I led the way, Starlight Grace in hand.

The darkened stairs wound on relentlessly.

There wasn’t a hint of the pleasing spiral my bedroom tower offered. Sharp and angular, it zig-zagged with clockwork precision into the depths of the mountain until I was no longer counting the steps.

Normally, this would be little more than an exercise in dullness. Yet as I descended this veritable tunnel beneath a floating eyeball’s bathtub, it was not mud and roughly hewn rocks which were lit by my sword’s glare.

It was walls of finely engraved stone, the surface so keenly chiselled that it shone like a mirror.

Whereas the caverns overhead were undoubtedly the work of amateurs, this was the product of professional stonemasons.

A glance was all I required. I offered my full inspection instead.

Few things etched upon bare walls earned my attention. But these were not the coarse recesses where a poorly laid flaming spike waited to be sprung.

Octagonal patterns decorated the tunnel, the distinct lines as accurately measured as the steps. A statement as loud as the boisterousness of those who had carved them, for few would fail to recognise the handiwork on display.

“Dwarves,” I said simply.

Indeed, it was no small feat to carve through a mountain.

It was even harder to dig beneath it.

But for dwarven stonemasons, it was a greater accomplishment to prevent my nose from wrinkling. Something they regularly failed to do.

“Dwarves~!” repeated Coppelia with a joyful fling of her arms. A moment later, she tilted her head. “Huh, that’s weird. We don’t normally have dwarves in Ouzelia.”

“Is that so? How strange. I’d have thought the mountains of Ouzelia were rife for illegal looting.”

“Oh, they definitely are. We actually used to have loads of dwarves, but the last ones left ages ago.”

“I see. Did they manage to fully excavate your most prosperous mountains with one hand while claiming ignorance with the other?”

“Nope. Still filled with treasure. It’s just that it’s really hard to illegally mine anything in Ouzelia without a dragon coming in and yoinking it away. Those guys really mess up other people’s long term looting plans when they just keep taking all their stuff.”

I nodded.

“Dragons. The kings of vultures. But I admit they at least ensure your nation’s wealth does not abscond.”

“Mmh~ dragons have loads of uses. You can have amazing picnics. Just find a nice dragon lair, sit outside the entrance and every now and again, whack the ground a whole bunch of times with a broomstick. The flame which comes out can make the best fondue sandwiches.”

“... Coppelia, do you purposefully aggravate your dragon in order to acquire melted cheese?”

“Ahahaha.” Coppelia waved her hand dismissively. “Yes.”

I gave it a moment’s thought, then hummed in agreement.

“Very well, then. An excellent use of your time. To purposefully fatigue a dragon ensures one fewer available to ferry me away in the night.”

“Well, I don’t think the big guy is one you need to worry about. Especially if dwarves are scampering around the place. They don’t have a good relationship, what with the constant yoinking and all.”

“Then he may rejoice. As much as dwarves enjoy squatting beneath mountains they do not own, if they were actually present, they’d ensure every ear in the realm knew it … even those desperately searching for peace in a tower.”

“Ooh, it sounds like I’m about to hear a princess story.”

“Not at all. Mine’s an experience so ordinary that even the commoners outside the Royal Villa can share in it.”

“They got really drunk and insulted everyone, didn’t they?”

“It was awful, Coppelia. A modest delegation, I was told. I’d never hear it from my tower. Do you know what happened? … Halfway through the night, I thought they were tunnelling beneath the ground. They were simply snoring instead.”

I shuddered as the memories came as clear as the shaking of my bed frame.

“Even without being drunk, their rowdiness was enough to echo after they’d left. And still they had no interest in being exploited by our merchants and traders for our selfish gains. Dwarves know as much about diplomacy as they do about gardening.”

“Weeeell, there aren’t a lot of flowers underground.”

“All the more tragic we find ourselves here, then.” I frowned at the engravings, each etched with immaculate monotony. “Still, these walls were made by dwarves. But not for dwarves. This is no abandoned holding we’ve discovered. I recognise these patterns.”

“You can’t tell me this came from a brochure.”

I shook my head. If only it were.

“Worse. Even the most basic of overpriced dwarven designs come with basic motif engraving as standard. But these markings are far too unassuming. Not a single meaningless swirl or cadaver effigy exists as a distinguishing characteristic. And anybody who commissions dwarven stonemasons would also have the wealth to debase their creation appropriately.”

An unorthodox combination.

Dwarven architecture without ceremony. Like peasants without soil.

The air was stale, but not rancid. These tunnels were used. But not by anyone who needed torches, golems or servants to accidentally drop a ledger detailing the cost of hiring dwarves.

My suspicions rose at once … as did my trepidation.

Something was amiss.

And as a whispering echo filled my ears, I knew my fears would shortly prove true.

The bottom of the stairwell revealed itself at last. Granite so polished a troll would try to sell it as marble. Likely bundled with the great archway now towering overhead. It was a thing so immaculately carved and oversized it could have stood as its own monument … for what it welcomed us to was the depths of a mountain no more appropriate for a dragon than a princess.

And still–not a single motif.

I pursed my lips as a sliver of fear entered my innocent heart.

Indeed, I had no more doubt as I viewed the archway bereft of a single personalised quotation, much less the tasteless gargoyles that such a thing insisted on being flanked by. The result was that it wasn’t even dull.

No, it was well beyond that.

It was simply … functional. And the reason was as obvious as it was dire.

“Coppelia, this place … was prebuilt.”

I shuddered as I took in the warning signs.

No house sigils, no emblems, no skulls and no squiggles. Here was a canvas destined never to be scribbled upon, its architects long having left for more exciting work.

Coppelia blinked up as she admired the blandness of it all.

“Gasp. We are not ready.”

“I know. This is unimaginable. We are dealing with somebody with such low standards that they simply purchased the site of their schemes outright from what was available.”

“What can we possibly do against such a being?”

“I don’t know. Nobody does. Anyone capable of purchasing a prebuilt lair is capable of anything. For all we know, they don’t even commission their own generic fruit bowl paintings. They purchase them from a gallery instead. Because it’s all the same.”

A shudder ran through me.

Even so, I would not turn back now.

“Very well.” I lifted my chin. “We must prepare for the worst. The end is near–as well as whatever malevolence awaits. I can smell the ill will like the dust in the air. It is time at last to rescue your dragon.”

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“Aww.”

“Hm?”

“I mean, yay!”

I pursed my lips.

Then, certain in the knowledge Coppelia most definitely wanted me home as much as I did, I swallowed a deep breath before forcing myself to peer ahead. Only a hollow chasm met me, and a breeze which had likely been a prisoner as long as the darkness.

I strolled forward to meet it all.

As Coppelia and I passed beneath the bland archway, our footsteps clattered in our wake. But only for a moment. A great hall fit for any number of hill giants immediately revealed itself, so vast that even our echoes failed to reach the walls.

But that alone wasn’t what muffled our presence or caused my mouth to widen.

No … it was because for all its size, the hall was not empty.

Quite the opposite.

It was filled to the very brim … by books.

Piles and piles of books.

Where Starlight Grace pointed, I was met by a desert where every grain of sand was a page and every dune a small mountain of books.

Here and there, I saw hints of the furnishings which came as standard, now absorbed by their new tenants. The shelves of cabinets and tables alike lay broken beneath the weight of their burdens with no respite in sight. Because for all the works on display, this was assuredly no library.

I was aghast.

“W-What is this … ?”

A treasure trove of books the likes of which could fill up all the libraries and book stores of my kingdom … and they were piled like autumn leaves left to rot!

Pages unending which had been filled with the sweat and hardship of those who had penned them!

As a scholarly princess, such a mistreatment was anathema to my eyes … nor was I alone in my horror!

“Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee~”

Indeed … as the resident librarian slid down a dune of books, arms in the air as she came to a stop before me, I could very, very almost see the grief hidden amidst her bright smile!

“C-Coppelia! This is no time to be sliding down a mound of books!”

“Wrong. It’s always time to be sliding down a mound of books! It’s great! Try it!”

“I will not,” I said as I began climbing the nearest mound. “Why in anyone’s name are all the books to have ever been written lying here? And why have they been … spewed so thoughtlessly? This is an insult to the craft of all who have ever strived to put words onto pages!”

I slid down the pile of books.

Not because I wanted to. But because I was simply forced to. The clear path weaving between the makeshift slides? I never saw it.

“I mean, that depends on your definition of a book,” said Coppelia, who too was cursed with poor eyesight as she skipped to the bigger mound in front. I pursed my lips in dissatisfaction. “Do you count shopping lists as works of literature?”

“Excuse me?”

Coppelia scooped a book and raised it towards me.

I leaned in to read the cover. I couldn’t. The title wasn’t embossed. It’d merely been scratched in.

“Weekly reagent purchases,” she said while flipping through the pages. “It’s a list of things purchased over the course of a year. Vegetables, socks and reagents all mixed together. No name and no context.”

A moment later, she plucked another book. She flipped through it. And then she repeated the process with another, and then another.

“Let’s see … a recipe book with sporadic cooking times and ingredient quantities. A memoir pining over a lost love. Notes on chores still yet to be completed. A ledger filled with laundry costs. Aaaaand … an autobiography.”

“... Oh? Who by?”

“No idea. They forgot to write their name.”

I was appalled as I slid down the next mound.

These … These were not treasured works serving to entertain me!

They were junk!

“How dare such a vast amount of parchment be used so senselessly! Why, this is clearly a waste of good kindling! For what reason would such an awful collection exist, buried like treasure beneath a mountain?”

“No idea. I don’t recognise any of the names written down. The ones who remembered to.”

“... Could this have anything to do with your dragon?”

“Not unless the big guy suddenly has an interest in budgeting for a pet hamster. He only reads the kind of stuff which you use to hide scandalous books behind.”

I nodded as I climbed the pile I’d just slid down for no other purpose than the vantage it allowed.

Indeed, from here, I could easily see the worst case scenario.

Somewhere, a dragon who ensured his tomes of knowledge were before him and not in the hands of my tutors was now separated from what he most cherished. And all he had was literal clutter.

“I see … then there’s only one possible explanation. Cruelty. To offer such works to a dragon must be more tortuous than any blade or spell.”

“Yeah. He’d get bored petty fast. The quality of this parchment is so bad you can’t even doodle on it. Not that I've ever seen him do it. All the time during the annual staff meeting.”

An unexpected pang of sympathy rose within me.

To be forced to endure meetings once a year. As a princess who too was overworked, I understood the pain.

“Then his plight is greater than I imagined … by any chance, would you know if the dragon is near?”

“I’m pretty sure he is. The big guy smells like an old book. A really musky old book that’s aged as well as a mouldy barrel. Which is pretty much everything down here. But it feels like he’s here.”

I nodded as I slid down the next mound.

And then I stood up, patted myself down and regally walked the rest of the way ahead. It was time for princess business.

“Very well, then. It won’t do to see him suffer any more. Nor us, for that matter. We need to leave before the aroma of mouldy barrel stains us as well.”

“Okie~”

Coppelia offered a giggle. Then helped prod me along as I navigated through the sea of books.

Here and there, a sign of life flashed in the periphery. It could have been a bat or a lost mole. Yet no matter which horror awaited, I accepted no obstacle before me.

Unless, of course, it was a dead end.

I was stunned at what I saw.

A second archway awaited at the end of the hall, greater than even the one we’d entered from. But whereas this was wide enough to boast any gate … there was instead a wall.

My mouth widened in horror.

Because amidst the functional, if unfashionable hall devoid of personalisation, here was the only thing out of character. Far from the identical stonework with matching engravings on display, it was simply filled with … bricks.

Just bricks.

Common red bricks.

No different than found used to shore up dockside warehouses where none but drunken sailors could ignore them. A sight so ghastly it made the barnyard hovels of baronesses look fashionable.

“W-Why is there a wall here?! … And why is it so ugly?!”

To my surprise, Coppelia’s agreement looked startlingly similar to a nod of admiration.

“Oooh … not bad~”

“N-Not bad?!” I turned around at the dunes of books, searching for hidden faces peeking over them. “You cannot utter words like that! If any of my nobility were to hear such words, I’d need to requisition my ominous choir to tail them for months!”

“This is pretty smart, though!”

“It’s a brick wall. One in place of where a door could be waiting. With hinges. Clearly, the mastermind behind this travesty didn’t think about how they intended to get out afterwards.”

“Yup, that sounds about right! Here in Ouzelia, our masterminds aren’t really concerned with small details like that. They just want to survive. Especially if they think a heroine is about to arrive.”

She leaned forwards and poked the mortar binding the bricks.

It squished.

The mixture was still wet. I raised my arms in exasperation.

“Do you mean somebody just built a wall for us?!”

“Great, huh?”

“No! … What kind of greeting is that?!”

“One where they’re really bad with introductions. This wall was definitely designed for a heroine. Mazes and traps and doors only slow them down. But a wall? They wouldn’t know what to do. They’d be stuck here forever without a lever to pull or a magical gadget conveniently left around to help them.”

I clenched my grip around my sword.

“Well, luckily we suffer no such inhibitions.”

Coppelia raised her arm at once. And then began stretching her leg.

“Me, me, me! I’ll do it! It won’t feel like home until I’ve kicked something down!”

Uggghhh.

I gave one final groan. We’d lasted so long.

“Do you have to? Can’t you simply … poke the wall? It’s not even set.”

“It’s tradition! The big showdown is obviously ahead. You can’t just poke a wall down.”

I placed my face in my palms.

It was all I could do. In the end, this wasn’t my kingdom. If standard etiquette was to break down walls, then who was I to suggest otherwise?

“I’m not looking,” I said, looking so far away I somehow ended up peeking in Coppelia’s direction.

She beamed. I could have seen it without Starlight Grace’s light. But even if I didn’t, the sound of her leg as it swung like a bat painted an image as vivid as the destruction to follow.

“[Coppelia Kick]!”

Bwaam.

The wall went down, bricks and dust flying as I regretfully raised my sword at the sight before me.

However … the moment I waved the worst of it away and stepped through the newly made improvement, I forgot the mess at once.

A vast cavern awaited.

One as large as another I’d seen not long ago.

A dragon’s lair, punctuated by streams of moonlight.

And this time, its inhabitant was not missing.

Within this abode of blackened stone was a living memory from the days of old. A symbol of both strength and lineage. A figure made as much of magic as it was blood. Of stories and history, legend and myth. Each with truths and lies both indistinguishable and inseparable.

Before me, an ancient green dragon slept upon a pile of gold.

Wings which covered the cavern in a shadow even while at rest. Claws which could pierce and reshape the land whole. Scales which blunted both fangs and swords. And four … yes, four legs.

I checked.

Twice.

A majestic sight captured countless times in the drawings of fairytales and the nightmares of innocent princesses. And now I was creeping closer. However, it had little to do with the great chains shackling the dragon’s limbs, each so black that they absorbed my sword’s light.

No … it was the simple fact that on this rare occasion, it was not the dragon who was my foe.

It was the girl sitting upon the end of its snout.

One leg crossed over the other in a classical pose of wickedness at play, her foot dangled idly in the air.

A lively smile. A youthful face. And luminously pink hair.

A girl in a frilled pinafore dress, its appearance halfway between a book vendor and a maid’s uniform.

And most tellingly of all, a large golden key upon her back.

“Ah, I forgot to say something before I sent you off,” said Fleur the clockwork librarian. She clapped her hands and sweetly smiled with a tilt of her head. “... Welcome to Ouzelia.”