Khafra hummed as he lay on the floor of his room. Drawings were scattered around him. He spoke to himself, muttering incoherent words as he used an ink-dipped reed stick to get his imagination on paper. The moon illuminated his room through a stone window, a lantern lit his parchment. He made the shape of a four-legged creature over and over, stopping when the door creaked open.

“Khafra, you have a visitor.” An attendant called. A man appeared in the doorframe. He wore the casual clothing of a bjornborn; a brown tunic and trousers were accented by a cloak made of bear’s fur. A golden clasp held the cloak together, its once intricate design warped to appear like melted wax.

“Good Evening, Khafra.” Siacus’ voice was that of a caretaker. His tone lifted as he smiled, “I heard you wanted to see me.”

“Yes!” Khafra smiled excitedly. He stood up, leaving his drawing half-finished, “I want to talk about dragons!”

“Will you need anything else, Khafra?” The attendant tried to conceal a smile. It was improper for her to do so in the presence of nobility.

“No.” Khafra looked at the woman, who stepped out of the room. She left Siacus with the boy alone in his room. It was odd that she left a visitor alone with the prince of Khadina. Khafra’s behavior was different from before. His mannerisms were unrefined, his expressions were that of a child.

“Dragons?” Siacus held his hands out, “I’m the perfect person to ask. What do you want to know?”

“I want to talk about the one you fought.” Khafra walked over to his bed, climbing into it, “The red one.”

“The red one?” Siacus’ brows furrowed, “You mean Telestis?”

“Yes!” Khafra nodded, “you talked about him at dinner.”

“How did you know it was red?” Siacus asked. Khafra scanned the wall behind his bed. Drawings were scattered all across his room. Some lay on the nightstand, others surrounded Siacus’ feet. He pointed at a child’s interpretation of a red creature with two wings and four large legs.

“It sounded red.” He said, “I drew him. What was he like? Was he big?”

“Very big.” Siacus nodded, “He was the size of a house.”

“Wow.” Khafra’s eyes glimmered, “Did he talk?”

“He did.” Siacus said, “Though he didn’t say much to me.”

“Do all dragons talk?”

“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t spoken to them all yet.”

“Zemerra can.” Khafra said, “He talks to me.”

“What does he say?”

“He tells me secrets.” Khafra said.

“Like what?”

“I can’t tell you. It’s a secret.” Khafra whispered, then leaped off the bed to his drawings. He took his reed stick and continued his most recent masterpiece.

“You like to draw.” Siacus noted, then gazed upon the dozens of pictures on the walls.

“Father says the priests use these to help people.”

Siacus could see five doglike creatures. One of them had circles for eyes, while the other had black holes. All of them had sharp teeth and spiked backs.

“This is a dream of yours?” Siacus asked, “It looks scary. Do you have a lot of dreams like that?”

Khafra looked up, nodding as his eyes met Siacus’. He looked nervous.

“You know about dragons.” Khafra said, “What are they?”

“I’m not sure, Khafra.” Siacus said, “Can you describe them?”

Khafra looked at the door. It was slightly ajar. Darkness peered from the other side. Siacus noted the boy’s discomfort and slowly closed the door. He sat on the floor across from Khafra.

“They’re… like dogs.” Khafra said, “But they have skin like crocodiles. Black like ink. They had very large teeth. It… hurt.”

“Did they bite you?”

“Yes.” Khafra said.

“They can’t hurt you here.” Siacus shook his head, “You’re brave for telling me this. I think I have something that’ll make you feel better.”

“What is it?”

Siacus looked around the room, imagining it covered in a blanket of stars. His lips vanished beneath his goatee as he focused. He put his palms together, raising them above his head.

“Let’s see if I can still do it.” He said, then he released his palms. Dozens of little lights spread out like grains of rice, falling like snow upon Khafra’s drawings.

“Wow!” Khafra smiled as the little lights bounced across the floor, then faded.

“Oh, that’s not what I meant to do.” Siacus chuckled, “I’ll try something smaller.”

Siacus repeated the hand motion. This time, a stunning array of colors were weaved between his fingers like a woman’s veil. Blue and purple weaved together, shifting into green and gold. Khafra was so entranced that he seemed to have recovered from his fear.

“I could make animals.” Siacus smiled, “Maybe I can still do birds?”

His arms flexed as he willed the small ribbons of light into a familiar form. Tendrils turned into wings, then a beak, and soon a spectral sparrow appeared. It fluttered around the room silently, soaring around the boy’s drawings. It illuminated the walls as it passed by. Siacus started to feel the strain on his body. He quickly hastened the bird’s return to him, and he caught it in his palm to maintain the illusion of control. He opened his empty palms. Khafra was ecstatic.

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“How?” Khafra asked.

“It’s magic.” Siacus said, “I learned it many years ago. I wanted to show my children stories.”

“Can you tell me one?” Khafra asked, “I want to watch.”

“I have one about dragons.” Siacus said. He didn’t even wait for an answer. Khafra could barely sit still.

“I’ll tell you the tale of Anlun and Noxwiin.” Siacus closed his eyes. He wanted to decimate Khafra’s expectations. He inhaled, preparing the story. He exhaled as lights streamed from his body. A rotting dragon flapped it’s wings, emerging from Siacus’ back. Stars appeared in the room.

“Long ago, the dragons ruled the skies. They did not care for man, instead they caused us great harm. We built cities within the bowels of the earth to protect us from their evil. From the eastern shores of Khadina to the highlands of Gairm, the shattered cities lied deep beneath the very earth we walk today. It was in one of these great cities that Anlun was born.”

Siacus conjured large stone columns out of light. When they vanished, he revealed a man covered from head to toe in golden armor. His winged helmet looked up at the dragon flying above their heads. A cross-shaped visor glared at the beast as the man raised his blade.

“Anlun wished for an end to his people’s suffering. An artifact of incredible power was created, gifting Anlun with abilities that only the dragons could wield. He used his new power to fight Noxwiin, a great darkness that held dominion over all Dragonkind. He locked Noxwiin away, banishing him from our realm.

“Alas, The power was too great for Anlun. Shortly after his victory, Anlun transformed into pure magic. We no longer lived beneath the earth, and we were free to build kingdoms that touched the sky.”

“Does Luhan like dragons?”

Anlun faded into a shower of sparks. Noxwiin nosedived into the floor with a shimmering splash.

“Who told you that name?” Siacus asked, his smile faded. The happy wrinkles of his eyes vanished.

“The healer.” Khafra answered, “She told me.”

“The one that helped your mother?”

Khafra hummed with affirmation.

Siacus was right. It was Aveline.

“Mother!” Khafra’s excited voice broke Siacus’ trance. Khafra wrapped his arms around his mother’s waist. The fabric sunk in further than Siacus had expected. The Queen looked at Khafra. The boy listened to unspoken words.

“But I wanted to go…” Khafra’s mouth lowered, his eyes watering. He looked at Siacus.

“I must go to bed. Mother will take you to your quarters.” Khafra whimpered as he released his grip on the queen’s cloak, crawling onto his bed.

The carved faces of nobles stared as Siacus walked down the hall. The Queen’s footsteps were eerily silent compared to the muffled click of Siacus’ boot heels.

“I’m sorry for keeping your son up so late. He wanted me to tell him a story.” Siacus said, knowing the queen couldn’t respond, “He’s astute. You must be proud of him.”

The Queen exhaled. It sounded like relief mixed with pride. Words did not come to her, but she found other ways to speak. Siacus had to say something; thoughts of Luhan made his chest feel heavy.

“You need not worry about me, my lady.” Siacus said, “I can find my way back.”

The Queen turned two corners into the guest hall. Siacus recognized the door as his room, but before he could reach for the handle something was slid into his fingertips. He looked down, the queen’s hand stretched beyond the sanctuary of her sleeves. Her fingers were gaunt. The skin looked like dried meat. Siacus didn’t look at the object until he entered his room, closing the door tightly behind him. The Queen’s hand remained outstretched, slowly lowering like a branch weighed down by snow.

Siacus unraveled the note. He was surprised to see the Gairman script carefully laid out on the parchment. Every letter was painstakingly scratched out with a shaky hand. As Siacus took in the words his eyes started to darken. Concern wrapped him in a cold veil. Upon finishing the letter he looked up, staring at the wall. He sat for an hour. He looked at the tiny flame dancing from an oil lamp. He raised the corner of the letter towards the flame, and stared as the orange glow crept upon the words like cancer.