Lights danced in the night sky: the crackling of distant explosions accompanied by cheers. Stalls lined every street. Vendors peddling various toys, figures, expensive clothes, and food from all across Caembra and its neighboring kingdoms.

Vincent had never seen a festival such as this. Asking around, he learned this was the Light Spirit Celebration—a festival meant to celebrate the gods of the sun, stars, and moon. Gods that were not recognized or worshiped by the people of Ankaa. Pacing through the remote town of Ferron, he watched as children carried kites and dolls that took on vaguely dragon-like shapes. Making him wonder if the supposed gods they worshiped were nothing more than dragons who pretended to be divine figures.

Ferron was a quaint little town. Small enough that one could cross the entirety of it in a single go. With such a small place to call home, it was strange to Vincent just how many people roamed that night. That was until he overheard conversation from others of the trip they made to enjoy the festival.

After a bit more snooping around, he came to learn that the festival was held by five towns in total. Each year, the people would shift which town would host the festival, and then vendors and citizens would travel to join their neighbors in giving praise to the gods. Something only possible due to the closeness of each town—in geographic location and the bonds they shared with each other. Trying to host a celebration in this manner up in the western portion of the kingdom would be difficult. Let alone the rest.

Vincent had only stopped in town for a short break from his travels. Hoping to find someone who would sell him books for his journey, as he had finished reading and rereading all the volumes that Lea had packed for him. He also had been hoping to find more information on the Caster’s Sanctum. Seeing as Ferron was only a day’s trip to the lake, he hoped news or rumors would have made their way over at some point.

When he discovered the festival, Vincent had all but given up on the thought of finding anyone who could provide him with what he desired. Thankfully he had some of that Vickery stubbornness in his blood. For he did manage to find a single bookshop that was still open through the night.

It was a small little shop nestled between a baker and a tanner. Dusty shelves reached all the way to the ceiling. Books lay strewn about the room in piles. Some left open on the floor all alone.

Six tables had been set up to allow patrons a chance to read at their leisure. Behind the counter was a goat of a man. His curly beard and bushy brows white as ash. He was in the middle reading a story called The Chronicles of Aether, a story that Vincent had once read himself. He’d liked the story, but it could have used a bit more polish.

He was shocked to see a copy of it, as only a very limited number of them had been produced in the kingdom. For someone in such a nowhere town to own one of the few copies really proved how widespread books could become, even if they held little popularity.

Clearing his throat to grab the man’s attention, Vincent stood with arms behind his back. “I was wondering if you might be able to help me.”

“Sorry,” the man replied. Using a ribbon to mark his place in his book, he closed it and pushed it aside. Making room to rest his elbows upon the table. “Nothing is free, even for the holiday.”

“Oh no,” Vincent waved a hand before himself. “I’m not after anything free. I just have a few questions.”

“Answers aren’t free either,” the grouch corrected. “I only have time for paying customers.”

“Well, I do intend to buy something.” Soon as those words left his mouth, he could see the store owner perk up a bit. Holding back the desire to up and leave, Vincent once more cleared his throat. “I was wondering if you knew anything, or perhaps had any books on the Caster’s Sanctum. Even just rumors would be useful.” The old man raised one of his brows—or at least Vincent assumed that was the case. It was difficult to tell with just how much hair was on that man’s face. Unsure whether the man understood, he went on. “You see, it’s not that far off from this town. And since I am headed there, I thought a local such as yourself might have something worth sharing to make my trip easier.

“But if you don’t know anything,” he began to walk toward the shelves. “I’ll get on with my browsing for something to purchase. I see you own a copy of The Chronicles of Aether. If you have a volume that rare, then I’m excited to see what else I might find here. I do hope you are enjoying that tale. I found it rather odd in places, but overall, it was not the worst experience I have had in literature.”

A few illegible noises came from the bookstore owner as he went back to his read. It seemed he had nothing he could share with Vincent on the Sanctum. Though he had not given up on learning more just yet. There were plenty of people in town he could ask. And many travelers from the neighboring towns as well.

Many minutes later, he returned to the front with a stack of seven books. Since he was so close to his destination, Vincent thought it best to only grab a small number of books he could easily get through before he arrived. As he was unsure how long it would take for the members of the Sanctum to help him with his desired questions.

“Dragon scales,” the old man spoke.

Vincent was confused at first. Forgetting that he wore the pendant that May’uri had given him that night. Usually, he had kept it tucked away, however, after his last dream involving the dragon he had decided it best to wear it at all times. If only to appease the great beast. Though he was surprised to see that the someone had been able to identify it for what it was.

“Rare to find anything dragon scale outside the Sanctum,” the old goat continued. “I thought most of the old dragon relics were collected in the past ages. But it seems even the Grand High Mage is capable of making a few mistakes.”

Putting down the books he’d found, Vincent instinctively grabbed hold of the pendant. “You know about dragon scales, and the Sanctum? Then why didn’t you say anything when I first asked?”

“I was waiting for you to make a purchase,” he smiled a toothy grin. Though there were many gaps in this grin. “And I needed to be sure I saw what I thought I had. Now how is it that you got your hands on something made from dragon scales?”

Vincent had been unprepared for any questioning. Though he knew that he would need to conceive a lie eventually. In a desire to not seem suspicious for taking too long to answer, he spoke the first thought to come to mind. “I inherited it from my father. Though I doubt he knew what it was when he gave it to me.”

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

It was a lie even Vincent himself could find himself believing. As the son of Andreas Vickery, his father did have many ancient treasures that had been collected by his family over the ages. There was a chance that something dragon related had been stored within the Vickery family vault at one point. Though this man wouldn’t have to know he was a descendant of a lore. While rare, there were common folk who stumbled upon valuables beyond what they should have ever owned. In fact, Vincent could recall his father stumbling upon a bracelet that belonged to the Vickery family upon the wrist of a baker’s daughter at one point.

“He found it in a river, or so the story goes,” he finished the lie.

“Quite a rare find,” the bookstore owner smiled once more. “Blue dragon scales are the rarest of all. Only two blue dragons were ever born. Did you know that?”

“I know nothing of dragons,” lied Vincent. Though the fact that May’uri and his brother were the only blue dragons was indeed something he had not known. “Are you well versed in them?”

“I would say I’m something of an expert,” the old man laughed. “Not many people know about the ancient titans. And even fewer have ever seen one. But I, well I have fought one.”

“You?” now it was Vincent who rose a brow. Finding it hard to believe that there could be anyone who had faced a dragon and live to tell the tale. Not only due to how powerful dragons were said to be, but also just due to how long ago it was that dragons had roamed the land. While they had never got to extinction, dragons had long since went into hiding. No longer dealing with the world at large. One would need to be lucky, or intentionally hunt them down, to ever cross paths with a dragon. And while his shop keep was clearly ancient in his own right, he was far from old enough to believe he had met a dragon. “That must have been some battle.” It was easier to just play along with the old man than to call out that his story was hard to believe.

“It truly was.” Pride rang in his every word as he began to spin his story. “It was a cold winter night. Made colder by the rampage of this dragon, seeing as it specialized in ice magic. I was sure I would be a corpse by sunrise. Fingers frozen to the point I could hardly keep my grip upon my sword. And my shield lay buried under feet of snow. Lost to time to this day.

“My friends had all become splatters upon the spikes of ice summoned by this beast. And it seemed that I was well on my way to meet them. When suddenly, the dragon left. Showing no more interest in killing me. At first I believed it had chosen to show mercy when it saw the pleading in my eyes. Then, I thought it had just grown bored. No longer interested in hunting me as I proved to be unfit prey. It wasn’t until a hand fell upon my shoulder that I realized it had been scared away by a powerful mage.”

“You’re quite lucky the mage found you then,” Vincent smiled. “And I guess I should thank him, because without this mage you would not be here to sell me books.”

“There would have been someone to sell books,” the old man answered with disinterest. “And I thought it to be luck as well. But no, the mage told me that she had climbed the mountain to find me specifically. I was confused at first, until she showed me the visions that had plagued her dreams. It seemed I was needed to resolve a magical conflict. That without my aide, they would never have erected the ancient barrier to the north.”

“The Norther Blockade?” Vincent asked astonished. “But that barrier was erected—“

“Nearly three-hundred years ago, yes, I know.”

“But that can’t be. Not unless … Who are you?”

Great pleasure echoed in the laugh of the elder. “Just a man who peddles books. Just these seven? That will be eight silver. Usually this would cost you much more, but I will give you the mage discount, Vincent Vickery.”

“How do you know who I am?” Vincent narrowed his gaze. No motion to grab his purse was made. No movement was made at all. Eyes locked on the man before him.

“Did you not listen to my story? I’m only a man who fought a dragon once. Someone a powerful mage came to see because they knew he was needed for something important.”

Is he saying he knew I would be here? Am I needed for something important?

“All your questions will be answered in due time,” assumed the man. “Do not dwell on it, for that will only bring confusion to you. Just know that when the time comes, you shall learn why it is you are needed.”

Vincent heeded the man’s words. Paying for his new books, he left the shop in a hurry. Not looking back, or even staying long enough to be handed what he was owed for over-paying. He wanted to be as far from that shop as he could be. Not even stopping for a fresh, hot meal as his gut protested his choice.

I must reach the Sanctum soon. A new fire was lit in his soul. If what the old man said was true—not only about his fight with a dragon, or his age. But the fact a powerful wizard had saved his life for a greater purpose, and that the Sanctum had collected everything to do with dragons, then his path had been the right one. He was meant to go to the Sanctum in order to gain the answers he needed.

Just as he made it halfway out of town, he turned back. Pushing through the crowd to once more find himself outside the old bookshop. With a deep breath, he entered once more. Only to find the owner had stepped from behind the counter, and now stood as though waiting for Vincent to have come back.

Now garbed in a black habit adorned with golden trim and runes sewn into the fabric in silver lettering, it was more obvious that ever that he was more than just a simple peddler of literature. “Back so soon?” the man laughed. “I knew you would read through those books quick, but you beat my expectations.”

“Enough of your games,” yelled Vincent. He tossed aside the bag with his purchase, and took on a defensive stance. Hands crackling with electricity. Burning ozone filled the room. “Tell me who you are. No more indirect answers.”

“Yes, I suppose you think yourself entitled to that answer. But you have not earned the right to know. Young Vickery, lost son of a dead family, do as I told you. Do not worry about what purpose our meeting holds. Just know that you will be called upon for something great.”

That answer was not satisfactory. With a passing step forth, Vincent pushed his arms before himself. Lightning danced from his body and toward the elder.

With barely a movement, the man caught Vincent’s attack. Condensing it into a ball of crackling energy no larger than an orange. Squeezing his hands around the mass of power, the lightning seemingly was absorbed into his flesh. An empty palm was all that was left as his fingers uncurled.

Vincent tried again. Shifting his magic from lightning to fire.

In a single swiping motion, the man caught the flames. They spiraled around his form. Small gaps had been left in the blaze to allow him to watch Vincent from within the inferno. It was not long before the speed in which the flames roared doubled, then tripled, until there was only a pillar of flames. No longer could Vincent see within.

With a burst, the pillar was reduced to embers. Ones that fell like snow. Burning out before they could ignite any of the ancient pages or furniture within. Where the man once stood, there was no one. He had vanished with the blaze.

Back at the monastery, there had not been anyone who wielded magic with the skill and strength of the bookshop owner. Such a powerful mage, it made his tale that much more believable to Vincent.

The mage met him on the top of a mountain, the young man swallowed the air trapped in his throat. Seeking him out because he was needed for something. And now that mage had done the same for him. Sought him out, but there was no telling as to why. Unlike in his story, the man did not show Vincent any visions he had of the boy. There was no hint to what caused him to seek Vincent out. Was he only toying with him?

Once more, Vincent wrapped fingers around the dragon scale pendant he wore. Somehow he knew that that trinket was the key to why the mage had come to him. If the mage had even come to Vincent for the same reason another mage had met with him. Maybe he was thinking too much into the story he heard.

Just what am I supposed to believe? And just who was that mage?