Jun was barely ten years old when the last dragon died.

She remembered what it was like when the dragon was alive, even if she never saw it herself, and what it felt like to have rain fall on her skin.

When the dragon died, was also the last time she crossed the border of her village.

She hesitated now at that invisible boundary.

Fifty years ago, the dried earth under her feet was a field of lavender. Her mama owned half of it and nobody else in the village ever claimed the other half. Her mama made Jun pick flowers only from this point on and toward their house. Every harvest season, the border became visible with the lavenders picked clean on one side and those wilting on their own on the other.

Fifty years ago, Jun skipped over the edge with a grin, hiding through the flowers that were almost as tall as her.

Now, the earth was dry and cracked and dead. Now, there was no visible border.

She shuffled toward the line anyway and then immediately shuffled back when a spark from her torch fell over the border. The warm night air was a comfort.

Jun had never crossed this line at night.

Fifty years ago, when the dragon died, it rained for weeks. Mama and mother had told Jun not to wander as they collected the rainwater. They both knew what the dragon’s death meant.

Her torch flickered and the light from it could not penetrate the deep cracks of the dried earth.

It had not rained in fifty years and the days were too hot.

With a last glance at the imaginary line at her feet, Jun turned around and marched right back toward her house and then past it to the small village tavern.

The sun was due to rise soon, and the rest of the villagers were making their way home to sleep away the hot day before returning to work when the sun fell.

Casey stood at the door of the tavern, waving the last of his visitors away with a smile. His whole face brightened when he spotted Jun walking toward him.

“I’m here. As you requested,” Jun said with a roll of her eyes and shuffled past him into the tavern.

Casey spun on his wooden leg and followed her inside, then closed the door behind him.

“I only have a dozen to try this time,” Casey said, and his wooden leg clacked along the boards as he circled the tavern’s counter and started bringing out clay mugs and stone pots.

Jun dropped her torch in the sand bucket near the bar. There was enough light in the tavern even without hers. Even without the glass that Casey only took out on special occasions. She sat up into a stool and waited.

“You came in later than usual. Work held you up?” Casey asked as he poured her a milky white liquid into one of the wooden mugs.

Jun took a sip of it instead of answering. Almost immediately, she spat it back out and turned a disgusted look at Casey. “Not this one. This is horrible. Too sweet.”

Casey nodded sagely, took the mug away and replaced it with another one as he leaned on the opposite side of the bar. Jun sipped from the new mug to clear the taste out of her mouth. This one was much better even if it still had the same sweet taste that everything made of cactus water did.

“Better,” she confirmed and finished it in two swallows.

“So, what were you doing?” Casey asked without looking up from the paper in front of him where he wrote down something.

Jun craned her neck to see but his writing was absolutely horrible and there was no new mug in front of her. “Work,” she lied in the silence.

“The Tanner girl?” he asked, his voice absent.

Jun nodded and waited for another mug to be placed in front of her.

“She wants purple stones,” Jun muttered and when Casey placed another mug – this one with a slightly green tinge to the liquid – she eyed it suspiciously.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

“And?” Casey prompted.

Jun took a sip. It was much better but still too sweet and she informed him so. As the village brewer with his oldest son already taking over the tavern business, Casey had a lot of free time on his hands. He used that time to go out and painstakingly collect wildflowers and cactus petals to experiment with new types of beer. Jun was his taste tester.

“She’s got it in her head that a purple wedding dress is easy to make,” Jun complained. “Like I can go out and pick the lavenders any night now.”

Casey remained quiet but his eyes were focused on her rather than his papers or the mug.

“Your mama? She used to work with lavender, no?”

“Yeah. Back before the dragon died,” Jun clarified and pushed the mug toward him. “And then the rains drowned half the field and then the lack of rain killed the rest. Purple!? Has anybody in this village even seen the colour?”

“You have,” Casey pointed out with a smirk at the edge of his lips.

Jun felt like he was trying not to insult her age and failing. She wasn’t insulted though. She was the oldest person at the village, refusing to leave like all those before her for the capital. Just because everybody else did it, didn’t mean Jun had to do it too.

“You’ve also seen rain,” Casey prompted, pulling Jun out of her musings, and placed another mug in front of her. “Nobody else at the village has.” The way he said it made it sound like some great feat that Jun had lived for so long.

She felt her cheeks warm and downed the newest mug in a single swallow. She barely tasted it but nodded and told him it was good.

Casey made a few notes on his papers and then used a sand sponge to clean out the already used mugs so he could start pouring anew.

“You know,” Casey started without looking up and shuffled on the spot, his wooden leg scraping against the floorboards. “They’re talking about burning down the forest.”

“Who is?!” Jun jumped up and when he looked at her in surprise, she settled back into her stool carefully. “Who is?” she repeated her question, calmer now.

“Village head. Neighbouring village. The days are getting hotter and hotter and they’re afraid an errand spark will cause it all to go up in flames.”

“So, they plan to burn it down beforehand?” Jun asked, seething. The forest in question was long dead, not a single leaf or a colour other than the brown and grey of dried out woods, but it had always been there. The lavender field used to edge it and, when she was feeling adventurous, Jun used to hide through the flowers away from her mother’s eyes and run into the woods. Never too far, but often enough for her to have some nostalgia over it.

“Controlled burn,” Casey answered her with a shrug. “Possibility of a new shared well, too.”

“And if the dragon comes back?” Jun asked, her voice quiet.

Casey looked up from his hands and right at her. It took him a long time before he responded, his voice careful and quiet, “You are the only one here who still believes those stories.”

Jun scoffed and looked away.

“We all know the stories, but Jun… it’s been fifty years without rain.”

“Without a dragon,” Jun clarified and glared at him. “You know? Not the last dragon, or the one before, but one of them used to live in that forest, long ago.”

“How do you know?”

“The—the stories,” Jun hissed out. The same stories her mama used to read to her before bed. The same stories her mother used as learning materials to teach Jun how to write. The same stories that made Jun remember the lush forest, the fields of lavender that covered everything in the village in their scent, the puddles she ran through as a child every time it rained, and the cool weather that allowed them to sleep during the night and work during the day. Those stories made all those memories feel more real because of how precious they were.

“The capital still talks about it,” Jun finally said, annoyed now at Casey’s dismissal.

He nodded and then shrugged before he said, “The last missive we had from the capital about the dragon was before I was born.”

“Not my fault you haven’t ever seen rain!” Jun was angry. An irrational fear making her want to be mean to her best—and only—friend.

“Why do you care so much for the forest, anyway?” Casey asked and looked at her with narrowed eyes. “Not like you go there. Not like you even go to the well to collect water, like everybody else does.”

Jun snapped her mouth shut.

“The dragon will come back,” she finally said, mulish, and finished the newest mug in a single swallow again. She had no comments about the taste and pushed the mug back toward Casey.

He hesitated to pour her another and then finally decided not to. His shoulders were tense, and he refused to look at her.

“Look. It’s a cycle,” Jun started explaining, as she had the last time they had this argument. “The dragon gave us rain and the dragon’s death is normal. It came too early, both mama and mother said, but every time a dragon dies, a new one is born.”

“Except a new one hasn’t been born.”

Jun quieted because it was true. Every story her mother told her said a new dragon arose barely a year after the first. Every story her mama sang said that the Chosen One would pass through their small village on the way to the forest to look for a serpent.

What serpents had to do with dragons, Jun still didn’t understand, but every story said the dragon would come back and give them rain once more.

Only, it was fifty years since the dragon died and the capital last sent them a message. It was fifty years since it last rained. It was fifty years since Jun crossed that border that kept her in the village.

“You should come to the well with me tomorrow,” Casey said, interrupting her thoughts.

Jun felt her entire body seize up. The well was too far. It was halfway between their village and the next one. She never went that far before, even as a child.

Casey scoffed, shook his head, and waved his hand in the air, then said, “Never mind. You should go, though. I have everything I need.”

Jun felt the dismissal like a stab under her ribs. She looked out the tavern windows to see the sky was brightening and got up.

“I’ll see you tomorrow night?” Casey said, but it sounded like a question when Jun reached the door.

“Yeah,” Jun responded. “Where else would I go?”