Deep in the emerald forests, Ryuu Hayate shoves aside a broken branch. He winces, cursing the early frost on his fingers. “You always make us go first, Sora,” he sighs, squinting at the path ahead.
“You’re way faster. Admit it, you’d be bored otherwise.” His best friend Sora skips ahead, boots crunching leaves. She grins back over her shoulder.
Hayate shakes his head, rolling his sword on his palm. He thinks about the village, how Grandfather looks these days — lost, smaller. That promise he made stings. Could a city kid really help angry dragons? How do old family vows stand against lost time?
How do you feel when someone’s story weighs down your whole life much later? Ever had to claim a legacy you don’t get to question?
As they follow a faint blue flame, hidden birds scatter. Red Ash, a quick-tempered beast tamer, shoves past a rose hedge. “Watch it, babysitters. No one cared this much when the Star Drake stormed the north fence.”
Sora folds her arms. “If you’d paid more attention you could’ve saved the market. Let’s not drop the day with sniping, okay? We have one shot at this.” She offers Red an apple. For a moment, his tense face softens.
The trio reach the edge of Alder Lake. A green haze floats over the water. Ryuu trembles. They all do. Here, the hum of magic aches under bones. Sora sheepishly whispers, “The Pact is still sealed, right?” Their mentor—Yuan the Scriber—fights every urge to smile at their nerves. “It’s old, sure. But magic follows will, not shape. Stay sharp.”
Nerves fraying, they kneel by cracked roots. Ryuu presses his palm to soft earth. There’s a faint thud-edging, a way the moss seems to breathe. Through careful words in whispered Anikan, they call on the pact-bone beneath — the old promise tying four villages and thirteen dragon spirits.
The silver glow stirs. Deep under their hands, a memory of blazing wings rises. Flames reflect in Ryuu’s eyes, mirroring fear and hope at once.
Out of the lake, a spectral dragon appears, scales flicking between ice blue and greys. The Dragon of the Mist doesn’t roar. A simple, sad note shakes the fog, both gentle and wild. In the moment, pride and grief collapse together.
Yuan bows, voice cracking, “What pledge do you seek, pact heirs?”
Red wipes mud from his knees. “We come begging, but with a good aim. Will the faded blood answer flame or memory?”
The dragon wheezes, swirling skywards. “Prove you’re not people bound by old words and pride. Hunger means more than family. Feed me with new story—for your own sake.”
Hayate shares bread with his friends. Tiny detail, right? He breaks the rules, chewing and sharing food during magic rites. “Sorry, can’t plea on an empty belly.” The spirit’s lips hint at a smile, as dusk gold rolls out across cold water.
After the smoke clears, ghost-chains flicker wide. Memories pound forward without asking. Yuan grits his teeth, his magic bouncing useless. Sora—a jumper even in her dreams—pulls off her shoes and runs, skidding to the water’s edge. She calls, “What if I never belonged here? Would you burn me up just for speaking up?”
The dragon sways, wind picking up. “Brave or naive? Let old record eat you, or break the bone that binds?” Her words echo like a dare.
Each face their own spirits. Red picks up a dead bird and shoves it into the Pact water. “For every small life that goes lost. To dragon teeth, or to rule, what songs do you miss?” The water flickers silver and then red. The group shivers, watching
A shadow bolts from the old bones. A huge, black-crimson dragon, the Wither Wyrm, bows his head. Instead of attacking, he laughs. A gruff, wild sound. “Found your hearts. Let’s deal.” Now the Pact asks for something old. Grandfather’s tale — voice gone after lantern night. Ryuu must recall it word for word, but can’t remember. Panic grows.
Sora steps beside him, hand on his. She says, “Stories get handed down, but every kid loses a bit. Start with your part, we’ll fill the rest.”
Hayate closes his eyes. He talks about candles and the night storms. The dragon flickers — its scars glint like new pennies. Red gives the rhyme the endings, Sora hums the melody. Mist curls tight, rain falling.
The dragon blazes bright. Chains drop free. The water trembles, shivers, then cools. Yuan breathes out, “It’s done. For now.”
But the ground shakes underfoot. A hill behind them splits open. Jade roots snap, turning green to acid-dull. Through the dirt, a great black eye opens—one nobody spoke of. The lost dragon, bound for centuries, is awake.
The village bells shudder in the dark. Is the new Pact ready for what waits in the roots? The story stops there.
Would your courage even hold in the face of something so old you don’t have words to beg from it? Think about it for yourself.
