Catty's senses slowly returned, and she found herself lying on a couch in a dimly lit room.

The air was filled with the scent of herbs and the faint crackling of a fire. A large tapestry hung above the fireplace, depicting a battle between dragons and dark, shadowy figures. The faded colors and worn embroidery told an ancient story of power and sacrifice.

On the mantelpiece, various dragon figurines carved from jade, ivory, and obsidian stood in a solemn procession. Shelves lined the walls, overflowing with books whose spines bore titles in forgotten languages. The books were old and tattered, bound in leather with quaint embossing into their spines.

A large wooden desk cluttered with scrolls, quills, and ink bottles occupied one corner of the room. Ancient maps were spread out, pinned down by stones from far mountains and seas that shimmered in the mat light. Nearby, an astrolabe and a brass telescope hinted at the occupant's interest in the stars and navigation.

The walls were adorned with framed parchments displaying symbols and diagrams, some glowing faintly, imbued with magical energy. An assortment of herbs hung from the ceiling, drying in the warm air. Bundles of sage, lavender, and rosemary lent a soothing aroma to the room.

In another corner, a glass cabinet displayed various mystical items: a crystal ball, an ornate dagger, a set of ancient runes, and vials filled with colorful, luminescent liquids. Each item was filled with latent power.

The furniture was sturdy and old, made from dark wood and adorned with intricate carvings of mythical creatures. Soft, golden light from a lantern cast a warm glow on the threadbare rugs covering the floor.

The room was a reflection of its owner—he sat next to the girl, tending to her wounds.

The pain in Catty's body was gradually subsiding. She blinked, trying to make sense of her surroundings.

"Who are you?" Catty asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

The man tending to her frowned, looking at her sternly. Thick gray hair framed his face, and a deep scar ran across his cheek.

"Call me Rutger," the old man said. His hands were confident as he treated the girl's wounds.

"I am Catty," her voice was shaking. "Why did you help me? You don't even know me."

"Sometimes, you don't need to know someone to recognize when they need help."

"But I was being chased. You could've gotten hurt."

Rutger said nothing, just shrugged his shoulders.

"Thanks. I really don't know how I could ever pay you back," Catty smiled weakly.

"Rest and regain your strength," his blue eyes sparkled.

When Rutger treated the girl's right hand, his eyes fell on the bracelet on Catty's wrist. For a brief moment, his gaze lingered, and a shadow of recognition crossed the old man's face. He quickly masked his reaction, but his raised eyebrow betrayed a surprise. Rutger continued his work without saying a word, but his mind raced with thoughts the man chose to keep to himself.

"How are you feeling?" Rutger asked.

"A bit sore, but it's manageable," Catty glanced around the room, taking in the artifacts. "Where am I? This place looks... ancient."

"This is my lair. This is where I keep all this junk I've collected over the years. What about you? Where do you come from?"

Catty hesitated before answering, "I don't really have a home. Been on my own for a while now."

"That's tough for someone your age. What brought you to the city?"

"I was being chased," Catty bit her lip, choosing her words carefully. "I don't even know by whom exactly."

Rutger studied her for a moment before responding, "Do you have any idea why they were after you?"

Catty shrugged, avoiding his gaze, "I think it's got something to do with my bracelet."

"That bracelet... How long have you had it?" Rutger asked.

"As long as I can remember. I got it from my parents, but I don't know them at all."

Rutger paused, his gaze still fixed on the bracelet. "You know, that design is very unusual. Reminds me of legends—old stories from when I was a boy." His tone was casual, but his eyes were sharp, searching for her reaction.

Catty looked down at her wrist, twisting the bracelet slightly. "Legends? What kind of legends?"

"Ah, stories of guardians and ancient protectors," Rutger replied. He stood up and walked towards the table. Taking several herbs, the old man began to crush them with a pestle in a bowl, the tart scent of leaves momentarily filling the air.

"Supposedly, they wore such symbols as a sign of their duty. But those are just tales for children before bed," he chuckled softly, glancing at her to gauge her interest. "What about you, Catty? Do you feel like a guardian, or is it just a pretty piece of jewelry?"

"Guardians…" Catty murmured, her curiosity piqued. "Sounds like a fairy tale or something."

"Maybe," Rutger conceded with a shrug, adding the crushed herbs to a small pot of simmering water. The steam rose in gentle swirls.

"Or maybe fairy tales hold more truths than we give them credit for. What do you think? Do you believe in such things?" he asked.

Catty hesitated, her fingers unconsciously tracing the lines of the bracelet. "I'm not sure anymore. Things...things have been so strange lately. And this," she lifts her wrist slightly, "seems to be at the heart of it all."

Rutger nodded understandingly. "Strange is often just the unexplained seeking understanding," he mused, pouring the steaming mixture into a cup. "Or perhaps, it's understanding that seeks us out in its peculiar ways. Drink this. It won't solve everything, but it'll help with the pain."

As Catty took the cup, their fingers brushed lightly. She noticed the scars on his hands—marks of a life filled with much more than herb-mixing.

"Thank you," she said, meeting his gaze. "For helping me...and for the potion."

Rutger smiled, his eyes crinkling at the edges. "You're welcome, Catty. And thank you for trusting me."

The warmth from the potion spread through her, and for a moment, the room felt a little less like a stranger's house and more like a stop on a journey she had to understand.

The girl looked around the room and asked, "You seem to know a lot about these legends. Have you always been...involved with mystical things?"

"I've had my fair share of encounters with the no-ordinary," Rutger chose his words carefully. "My life's path has often crossed with the mystical, sometimes by chance, other times by choice."

"And these dragons..." Catty pointed to the figurines, "Have you ever dealt with them?"

"One might say that dragons have always been a part of my life, one way or another. My family... well, let's just say they had a unique relationship with these creatures."

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"Were they like the guardians you mentioned? Did they protect something important?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes. They were protectors of knowledge. But it's a heavy burden, carrying secrets like that."

After a pause, Rutger added, "Dragons are elusive creatures. They choose who they reveal themselves to."

"What's it like? To tame a dragon?" Catty asked.

"Meeting a dragon is like touching the ancient magic of the world—it's both terrifying and awe-inspiring. They're creatures of immense power and wisdom. To be in their presence is to feel both the insignificance of one's existence and the rare honor of witnessing something greater than oneself."

"It sounds...incredible."

"It is," Rutger nodded. "And often, it's a deeply personal experience. Each encounter is unique, reflecting the heart of the one who faces the dragon."

"Do you think...could I ever meet my dragon?"

"That depends..." Rutger eyed her thoughtfully. "Dragons sense the nature of a person's spirit. They appear to those who seek truth, who carry the weight of a noble purpose or the burden of a fateful destiny."

Catty looked down at her bracelet, then back at Rutger.

"Could this," she lifted her wrist, "lead me to a dragon?"

Rutger looked at the bracelet, his expression unreadable. The room fell silent, the only sound being the crackling of the dying fire. Rutger unhurriedly moved to the fireplace, which had begun to dwindle. The embers sparked as he prodded them, casting fleeting shadows across his face. Catty felt the warmth spread as the fire revived, the soft glow reflecting off the bracelet.

"Sometimes, I dream of falling..." the girl began, "falling through a storm so powerful that it feels like the whole world might shatter. And then, I'm not just watching; I'm part of it, fighting alongside beings of light against the darkness that swallows everything."

Rutger turned back to her, the fire now lively behind him, and his eyes reflecting a spark of old memories: "Ah, the dreams of storms and battles—they often carry more than the whispers of our subconscious. Tell me, Catty, these beings of light... did they speak to you?"

"No words are spoken, but there's a sense of understanding, of connection. I'm there, not just watching but... part of it. The dragon approaches me, and it feels like... like coming home."

"Such dreams, they're rare gifts, Catty," Rutger smiled. "A connection to something ancient and powerful. Dragons are creatures of fire and air. They are symbols of wisdom and guardianship. Your spirit... perhaps it's intertwined with theirs more than you realize."

"Is it even possible? Being... connected to a dragon?"

Rutger poured another cup of the herbal brew.

"More than possible—it's a privilege. You see, not everyone is visited by dragons in their dreams. It signifies a deeper call, a potential etched into your soul."

"It felt real, Rutger!" the girl exclaimed. "It was like losing a part of myself when I woke up. It felt like I left something unfinished. Like there's more I need to do, but I don't know what."

"The first step is acceptance," the old man handed her the cup, his eyes serious yet comforting. "Accept that the dream may be more than a dream. It could be a calling, a piece of your destiny unfolding. And as for making it real, you must learn to listen, not just with your ears but with your heart."

Catty sipped, "Then I need to understand it, to follow where it leads."

"And you shall. But remember, understanding such visions isn't just about deciphering symbols or unraveling mysteries. It's about embracing the journey they propose, about being ready to face whatever truths they unveil."

"I'm ready. I've felt lost for so long, like a part of me has been waiting for... something. This may be it. It may be time to find out why."

"Perhaps it is, Catty," Rutger smiled warmly. "And in this pursuit, trust that you won't be alone. Dragons—whether of flesh or of spirit—never reveal themselves without reason. They are both heralds and guides."

"Finding your dragon, Catty," Rutger continued, "it's about understanding what calls to you in your dreams. This bracelet," he nodded towards her wrist, "might indeed lead you somewhere profound."

The room grew quieter when the old man ceased talking—only the fire crackled in the fireplace.

"It's like there's a whole world out there, just beyond my reach," Catty said.

"Your dream can be a call to action in our waking world," Rutger watched her. "These visions stir your spirit for a reason, and the bracelet may well be your guide. But remember, every question found in dreams requires courage to pursue in the light of day."

Rutger's expression softened as he noticed Catty close her eyes and let out a weary sigh. Carefully, he removed her shoes and draped a blanket over her. Her lips trembled slightly, a silent testament to the hardships of the day the girl had endured.

Several days passed since Catty found refuge in Rutger's house. The old man had given her a small room in the attic. Its sole window overlooked the wall of the neighboring house, a thick blanket of ivy partially obscuring the view but letting in dappled sunlight during the day.

Catty spent her days exploring the nooks and crannies of the sprawling old house. Each morning, she awoke to the scent of sage and lavender that hung from the beams in her room, a soothing aroma that made the old house feel more like a home. She learned to navigate by the soft golden light that filtered through the stained glass at the corridor's end, casting colorful patterns on the wooden floors.

Rutger took it upon himself to introduce her to the house's peculiarities. He showed her how to adjust the ancient clocks whose tickings and tockings filled the silence of the night. In the library, he taught her the trick of pulling out the right books to reveal hidden compartments in the shelves where he kept the more delicate scrolls.

As Catty adjusted, she couldn't help but feel a growing connection to the house and its myriad mystical elements. Even the dragon figurines on the mantelpiece seemed to watch her with an approving glint in their jeweled eyes. With each passing day, the house revealed more of its character, as if accepting her as part of its ancient story.

By the time the sun set each evening, Catty had found herself in the kitchen, helping Rutger prepare meals. The old man was surprisingly adept in the kitchen, his culinary skills almost as refined as his magical ones.

"A good meal can mend more than just hunger," he'd say, handing her a spoon to taste the stew or adjust the spices.

"Let me tell you about the time I caught a lobster off the northern coast," once Rutger's voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "Planned a fine dinner, I did. Had the pot boiling and everything ready for a feast."

He paused, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "But as I lowered the fellow into the pot, would you believe it? That lobster starts belting out an aria. Puccini, if my ears didn't deceive me. Sounded just like he was auditioning for the opera!"

"What did you do?" Catty laughed, picturing the scene.

"Well," Rutger continued, his eyes twinkling with mischief, "I stood there, pot in hand, utterly bewitched. This lobster, he's singing about love and loss, all the while flapping his claws like a seasoned conductor."

He shook his head, chuckling at the memory. "So, there I am, faced with a dilemma. Do I eat my dinner or applaud?"

"And?" Catty urged, entirely caught up in the story.

"I did what any decent music lover would do. I gave him a standing ovation, apologized for the misunderstanding, and let him go. Swore, he winked at me as he scuttled back to the sea. Had to settle for a vegetable stew that night."

Rutger leaned back, a satisfied grin on his face.

"And that, Catty, is why I always say a good meal can mend more than hunger. Sometimes, it teaches you a thing or two about art and mercy."

They often talked about Catty's dream. One rainy morning, Rutger led Catty to a secluded corner of his library, where the air was thick with the musk of ancient parchment. He reached for a dusty tome, its cover embossed with the image of a dragon, and placed it gently on the table before them. The old man flipped it open to a page marked by a red feather.

"Ever wonder, Catty, why people chase after things they barely understand?" he began, his tone casual as his fingers traced the ancient text.

Catty shrugged, "Isn't it just curiosity or greed?"

"True," Rutger nodded, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "But there's more to it when it comes to dragons. This tome," he tapped the book, "speaks of the greatest dragon ever known."

He fell silent, and the rain could be heard drumming on the roof. It ran in rivulets down the glass, a reminder of the world beyond the walls of Rutger's house. Catty looked up, watching the dance of water droplets in the dim light, her thoughts swirling as tumultuously as the storm outside. The rain intensified.

"As I was saying," the old man continued, "the legend of this dragon isn't just an old wives' tale. He is a source of immense knowledge and boundless power for who can tame him."

Catty leaned closer, her eyes tracing the illustrations of battles that filled the margins of the page.

"When the time comes, the dragon is reborn. He hatches from an egg like all dragons. Many have tried to find this egg. Wizards, warriors, monks, and even rulers. All drawn by tales of his power, which can grant control over the world. Yet, all have failed, their fates often as tragic as the legends themselves."

"Like what?" Catty leaned in, caught up in the story.

"A group of adventurers once believed they had found the dragon's egg. They began to hear whispers promising them unlimited power. The whispers turned them mad, pitting them against each other until they destroyed themselves in a frenzy."

"And no one survived?" Catty exclaimed. "And you? What did you do when you heard about the egg?"

The old man's expression sobered her a bit.

"I did seek it long ago. But then I stumbled upon a prophecy," he paused, watching Catty closely. "It spoke of a young girl. Linked to the dragon's legacy."

The room seemed to close around them, and the distant thunder outside discovered a secret. Catty's bracelet began to emit a soft glow, a gentle pulse like the heartbeat of ancient awakening.

"Rutger, my bracelet..." Catty asked, her voice tinged with alarm as she held up her wrist. The light from the bracelet cast reflections on the walls.

It grew stronger, and Catty felt a warmth that spread to her core. The old man watched with fascination in his eyes.

"Rutger, what's happening? What does it mean..."

"It means, Catty, that some stories are waiting for the right moment to be continued."

Catty stared at the pulsating light. As the glow intensified, the room seemed to spin, the legends and reality merging. At that moment, she knew that her life would change forever.