The man was an oddity among adventurers. One with no Skills. It was hard to believe considering his age. Twenty-one years without even attaining the first of his five slots. It wasn’t unheard of, though many would consider it foolish.

It was all by choice, of course. Though those that knew him predicted he would die before his goal was met.

Zakary Winslew was biding his time. He’d declined every Skill offered to him, locking them away from attainability for the rest of his life. He didn’t care. He didn’t want them.

He’d wanted more. He wouldn’t waste his slots on a mere Common Rarity Skill. He was searching for something better. Even to the point that he’d declined a Scarce Skill. He wanted something that could shape his life in a way no other Skill could. That was the type of Skill he would accept.

And the Adventurer’s Guild could barely fault him. Wizz completed every job he took without fail, even if they were smaller requests. People still found him idiotic and they wouldn’t take him on their teams, but they acknowledged his work ethic. He was a capable adventurer, if not powerful. He had long proved it.

Yes, Wizz was an oddity among adventurers not because he was skilless—there were many people who dreamed as he did—but because despite that, he was capable. 

He had to thank his father for that, without him he wouldn’t be where he was today.

He slid the request paper to the receptionist, a man who looked more fitting at the bellows of a forge, or beside a tankard of foaming beer, than the Guild’s help desk. “Bjerg, morning.” He greeted.

“Ah, Wizz.” He chuckled, before glancing down. “Scalehunting? You sure?” Bjerg asked. 

Wizz secured his equipment on his back, tugging the straps. “Got everything with me. Just need the request approved by the guild. You know I don’t take requests I can’t handle.” He said, yawning.

The receptionist was one of the few people who hadn’t doubted him. He’d taken him at his word from the very start. Wizz owed him for that. Bjerg had been the first friendly face when he entered the guild for the first time and declared himself.

“Hard to believe you even manage at all without a group or Skills.” Bjerg shook his head. “I’ll have it logged. Zakary Winslew, out scalehunting. How long do you think you’ll be on the field?”

“Two, three days.” Wizz estimated.

Bjerg nodded. “There are a few other groups who accepted. Keep an eye out. And good luck.” It was both a warning and a reminder.

“Thanks,” Wizz nodded. It was a courtesy to help out fellow adventurers, even if they were indirectly competing. The heads up served as a reminder of that.

When he left the City of Newhold, the sun was just rising. The Scale Fields were a craggy waste teeming with reptile life. Small flame lizards, to basilisks, and if the rumors were true, even wyverns. Wizz had brought all the necessary equipment.

He checked his pack before he left the city limits. Sleeping bags, alarm wards, weak night vision potions, weak ironskin potions, minor healing potions, and a quiver of steel-tipped arrows. The rest of his necessities were food or weapons, stashed on his person.

If he wasn’t skilless, he’d most likely be assumed to have the [Hunting] Skill or some other congruent ability. As it was, most of his efforts were a product of caution and skill—not Skill. His father had long drilled these things into him. The rest of it was a simple drive.

He secured his pack.

“Wizz!” A tinkling voice called. A little girl, no older than six ran up to him. “Mama says come for bread!”

He smiled. “Where’d you come from, you little monster? Your mom’s not with you?” Wizz glanced around eyeing the bakery. An older woman waved.

“Mama said I’ll be fine if it’s Wizz. Mama said you won’t let anything happen!”

Wizz dipped his head solemnly. “I’m sorry Saei, she was wrong.” Then Wizz laughed and chased the girl all the way to her mom’s stall. Her happy screams were heard across the street, earning small chuckles from the early morning pedestrians.

Wizz laughed and walked with Saei the rest of the way, listening to her stream of words. They reached the bakery.

“Lynn, morning. Want to explain why you sent your monster creeping up on me?” Wizz raised a brow, feeling small impacts on his legs. Saei was pouting.

Lynn smiled. “Saw you packed up and loaded for the road. I thought you might want some bread for the trek.” She said, resting a basket on the counter. The sweet smell of fresh bread struck his nostrils.

Wizz reached for his money pouch. 

“On the house, adventurer,” Lynn said slyly, stopping him. “It’s the least I can do for what you did for Saei.”

“My hero!” Saei said, still punching his legs. “Don’t pay, Wizz! Or else I’ll get you!”

Wizz chuckled, turning to his short, precious friend. “Oh, you’ll get me huh? Do you know what I had to fight for your medicine?”

Saei quieted. “No. What?”

“A monster more fearful than even your mother.” Wizz shook his head. “I nearly died.”

Wizz dodged a bread roll. Lynn had her hands on her hips, dusty with flour. Saei was giggling.

“You can’t keep giving me free bread. Any debt you think you had is paid off, Lynn. I was just doing my job.” Wizz sighed, both in exasperation and content as he took a bread roll. It was an old dance.

“No one else would take our request for what we offered Wizz.” Lynn said, working dough behind the counter. “As far as I’m concerned, you get free bread anytime you come here.”

“Even I don’t get free bread!” Saei cried. “I have to help if I want the sweet ones.” She pouted.

Wizz shook his head, stuffing the wrapped bread into his pack. “Just this once then, Lynn. I mean it. Last time.” He took a few in his arms to eat as he walked.

Lynn giggled. “You say that every time. Off you go, adventurer. Before Saei gets bored of you.”

“I mean it.” Wizz insisted. “Next time I see you, I’m giving you bread.” He warned.

Both Lynn and Saei giggled. 

“Whatever you say, Wizz. Come on, Saei. Mr. Winslew has things to do.” She sighed as Saei latched onto Wizz.  “Come back here, I’ll give you a sweet roll. What if someone else needs his help, hm? You’re gonna let another little girl go sick because you’re hogging the adventurer?” Lynn beckoned. After a moment, Saei reluctantly headed back.

Wizz chuckled. “I’m off then. The bread is wonderful as always.” He said, leaving.

“Go on, Saei. Say bye.”

“Bye Wizz!”

Eventually, Wizz passed the city walls and was on his way to reaching the city’s limits. Newhold boasted a large claim, but the city itself was still young. Much of the claimed land was still unsettled. It might as well have still been part of the Uncharted Lands.

That was what Newhold’s purpose was, after all. A foothold into the Uncharted Lands. The Scale Fields was the most immediate area to explore. It was a day of travel away. The place was still full of unknowns enough that adventurers were constantly cautioned against the danger and encouraged to share any reports.

There weren’t any roads or paths here, the area wasn’t developed in that sense. It meant Wizz could cut through the forest, or circle around. He’d been adventuring enough that he knew all the dangers though.

When the sun was at its peak, Wizz entered the shade of the trees. There was more to adventuring than knowing how to handle monsters. Most of it was walking and scheduling. Wizz practiced both and as it turned out his timing had gotten his neck out of the sun.

He traversed the forest quietly and well into the day. The place hadn’t been named yet, but Wizz had always referred to it as Lull Forest. The peaceful atmosphere often lulled him to drowsiness.

Yet, if he kept his eyes open and senses sharp, the dangers were easily spotted. He darted into cover and then made for a better position. Waiting.

Two whistling thuds.

He brought his bow down and climbed dexterously down his perch in a nearby tree. His targets, two forest goblins, were laying dead. An arrow in each head. Wizz retrieved his arrows and double-checked the corpses for any valuables. It was surprising how often goblins hoarded something worthwhile.

Not this time, unfortunately.

The rest of the day was uneventful, he purposefully steered away from the goblins. As planned, he camped on the edge of the Scale Fields, where Lull Forest met the crag. The moon had come out and Wizz helped himself to bread and cheese, a simple filling. His favorite fare.

When night truly dominated Wizz spotted the torches and bright flashes in the distance. He strained his eyes but refused the use of his night vision potions.

“Adventurers.” He murmured. “Looks like a regular scale serpent.” He nodded. That didn’t warrant any help from him—

Screaming.

Wizz blinked and redirected his gaze. “Shit.” He whispered. “Three more. And from behind too.”

The large serpents slithered to the edge of the torchlight, dancing at the edge of shadow and light. Their quarry, three adventurers, were running.

Wizz constantly risked his life. He did. That was in the job description. Wizz was good because he weighed the risks against his life and made informed decisions. So now, the question was simple and time was tight: could he make a difference?

Maybe. Maybe, he decided. It was enough.

He stowed his things, pulled his weapons, and started hauling ass. He sped across the edge of the crags, jumping and darting swiftly over the terrain. He had to get into range.

“There’s another one!” Someone screamed in the darkness as he neared. A flash of blue light indicated a mage. The brightness let Wizz get a handle on things.

Three people wasn’t a full party, but it was what he saw. A man and woman equipped similar to the way Wizz was dressed, and another fellow in robes, the mage. The other two held bows.

And, of course, the five scale serpents.

They could’ve handled two, maybe three of the creatures. Maybe even four. With Wizz, their chances were better. But they’d been caught off guard, their positions were wrong and they were on the backfoot. That wasn’t all, Wizz grimaced. They were injured.

Wizz ducked behind an outcropping as one of the creatures slithered by, grating terribly on the rock. It was both a signal of danger and the promise of food for the rest of its kind.

He wasted no time and got to work. He was finally in range.

Wizz loosed an arrow and sank it into the back of the nearest creature’s head. He didn’t look at the aftermath, he ducked back away.

“Charles!” Someone grunted. “How much mana left?”

“Not much! We need to run!” The mage responded. Bursts of light forced the creatures back. “[Manabolt]!” The mage yelled.

A blue flash of light impacted one of the creatures, leaving it keening and hissing as its scales burned.

“We can’t—” The woman, an archer, yelled. She grunted, loosing two arrows at a time. ”They’re still down there!”

“They’re dead Maz! We have to go now or we’re as dead as they are!” The other archer raised his voice. “[Piercing Shot]!” His arrow sped through the torso of one of the serpents, missing all vitals.

Wizz grimaced, peppering the creatures as he could. Arrows began sprouting from the backs of the serpents where he’d missed the heads.

“Yeven, are those your arrows?” The woman called.

“No, it’s not!” He called. “No time, just run!”

Wizz bided his time and loosed his shots from the shadows. The creatures relied on motion and sound above all else. Their vision was worse than a human’s and their smell was no different. That meant staying low and keeping low was his best bet.

Another arrow. Two, three. He ducked away, drawing more from his quiver. His eyes roamed the battle and he saw the party was pulling away now that they had space. Some of the serpents were half-turned checking their backs.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

The serpents were no thicker than a man, but they were each meters in length. They could stand as tall as three men. The danger came from their armor, their thick scales were naturally repellant to slashing blades. They needed penetrative arrows, risky close range stabs, or magic to be effectively slain. And you needed good aim too, they were wickedly fast.

“Go go go!”

“Yeven behind you!” The mage cast some kind of barrier, shimmering in front of Yeven as a serpent struck it with its fangs.

Yeven scrambled away in shock as the barrier broke. It shattered into white light, fragments of dust. The creature poised to strike, then lunged—

The serpent’s head was rocked to the side and its entire body went limp, falling like a pile of rope. An arrow sprouted from its ear. Right around the weaker scalers. Yeven stared around for only a heartbeat before the mage dragged him off.

Wizz grit his teeth as one of his arrows missed, a glancing blow that drew blood but didn’t penetrate.

“Snap out of it, Yeven. We’re getting cover fire! There’s another adventurer out there. We’ll ask at the guild!”

“Hurry up! They’re turning around!”

“Draw them away! Someone’s out there! Pull back and keep firing!” 

And they did just that. Wizz was thankful, having them all turn on him wouldn’t be ideal, even if he had a better route for escape.

Wizz ducked away again and counted his arrows. He’d taken two down and at least one of them was actively searching for him. The other two were still harassing the party. It was harder for them to land arrows when the serpents were eyeing them. He did the most he could with the advantage of a flank.

Wizz froze as a hiss escaped around the rock he was hiding at. He caught the flickering pink color of a probing tongue. Carefully, he placed his bow down and slid his shortsword out of its sheath. It came away smoothly, deadly.

Wizz waited, his heart racing, yet his body was perfectly calm.

The serpent’s head rounded the corner. Two arrows in the back of its head were bent at an angle that suggested a weaker penetration. Non-lethal even with his steel-tipped ammo. Still, Wizz kept still, perfectly poised to strike. Its eyes focused and unfocused, reptile pupils.

The serpent slithered nearer, flicking out its tongue—

Wizz jammed the sword through the roof of its mouth, pulled it out, grabbed his bow, and started running. He heard its body spasm with a keening screech. He kicked up rocks and dirt in his mad scramble to escape.

He managed to glance off to the side. They were running too.

Yes, a crucial part of adventuring. Running. As an adventurer, it was important to note you were almost always the prey. Prepare for the worst and then prepare some more. Then, when you finally think you’ve prepared enough, stock up on extra rations, extra potions, and go over that last behavioral tic of your enemy because you’re still not prepared enough. That was Wizz.

He ran.

Wizz panted, sliding to a stop. He took a deep breath. He’d return to harvest the corpses later. There were scavengers in the Scale Fields but they were slow things that crawled up from the crags. The bodies would stay untouched unless a predator roamed by.

The site was too hot right now.

He’d been forced deeper into the fields. It wasn’t necessarily any more dangerous than the edge of the area, but it was more unfamiliar to him. In fact, he realized he couldn’t even see the forest from where he’d come from. Around him were rock walls.

Somehow, he’d managed to arrive at a point in the fields that was fairly low. It was the deepest he’d been. Immediately, he drank a night vision potion and healing potion. They weren’t considered Items, but they worked wonders. His scrapes and small cuts healed up and his vision sharpened and cleared.

He was glad he did.

Not twenty feet from him was one of the Scale Fields’ number one killers. An abyssal drop into the crags. Sometimes the openings were so thin you couldn’t even notice them until your leg was through. Here, it was an open wound in the ground.

Wizz always trod carefully. Even when running from a certain scale serpent. But so claimed every other adventurer that had died to the fissures before, well, they died.

“Weird though. This place seems untouched.” He noted, steering himself away from the drop and closer to the opposite wall. The walls were smooth and the ground was flat. It was an oddity.

It did make for a perfectly defensible position, granted that he could actually defend it. If not he’d be cornered with no options but to jump into the abyss or climb up the smooth walls. The lack of any signs of inhabitants gave him some confidence, however. So long as he was paying attention he was relatively safe here, unless a veritable horde assaulted him, in which case he’d be dead anyway.

He braced for endless minutes, preparing for any creatures following him. When that didn’t happen, he stalked back up the ramped path he’d taken and surveyed the area. His potion allowed him a decent view despite the darkness.

He thought he saw shapes, but they were retreating. Good.

Wizz wasted no time setting up camp.

The alarm wards were the work of a local enchanter with the [Enchanting] Skill. They were a necessity as far as Wizz was concerned. As long as Wizz was in range and they were activated with his mana, he’d feel a jolt of awareness if they were triggered.

The alarms were a complicated inscription imbued with magic. The medium could be anything. Wizz’s were etched onto metal cards the size of his hand. The fragile inscription could only handle so many influxes of mana. For Wizz, if he was careful in his manipulation of mana, he could get them to last three times before the charges broke.

He placed them on the ground and pushed mana into the wards. The familiar rush of power flowed down his arm. A connection formed onto the back of his hand and he nodded. Skills weren’t needed to get good at anything, but they gave an individual a powerful competence and intuition. In magic, this was especially the case. 

Few could fathom the greater workings of mana without aid. Those that did so without the help of a Skill were considered geniuses. Wizz, for his part, was one of the few people who could manipulate small amounts of mana. Even that was rare to some degree, if not particularly valuable.

Still, it allowed him the use of magical equipment like the alarm wards. Not every adventurer could boast that but it didn’t make him a mage. It just gave him more options. And options were a necessity for someone without Skills.

He tugged his pack off and set up his sleeping bag. No magic there, just high-quality insulation. Then he enjoyed the simple fare of bread and cheese, enjoying the sharpness of the cheese and sweet-mild tones of the bread. Lynn had outdone herself, she always did.

He kept his weapons within reach as he settled in. The exhaustion of the day caught up to his weary bones. He’d pushed himself to greater limits before. It didn’t stop him from being tired.

Wizz had long outgrown his difficulties with sleeping in the wilderness while adventuring. For the longest time, he’d been one of the many who had trouble resting when on a mission or taking a request. Now, sleeping was unironically one of his most valuable abilities.

He was snoring in moments.

When he woke up, the shadow was the first thing that let Wizz know something was wrong. His wards hadn’t gone off either. He cracked an eye open and froze. The underbelly of an enormous beast greeted him. The shadow it cast was enough to shroud the entire area in darkness. It was high above him, well outside the reach of his alarms. Stretched over the walls and the abyss.

A serpent? His thoughts were panicked and frantic.

Wizz breathed carefully and retrieved his items. The creature was resting across the crag, so large in size that its forefront lay on one side of the fissure and its hind legs on the other. Enormous. All while Wizz was below. Not a serpent then. It had legs.

Wizz had always forced himself to work through fear. That was an essential skill. This? This threatened to paralyze him. What was he looking at? A wyvern? They weren’t supposed to be this big. Some kind of new species? He slung his bow over his shoulder, stuffed his things quietly, and pressed himself against the walls.

His breathing was forced. He could die here. And yet he couldn’t stop himself from glancing upward. He worked to catalogue the thing when a sudden gout of flame erupted into the abyss from above.

The force of the veritable geyser slammed him against the wall. The heat threatened to burn him, some of his exposed skin starting to blister. Wizz dared to stare, nearly blinding.

His eyes widened as he traced the path of the brilliant flame.

A reptilian head was breathing into the abyss. Roaring flame. Horns framing a scaled face, jutting backwards like spikes. Rigid scales that were bright red and as large as his arm. The eyes were double lidded, blinking vertically and horizontally. The pupil was a slit, widening and narrowing as its mouth choked the fiery eruption. It licked its lips, a forked tongue flitting out between man-sized teeth.

The enormous beast shifted and one of its legs from above came down into the outcropping, slamming down onto Wizz’s alarms. He almost laughed at the useless jolt on his hand.

He didn’t. The urge died when he caught sight of its glinting claws. Lethality on the end of the scaled hand. Then the realization shook him.

He was staring at something ancient.

There was only one thing it could be. There were many legends. Myths.

It had to be—a dragon.

Wizz paled when its head swung down beside its front leg. As if it had noticed something. The dragon paused as it inspected its foot, its huge head passing by like a smaller beast all its own. Its head lowered to Wizz’s level. His breath caught somewhere in his throat enough for him to choke out a small sound.

With a wet flick, its pupil turned to focus on Wizz.

Whatever meager amounts of color were retained on Wizz’s complexion vanished. The blood drained from his face. Then Wizz felt a tide of mana. Such a torrent of potential that even his near non-existent senses could pick up on it.

The dragon peered at him. “Ah, one of the small ones. So the small races still thrive.” It said surprisedly.

Wizz drew his sword, frantically looking around. It dawned on him. “Y-you speak?”

“Do you think my kind beasts?” It snorted. “The year, mortal, what year is it? What century?” Its voice boomed, the demand was undeniable. This was a being who could blink Wizz’s entire existence away.

His grip whitened. “The 7th century. Year twenty-one. Since King Alderman’s rise.” Wizz stuttered shakily.

“Hmm.” The dragon hummed. The resultant rumble shook Wizz’s core. “An unfamiliar calendar, though not unexpected given the passage of time. King Alderman? What number of his line?”

“Uh, I- I don’t know.”

“What of the Great Empire?” It pressed.

“Fallen,” Wizz said immediately. He knew that one, and anything to distract him from the mythical dragon in front of him was welcome. “Thousands of years ago,” Wizz whispered, realizing how old this creature might be.

“I overslept.” The dragon said simply. Its head raised before lowering again to eye Wizz. “You did not see me here mortal. Should you speak of me, I will eat you.”

Sudden relief. Disbelief. Celebration.

That fast? He was being let go? The ancient creature would ask him only a few questions before leaving? Wizz stared in disbelief. This was a dragon. He hadn’t even had enough time to process it all.

He sputtered as words died on his lips. “Why-” He began.

Everything started shaking before Wizz realized the creature was leaving. Just then, something in his heart tugged. An absolute need. An absurdity of an idea. Of a chance among chances. Had he not risked his entire life for the sake of his goals? Did he not do so everyday? Did his father sacrifice all for nothing?

It was leaving! He couldn’t just watch it go!

“Great Dragon of the Skies!” He cried. “I have a humble request!”

The shaking stop and its head snaked backward, its pupils narrowed. “I am no wind lizard, mortal. I am a dragon of the flame. The greatest of my kin.” It boomed. A concentrated beam of flame melted the wall nearby to slag. “Speak mortal, before I decide it best to silence you. My mercy has run thin through the centuries. And my time is worth more than divine gold.”

“A boon of knowledge!” Wizz shivered, shaking. He was no coward but fear was expected. “I seek greatness! How can I attain rare Skills?”

The dragon scoffed smoke, blowing it across Wizz with an uncomfortable heat. “You fail to imagine the thousands of souls who’ve asked before you, fool. I do not gift my knowledge freely, impudent brat. You waste my time. Speak no more, mortal, or die.” It turned with a huff that raised the temperature a few degrees.

Wizz felt heat in his soul. Something hotter than dragon’s breath. Raging against an arrogant creature of myth. Wizz didn’t care. At this moment, right now, he really didn’t. He stopped shaking, blood returned to his face. He regained his complexion.

And he addressed the damn lizard.

“I am Zakary “Wizz” Winslew! Wizz the Skilless!” He yelled at the top of his lungs. He felt the fire erupt from his soul, as if his words were dragon breath to match the one before him. “And I will be the greatest man you will ever know, dragon! I swear on it on everything that is me.”

A heartbeat passed and the dragon barely skipped a beat.

“Thousands still have made the same claim.” The dragon spoke, though it had paused. “Few possess the audacity to claim it in the face of death. For that, I applaud you. It changes nothing, mortal. You may insult me, goad me, sing for me, lie to me, beg me. I have only ever met two mortals that have ever earned my respect. Eliastor and Givanna.” He said fondly. He turned to Wizz, as if remembering his presence. “And even so, they were not human.”

“Your name, Great Dragon of the Flame?” Wizz grit his teeth, feeling defeat run through him. Twenty-one years without Skills. Years watching others excel while he bided his time.

And now, a creature of myth denies him? It was as if fate decided long ago to bar him from greatness.

“Almouth, the Flame Lizard.” The dragon rumbled. “Hearing my name is reward enough, human. Consider it an acknowledgement of your bravery, to be so bold. Not many, even among history, could boast the same. Treasure it. ”

No. No. What was he thinking? He had challenged the world. He gave up success for the chance at something more. He would stick to it, no matter what some creature said. His goals were lifetime. More than just [Hunting] or [Swordsmanship] or [Archery]. He wanted—

Wizz breathed deep. A breeze of absolute calm flowed through him as his resolve hardened more than ever before. A serenity so cool it chilled the fire in his heart, resulting in something more. And his will was adamantium.

It was in the way he stood, as some things often were. Straight and proud—no, straight and defiant. Determination. And between the clenched fists, the gritted teeth, and the clenched jaw, there was a relaxed belief. An emanation of confidence, or perhaps foolish arrogance. A certainty that rang like a bell.

In his gaze, he held a dragon’s eye. The eye of a creature so unfamothably ancient Wizz could feel its silent regard as a physical thing. His words were slow and his voice rose.

“When I stand at the height of men. When I climb higher than beasts of legend and creatures of myth. When my name is worthy of the World Tablet. When I carve my name among the greatest. You will remember me Almouth. Not as a mortal to respect or an equal, as something greater.”

Wizz stared at the dragon. The dragon stared back. Somewhere along the line Wizz had forgotten exactly what he was speaking to. The audacity of his actions came back to him like a boomerang.

“Twice you scorn me.” It said.

It was a testament to his will that even so, he didn’t falter.

“Three times you scorn me.” The dragon corrected. “Your words insult countless mortals before you, to claim your greatness with no inkling of what struggles they’d risen from. You scorn my friends, the precious few mortals I claimed so. I could kill you now, with nary a breath. It would be justified in my mind. I would not lose any conscience with such an act, I would not care. I would go about my day, my years, and my life, not caring of the loud mortal I had killed.”

“A-apologies, Great Dragon—”

“Underground.” Almouth snorted, after a moment. “Underground I sense a Skill Orb of note. Not worth my time, but for you, perhaps.”

Wizz’s breaths were shallow. He opened his mouth to speak. 

“Zakary “Wizz” Winslew the Skilless.” Almouth remarked. “I will remember it, mortal. Either as a human foolish beyond all standards, or something greater. It is to be seen. I encourage you, mortal, be the first to prove me wrong.”

The dragon’s head rose and roared. A pillar of flame erupted into the sky. The Scale Fields filled with various screeches and cries of its many inhabitants. But… Here, beside the dragon, he felt no heat. As if all the flame was directed outward. Then Wizz was staring at his wings.

And he truly realized the grandness of the entity before him.

A pair of magnificent regality. Scarlet scales glinted in the morning’s rising sun. A color that challenged anything nearby. That threatened the sun itself with radiant brilliance. A warning. Spitting in the face of the need for camouflage. A creature that had no need for it.

A dragon of legend and myth.

The gust generated by its lift staggered him, forcing himself against the wall for support. Four rounds of pressure to match each flap of its wings. 

For a moment, Almouth blotted out the sun. A shadow with spread wings, a symbol of power. It was a sight that was immortal in his mind. An eternity.

Then he broke the clouds and time resumed.

Wizz sank to his knees. “Gods above.” He said weakly. “T-that was a dragon.”

He’d been forced to a sitting position with each successive gust. He sat, arms on his knees, wondering if it was all real.

He didn’t move for quite a while.