“Wait, wait, wait,” Tafel said, holding her hand out as she placed her gryphon drumstick on the ground. “I was under the impression that someone could only be imprinted once.”

“You’re correct,” Alice said and nodded. “There have been three documented cases of people exploding after obtaining a second imprint, and zero incidences of anyone surviving with two imprints.”

Vur tilted his head. “Then I’m dead?”

“No!” Tafel said. Her brow furrowed. “Actually, let me check real quick.” She teleported to his side and placed her hand against his neck, feeling for his pulse. It was there. “Yeah, you’re still alive. I was afraid Auntie reanimated you for a second.” She pursed her lips. “I can’t believe that’s something I had to check.”

Stella continued to munch on her gryphon flesh while hovering above the trio as if their discussion wasn’t her problem. Tafel glared at her before relaxing her expression—she’d rather not experience the curse of invisible spiders or whatever it was called. “So… are you going to explain what you meant by imprinting Vur?”

Stella pointed at Vur’s chest.

“The flower tattoo? That was an imprint?” Tafel asked. She frowned when the fairy queen nodded. “Why don’t you say it clearly?”

Stella swallowed, and her neck bulged as a lump traveled down her throat. “No speaking while chewing.” She nodded her head twice before landing on the gryphon, prying another piece of flesh off. “I imprinted Vur by imprinting Vur.”

“Weren’t you afraid of him exploding?” Alice asked.

Stella shrugged. “It was me, but not me.” Her forehead scrunched up as she tilted her head. “Right. It was the other me. Before this one.” She gestured towards her body. “But it should be fine? Vur hasn’t exploded yet.”

Vur scratched his head. “Then that makes me 50% fairy?” His brow furrowed. “This won’t affect me growing scales and wings, will it?”

You’d never have grown them in the first place, Tafel thought to herself. “It shouldn’t. Trust me.”

“Good,” Vur said with a nod. “So now I’m 50% fairy. I guess that’s okay as long as I’m still 100% dragon.”

“That makes 150% Vur!” Stella said, throwing her hands up into the air. “The numbers work out—that’s why there’s no explosion.”

Alice stared at Tafel with a look of undisguised pity. “This is the man you married,” she said in a flat voice.

“Please don’t look at me like that,” Tafel said and sighed. “What does a fairy imprint even give? Is it like a normal magical beast?”

Stella shrugged. “Ask the last me.”

“We’re already heading to the fairies’ homeland,” Alice said. “We can ask Erin, but I don’t know if she’ll respond. You three are fulfilling a request for her though, right? About the destroyed fairy spring? If you bring her good news, she might answer your questions. Did you figure out who did it?”

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

Vur nodded. “Yeah, it was us.”

Alice stared at Vur. She raised her hand and dug through her ears with her pinky. “I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”

“Yeah, it was us.”

“That’s what I thought you said the first time,” Alice said and sighed. She glanced at Tafel who had resumed eating the gryphon. “You’re not going to tell him that’s a bad idea?”

“I did,” Tafel said after swallowing.

“And nothing came out of it. Of course,” Alice said and sighed again. “I’m beginning to understand the three of you.” She pointed at Tafel. “The voice of reason.” She pointed at Stella. “A catalyst for disaster.” She pointed at Vur. “Unreasonable and deaf disaster.”

“Not quite right,” Tafel said. “Vur’s actually a positive disaster, not a negative one. Is there a word for that?” She shook her head. “Anyways, Vur may act unreasonable and solve all his problems through violence, but he’s not a disaster. He’s actually a good…, err, okayish king. The citizens love him.”

“How did a boy raised in the wild become a king?”

Tafel lowered her head and resumed eating.

“Well?” Alice asked, tilting her head. She glanced at Stella who shrugged. “Vur?”

“If we meet a king, I’ll show you,” Vur said with a nod. “I think you can do it too.”

***

Plumby yawned, his mouth stretching until his bright-red nose pointed at the sky. The metal carriage he was traveling in puffed out smoke as it crawled up the road. There was no horse or beast pulling it, but its wheels continued to roll, going uphill and defying gravity. Beside him, a beardless dwarf with green hair was whistling a tune, his legs swinging in the air of the carriage because his feet couldn’t reach the floor. Plumby hummed along to his assistant while swaying from side to side.

“I can’t wait to go home, boss general sir,” the green-haired dwarf said. “It’s way too humid at the assembly grounds. No wonder why Dupey and his cohorts didn’t show up.”

“Right?” Plumby asked, nodding his head. He tugged on the collar of his shirt a few times, unsticking the cloth from his skin. He exhaled and glanced up at the sky, frowning at the sun. A wisp of smoke floating up into the sky caught his attention, and he sat up straight before leaning forward. “What is that?”

The green-haired dwarf raised his head. “Smoke?”

“It’s not normal crafting smoke,” Plumby said and scrunched his forehead. “It’s thicker. Like tar and wood burning.”

“A house then,” the green-haired dwarf said. He lowered his head. “I hope it’s not mine.”

Plumby’s frown deepened as he stroked his chin. The carriage made it to the top of the hill, and the dwarves’ eyes widened. They were overlooking a burning city in the distance. Half of the buildings were set ablaze, and the other half of the buildings were already burnt to the ground. Splotches of unnatural colors were spread out around the city where tents had been set up. “My capital…”

“Oh dear,” the green-haired dwarf said. “I jinxed it. I hope—”

Plumby covered his assistant’s mouth. “Don’t jinx us again.” His brow furrowed as the carriage accelerated down the hill, heading towards the burning city. He scratched his head. “I wonder if someone failed to control their explosion. But we have fireproof rooms for experimentation.”

As the carriage approached the outskirts of the city, a few dwarves came out of the tents and pointed. One dwarf with white hair and a wispy beard shouted, “It’s boss general sir! He’s returned!”

“What happened here?” Plumby asked as he dismounted from his carriage.

“Two dragons invaded,” the old dwarf said. “One silver dragon and”—his voice lowered—“a pitch-black one.”

“A pitch-black dragon?” Plumby asked, his eyes widening. “Did you kill it?”

“N-no,” the old dwarf said. “We hit it with a cannonball, but all it did was enrage it. Black flames spewed everywhere and our gunpowder exploded. We had to flee the city.”

“Those damned dragons. I knew we should’ve hunted them down,” Plumby said and ground his teeth. “Have you sent a report to the king?”

“Yes,” the old dwarf said with a nod. “The messenger should be halfway there.”

Plumby nodded before staring at the crackling flames burning away the city he worked so hard to govern and build. His hands clenched into fists.