The day of the great feast, no one noticed the grieving girl.

Peeking out from behind a heavy window curtain, she stood alone, stubborn eyes watching like a snake. Silently, she took in the guests’ Jack-O-Lantern grins, their savage cheers, their stampeding applause. An ugly celebration. She straightened her spine, lips quivering, iron jaw set. The worst part, she thought, was not even that they felt no remorse. It was that they had no idea what they had done was wrong, or why.

Her hands curled into knotted fists.

“Juno!” A fellow serving girl, Tilda, gestured for her to join her. “Don’t just stand there idly by—there’s guests to attend to!” Juno’s expression tightened into a shaking scowl.

“Why should I attend to them?” she asked sharply.

“Because it’s your job. You want to get paid, don’t you?” Tilda shook her head firmly, gripping her by the arm and dragging her out onto the floor.

“See there?” she said, pointing to one of the several, lavish tables laid out across the banquet hall. “Go refill their drinks.”

But Juno could not move. Her gaze was fixated toward the center of the room, where his wilted head on a raised platform of polished wood. A trophy stand. As if he was a prize they could seize and put on display, worth no more than a hunted animal pelt. His dark eyes, always so full of life, were now empty holes, blank and unblinking. She hated the sight, but somehow couldn’t bring herself to look away.

How many times had she looked into those eyes and felt all her pain melt away in an instant? How many times had they laughed together by their favorite blackberry bush, told each other stories under a violet sky, flew kites in the open valleys? Sure, he was a dragon—with scarlet scales and sharp teeth—but he had never been a monster. He had been a son and a brother and a cousin. And he was the kindest friend Juno had ever known.

But these wealthy dragon hunters didn’t know any of that. They didn’t even know his name. No, they only cared about the glory, the game, the money they could make off a dragon head.

Juno squeezed her eyes shut, rage boiling in her veins, threatening to spill over. They didn’t know his name.

But she swore that one day, they would know hers.

Dragons do exist, but they’re certainly not mean or terrifying. They’re more like giant, scaly house pets with a flair for being inconvenient. Sure, they’ve got wings and breathe fire, but mostly, they’re just… there. Lurking around, taking up space, and generally being a nuisance.

Take Steve, for example. Steve’s my dragon. You’d think having a dragon named Steve would be exciting, but trust me, it’s not. He mostly lounges in the backyard, stretching out on the patio like a cat that’s eaten too much. Occasionally, he’ll knock over a lawn chair or set fire to the hedge when he sneezes. But for the most part, his days consist of sunbathing and staring blankly at squirrels.

People always imagine dragons as majestic or powerful, but Steve? Steve can’t even catch his own dinner. Every now and then, he’ll make a half-hearted attempt to chase down a bird, but it’s more out of boredom than hunger. When he does manage to catch something, he doesn’t even eat it—just sits on it until it wriggles free, then looks vaguely offended that his prey dared to escape.

The worst part is feeding him. Dragons, as it turns out, are incredibly picky eaters. You can’t just toss Steve a cow and call it a day. Oh no, he’s got preferences. It’s gotta be lamb, lightly charred on the outside but still rare in the middle. And don’t even think about giving him leftovers—he’ll just sniff at them, then flick his tail like a teenager who’s been served last week’s meatloaf.

But the real problem with having a dragon isn’t the food or the fire hazards—it’s the sheer amount of space they take up. Steve’s the size of a small bus, and when he’s sprawled across the yard, good luck getting anything done. Mowing the lawn? Forget it. He’ll just roll over and crush the mower under his belly, then stare at you like you’re the one being unreasonable. And trying to park the car when Steve decides to take a nap in the driveway? You may as well call in sick.

It doesn’t help that Steve snores. Loudly. Picture the sound of a freight train crashing into a thunderstorm, add a bit of phlegm, and you’re close. The neighbors used to complain, but eventually, they just accepted it. Now, the entire street has learned to sleep with earplugs, and most of them have given up on barbecues after the third or fourth accidental fire.

Despite all this, there’s a weird social pressure around owning a dragon. People always think it’s cool, like I’m living some kind of epic fantasy life. “Oh, wow, you have a dragon? That’s amazing!” they’ll say. But they don’t have to scoop up molten droppings from the driveway or explain to their insurance company why there’s a 30-foot scorch mark on the garage door.

Even the kids in the neighborhood used to think Steve was exciting—until they realized he doesn’t breathe fire on command and has no interest in flying them to school. Now, they just kind of ignore him, except for Tommy down the street, who occasionally throws a tennis ball at Steve’s head. Steve doesn’t even notice.

Honestly, dragons are about as exciting as owning a particularly lazy dog. You end up doing all the work while they just lounge around, knocking things over and occasionally burning your hedge. And yet, every time someone asks me what it’s like to have a dragon, I smile and nod, pretending it’s the best thing ever, like I’m in on some grand, magical secret.

But the truth is, Steve’s just… Steve. A big, overgrown lizard with a bad attitude and a snoring problem. And that’s about as far from majestic as you can get.

In the peaceful village of Greenvale, nestled between rolling hills and a sparkling river, dragons were not the stuff of myth or legend—they were neighbors. Far from being fearsome creatures of destruction, these dragons were gentle beings, guardians of nature who had coexisted with humans for centuries.

The largest of the dragons, Seraphis, lived in a hidden cave deep within the Verdant Woods. His emerald scales shimmered like dew-kissed leaves, and his golden eyes gleamed with ancient wisdom. Seraphis was the protector of the forest, ensuring that the trees remained healthy and the rivers ran clear. He loved to spend his mornings soaring through the sky, his massive wings casting a shadow over the land, though no one ever felt afraid when he passed by. Children would run to the fields to catch a glimpse of him, waving and cheering as the dragon flew overhead.

In the heart of Greenvale, there was a special relationship between the villagers and the dragons. They lived in harmony, with the dragons offering their help during planting seasons, using their soft breath to encourage crops to grow tall and strong. In return, the villagers cared for the dragons, offering them fresh fruits, woven blankets, and handmade trinkets.

One of the villagers, a girl named Lina, had a particularly close bond with Seraphis. Ever since she was young, she had visited him in the woods, sitting by his side as he told her stories of the ancient world, of times when dragons roamed freely and worked with humans to build cities and nurture the earth. Unlike the tales of fierce beasts that Lina had heard from travelers, Seraphis spoke of a world where dragons had once been revered as friends and protectors, not feared as monsters.

One summer, however, everything changed when a group of strangers came to Greenvale. These travelers were hunters from a far-off land where dragons were still feared, having never experienced the peaceful creatures that lived in Greenvale. The hunters had heard rumors of a great dragon living in the Verdant Woods and, blinded by stories of treasure and power, they set out to capture Seraphis.

When Lina heard of the hunters’ plan, she raced to the forest to warn Seraphis. But the hunters were fast, and soon they cornered the dragon in his cave. They aimed their weapons, ready to strike.

“Stop!” Lina cried, stepping in front of Seraphis before the hunters could harm him. “He’s not what you think!”

The hunters hesitated. They had never seen a dragon up close, and certainly never seen one so calm in the presence of humans. Seraphis, towering over them yet radiating no malice, lowered his head gently toward Lina, his golden eyes filled with kindness.

“Dragons are not monsters,” Lina continued, her voice strong. “They are protectors. They help our crops grow, watch over our rivers, and safeguard our land. Seraphis has lived here for generations, helping us in ways no one else can. He’s a friend, not a threat.”

One of the hunters, an older man with a scar across his face, lowered his weapon slowly. “In our land, dragons have only ever been seen as destructive beasts,” he admitted. “But… I’ve never seen one like this.”

Seraphis let out a low, soothing hum, as if to assure the hunters of his peaceful nature. Slowly, the tension in the air dissipated. The hunters lowered their weapons one by one, and for the first time in their lives, they truly looked at the dragon—at his gentle eyes, at the way the forest seemed to flourish around him.

The village elders came to the forest soon after, inviting the hunters back to Greenvale to learn more about the dragons and the symbiotic relationship they shared. Over time, the hunters became friends of the village, realizing that dragons were not creatures to be feared, but to be respected and cared for.

In the years that followed, word spread of the harmony in Greenvale, of how humans and dragons lived side by side in peace. People from distant lands traveled to see it for themselves, and slowly, the fear of dragons began to fade from the world.

And so, in Greenvale, where the dragons soared through the skies and the humans tended the earth, the old stories of fire-breathing monsters were forgotten, replaced by tales of friendship, understanding, and the quiet power of harmony between all living things.

Dragons are nice and safe. The Komodo dragon has scaly hard skin has a poisonous smelly tougue that lashes out like a fiery poisonous breath. Its ponderous appearance in nature a giant among lizards. Dragons live among us secretly In the shadows the crevasses among the leaves and branches of rain forest. They fly and glide with scaly wings spread out claws. Climb walks with suckers feet balance with prehensile tales, soar above the clouds with eagle piercing eyes and in the dark they sense heat. Cold they sleep warm they move. They are the hidden assassins of the knight. Lochness monster is a friendly pelisaur a water dragon with flippers fur wings and a prehensile take and a long neck to scavenge for food.

Genia was once a magical land teeming with awe-inspiring creatures everywhere you looked. As the decades surpassed and humans began to progress past the need for magic, relying on automation and robotics. These changes in the culture of the world led to the hunting of these beings for their essence. One by one the relics of our ancient world were believed to have been killed off; unicorns, mermaids, and until recently dragons. Recorded as the fiercest, most blood thirsty beings in existence, dragons once ruled the skies of Genia. Believed to have been driven to extinction for their valuable scales, a Wyrmling has been found in the Stormspire Mountains. Nature preservationists have descended onto this mountain range, weathering the permanent storms in order to protect this young survivor. Clad in electric blue scales and the sproutings of a crown of horns. The last dragon has taken to the lead preservationists, Vitori Lancing, who describes the presence of this young drake as reassuring and a sign that we haven’t fully forsaken the natural world. Many wish for the blue dragon to be put down for fear of what he may become, the eldest citizens across the land still remember the reign of Cobalas, The Thunder King. A cruel and tyrannical ruler that had been slain upwards of eighty years ago. Progressives within the nearest nations believe that without the influence of the dragons of old, this young prince may become a positive sign for the future. At this point the worst offense done by the lost wyrmling, named Deis for the second chance that he represents, is eating the left shoe of his protectors.

“Tell me the story of the fierest dragon this far west.”

Ria blinked a few times, processing what the group of children in front of her had beckoned her to recall. They stared upward at the girl, eyes widened, some hidden behind their hands and peeking at her with curiosity, others bouncing so rampantly on their bottoms that she thought they might take off into the air.

She hadn’t told this story in years.

And my oh my, was it a story.

“Ten years ago,” Ria began, withdrawing the image from her mind and simultaneously doing the math to find that, indeed, it had been nearly ten years, “I went on a journey.”

Wisps of grey smoke channeled through the air, the dimness of the fire softly crackling at her feet. Eyes once sage were now ember; campfire once full had been emptied.

It wasn’t death, before you come to that grim—though logical— conclusion. Ria’s companions had retreated many moons ago after getting visions of the dreaded purple beast in their dreams. As if one by one they’d been plagued, infected, consumed— their mentalities tortured so much that they’d locked their doors and never returned.

“Something disturbed me.”

A low grumble emerged from the darkness around her. Ria flicked her head up from the ground. The fire only trickled through the environment closest to her, like a beam of warmth, a beacon of light. Anything beyond her amber-illuminated vision was invisible, inevitable. Out of sight, out of mind.

The faint outlines of the thick trees were revealed by the moon’s soft glare, the twinkling stars above her matching the constellations that one of her previous companions used to talk about. She’d always found it interesting how people managed to curate such tales from practically anything.

“And I decided to investigate.”

The low grumble sounded again, this time louder. Her boots crunched the burnt grass beneath her, picking up a stick from beside and lighting it with what little was left of the camp. After, she stomped the remainder of the flickering flames, eyes narrowing in the harsh darkness.

Once she left the campfire, the rest of the grass was mildewed and soggy; the bottoms of her pants returning from each step with multiple droplets cascading down her trouser-cladded shins. Her eyes wandered over her surroundings— and then she saw it.

“A cave. Not painfully small, but haunting in proximity and great in size.”

She trekked toward the cave and precariously shifted her way through, until her eyes perked up, and she froze.

“A light. Within the cave.”

Pressing against the jagged wall, piercing her palm against their pointed edges, she bristled, squeezing her eyes shut until she could recover.

A humming was heard from inside of the cave. Not horrifying or tremendously sad. Casual. Melodic. Sweet. Ria raised an eyebrow before regaining her footing and stepped inside.

She had a to blink a few times to comprehend what was going on. The sparkling of lilac lights occupied the majority of the cave, and the humming continued, the light tapping of footsteps echoing. There was a second noise; a soft grumble which ruminated in equal intervals, and Ria raised her eyebrows at sight of a minute indigo dragon near twenty feet away from her.

Only it wasn’t a threat. It wasn’t glaring. It wasn’t showing any sort of strength, weakness, hidden power. It had its back faced to her; and within its claws was holding a… a blanket?

The soft grumbling noise echoed again, sort of a low _gruffle gruffle. _The dragon draped a blanket down into a woven basket— and in that basket lay the smallest of similar purple dragons, snoring.

The dragon finally turned, wiping its hands—“did dragons have hands? Claws?”— together. Its face and snout were gently curved, teeth sharp once bared at Ria when they met eyes. But it wasn’t a threatening teeth bare. No— the dragon was… smiling?

“Hello, human,” the dragon stated, voice low and traditional of a dragon, but lacking animosity. “I see you’ve met my son and I.”

“I have indeed,” Ria nearly concussed herself on the spot. She was talking to a dragon. _Talking. To. A dragon. “_Forgive me for my impertinence, but, could you please pinch me?”

The dragon laughed, snorting through its snout, and it was a strange sight to behold. “You are not dreaming, my child. This is all real.”

“You are not the monster I was expecting.”

“No, it seems not.”

“Could it be said that it is the other way around?”

The dragon met Ria’s eyes, their own a gleaming moss-green. “I suppose. I could get you acquainted with the history of my kind, if you have time?”

Ria shrugged. It wasn’t often you had the opportunity to talk to a dragon.

“Go ahead.”

Flames, Scorched out. No need to rout, Hiding no shames.

Scales, All dull and dry. Unable to move or fly, About as useful as sails.

…

Love you R

…

🖤

Dragon master The disaster Flying high Oh goodness why Not so fast Ever last Feeling free Sing with glee

Between the cruel horns curled just so for most brutal stabbing and the jagged teeth, nay, fangs, dripping with blood, any sensible person would be discovering a puddle in their pants. Yet I am no sensible person; as non-sensible as it is to walk weaponless into a dragon’s kitchen perhaps. Which I am most definitely not doing. I’m walking into the dining room like a civilized member of high society. This is likely the part of the story in which you question if I am the dinner, which is quite preposterous indeed. How little you must think of them! Do you, too, not sink your teeth into the bloody flesh of meat? Do not blame them for their nature, let alone one no different than our own. Sure, they enjoy rawer things, but do we humans not delight in the likes of sushi? I do think it wildly unfair. I dare saw we imitate them! Have we not invented furnaces that melt the heaviest of metals? Do we not light up the sky with fireworks and our cities with bombs? Do we not wield lasers and flamethrowers like careless children? I think we humans are simply jealous. The dragons, most magnificently, have this power innately! And don’t even get me started on wings, with our airplanes and drones and dreams of flying cars. They do it all better and with much decreased pollution. And, they do not complain so much! They don’t gripe about copy-humans and patents and whatnot. They are gracious creatures, really. And do you know something? They do not shy from apology. I have seldom met a person with such a regard for the ants they trample as the dragons do for us. They have the patience of saints. It is, unfortunately, barbarically typical for us to look down upon those who are gifted in ways we are not. So this dinner shall be a peace offering on my part. I do not care to give you the time of day if you disagree with my methods of amity. Now, I have kept them waiting long enough. It will be a wonderful feast by the smell of it!

Now cupcakes may sound little and ineffectual, but they had a lasting effect on Dragon and human relationships. The dragons sadly looked down from the mountains as the humans walked, speaking with the kind and friendly neighbors of their home town Oshuwawa, a rural city in Japan. They wanted to go down there with such an urge it almost itched them. But they were seen as devils and demons. They were feared by the townspeople. Then one day one of the dragons saw an exchange of friendly words, and cupcakes. They new that’s how to get to the people. So from this day forward, they became friends, because of cupcakes.