It was a chaotic mess, little dragons clashing midair in bursts of sparks and flame. Yet it wasn’t without order. One hatchling dropped a chunk of quartzite onto a small formation of ridges, sealing it neatly within the stone ring.

  Three younglings hovered above, wings beating in steady rhythm. Those weren’t really fighting each other, carefully scouting. After a brief pause, one of them spoke.

  “You guard this one, Sylth,” said the dragon with emerald, crystal-like scales.

  “I want to go capture other points!” protested the hatchling whose black scales faded into white along his limbs.

  “If you don’t listen to the leader, you’re not playing anymore,” the crystal dragon replied flatly.

  Sylth bristled, smoke puffing from his nostrils, but he drifted downward all the same. He circled the ridges once before landing, claws flexing against the stone, eyes locked on the trapped quartzite. Above him, the others scattered, streaking off in different directions like falling stars.

  Watching the chaos unfold around him was deeply unsettling. He had been beyond excited to join the others once he finally learned to fly, to take part in their intricate games rather than observe them from the edges. Yet Sylth didn’t feel like he was playing at all. This wasn’t the first time he’d been left with a passive role, guarding, waiting, watching. While the others clashed and darted freely through the sky.

  Is it because I’m not good at flying yet? The thought crept in uninvited. His eyes flicked from the ridges to the distant flashes of flame, then back again. His mind wandered despite him, drifting toward thoughts of hunting, of real pursuit, and of the long-awaited kobold from the treasure hunt. Many sun cycles had passed since then. He had avoided thinking about it, as though neglect might make time move faster.

  Sylth shook his head sharply, as if the motion alone could scatter the thoughts. He exhaled, a thin ribbon of smoke curling into the air, and forced his focus back onto the ridges.

  That’s when he noticed movement beyond them.

  Two hatchlings were heading straight for his position. He’d have to defend the point after all. Surprisingly, the thought steadied him. Guarding against nothing was dull; guarding against someone was different.

  They were bigger than him. As usual.

  One had dull gray scales with a metallic sheen, light glinting off his hide as if it were forged rather than grown. The other burned a deep red, heat rippling faintly around his wings with every slow beat. They flew low and confident, not bothering to hide their approach.

  Sylth squared his stance, claws digging into the stone. His wings spread wider, casting a shadow over the ridges and the trapped quartzite within. Smoke thickened at his nostrils.

  “This point’s taken,” Sylth called out, lifting his chin.

  The metallic hatchling snorted and banked closer. “With you protecting it?” she said, amusement ringing in her words. “Might as well call it unguarded.”

  The red one flared his nostrils, embers flickering along his jaw as his aura rippled in open mockery.

  The familiar sting flared in Sylth’s chest. All the more reason to stand firm. His claws bit deeper into the stone. “Try it,” he said.

  This was, by far, one of the most disadvantageous fights Sylth had ever faced. Two larger dragons, neither of them opponents he could ever hope to overpower. Still, he had an advantage of his own.

  Both were focused on the objective. Beating him was secondary, an afterthought. And as the defender, that narrowed the range of things he needed to anticipate. Both dove toward the quartzite, just as he expected.

  Sylth tracked them closely, predicting their angles, their speed. He chose his target and braced himself. When they closed in, both were already poised to evade, ready for clumsy fire or a desperate leap from the smaller hatchling.

  So Sylth feinted.

  He crouched and surged forward as if launching toward the red dragon. The red hatchling reacted instantly, curving his trajectory just enough to slip past an expected collision.

  That was all Sylth needed.

  He redirected, twisting hard toward the gray dragon instead. He never truly meant to take off. In fact, his takeoffs were nothing to boast about. And he knew he couldn’t risk one unless he was already close enough to matter. At the last moment of his launch, he abandoned the launch entirely. Sacrificing all forward momentum, he wrenched his body sideways. His tail whipped out in a wide, brutal arc.

  A strike.

  The impact rang out with a sharp crack as scales met scales. The gray dragon was caught mid-dive right on the neck, her confidence shattering with the blow. She spun off course, wings flaring wide as she fought to recover, slamming hard into the stone ring and skidding across it in a spray of dust and sparks.

  Meeting the ground again, Sylth had no time to stop. He lunged for the quartzite at once. The red dragon, even after its wide arc, was already far too close for comfort. Yet that proximity worked in Sylth’s favor. The nearer they were to the objective, the narrower their focus became.

  The red hatchling seized the quartzite between both forelimbs, preparing to beat its wings and take to the air again. The ring of ridges made that impossible while flying. Anyone who claimed the quartz had to land first, losing precious moments before they could lift off.

  For that, Sylth crashed into the red dragon head-on, throwing his entire weight into the collision.

  Sylth’s impact drove the red hatchling sideways, claws screeching against stone as both of them skidded up onto a ridge. The quartzite slipped loose, clattering back onto the flat ground below.

  The red dragon reacted instantly, snapping a jagged bite. Sylth ducked beneath it, rolling out of the way just as a shadow swept over him.

  The gray hatchling had recovered far too quickly.

  She dove at a steep angle, forcing Sylth to sprint rather than leap. He bolted across the stone, deliberately turning his back on the quartzite as if abandoning it entirely. It was a calculated risk. The gray dragon had two choices: rush the quartzite, or commit to chasing him.

  She chose the chase, trusting her teammate to secure the point.

  Sylth thrived in the chaos. Speed wasn’t his gift—he knew he couldn’t outrun them—but positioning was. He cut sharply toward the inner curve of the ridges, weaving between stone formations in a blur of claws and tail. Each sudden shift forced the gray hatchling to adjust mid-dive, her momentum carrying her farther from her target.

  The red dragon, having secured the quartzite again, barely registered Sylth’s sudden slam into his side. The idea that this small, evasive hatchling could circle back and strike again had never crossed his mind.

  Sylth pressed the advantage relentlessly. A feint here, a sudden pivot there. He used the ridges, the uneven terrain, and the redirection of his opponents’ focus to make every move unpredictable. He ducked beneath a snapping jaw, spun past a sweeping tail, and even forced the gray hatchling into a near-collision with the stone walls, all while keeping the quartzite in sight.

  But slowly, the weight of the larger dragons began to press in. Their adaptation, honed even at their young age, began to limit his options. Every feint was met with counter-adjustments. Every angle he exploited had been noted and partially anticipated.

  Sylth’s tactics were still clever, but the pressure was relentless. Each hit he landed, each feint he executed, drew sharp responses, forcing him into tighter spaces. His claws scraped the stone, leaving shallow furrows as he forced himself to stay agile.

  He realized the truth with a pang of dread: no amount of cunning could completely outmatch size and raw speed. For every advantage he gained, the bigger hatchlings slowly, but inevitably, closed the net around him.

  Sylth surged forward several times, attempting quick flanking maneuvers, but the spacing was off. The gray hatchling was too perceptive, countering every time. Scales tore under the contact, and a hiss of pain escaped Sylth. Each movement now carried a sharper edge of risk. The quartzite, already in their possession, was less of a target now. A secondary concern.

  Sylth has gradually become their main objective.

  He pressed on, weaving through the ridges and ducking under sweeping wings, but the damage was mounting. Small cuts and bruises stung with every breath; scales that had once glimmered now bore scratches and cracks. His muscles trembled slightly under the strain, and his wings faltered on minor lifts that would have been effortless before.

  A mistimed pivot, a half-misjudged leap, each small mistake was now exploited. The red hatchling returned the slammings, sending him skidding sideways across jagged stone. Pain blurred the edges of his focus, just enough to make his reactions fractionally slower.

  Sylth hissed through gritted teeth, smoke curling from his nostrils in frustration and exhaustion. His body was still moving, still calculating angles, still trying to anticipate their attacks, but each choice made him close to defeat. His stamina, once a hidden reserve, now burned away with every evasive step, every failed feint.

  Sylth barely registered the sharp ache in his side as he dodged another swipe from the gray hatchling. His body was screaming in warning, every muscle trembling, scales torn and bleeding. The two larger dragons circled him like predators, relentless and unyielding.

  And then… a blur of movement appeared on the horizon.

  A bunch of young dragons, Sylth’s allies, streaking down like a cascading meteor shower. Scales of many colors flashed in the sunlight as they swooped into the fray, crashing into the overextended red and gray hatchlings from multiple directions.

  The attackers faltered. The red dragon tried to lift off with the quartzite, but a bigger silver hatchling clipped its wing mid-beat, sending it spiraling in a spray of sparks. The gray one had barely a chance to adjust before a duo of sapphire wings slammed into its flank, forcing her to bank sharply to avoid a collision with the stone ridges.

  Sylth’s body, battered and aching, felt a surge of relief. Maybe guarding isn’t all that bad, he thought, watching the battlefield erupt into fresh chaos as his teammates flooded the ridges.

  The game was ending, though none of them realized it yet. The only reason his team had been able to mobilize so completely was because this was their only point left. Every other position had already fallen. And in the frenzy of reinforcements and counterattacks, something had quietly occured.

  Dragons from the opposing team had slipped in, swift and unnoticed, and replaced the quartzite.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  It wasn’t until the horn-call echoed across the field that understanding rippled through the air. Wings stuttered. Flames died mid-breath. Movement slowed, then stopped.

  The game was over.

  Fifteen hatchlings had taken part, nearly every young dragon in the hatchery. One by one, they descended from the skies, wings heavy, chests heaving, scales scuffed and scorched from the match. The two teams settled onto the stone in loose, uneven lines, still clearly divided even in rest.

  For a moment, no one spoke. Then a dragon decided to cut through the silence.

  “Even with more dragons, you still lost,” said the silver frost hatchling, ice-blue breath fogging faintly around his muzzle. “Clearly, I’m the better leader, Emerin.” The words carried clear arrogance, in a thin coat of condescension that radiated outward constantly. A few dragons on his side shifted, tails flicking in smug agreement.

  Emerin, the emerald-scaled hatchling, lifted her head slowly. Light fractured across her crystal facets as she regarded him without urgency. “Or,” she said evenly, “you’re just a sneaky weakling who wouldn’t dare face me head-on.”

  A ripple of snorts and low chuffs passed through both teams. The silver hatchling bristled, frost crackling faintly along his jaw.

  “Says the one who needed her entire team piled onto a single point.”

  Emerin tilted her head. “About that,” she said, calm now edged with curiosity. “I was wondering how it took you the entire game to capture a point that wasn’t even protected.”

  Several heads turned. A few wings stilled mid-adjustment. The silver hatchling’s smug expression faltered, just slightly. His gaze snapped toward the two hatchlings he had distinctly sent to that specific point.

  The red hatchling shifted, stretching his wings and letting out a conspicuously lazy yawn. The gray one kept her eyes firmly on the ground, pretending to examine the stone as if it had suddenly become fascinating.

  “…Ok, what exactly were you doing, Varek and Auralen? Because clearly it wasn’t your assignments.” The silver hatchling demanded directly. This time, he didn’t broadcast his words. The signal was sharp and direct, meant only for them.

  Auralen finally glanced up, flicking dust from her talons. “We were handling the problem,” she said flatly.

  Varek snorted. “Didn’t expect a runt to hold us that long.”

  Varek’s words weren’t directed, they drew several glances. A few hatchlings leaned forward slightly, eyes searching for the runt in question.

  A thought sparked in Emerin’s mind, half-formed, uncomfortable. She turned it over once, then again, before dismissing it with a faint shake of her head. It couldn’t be that.

  …Could it?

  Her gaze drifted to the hatchling she had assigned to guard the point. Sylth sat low against the stone, wings tucked in tight. His scales were scuffed, some cracked, others torn outright.

  “Did you fight those two?” Her words carried a clear, almost forced, tone of humor in them.

  Auralen’s eyes narrowed slightly. Varek let out a short, disbelieving huff. A few hatchlings on both teams stared openly now, expressions shifting from idle curiosity to doubt.

  “I was guarding,” Sylth said at last. “They tried to take the quartzite.” There was something akin to anger in his wording.

  A murmur rippled through the gathered hatchlings. It was cut short by the sharp crack of a tail slamming against stone. The silver hatchling’s gaze shifted between Sylth and his two teammates, irritation bleeding openly into his every word. “Fantastic,” he radiated intensily. “Great job, team. And here I thought I was the problem.”

  His eyes lingered on Varek and Auralen. “Next time, I won’t bother considering you when I choose my team.”

  Varek bristled. “He got lucky.”

  Emerin didn’t look away from Sylth. She studied him constantly, trying ti pin the thought in her head. “That’s a terrifying amount of luck,” she said calmly.

  “I’m luckier,” Iono called out from the opposite team to her brother, tail flicking with pride. “Born first, and I’ve never ever lost a game of quartz!”

  Sylth said nothing, simply lowered himself onto the stone. The adrenaline finally bleeding away, leaving behind the ache in his muscles and the sting of torn scales. He could feel eyes on him, too many of them.

  Emerin finally stepped closer. She stopped a short distance away, her tail soon greeted his head with a light tap. “Good job. We’ll win next time.”

  The contact startled Sylth more than any blow he’d taken during the game. He flinched away from Emerin’s tail on instinct, wings twitching in reflex before he could stop himself.

  Around them, the gathered hatchlings began to stir. Some stretched aching limbs or shook dust from their scales, others leapt skyward in loose spirals before drifting away. The tension of the match unraveled quickly, leaving behind only fatigue and lingering excitement.

  Iono circled once overhead, wings cutting clean arcs through the air, before dropping back down beside Emerin. Her eyes gleamed with restless confidence. “Next time,” she said brightly, tail flicking with pride, “I will personally steal your point, Sylth.”

  Sylth lifted his head just enough to meet the challenge. “Good luck,” he replied.

  Her aura flared, sharp with delight. She tilted her head, narrowing her indigo eyes in mock appraisal, then snapped them wide. Without warning, she launched herself skyward in a burst of speed. “Let’s go, Sylth, we’re late!” she sent, already streaking away.

  Emerin watched her go, then turned her attention back to Sylth. “Seems important,” she said, already walking off. She raised her aura abruptly, calling across the stone field. “Hey, Argex! Duel me now!” The silver dragon stiffened as she approached, frost crackling faintly along his scales.

  Sylth blinked, then pushed himself to his feet. Every movement protested, but he spread his wings anyway, wincing as torn scales pulled. With a short hop and a careful beat, he lifted into the air, trailing after Iono.

  His body resisted every beat of his wings. Iono had long since vanished from sight; now, Sylth followed her by presence alone. Strangely, the direction had something else.

  That cave.

  The memory surfaced unbidden, glowy rocks, sharp scent of rain on stone. The moment it registered, something in him eased. The soreness dulled, as if brushed aside, and he unconsciously picked up speed. As he drew closer, another presence emerged.

  Mother is back.

  The thought flashed bright and desperate, but it shattered just as quickly. Even at a distance, the aura was wrong. Similar in weight, in familiarity, but undeniably different. The closer he came, the clearer the truth became. Curiosity warred with disappointment, and the latter cut deeper. He missed his mother so fiercely that even the echo of her presence hurt more than torn scales ever could.

  The cave entrance came into view at last. Daylight spilled across the stone, making the darkness within feel sharper by contrast. Ominous, despite the restless joy radiating from inside. His sister’s aura, bright and bubbling in a way he had never felt before.

  Sylth touched down at the entrance, wings folding with care. He stepped inside slowly, claws clicking softly against the stone. By then, he already knew who waited within. It had stopped being a guess several heartbeats ago. His eyes adjusted to the dim, and they settled, inevitably, on the massive dragon before him.

  The comparison came without permission. It was like his mother, but inverted. Where hers were black, this dragon’s scales were pure white. Black horns swept back from his skull, framing calm, piercing blue eyes now fixed on Sylth.

  It should have been intimidating.

  Instead, Sylth’s gaze drifted.

  A hatchling clung to one of the white dragon’s wings, dangling just off the ground, claws scrabbling determinedly against smooth scales as if testing their strength, while biting on it at the same time. As though entirely unconcerned with the wing-bound accessory, the white dragon began to approach Sylth in slow steps.

  Sylth held his ground. His wings twitched once, then stilled. While the dragon stopped a short distance away and lowered his head slightly, studying Sylth with quiet intensity.

  “Hello,” the white dragon said at last, “Sylth.”

  Sylth hadn’t had any words ready. But even if he had, he doubted they would have come. His aura erupting into silent, tangled chaos that spilled outward without direction or restraint. The silence stretched longer than he expected.

  Nothing changed in that span except Iono, who continued gnawing determinedly on the white dragon’s wing as if it were her sworn duty. Sylth briefly found himself blaming the massive dragon for the awkwardness. Only to realize that he, too, hadn’t said a word. The thought didn’t help.

  The white dragon’s blue eyes widened slightly, a flicker of understanding passing through them. At last, he broke the silence. “Don’t be afraid,” he said evenly. “I’m not an evil dragon.”

  The words landed oddly. With the tension finally cracked, Sylth found his voice before he could stop himself. “What is evil?”

  The white dragon drew his head back a fraction, clearly taken aback. “That… You don’t need to worry about that,”

  Sylth’s aura flared sharply in protest. “No,” he sent at once. “I want to know.”

  The sudden intensity startled the white dragon. He stepped back without thinking, claws scraping softly against stone. “Alright,” he replied instinctively, the word slipping out before he seemed to decide on it.

  Silence returned for a moment. Sylth didn’t let it linger. “What is it?” the hatchling pressed, eyes fixed on him, unblinking.

  The white dragon studied him for a long moment, gaze shifting briefly to Iono, still hanging from his wing, before settling back on Sylth. Slowly, he lowered his head until his it was closer to the hatchling’s level. “Evil,” he said at last, “is a word this world uses for those who choose to ignore its rules.”

  “Am I evil, then?” The question came immediately, almost too quickly. When the white dragon remained silent, Sylth pressed on, confusion sharpening his tone. “I don’t know any of those rules.”

  “No,” the white dragon said firmly. “Ignorance is not evil. Intent matters. Choice matters. Evil is knowing another can suffer as you do, and deciding that only your pain is worth preventing.”

  Iono finally paused her gnawing, lifting her head just enough to peer at the two of them. “Then what about games?” she asked, muffled slightly around a mouthful of wing. “We hurt each other all the time.”

  The white dragon huffed softly, something close to amusement. “Games are agreements,” he said. “You all choose to risk bruises and burns because the goal matters more than the pain. That choice is shared.”

  Sylth’s claws flexed against the stone. Memories surfaced uninvited: the gray talons tearing scales, the red dragon’s weight slamming into him, the way the fight had narrowed until only survival remained. “They wanted to beat me,” he said slowly. “Not just take the quartz.”

  “When a game stops being about the goal,” the white dragon continued, “and becomes about proving something through another’s suffering, the agreement begins to break. Most don’t notice the moment it happens. Especially the young.”

  Iono finally released his wing, dropping lightly to the stone. She padded closer, deliberately placing herself between the two dragons, tail swaying once before stilling. “Dad,” she asked at last, aura stripped of its earlier mischief, “why did you come?”

  The white dragon’s gaze softened at the word dad, though his posture did not change. Internally, he was almost melting. “Sylth was born,” he replied simply. “That alone was reason enough to visit.”

  Sylth’s breath caught. He had already known, somewhere deep and instinctive. Hearing them spoken so plainly left no room for doubt. The presence, the strange familiarity.

  Father.

  “You’re… my father,” Sylth said at last. The realization struck with a force that left him reeling.

  The white dragon inclined his head once. “Yes.”

  Sylth searched his face, those calm blue eyes, the black horns, the impossible size. Feeling the hollow ache of all the days he hadn’t known this dragon existed. His wings twitched, uncertain whether to draw closer or pull away. When Sylth realized he was already circling around his father, inspecting his every scale.

  “I thought you would be bigger…” The words slipped out before Sylth could weigh them. Even Iono reacted flaring in amusement as she huffed a puff of sparks in disbelief.

  The white dragon froze, just for a fraction of a moment. Then let out a deep, rumbling sound that echoed softly through the cavern. “I apologize,” he said with solemn gravity. “I’ll try to grow a little more next time.”

  “But i will do it faster!” Added Iono, just in case.

  The white dragon’s gaze moved between the two hatchlings, lingering on each in turn. For a moment, he said nothing at all, simply observed. “That may be,” the white dragon said at last, a hint of dry amusement threading through his calm aura, “but now is not the time to grow.” He straightened slightly, wings shifting with quiet authority. “Are you little ones ready to depart?”

  Iono answered immediately. “Yes!” She didn’t hesitate for even a heartbeat. Her wings flared halfway open before she seemed to remember where she was, claws scraping as she forced herself to stand still.

  The word depart echoed too loudly in his mind, tugging at everything familiar. He lifted his head at once, questions spilling out before he could slow them. “Depart? Why? Where?”

  “Don’t worry,” their father replied calmly. “You’ll like it. I intend to visit many different places.”

  The reassurance did little to settle him. This cave, the hatchery, the ridges beyond, it was all Sylth had ever known. Every memory he had was rooted here. The pull of the unknown was strong, almost intoxicating, enough that his thoughts began to drift toward it despite himself.

  Then he remembered.

  “Dad!” Sylth blurted out, wings flaring halfway in alarm. “My kobold. I need to find it. It might be lost!”

  For a moment, the white dragon simply watched him. “You have a kobold?”

  Sylth’s wings twitched, tail flicking nervously. “Yes! It’s small, blue… It was sent to look for a treasure, and I think it might’ve gotten lost. I have to find it!” His aura carried a mix of urgency and fear.

  The white dragon’s piercing blue eyes softened slightly, studying him with quiet patience. “I see,” he said slowly. “Then it seems your first lesson in the wider world will come sooner than I expected.”

  Sylth’s stomach twisted, anticipation and worry warring within him. “Lesson? What do you mean?”

  “The world is very dangerous,” the white dragon replied, words steady but not unkind. “And companions, even small ones, can teach more than rules or words ever will. Do the elders know about it?”

  “Yes!” Sylth immediately replied.

  The white dragon’s gaze drifted to the cave entrance. A few seconds later, a puff of white fire appeared, curling in the air with uncanny precision and calm. As it dissipated, a small piece of paper hovered, glowing faintly in the fading flames. Sylth recognized the texture instantly—it was the map given to the kobold.

  “Let’s go take a look,” their father said, shifting his gaze to the hatchlings below. Then he lowered a wing to the ground. Sylth and Iono understood instantly. They clambered onto his back, claws finding purchase as their father’s warmth and strength anchored them. Against the expanse of his white scales, their own pale paws blended seamlessly, as if they truly belonged.

  Stepping out of the cave, the dragon flexed his wings and lifted off, cutting through the air with effortless power. Sunlight glanced across their scales, glinting off Sylth’s battered but determined body. The wind whipped past him, carrying the scent of stone, leaves and rain.

  Everything will be alright. Everything has to be alright. His father is here now.

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