himself into a tell-tale position of attack, craning forwards with his claws raised and his tail uncurled.

The walls of the castle lay forgotten. As glowy as they were, nothing illuminated in a dragon’s eyes brighter than a heroine thematically awaiting confrontation in the sky above her hometown.

“We meet again, heroine. Long has this reunion been fated. Come is the hour where the dawn never rises, for I shall extinguish the light of day with the shadow of my coming!”

Oirdan's golden eyes shone as he proudly delivered his opening beneath the glare of the moon.

I raised an eyebrow. I had to give it to him. He slid into his role like butter into the holes of crumpets. Before the first theatre was ever built, dragons were already stage professionals.

“Really, now. As I said before, this is highly unnecessary. Regardless of how fate pushes you, it is up to you to take the leap. Do not follow the same path that your brother did.”

Oirdan widened his maw. But no telling flame formed at the back of his throat.

Instead, the edges of his face merely contorted into the impression of a crude smile. He had no lips and none of the cheek muscles required to actually do so, but there could be no mistaking the crescent shape of his maw for anything else.

“Do you seek to deceive me, or yourself? You, who as much as dragons, are born of stories told beneath moonlit windows? Our predecessors followed their duties. And now we shall follow in turn. That is the way of things.”

I shook my head.

“You don't need to follow the wings of Martuk. No more than I need to tailgate the broomstick of Witschblume's last heroine. Forge your own path. Just like I am.”

Oirdan hovered silently for a moment. His smile faded, replaced by the sight of precisely 82 teeth ready to gnash down at the mosquito-shaped heroine.

“Pitiful. You do not carve the road ahead. You meander like a lost lamb until once again, it bends back towards the only path ahead.”

“A road meanders because it takes us to places we've never known before. Nobody can divine the future. Not even a dragon.”

“Were only that the future was so uncertain. And yet I am the Next Great Evil. There are no conjectures here. Only facts. And an ending as dazzling as the point of your sword and the light of my flames.”

Immediately, Oirdan opened wide his maw.

This time, there was no smile. Instead, a simmering fire at the back of his throat burst into life.

“Come! Let us end this farce. Or I shall lower a curtain of fire upon the town below. Make ready your blade!”

As the dragon's flame twisted and danced until it began to warp the very air, the sword on my back sung with a blinding white glow as it willed itself to be called into action.

Instead, I frowned as the growing ball of flame wobbled dangerously in Oirdan's mouth. Tendrils of molten energy licked at his tonsils and singed the enamel of his back teeth.

That wasn't healthy. Just like humans couldn't scream at the top of their voice, dragons couldn't just hurl the biggest fireball they could.

It was time to put a stop to this.

“Fine. If that's how you want to do things, you leave me with no choice.”

Oirdan allowed his wings to unfurl to their greatest span. Far from a means to intimidate me, it was an open invitation to attack. And one which would have left him no means to evade should I activate my broomstick's last explosive charge.

My sword burned uncomfortably against my back. Its instincts, honed through generations of bloodshed, appealed for itself to be drawn against the night sky.

This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.

I ignored both of them.

Instead, I gave a small cough.

“Ahem … Oirdan, Lord and Master of the Frozen Peaks. You are hereby commanded to cease your attempts at ending your own life. You are instead to return to your mountain where you will take up arts and craft as a fulfilling and meaningful hobby.”

The ball of flame grew to its apex. A miniature replica of the sun now shook dangerously in Oirdan's maw.

“Folly. No heroine may command a dragon.”

“You're right.” I held up the mighty ball of fur in my arms. “But Tutu can.”

“......”

There were few things that could cause a dragon's most powerful spew of flame to extinguish itself. Not even a monsoon aimed directly at Oirdan's throat could have caused the flame to sizzle out the way that the sight of me presenting Tutu did.

Confusion was a powerful tool.

“Excuse me?”

“His name is Tutu.”

A long moment of silence passed. The flame which had suddenly died left only the moon to illuminate Oirdan's eyes. And all I saw in them were suspicion and bewilderment.

This was a particular trick he'd never been warned about before.

He craned his neck slightly forwards.

“It's a cat.”

I nodded seriously.

“That's right. A cat.” I lifted him further up. “And he is the Next Great Evil.”

Oirdan's eyes slowly blinked.

“It's a cat,” he simply repeated.

Again, I nodded, just before I shifted Tutu onto one arm and dug my hand into my pocket.

Out came a little scrap of paper ripped out from a waitress's notepad. And written on it in my less than impressive handwriting was an official declaration.

Certificate of Authenticity.

This document certifies that Tutu the cat (breed unknown), permanent resident of the Bread & Berry Cafe, 14 Duchess Street, Witschblume, is officially acknowledged as the Next Great Evil by Elise Rowe, the ordained heroine of the Duchy of Witschblume.

I read it out loud, enunciating it in the same formal voice I used whenever I introduced myself.

And while reactions typically varied, right now, it was enough to fell a dragon from the sky.

“What.” Oirdan looked between me and the cat in my arms with equal amounts of disbelief. “Did you just claim that a cat is the Next Great Evil?”

“I'm not claiming anything. This is an official certifying document written by a public servant.”

“That is absurd. It is not even a certificate. There is an order for pancakes with seasonal fruit written on the back.”

I pointed to the top of the very real certificate.

“It says certificate of authenticity. Therefore it is.”

Oirdan had to remember to flap his wings, such was the weight of the chronic confusion that was now assaulting his head.

“Wait. You cannot possibly hope to argue that a cat is a superior fit to be the Next Great Evil over a dragon. That is preposterous.”

I shook my head. Things in writing were always more powerful than things without. While worth was a powerful thing, the written word was even more so.

It’s as they say.

The pen is mightier than the sword. Especially when held by a heroine.

“With all due respects, you do not decide that. Fate does. Tutu has a prior claim. He was identified by the head maid of the governing ruler as a potential Next Great Evil owing to his latent magical nature, the mystery of his discovery and his connection with the imagery derived from a minotaur’s prophecy. And now he has a certificate.”

An unfulfilled origin story. Unrealised magical powers. An arguable link with prophecy. A prior claim. Official heroine recognition. And to top it off, an obligate carnivore.

Next Great Evils had awoken with less. Tutu had the full package.

Oirdan's maw opened wide. Only a hoarse, squeaking sort of noise that I never knew dragons could make came out.

“It's a cat.”

I smiled.

Here was a dragon that followed the rules to the letter. The only way to stop him was to headbutt him hard enough … or to get someone higher up the ladder to loudly cough and frown.

Evil ran a tight ship. And that meant a strict hierarchy. One even dragons must obey.

Sadly, as a heroine, I was a bit outside the evil chain of command. And to overturn someone who now genuinely thought they were the big bad of this world, I needed someone at the very top. And what was higher than a probable Next Great Evil?

Well, that would be the actual Next Great Evil.

“A cat who is now your superior. And one I believe is now commanding you to follow his orders to enjoy the peace and briskness of a night sky without the need to set anything on fire. Isn't that true, Tutu? Yawn if that's true.”

Tutu looked up at me.

Then, he yawned.

Oirdan was flabbergasted.

I imagine it was partly because he'd just been upstaged by a cat. But also because of the way his body suddenly swayed like a rowing boat caught in the middle of a storm.

The dragon, as though never having flown before, now found himself struggling to maintain his place as his body gained an unnatural buoyancy. It was like the weight of fate itself had suddenly lifted from him. His wings beat freer. Faster. And the scales that had darkened with each passing moment now gleamed as they reflected every inch of moonlight lucky enough to grace his form.

For a moment, he took in his own wings, beating swiftly yet gently against the cold currents of Witschblume's dark sky.

And then he flew upwards.

Lifting himself high into the air, he sent a surge of wind blasting against my face, wreaking fresh havoc to my unrecovered bangs.

“I see … then if that is my command, I will do as I am bid.”

What I saw next was the sight of a dragon performing a wheelie in the sky, followed by a full somersault culminating into a swan dive beneath the clouds.

“Ooooh ...”

I clapped as Oirdan burst into the lower atmosphere once again, now released from the weights that had dogged him even during his long hibernation.

It was no coincidence that so many dragons chose to sleep off a few centuries the moment one of their kind fell. Fate was a demanding audience, and for creatures often caught on the wrong end of a story, there was no better time for a long nap than when she called for a sequel.

I smiled as I took in the sight of tonight's would-be villain twisting like a kite in the air.

Then, I gave the one who’d taken his place a little bounce in my arms. Tutu flicked his tail in displeasure, then tried to stuff his face somewhere that the wind wouldn't tickle his whiskers.

He'd done well tonight. And given how Lize was busy today, I doubted if she’d had time to feed him his favourite snacks throughout the day like she pretended she didn't do.

“What do you think, Tutu? Tuna triangle treats or salmon soufflé sticks? What does the Next Great Evil feel like having for his hard work?”

Tutu instantly stuck his head up. The rapt look of attention he gave made his answer quite clear.

“Both? … Got it. Well, every now and again won't hurt, right?”

Tutu mewled. I smiled, then directed my broomstick to descend.

As for Oirdan, he would doubtless enjoy the freedom of the sky as his direct superior commanded, before going about the rest of his night. Our stories were now disconnected, and I expected that he knew as well as I that the fewer words we exchanged, the better.

Still, just before I dipped beneath the clouds, I caught sight of a pair of golden eyes gazing plainly in my direction. A breath of smoke puffed my way. And in it, I saw the shape of a thumbs-up.

He was, after all, a dragon. And I found that they were very polite.