1: Malthec la Kaon

The black dragon Kaon lay basking atop the highest stone pillar in the training yard. From here he could survey the whole field if he gazed from the edge. But when he lay in its center as he did now, none could see him and climb up to bother.

That was how it was supposed to work. That was how it had worked for the past month. But Kaon could hear the claws grasping for footholds midway up the pillars. Whoever it was must have thought that was stealthy in a way the taut flapping of wings wasn’t. Kaon chuffed out a single mirthful breath.

His lidded eyes focused on the pseudosun which hung high and bright above the town, casting yellow rays like searing glares. Kaon didn’t have the trouble everyone else did looking at the radiance. Briefly, he pondered his odds of getting away if he shattered or stole that sun, or swallowed it to dim its annoying light just a little.

After all, it had been too long since Kaon caused some proper havoc, reminded them all he was not the weakling his ranking might suggest.

“Aah!” It was shouted like it would scare him, like he hadn’t heard the grunts and pants climbing tellingly closer and getting deliberately quieter. But now he could place the voice.

“How did you find me, Imbry?” he coolly asked.

“You don’t even sound surprised! I just snuck up on you. Jump or something!”

He didn’t respond or move. He’d asked his question, and so he waited.

Imbry pulled herself completely onto the pillar with a triumphant cry, and stepped around. The summit here was wide enough for the two young dragons, but Imbry had to keep at the edge.

Imbry positioned herself so that she blocked Kaon’s basking light. Her shadow was cast over his pitch​-​black scales, and where it fell they almost tingled.

At this, the black dragon opened his eyes halfway. His snout was buried in his forelegs, but he glanced up. Imbry pouted at him, a frown on her pale yellow snout, glare in her green eyes.

“Why are you still sleeping? It’s noon.”

Kaon slid his gaze to his hourglass. It hadn’t run down. It wasn’t noon.

His lips tightened into a frown. He was the only one still basking at this point, he knew. But he didn’t linger because he was lazy. He knew exactly how long it took him to warm up. He knew precisely how much light he needed to absorb for the excess to foster magical growth. He wasn’t lazy.

Imbry gave Kaon’s snout a light smack. He twitched and growled, eyes opening fully now. The yellow dragonet gazed down wide and curious.

“Are you going to say anything, or…”

“Do not touch me, impetuous dragonet.”

“Jeez, calm down! And don’t ‘dragonet’ me. Talk fancy all you want, you’re just what, a year older than me? And not even third level yet!”

Kaon lifted his head, neck snaking upward so that Imbry wasn’t looking down on him anymore. A metal band coiled tight around his neck and glinted in the light. He said, “Will you answer my question?” Kaon could stare without blinking.

“What was it again?”

“Who told you where I was?” For no way she could have found him on her own.

“Vessia! She said you come up here every day to brood.”

Vessia. A dragoness of elegant curves, and scales of a dark, mysterious cast. She was ranked low for her age, just like him. But where he was held back by his Breath, she had a haughty disregard for ever applying herself in such vulgar affairs as training or advancement. She was on the short list of dragonets he even wanted to talk to — if only that were mutual.

“Hello? You still there, Kao?”

“What was it you wanted, imp?”

“Uhm…” She looked away. Flicking her forked tongue, she spoke without looking back. “A drake took my necklace. You know, the one my mom gave me? I kind of… need it.”

Kaon gave a thoughtful hm, and then remained silent for a long moment. Long enough he heard Imbry start to shift on her feet, long enough he felt a shadow pass in front of the pseudosun.

“Who would I be to refuse a dragonet in need?”

After all, it had been too long since Kaon caused some proper havoc.

Kaon’s pillar of choice was at the very edge of the pupil’s training yard, nearly far enough away for him to reach out and touch the metal net entrapping them here.

The pillar was also high enough that he could glide over and alight down in front of the training hall. Kaon’s scales were a night​-​black similar, almost, to a few other dragons, but the membrane on his wings was bloodred like no other. They had given him cloaks he could wear to hide it, but he didn’t want to hide it.

He folded his wings and stood before the training hall. Some called it the nest, but Kaon called it a prison. The affair itself rose up with the sembalance of a mountain, worn down by rain, with peaks honed to points. The central opening — it was a gate, but it never closed — had the look of a cave contructed.

On either side there were two sculpted dragons, twice as high as the young ones looking upon them. One was mighty Devain, master and teacher of all of the dragons here, founder of this order. The other was… one who seemed pathetic to Kaon. Somehow even rendered in looming stone couldn’t make this dragon seem remarkable or impressive. Who were they to even have a statue, some dragon Devain took pity on? Kaon found he didn’t care, and forgot the face upon looking away.

Kaon walked into the constructed cave, and shivered when he stepped into the shadow cast by the overhang. His eyes barely needed to adjust. The yellow dragon came several steps behind him; she was old enough she didn’t need to climb down — just barely old to manage gliding.

After eagerly slipping into the cool shade, Kaon checked himself and slowed but did not stop for Imbry. He called back, “Did you see who took it?”

“I can’t place his face, but he was hanging out with Geddion. Blue scales?” She dashed forward a few steps so that she was beside Kaon. “You’re lucky I saw them head into the nest, you didn’t even wait for me to give directions.”

Kaon kept walking. “Will they be expecting me?”

A pause. Imbry shook her head. “No… I don’t even think they expect I’m coming.”

As he walked, Kaon pushed himself into a shallow focus. He felt the power quivering awake as his thoughts quieted, like mist falling away to reveal a lake. Without a thought, magical energy rode through the meridians of his soul, away from his head and along his upper spine, pushing slowly past the metal band coiled tight around his neck, then finally falling into the magical nexus at his throat, and the magic began gathering there, ready to be channeled.

A first level dragon could sense their internal magic, but little else. But this, what Kaon was doing, was the capability of the second level: directing magic into your throat, where it can be charged into a breath weapon.

Imbry, beside him, had a flame​-​natured breath. It was overwhelmingly most common in dragons. Geddion, meanwhile, had breath of searing light, kin to the pseudosuns above, that lucky fool. He had never, ever seen Vessia use her breath — he didn’t even know if she was second elevation, but she had to be; she was ranked among them.

They said that Devain, the high mentor of these halls, had knowledge itself as his breath. How that worked, Kaon could only wonder.

“Don’t hurt them, ok?” Imbry was murmuring after Kaon’s long silence. (It broke his focus, but he admited his mind had already began to wander.) “I only want my necklace, I don’t want vengeance.”

“I won’t hurt them too bad.”

They walked the halls. Underfoot the dirt was compacted, tight with fungal mycelium and moss to the extent it was almost carpeted. Glass bulbs hung from the ceiling, emitting the same color and kind of light as the pseudosun, but so much dimmer. Still Kaon walked at the shadowy edge of the hall, rubbing his shoulder against the wall and nearly clipping it when it suddenly, randomly jutted out.

Kaon resumed the meditative focus, gathering mana in his soul’s throat​-​nexus until it was full, and then — pushing out.

The mentors, in their mantric wisdom, said that a full nexus should be all but bursting, the mana within excited, almost as if it wanted to be let out. The act of releasing it came naturally to dragons.

It did not come naturally to Kaon. When he channeled his mana, it would remained stubbornly within his throat nexus, as if in protest. He’d been held back for months, the mentors, the other pupils, viewing him as some defect, some incompetent idiot.

But Kaon was no fool. He’d worked and worked, tirelessly in his free time, meditating, feeling and flexing the flow of his mana. He pushed and pushed, anything to have something blast forth from his throat.

The first time, it felt like reaching into his throat and ripping out his stomach. Still did.

Kaon pushed, wretched and forceful, clenching and flexing his mana like muscles, and the sum of all that tireless work now crawled up his throat.

He opened his mouth, a tiny black mist that traveled out. Black, like it floated out into the light without realizing it was no longer in shadow, for just a moment, and then the mist faded. The result was an invisible cloud, clear like glass, which you only saw because of how the refraction bent the light.

Six cubic inches of mist. It looked ethereal, but it felt substantive, a part of Kaon, like mana condensed into something elsse.

Six cubic inches of mist. That was why Kaon was ranked so low, despite his intense study and dedication. Neither his mysterious parentage, nor the occasional havoc he caused was as damning as the fact that, among dragons who could breathe fire or searing light or knowledge itself, he breathed six cubic inches of magical air. He could control it, mold and manipulate it, harden it to solidity or bend it like paper, but it dispersed almost uselessly when he tried to pierce or stab dragon scales.

It had its uses, however. There was a reason Kaon could easily stare at the sun, look without blinking, and step into shadow without adjusting his eyes. Half an inch of the mist sat before each of his eyes, and augmented his sight.

The two dragonets walked the training halls, and climbed up to corridor that lead to the collective Lairs for the higher ranked drakes, three to a room. Most of the pupils were outside. This door was locked, and only the ones who belonged had the key.

But Kaon had six cubic inches of magic air, and he had spent a year becoming very familiar with its uses and limitations.

The mist floated willfully to his outstretched claw, which he lifted and brought to the keyhole of the door. He directed the mist inward, delicately twisting, tapping, and pulling on the inner workings of the lock. And then it clicked and he pulled and it was opened.

“Wait outside, Imbry,” he said. She pouted a moment, but sighed and stepped back.

Inside the lair were three drakes, two of whom were already growling, on top of each other, sparring. And Geddion sat on high, watching.

He turned his gaze, and regarded the black dragon infiltrator.

:::

2: Six Cubic Inches

Kaon walked into the lair ready to fight. He surveyed the arena.

High rank pupils had big lairs, he knew, but he didn’t know. The room was vaguely diamond​-​shaped, door opening at one corner and three beds at each of the others. There was a wide hole (too short to climb into) that yawned on the far left wall and through it came a shaft of pseudosunlight, already bright enough where it landed and reflected that it overwhelmed the meager light of the glass bulbs.

The beds were tiered, it seemed; the one farthest away rose up four times as tall as Kaon, and it was sculpted so that you had to fly to get up. The left bed was half as tall, and not so sculpted, and the right bed half again still.

Kaon could walk ten strides to reach the centermost bed, and the room was as wide as it was long. Smooth rock lay under them as floor, but away from the central path especially, it became scattered with toys, books, and the bones of eaten prey.

(Scattered, but nothing was piled. Pupils weren’t allowed hoards.)

Geddion sat on high, postured like a king with the tallest bed his throne. He was bigger, scales metallic gray and bright yellow and curved with obvious muscle, and he spoke with a booming growl of a voice. “Malthec la Kaon,” he intoned. “I never gave you a key.”

There were two other drakes in the room, wrestling off to the right. A lanky dark green dragon writhing underneath a third dragon who, (Kaon was secretly relieved), had those bright blue scales like Imbry had described. He in bright blue backed off when Geddion spoke, wheeling around to take in Kaon, and then he smirked. He in dark green scampered back and hopped on his bed, intent to watch the proceedings.

He didn’t recognize either of the lesser dragons, but he knew Geddion. The metallic gray drake was singular among the pupils of Devain; despite being eight years old (adolescent, for a dragon), he had reached the third elevation a year earlier than most. Some called him genius. At third level, you’d open the heart nexus, which fed the forelegs’ meridians. It meant that he wasn’t just limited to breath attacks: he could channel mana through his forelegs!

But he didn’t move from atop his bed, and it didn’t seem like he would challenge Kaon himself. He looked back to the blue​-​scaled drake.

“Kaon, is it? You best have a good reason for interrupting,” the blue dragon said.

Kaon kept his head low, like he was unsure or deferential. He wasn’t. “Oh, don’t mind me. I’m not here to interrupt.” He could see, hanging off the dragon’s neck, the golden necklace with a glowing ruby. That belonged to Imbry.

The blue dragon laughed and grinned, and turned back to look at the dark green dragon, who visibly swallowed. “Ready for round three?” he asked.

“I must say,” Geddion was starting, “I am curious what the Malthec wants. Finish it quick, you two.”

“Of course, boss.” The blue dragon leapt powerfully forward, eating five strides and landing adjacent to the bed. The dark green dragon rolled backwards, putting the bed between him and blue.

It was over about then.

Kaon watched, paying close attention to get a sense of who he was dealing with.

Blue jumped again, a powerful leap that put him all the way on top the bed, where he loomed over green. And then Kaon felt it; blue charging mana into his throat nexus, and then releasing it.

From his mouth came a straight bolt of bright electricity whose light cast a tinge over the whole room. It struck green, and he convulsed, and the he fell limp.

Giddeon saw it happen, and calmly looked up to blue. The third level dragon was such a smug moralist that Kaon had to assume the dark green drake would be okay.

“That was excessive, Welk. You do see that this Malthec clearly came to fight, don’t you?”

“I know my limits, boss, trust me on this. And if he really wants to fight, I’m not going to be so worse off missing one charge. I have three left, more than enough for this whelp.”

Pupils often talked about their Breath in terms of how much mana it took to charge a single use. Mana was much more fine grained, but at low levels it took a certain amount to cross the critical threshold and release it. Below that, it was present but basically inert.

It often took hours of basking to recover back to full mana. Kaon was unique, in that simply reabsorbing his magic mist soon let him breathe it again.

“So,” the blue dragon said, lifting his head to full height to stare down at Kaon. “What is it you come in here bothering us for?”

Kaon nodded to the necklace the blue drake wore. “I’ll be taking that from you.”

“By force?” It was Giddeon who asked.

“If I must.”

Welk grinned again, twisting his neck so that it popped. “Then let’s dance.”

Kaon knew he would start this off with a lunge. So to the right side he dodged, throwing himself hard and then rolling for more distance. When he looked, Welk was already standing where Kaon had stood. The drake was visibly catching his breath, and clearly wouldn’t be lunging as his main means of motion.

He stepped closer to Kaon, watching closely. The black drake was glad; it gave him time to think.

Here he was fighting a dragon bigger, faster than him, with a more powerful breath (and four charges! Imbry had one), and, he hated to admit, clearly more experience fighting.

A cloud passed in front of the pseudosun. It gave him an idea.

There were four glowing bulbs in the room, each a few strides in front of a wall. He hadn’t taken two strides into the room before he had dodged sharply to the right, so Kaon now stood adjacent to where one bulb hung down from the ceiling.

He breathed out his black mist (he had already condensed it, and thus it required less focus to bring back out). It floated through the air like smoke on small unseen winds. But there was no wind; it was Kaon directing it. Moving it felt like flexing an extension of Kaon’s throat, as if it were an ethereal second tongue or lips.

When the mist (quickly becoming transparent) reached the bulb and engulfed it, the action felt like swallowing. Kaon could harden his mist, and he did, squeezing, constricting the glass also, and the bulb shattered.

The blue dragon watched all this happen. He’d almost stopped approaching when Kaon expelled the black mist; anyone with any wits would show caution against an unfamiliar breath.

Bright, bright slime dripped from the shattered remains of the tinted glance. If Kaon didn’t have the half​-​inch of magic air before each of his eyes, he’d have to look away. Giddeon and Welk certainly did. Welk had stopped approaching entirely, sidestepping around without moving closer.

Inside of the glass was a luminous ooze from the realm of light, summoned by the town’s lightbringer. It was less a living being than an autonomous outlet which released excess light, the manyfold spawn of the Radiances.

Kaon stepped on it with a squish, and then rubbed his foot, crushing and dispelling the thing. This corner of the room had become darker, except for his mist, which seemed to shine bright even as the ooze was fading.

Then Welk launched himself at Kaon’s distracted back! The blue dragon had partially circled around while he dispelled the ooze. Kaon was brought to the ground under Welk. Both of his forelegs were pinned down, one held by Welk, one beneath him. The bigger dragon was too heavy to slip away from.

Kaon glared up at the brute. Welk in turn growled, and his free foreleg was swinging at his neck, claws out. It was an attack that had to be pulled back at last moment, but Kaon wouldn’t put it past them to graze him as warning. Despite this, if it landed the spar was about over.

Kaon waited a heartbeat, and twisted his neck just so that the other dragon’s claws uselessly scraped at the unbreakable metal band around Kaon’s neck. Dragon claws, even dragonet claws, were fearsomely hard, but the metal band didn’t care. Kaon learned from many attempts.

With scoff and a single thought, the black drake sucked back in the faintly glowing mist. His annoyance was great, and with focus this darkened corner of the seemed to became clear as day.

Quickly Kaon coughed out the black mist again, the room darkening again. Still glaring, he molded the mist into a pointed blade, aimed it at Welk, and with a thought pushed it forward.

His attacker fell for the bluff, and leaped off Kaon. Welk warily eyed the blade, caution slacking as the blade​-​shaped misted quickly faded to transparency, looking like Kaon couldn’t hold it together. Welk smirked now, the moment of caution forgotten. But it had bought enough time for Kaon.

“Do not do lasting harm, Malthec. It is proscribed by Devain. You need not fight so drastically.”

(Really, his Breath was useless against other dragons, but Welk didn’t know that. Anyone with any wits showed caution against an unfamilar breath.)

“Of course,” was what Kaon muttered. He flicked an ear; it was easy to miss in the great gray dragon’s neutral tone, but Kaon knew when a dragon spoke from dismissal.

Kaon watched Welk stop backing up, now losing his fear of Kaon’s misty knife. The knife dissolved the and flowed back, loyally following its wielder as Kaon took this opportunity to force distance between him and Welk.

He was dashing obliquely toward Giddion, but mainly toward the second bulb. His mist, still in the air, floated up and engulfed the second bulb and smashed it. More luminous ooze dripped down to puddle on the ground. Kaon didn’t make the mistake to dispel it himself. That had been stupid; outside a shell, the ooze would dissolve on its own soon enough.

Just then, Welk launched himself through the air, flapping his wings once for further distance. He landed between Kaon and the next nearest bulb. Decent strategy, Kaon admited. Now he couldn’t shatter that bulb without dealing with the blue dragon, because his control frayed at more than a few strides’ distance.

“I’m not sure what you’re making to do with these bulbs, but let’s just have a nice, simple fight. Or what, are you too afraid of your chances without pulling tricks?”

Kaon could see Giddeon frowning. Was he worried about the bulbs? Dragonets surely broke them frequently enough, surely the mentors wouldn’t cast them in that much trouble over it?

Welk still wasn’t approaching Kaon. Wary of the knife he couldn’t see? Good. Kaon gathered his mist in front of him, and smiled.

The smile disappeared when Welk opened his mouth. He must have been showing off earlier; it seemed Welk could charge up a breath attack in a second.

Lightning was splitting the air, shooting straight at Kaon. It came so fast he didn’t even grasp what was happened until it was over. He was lucky he’d been forming the knife in front of him again; perhaps his mist had reacted to his worry, or maybe it was just chance, but it had formed a sort of protective plate in front of him, shielding him from the lightning.

His own mist now crackled like a storm cloud. Aftershocks of the lightning? Warily he drew it back into himself, but no shock came. He grinned, shedding his fear of Welk. He could counter him.

“A perfect shield?” Giddeon was saying. “A rare technique for a second level dragon, let alone from one so lowly ranked.”

Kaon dashed again, hoping to slip around Welk while he was distracted. He must have been really distracted, because he took a moment to notice that Kaon was moving, and he was slowly throwing out a leg to trip him.

Kaon easily leapt up, and sailed over the blue dragon. He effortlessly leapt higher, farther than even he expected. His claw flew out and shattered another bulb, plunging them into deeper darkness, and he laughed.

“Didn’t realize you were so quick, Malthec,” Welk growled. “You were holding back.” The blue brute gave him a look of challenge he hadn’t up till now.

Kaon only laughed again.

“Let’s finish this.”

Kaon might’ve read something familiar in how Welk’s muscles tensed, or maybe he just felt the mana gathering, or maybe it was just fate whispering in his ear, but he dodged to the side again, and easily.

Welk had charged up another lighting, and it crackled uselesly against the wall, missing him entirely.

It gave Kaon an idea.

Welk taunted. “You’re a lucky little worm, aren’t you?” As he spoke he lunged once more, forcing Kaon to hop back.

Kaon started running across the room, three forths of which had been plunged into comfortable shadow, and he stopped in front of the massive sculpted outgrowth of stone that supported Giddeon’s bed.

Welk was slowly pacing back towards him again, which, because of how they were positioned, meant walking toward’s Giddeon too.

Kaon stepped toward Welk. It took effort and will not to grin. If this worked…

He absorbed into himself the single cubic inch of magic mist that he normal kept in front of his eyes to augment his sight. He wanted every inch available to him for this next gambit.

(Normally the world looked blurry without the magic lenses. But here in the darkness, all was clear.)

Kaon took another step forward, and Welk had stopped, brow knit in confusion.

The black dragon opened his mouth, and breathed out all of his darkness.

Six cubic inches of it that fanned out in front of his opponent, only before his eyes, clouding his sight.

It gave him the chance to jump back, lined up right in front of Giddeon.

The six cubic inches of mist were fading now, becoming transparent. Welk saw the the black cloud fade, and grinned. He looked up, directly at Giddeon, and opened his mouth.

Kaon knew a few things you could do with six cubic inches.

The inside of Welk’s mouth began to glow, his Breath rapidly charging up. (It seemed slower now.)

Kaon had become intimately familiar with the uses and limitations of six cubic inches.

Giddeon spoke up. “Welk, what are you—”

And Kaon hated being written off or underestimated.

Welk fired his lightning breath, and Giddeon yelled like a dragonling, and Kaon laughed.

Six cubic inches of light​-​refracting air just in front of Welk’s eyes were enough to throw his aim fatally off.

Kaon walked forward, sauntering right up to Welk. He swung a foreleg upward at the dragon’s head, making him lean up and out of the way, revealing his neck.

Kaon swiped his other foreleg out, grabbing the golden necklace and ripping it off with a satisfying clasp​-​snap.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Welk’s foot coming up to kick right his face.

And then it froze in its tracks, hanging there in the air.

Kaon would have blinked, and might have laughed, but he was frozen too.

Everyone in the room was.

3: Icy Regard

“You understand how bad this looks for you, yes?”

The speaker sat on a high stone rest, forelegs standing tall, her gaze raining down on them. Haore had more horns than some drakes. A fourth level dragoness, she was almost built like a drake, thickset and strong. With scales the color of northern seawater and horns more brilliant than ice, she had the look of a glacier and its depths. She didn’t look pleased.

Imbry, it turned out, had gone to find help as soon as Giddeon yelled. She found Haore, and her Breath — fourth level dragons could channel it through their wings, affecting a wide area — had frozen them where they stood.

Kaon nodded minutely at her words. He wasn’t looking at her. His gaze roamed the room — slowly, to not seem anxious. (He wasn’t anxious.) It was a lair, Haore’s lair, but it was adapted for dragons to come and go. Adequate (but not comfortable) leather rests sat before a slab of stone littered with papers, and the blue​-​green dragoness sat behind it. With no windows, light came from an icelight lamp sitting on her slab; it sucked in heat and shone. Kaon found its light less annoying than the pseudosuns.

Haore’s lair — office, Kaon wanted to call it — felt cold. The dragoness didn’t care, but the four dragonets before her did. When they breathed, their expelled breaths were visible in front of them. (Curiously, not Haore’s.) Imbry was beside him, curled in on herself to contain heat. On the other side (a whole empty leather rest between Kaon and them), were Welk and then Giddeon, both shiverring violently. Kaon didn’t see the point in shivering.

“You, a lower year dragon, breaking into a fellow pupil’s lair, destroying our property, assaulting them unprovoked, stealing their possessions… What were you thinking? Were you thinking?”

“It wasn’t theirs. It was Imbry’s. They stole it.” Kaon spoke in quick, definite statements, forceful and clipped.

Welk laughed. “It was nobody’s, just sitting on the ground for the taking. Nothing stealing about it.”

Imbry’s voice was a murmur. “I dropped it.” The words were small coming out. Haore’s scaly ears twitched like she heard, but Kaon wondered if the two drakes did.

Welk. “I didn’t see your name on it.”

“Liar–” Kaon spat out.

Haore flipped over the amulet. “Her name is right here,” she said.

The blue drake didn’t flinch. The gray drake beside him, Giddeon made a thoughtful hum. “Liar is a bit of a strong word, wouldn’t you consider, Malthec? I don’t suppose you know what Welk here remembers better than he does, do you? He was speaking of his own perspective.”

Bullshit. Kaon almost said something, but he had the sense to drop it.

Haore looked at Imbry. “You said you were waiting outside Giddeon’s lair. You had Kaon retrieve this for you, no? Did he do this of your will, not his own?”

“No,” Kaon said.

“Yes,” Imbry said. “It was my idea. I — I told him to fight them for taking my amulet.”

Kaon stared at the pale yellow dragoness.

“You understand that you two have disrupted the order here in Devain’s hall, yes?”

“Of course,” was the small dragon’s response.

“I did the right thing,” was Kaon’s.

“You’ll be punished.” Her eyes glide to the two drakes. “Perhaps it would be fitting to let the victims keep this amulet.”

“Please don’t.” It was almost a whimper.

“Okay, but why,” Kaon drawled, “would we be listening you? You’re a pupil just like us. Barely any older.” She was fourth level, but unusually young for that state.

Haore’s wings flared. “I am your senior. Older, more experienced, and more responsible. Devain choose to let me in charge in his stead. Do you question that?”

Yes, Kaon thought. “No.”

“Thought so.” She closed her wings. She opened her mouth, but Kaon was quicker.

“But… Devain left you in charge? Where is he?”

“Looking for a wayward pupil.”

Kaon glanced up, finding something worth paying attention to. “Who?”

Haore looks at him, eyes narrowing, but divulges. “Vessia. She’s is not in the hall.” Her gaze swept over the four young dragons. “I surmise you know not where she’s gone.” She looks around, at everyone to show she wasn’t asking Kaon.

Imbry piped up. “This morning, she told me where to find Kaon at recess.”

Haore taps a claw once. “This morning? At what time?”

“Uhm, several hours ago?”

“Are you asking me or telling me?”

Imbry opened her mouth, but seemed to lose her nerve and just nodded.

Haore sighed. “Where was this, then?”

“Uhmm.” Imbry trailed off into muttering. Dropping her head back to the rest and covering it with her claws, she managed to say, “She was in my lair when I woke up.”

A brow lifted. “You don’t share a lair with her. Is this yet another dragonet who can pick locks?”

“It was still locked… And my door is kinda loud. A lot of lower class lair doors are.”

The prior conversation had bored or vexed Kaon — but Vessia was a topic of some interest. He looked to Haore, lips curling with the satisfaction of insight. “What is Vessia’s Breath?” he asked.

“Minor telekenesis.”

“Oh.” Kaon was disappointed. Not because his intuition for how she got into Imbry’s lair was shot down, but because that answer was… disappointing. Vessia, the mysterious, aloof dragoness in his class, the gorgeous, angular creature, ought to have been heir to some mysterious powerful Breath. She never did much to show off her power, even in their mana shaping class, so Kaon had taken to imagining she must have been hiding something great. Unless… she was embarrassed?

“Why would she go missing?” It was Giddeon’s arch voice.

“I did not say missing. Little escapes Devain’s wisdom. It is he who’s gone to retrieve her. I judge he will be successful; but her whereabouts are not knowledge he has deigned to share.” She shakes her head. “We’ve gotten off topic. This is about how to rectify this situation.”

Imbry dared lift her head again. “You can’t take my amulet. Please.”

“Imbry did nothing to deserve that,” Kaon noted. “Shouldn’t I be the one punished?” Kaon knew it was noble of him, but he regretted a moment later. He doubted he could shrug off every punishment they might saddle him with.

“I was getting to that. I think… You will be held back from advancing to the next rank until further notice,” she said, eliciting a groan from the black dragon. “That’s standard, Kaon, you shouldn’t be surprised. And hm, it would be fair for you to pay for the lightslime bulbs you smashed.”

That wasn’t… too bad. When Kaon thought about it, he had realized it took him twice as much effort to achieve half was much as the other dragons. Maybe this arbitrary limit wouldn’t ultimately slow him down, if it was released after not too long. And it couldn’t last too long. He had done the right thing, that couldn’t be lost on them.

“That’s a little light for this level of disrespect, isn’t it?” Giddeon asked, tone light and insignificant.

Haore checked him with a frown that was almost a scowl. “It’s standard.”

“Well, sure. But the offense isn’t standard, is it? Not many pupils are brazen enough to commit four different trespasses at once.”

Haore turned her gaze to the metallic gray drake. Her mouth, a flat line, didn’t change expression. But a momentary decline in temperature, enough for the drakes’ shivering to be mistaken for a flinch, suggested Haore’s reaction to Kaon before she opened her maw to confirm it. “I have made my judgment, Geddion, and I am your superior.”

Kaon’s head lay on the rest, mouth hidden behind a foreleg and ears drooped in disinterest. Such was good cover for the smirk that played on his lips. He watched Geddion frown. He took a moment to draw up a proper sycophantic response. (Kaon knew there would no hestitation if this had been Devain, and wondered if Haore caught that.). “Of course, madam. I mean no disrespect. It was a mere… observation.”

“I am quite capable of observation myself, dragonet.” Haore at all times lay unnaturally still, in a way that emphasizes her every movement. The mere inclining of her head, shifting her gaze back to the contents of her desk, spoke volumes. “I have conveyed what I needed to. All of you are dismissed. Make no further trouble under my regency; for I will remember it.”

Welk, with all the speed he could shiver at, fell to his feet and turned towards the entryway. Giddeon, with a manufactured bow of his head towards Haore, came a halfstep at his heels. The gray drake took only a moment to overttake Welk, to once more walk in his lead.

A yellow claw gently poked Kaon. Imbry was smiling down at Kaon, and grabbed his leg and tugs it a little. Kaon glanced at the doorway, then back at Imbry and nodded. The small dragon took this as meaning something. Kaon meant nothing by it, but it succeeded in making her drop his leg and start to leave.

“That means you too, Malthec,” Haore noted.

Kaon looked up at the blue​-​green dragon, and gave another meaningful nod, and Haore remained unreactingly still.

If Kaon were Geddion, the approach would be to feed her some compliment — perhaps saying he appreciated the look of her icelamps, or the patterns on her horns. Tactics of indirection and subtlety, softening the target.

Kaon didn’t see the point. He valued directness and suspected Haore, with how many excuseful pupils she interacted with as a high ranking librarian, would find it refreshing.

He reminds himself of these reasons as he speaks in a deep voice, tone expectant. “What else did Devain tell you about Vessia’s disappearance?”

A blink. “Knowledge holds power and value,” she says, with the tone of a well​-​revised idiom. “You’ve been here long enough to learn that.”

Kaon cocks his head. “That there’s any will to keep it secret tells me there’s something more to it.”

“That one of Devain’s pupils is unaccounted for told you that.” Haore stared, then shifted the gaze back down to her desk. “What this truly tells you is that Devain does not wish for you to know. He does not wish for any of the pupils to know.”

“You are not Devain,” Kaon notes. Inwardly, he wondered — was this worth the struggle? Should he just quit and head out?

“Devain placed me in charge with the understanding that I would relay all correspondences back to him. Frost dragons do not forget.” Then, seemingly disconnected. “If you go do something brainless in pursuit of learning what happened to Vessia — you will find yourself back in this office, and relaying what you find to me.”

“If you tell me nothing, perhaps I will not know better than to pursue.” Kaon knew when dragons were talking down to him. This was not that — but what was Haore’s angle?

“If it will keep you from the attempt,” — Haore looks back up, directly into his eyes, gaze intense. “Then I can reveal a few facts. This morning, Devain sensed the absence of a pupil, and it was Vessia who did not show up to scheduled training. She shares a lair with another dragoness, Nesle. And upon investigation, he discovered one of Nesle’s most prized possessions gone. Vessia’s bedding and scant possessions lay in disarray, suggesting special haste.” Haore pauses. “Devain tells me what it means: there was a thief who infiltrated the hall, making out with Nesle’s treasure, and Vessia, noble pupil, pursued them.”

Kaon waits, eyes narrowed and searching the blue​-​green dragoness’s features. “I see. Thank you for sharing Devain’s theory.”

“Make responsible use of the information. And remember, it is Devain and only Devain who is investigating and learning what is at play. If you make your own attempts, you will be seeing me again.”

Strange wording again. But Kaon had gotten what he wanted, and with another meaningful nod, he rises to his feet. Where other dragons had been made sluggish by the cold, Kaon found the dim lair refreshing. The prospect of returning to the light of pseudosuns but began to sap that renewed vigor.

Immediately outside her lair, the black dragon halted at once, ears flaring. The yellow imp had waited for him. She smiled and seemed to bounce to attention with his arrival.

“There you are! You took so long did Haore hit you with extra bad secret punishment?”

“I simply had some matters to discusss with the librarian,” Kaon said, looking down the length of the cavernous hall they stood within. They weren’t alone: two older dragons stood outside the office, occasionally glance at them. Kaon looks back at Imbry. “Is there a reason you were waiting for me?”

“Yeah, um.” Imbry looks down. “I… I worried Welk might–might want to take my necklace back. So I thought… would you mind keeping it safe, until I need it again tomorrow? I would be so thankful.” Imbry looked up at him, a pleading twist to her features.

Who was he to refuse a face like that? “Sure, imp. Just let me know when you need it back — I’ll guard it for you.”

“Thank you!” Imbry leans over and hugs her forelegs around him, and it takes a moment for Kaon to nudge her off.

“Thank me by not doing that,” he mumbles.

The necklace changes paws, and Kaon starts walking — and finds Imbry walking beside him.

“Thank you for retrieving it, too. I don’t think I got a chance to say that — it must have been harrowing to fight a higher ranked dragon.”

Kaon only hmphed. Then, he said, “There’s something I need to see to on my own. I expect we’ll met again soon.”

“Oh. Alright…” Imbry frowned, and then splits off, waving at him with a wing.

Behind them, Kaon noticed, the other, older dragons had followed, lagging quite a ways behind. One of the two dragons changes course with Imbry’s parting, confirming what had been obvious. They were tailing them. For what purpose? For who’s purpose?

At the edge of the cavern​-​hall, Kaon crouches, preparing to leap into flight. He was dextrous enough in the air to lose a pursuer, and then he could make his next move. The starting point, he decided, would be seeing Vessia’s lair for himself.

After all, Kaon knew the story Haore just told him was bullshit.

4: Last Week’s Game

Vessia leaned against squat stones, and honed her black claws. Blue paint covered the tops of those rocks, and clutched in her hindpaws, a blue gem glimmered in the light. The light, reflected and filtered through this gem, fell upon her violet scales, and granted them new definition.

She leaned against the rocks, while so many of the other dragons flew about, or tactically darted across lower platforms. Every flier clutched similar gemstones, some red, some green.

Kaon flew among them, deft maneuvers bringing him behind a diving green dragon. Around Kaon’s neck a clear gemstone glowing with magic hung. He lifted it in front of his maw, aiming toward the green dragon. One flexure of his will brought forth raw mana, the gem swiftly siphoning it with energetic pull.

The spellgem activated, and from the other end an invisible impulse of raw force soared out and impacted the light green dragon with the force of a falling boulder.

They fell to a soft platform below, grounded. They’d held only a single green gem, so Kaon didn’t bother flying down to collect. He gripped his red gem tighter; someone else on this team would retrieve theirs, with any luck. He would pursue other tactical objectives.

Once released, the clear gem fell to bang against his breast. Force spellgems took the place of true Breath during these games in all but the most extreme rulesets — because for all its tactical variety, a dragon’s Breath was a weapon of hunting and combat, not sport. Kaon knew of Jin, a high ranking fifth level dragon, who brought withering and death to anything her Breath fell upon. Hardly fit for a game like this.

Sudden movement in the peripheral made Kaon flinch. He folded his wings and dropped rapidly, falling under a bolt of Force sent by an opponent, then lifted his spellgem to deliver return fire, and his aim was practiced and unerring.

All it took to activate a spellgem was expelling raw mana — something, to Kaon’s relief, he had little more trouble with than other dragons. Raw mana was not Breath, and it was useless in itself; a single ray of light falling upon it would catalyze the whole mass into an epheremal lightshow. The teachers repeated it ad nauseum: mana must be channeled, mana must be channeled. A dragon’s throat (Kaon’s difficulties excepted) could channel mana before release, and so could the spell that lived inside this gem.

Kaon had spread his wings, and now rose to intercept the green gem dropping from his bested opponent.

The name of the game was Three Hoards, and the equalizing nature of spellgems meant Kaon excelled — quite the contrast to any other kind of training. On another day, Kaon holding a red gem meant, with decent if not overwhelming odds, the red team would rise victorious.

But his eye kept getting drawn back to Vessia, who, to all appearances, did nothing to help blue team. Kaon could apply himself — but Vessia was alone, looking bored, and would she want to talk?

Of course, there was an obstacle to this: the red gem he held. Those blue​-​painted rocks meant the platform Vessia sat on was the blue hoard.

Kaon surveyed the arena. Three Hoards was played with a tiered, scattered collection of platforms which floated under the heave of the same domesticated spells as the foundations of this realm. All of the platforms were connected to at least one other by a flimsy rope bridge, so that grounded players could get around.

Kaon had two options — seek a flyer with a blue gem, or find and seize one of gems on the ground, placed there before the game began. Hunting another player raised the risk of their Force spellgem taking down Kaon, but any gem on the ground he could spot would doubtless be spotted by other fliers, and that competition posed the same sort of danger.

A blink of insight. He stopped and shook his head; he was still analyzing it as though he would advance red team’s tactical interest. He needn’t, which meant he could go about it differently.

He scanned the arena again, sizing up the fliers, this time looking at those he ignored on first pass: other fliers with a red gem. It took a moment to spot one en route to the red hoard, and Kaon twisted his wings and moved to intercept with rapid beats.

“Excuse me,” he called out. “Do you have a blue gem? I have a green one. We can trade. I want to try something.”

The flier looked over, and Kaon brandished his red gem, showing their aligned interests. He gestured as if to throw the green gem. A pause – but Kaon wasn’t asking for a red gem, so even with the risk of betrayal, this move wouldn’t put red in a worse position. So the other dragon nodded, and the two gems sailed through the air.

Trade complete. With the blue gem, Kaon could land on the blue hoard. Before, flying over to Vessia would have grounded him, forfeiting his red gem to their hoard. (He wasn’t completely apathetic about the fate of the game, though he cared more about her.) With the blue gem, Kaon could approach the hoard as though he were blue team. He was, now.

When Kaon alighted, the violet dragon was regarding her black claws.

“Vessia,” Kaon said as way of greeing.

“Malthec.” She always greeted him this way — if nothing else, it meant he could always get her to speak at least one word in his direction. A word so frequently on the lips of mentors (and those, like Geddion, who aped them) — and always said with grave distaste. But out of this dragoness, the tone was like a distant ancestor of equal regard.

Vessia lifted her gaze from her claws to meet his. Her eyes were bright, enough he wondered if they’d glow in a dark room. “I’m not idling,” she said. “I’m simply biding my time for a strategic opportunity, got it? If the mentors ask, I’m not idling.” Vessia put down her paw, digits flexing, her black claws scratching deep into the gravel.

“Makes sense,” Kaon said, and then added, “Don’t worry.” But the violet dragon still regarded him without a smile, her lips parting just enough to reveal her sharp teeth. “You look like you want to kill someone.”

“I do.”

“Ah,” Kaon says. Conversationally, “Who?”

Vessia glanced away. At first, Kaon thought it embarrassment, but no: her eyes tracked a dragon flying lower down in the arena. “My idiot of a lairmate.”

Kaon found she tended to silence more easily than speech, so he said, “There’s a story there,” to indicate he’s listening.

“No story. She’s the lord’s daughter, and the fatass sent her this excessively large mirror. It’s big enough they couldn’t be bothered to move it much farther than the entrance — and that princess loves to stare into it for hours painting her scales, blocking the exit.” She lifted a paw, and curled her claws inward as if squeezing. “She’s the lord’s daughter, so the mentors would side for her if I made her get out of my way.” Vessia does not have a gentle voice, thought it wouldn’t be correct to call it a growl.

Kaon noded. “My lairmate's fallen asleep in the middle of the floor more than once.”

Vessia nodded, and returned her gaze to tracking the flier she had watched before. “I’ve seen your aim with the spellgems. Think you can hit her?” Vessia doesn’t point, but Kaon can follow her gaze.

“She’s fairly far away,” he said. “My fingers jitter, so breathing raw mana is a bit — imprecise, at this distance.”

Vessia looked back at Kaon, and frowned. He worried it was a look of disappointment, but she narrowed her eyes. “Your cast​-​off would make aiming easier.”

“My what?”

Instead of responding, the violet dragon leaned toward him, quickly thrusting her left paw in his face — right at his eye. Was she trying to gouge his eyes out?

But no, her — bright violet? — claws touched the magic air he placed before his eyes to enhance his vision. Though his Breath was normally under his control, she pulled the lens away without resistance.

“Your cast​-​off,” she repeated. “You'd know it contains mana even after you evert it.” He didn’t, but he nodded. Vessia squeezed the stolen magical mass between two digits. It compressed, and a faint glow arose around — the glow of raw mana. Vessia carelessly flicked it back toward Kaon, and returned her left paw to the ground. Her other forepaw, he noticed, curled around the dull brown of a rock. Black cloth looped around each of her ankles save her right foreleg, wrapped in a dark bandage.

The demonstration was enough. So Kaon Breathed, feeling that familiar of ripping out his throat, bringing out the full six cubic inches.

What did she want him to do? If his Breath contained raw mana even now, could he hold the gem without setting it off? He could ask, but he wouldn’t look even more ignorant. Vessia, somehow, understood his Breath – one offhand comment revealed something even the mentors hadn’t deign to tell him. He’d trust that this would work.

He brought the air underneath the gem, shaping it as if to cradle the mass, without yet touching it. He did this slowly, to see if Vessia would object, and with that lack response, cupped the spellgem and lifted it with his Breath.

“Your cast​-​off is much more reliable than your material body,” she said, her gaze returning to track Nesle. “Now wait… wait… now. Do it.”

Normally, when raw mana was exhaled near the Force spellgem, it drew in, and from the area opposite, emitted a ray of force. Kaon wasn’t sure how this would work with his Breath, with his ‘cast​-​off’.

Still intuition guided his will. He bunched up the magical mass towards one end, opposite where the gem points towards the flier Vessia indicated. And then he pressed.

It was like the air leaving a dead puffslug — energy he was hardly aware of draining into the gem, and concentrated force flew out.

And landed, right on target. Nesle fell from the air. Kaon watched her fall, and saw that Vessia had timed it so that she was right above the green hoard.

“She deserved that.” Turning back to Kaon: “I appreciate it.”

“Of course,” Kaon said.

Then he noticed Vessia’s eyes now almost seemed… brighter.

Then his attention was drawn to the dragoness’s right paw, which hadn't moved, and she lifted it to reveal a clear spellgem clutched within it.

“But as I said,” Vessia started, “if the mentors ask, I’m biding my time for a strategic opportunity.”

Vessia’s paw glowed (how? that would mean she was–), and Kaon saw a glimpse of a feral smile, and two things happened near simultaneously.

Raw magical force impacted against Kaon; and he dropped the red gem and the blue gem he held while he was thrown back.

Vessia sauntered to the edge of the blue hoard, and collected Kaon’s gem, and watched him fall.

5: Breakthrough

Kaon had long dwelled on the encounter with Vessia. Knowing things the mentors didn’t (or didn’t reveal), hiding her third level status — and that baffling alloy of respect she regarded Kaon with, marred by the sudden betrayal.

For all his rumination, Kaon did not understand Vessia (and who did?), but Haore’s suggestion — that she would fight a thief (maybe), but then nobly sacrifice herself (really?) — all to save Nesle’s mirror? He’d stake a lot on his certainty that that was not what had happened. So the next step was to see what had. And so far, Kaon knew only one place to look.

Walking through this cavern hall, he could spread his wings and not touch both walls. Enough space for three dragons to walk side by side, but not enough space for Kaon to go forth without ears folded down, a knot of expectant tension. After all, he had company.

He neared the end of the tunnel, and listened to the footfalls of the dragon tailing him. The black drake turned around.

A moment’s glance up and down sized them up. Dark red scales with a hint of gray, a face with at least one scar; this dragon was older, larger than Kaon — one of the upper levels he couldn’t put a name to. With Kaon’s attention now clearly weighing upon them, they feigned no more stealth, and returned his gaze.

“To whom do I owe the honor?” Kaon asked in a low tone, quiet enough the other dragon was stepping closer to hear him. “Devain? Haore? Someone else?”

Kaon’s expected the silence. How else did these encounters go?

He dared one step forward, back the way he came. “I suppose I’ll report back to Haore now — let her know that someone’s interested in us. How do you suppose she’ll react?”

The red dragon shook their head. “I don’t have time for your tricks. I know you’re working with the thief, Malthec.” A smirk with both ends of the mouth. “Perhaps you don’t know better than to return to the scene of the crime.”

“Ah,” Kaon said. “Then this is rooted in a misunderstanding on your part.”

“The evidence points to your involvement.” Now, the dragon matched Kaon with a step towards him. Outsizing Kaon, they had more reach with those muscled forelegs.

So backing up from that was just good caution.

“Why follow me, then, rather than present your evidence to Haore, or Devain himself?”

“Devain is taking care of the thief — I just need to keep an eye on you, and stop you from sabotaging things,” they said. “See if you incriminate yourself.”

This conversation was a drain of time. If a dragon was so unamenable to reason, Kaon saw no point in wrestling them into sense.

A deft blow at a fight’s start could just as well be the end of it. Dragons had long necks, and short of reaching the true zeniths of magic, still had those biological liabilities of respiration and circulation.

Kaon fell back, bending slightly left as if to feign turning around. When he’d crouched deep enough, he launched himself at the larger dragon.

Wrap a limb around the neck, land on the back, seize one of their fragile wings — there were a few ways Kaon could win this in a single move.

Red saw it all. They dodged to the side, and a foreleg snapped out. It slammed into Kaon’s breast. Left him winded. He landed on his tail.

But that hit used the blunt backside of a paw — not the claws. (Wasn’t too informative; only fringe, unlikely scenarios entailed this dragon trying to kill him. But a relief to rule them out.)

A low grunt in the throat. “You’re a little young to think you can take me, Malthec.”

As if by lingering momentum, Kaon made to fall onto his back, then he rolled over. Facing away from his opponent, he pulled out his cast​-​off, momentarily. Black mist faded, and he rose to stand.

Red had their maw open, mana gathered, channeled. It bubbled and smoked, like water over a flame, and took on a red tone. As if passing a threshold, the Breath crackled to life, an orb of newborn flame.

The black dragon loosed their hold, audibly exhaling, and the bolt flew out.

Kaon hopped to the side, an easy dodge. What did they expect?

The bolt was flying into the air where Kaon had stood.

And then it turned mid​-​flight, sharp enough to be perpendicular. But Kaon had the cast​-​off out, already consciously moving it. After his performance fighting Welk, pushing the magic air in front of that incoming bolt was not just panicked instinct.

Kaon couldn’t put a name to this face — so chance said this dragon might be unfamiliar with him. So he opened his mouth, as if he were Breathing.

The bolt collided with his cast​-​off. But it burned with powerful magic; Kaon could not absorb it as simply as Welk’s lightning. The ball of flame blazed and pushed against the impetus — Kaon felt it as if his throat were being singed by hot acidic soup.

Was his cast​-​off shrinking?

With determination and not a small amount of fear, he pressed back, engulfing the projectile in his magic air.

He smothered the ball of fire.

“Breath negation?” the red dragon said, flicking his forked tongue. But eyes narrowed and looked closer, seeing the magic air still there, wavy as if heat lingered, dusted with impotent glowing sparks suspended. “No, would that be… breath absorption? How unusual. Maybe you’ll do impressive things.” Their gaze jerked back up to Kaon, and their mouth opened. “One day, maybe. But not today.”

Kaon started stepping back. His cast​-​off still wavered where it floated, and with a tug, he joined it back into himself. He flinched, like from the pain of too bright a light shining suddenly. He felt warm and dizzy.

A glance backward. Would it be better to retreat now that he had no longer any advantage of surprise?

Another step backward. The red dragon charged up another ball of flame, and Kaon dove toward the wall as a last ditch to gain some more distance — but they’d bluffed, and the ball of flame shrunk and slid back into their closing mouth. Defusing channeled mana? Most dragons Kaon’d seen couldn’t manage that.

“Ready to give up?”

Not words Kaon would utter. He ripped out his cast​-​off again. He watched the black mist fade, and a long​-​unanswered question emerges from his memories. Why did his cast​-​off start off black, then fade transparent? Something clicked with what the red dragon had just said — but the middle of a stand​-​off isn’t the time to be pursuing these theories.

“Ah, so you want more.”

Kaon readied his cast​-​off; he could feel it, but the other dragon couldn’t see it. Still, no path forward led him to winning. (Unless… but no, that couldn’t work.)

Their mouth never opened. They stalked forward faster than Kaon’s cautious backsteps, and, fearing a melee, Kaon turned fully and ran to the bright end of the tunnel. It widened at the mouth. Kaon had more room to dodge. Kaon had room to fly. He crouched and rose into the air. He looked back.

The other dragon had spread their wings, but didn’t crouch. The glow of magic coursed along the phalanges of their wings. At the end of each wing’s five fingers, a small orb of flame was birthed.

The dark red dragon flapped their wings forward, and with a great clap, ten fireballs flew in unison at Kaon.

They arranged in a perfect circle (or decagon) as they approached — a shape no dragon’s wing​-​fingers could form. Kaon’s mind pulled the conclusion; these bolts would be capable of the same cheating mid​-​flight turns. And he faced ten of them.

No way to dodge, no way to outfly them, no way catch all of them with his cast​-​off.

Unless… Kaon’s brow furrowed, and his thoughts whirled through the details of a plan.

First, he dropped out of the air. Sudden impulses would be easier with his hindlegs than his wings, and he would need that.

Second, he began to expand his cast​-​off. Its thickness limited the amount of force he could impart. Earlier, it had naturally formed into a sort of lumpy sphere, and he knew a sphere of six cubic inches had a radius of about 1.13 inches. That had been enough to stop one firebolt. This many wing​-​launched bolts looked about half the size, meaning half the mass. Half an inch should be enough to impede them, then.

Kaon shaped his cast​-​off into a rectangular prism, an inch wide, a foot long, and half an inch deep, and exhaled.

The burst of bolts zipped closer. Kaon was cutting it close. But he had to cut it close for his plan.

After the last moment, Kaon dodged to the left, putting up his cast​-​off to his right. Maneuvering this way, he narrowed the incident profile of the volley of bolts. Even if the bolts turned towards him, some would be behind others — they formed a narrower shape, a smaller area to block.

A foot high was the tallest he could manage while keeping it thick and wide enough to block. How fortunate.

The bolts turned. One at first, and then two by two they hit. The six closest impact the invisible cast​-​off and the combined force pushed the cast​-​off toward him. Between the deformation caused by the force imparted, and the odd trajectories of the curving projectiles, the four farthest swerved around the cast​-​off now folding inward.

Each one felt like being slapped with a club that was on fire. Kaon got hit in the head, neck, and twice in the shoulder, enough to knock him off balance.

Dragons resisted magic — but as the fires sizzled away into nothing but terrible pain on his scales, Kaon had expected them to do more damage to him.

Then his attention was snapped back to his buckling cast​-​off. The Flame mana that had to compose these firebolts must be getting drawn into his magical mass.

Absorption. That’s what the dragon said. Kaon’s cast​-​off had easily absorbed one firebolt. But six of them? Even keeping them merely enveloped in the mass felt like stuffing a litter of excited kittens in a sack and keeping them from clawing out.

The red dragon is opening their mouth again. Numiel’s fault! How many charges did they have?

Some of that exasperation must have shown. They said, “You’re facing down a fourth level dragon, little hatchling. The gulf in power between us can’t be crossed with clever tricks. You’re outmatched.”

Kaon thought of another trick.

Absorption. That’s what they said. And last week’s game — how had Kaon triggered a spellgem with his cast​-​off?

Time to wrangle some cats.

Recovering from the force of the four firebolts, he launched himself at the red dragon, swinging a foreleg wildly for their head. Red fluidly snaked their head out of the way. Kaon spread his wings, and swept one toward his opponent, as if to rake him with the claws lining the edge. Again, dodged.

But, for this one moment, their vision was occluded.

Behind him, Kaon dragged the agonizing cast​-​off still burning with six fading balls of flame.

He started to pull away — but the red dragon was grabbing hold of the foreleg he swung out. Still, he sent the cast​-​off at his foe. Worried eyes flicked to the magical mass.

And then Kaon began to compress.

When he did this with the force spellgem, he was able to activate it. What might he manage with the already​-​channeled Flame mana?

Absorption. Everything seemed to have clicked. Finally — to know his Breath, to have all those hours of hard work pay off.

Kaon grinned at the fourth level dragon he’d tricked, and compressed harder.

The world exploded into heat and light.

The black dragon was blown backwards, the magical heat flooding over his body like a caustic flow. He hit the ground hard. The thrill of combat still filled him, and the impulse to act fought the pain engulfing his senses.

Not just his singed scales, not just his bruised underside.

His cast​-​off was drenched in pain.

There were days, long ago, when he’d spent hours practicing channeling the way the mentors instructed, only to have his throat nexus beneath the iron neck​-​band ache like it was being shredded. There was a time he’d swallowed live prey, and had it attack his esophagus. He’d once awoken to someone strangling him.

But he still didn’t have a reference that quite captured the pain — the burn of raw, alien magic pouring into his being? The mentors forbade it, but some dragons had experimented.

Kaon was shaking violently, struggling to stand under all of this.

(“You should see the other guy,” a distant, humorous part of his brain supplied.)

But he heard the footsteps of the other dragon. His head slowly swiveled to look.

If one could smirk and frown at once, with eye ridges raised — if one could look smug, disappointed, and perplexed at once, that was how Kaon would describe the red dragon’s expression.

“I’d think the mentors would have taught you better than to try uncontrolled manipulation of decaying mana. In live combat, no less. What could you have accomplished?” They reached into their bag. “And I would think common sense would have taught you better than to think I would be vulnerable to my own breath used against me.” Kaon knew when a dragon was talking down to him. He didn’t need the follow​-​up laugh to confirm.

If they had attacked right now, Kaon didn’t know if he’d have the will to dodge.

It didn’t work, he thought.

He growled. What was it all for? Just when he thought he might have figured out a real use — it literally blew up in his face. What in the ten thousand realms was his Breath useful for!? He could have gotten fire, or frost — even Oap’s gentle breeze of a Breath would have been preferable to six cubic inches short of nothing.

Kaon saw the ornate amber crystal the red dragon produced. Felt them drawing out raw manage to activate what must be a spellgem.

He didn’t dodge, protest, or resist. What was the point?

“Have a nice nap, Kaon. It’ll give you time to calm down, and think better. Just remember. Do not go to Vessia’s lair. Keep away, and you’ll have no problems.”

The fuzzy, thought​-​truncating grip of cognitive mana crept over Kaon. His eyes dropped, and then he saw nothing. His mind… slowed, and then—

Kaon held on to one thought, or a lack of thought, for a long moment.

And then he awoke with a headache.

6: Lairs and Liars

It hurt.

Before his eyes opened, before he could even register the feel of dusty air or softness beneath his scales, he felt the pain.

Abstractly, simply by location, it was familiar. Hundreds of hours of his life had poured into training, long past when other dragons would have given up; he knew the pain of a sore soul.

He did not know the pain of a burnt soul.

His being was ginger, throbbing, and when he, in practiced exercise, directed the flow of mana out from its coronal source downward along his spine, the pain spiked when it touched his throat, where he would yank out a part of himself as Breath, again and again. That pain, and what had felt like scars, all that had come of his Breath, had long ago healed. Yet now in their place, at last, he had brought forth new wounds and new agony.

Kaon could fight through pain. This was worse: as he directed the flow down, the feeling didn’t just intensify; the magic frayed. He felt mana spilling out of his meridians like blood from cut veins.

But Kaon could fight through pain. He decided, as he had many times before, to wrench — to Breathe.

Sometimes a new cold swept in from the town to spread among the pupils, and always Kaon succumbed to them. He knew that feeling of clogged sinuses blocking breath. In bad moments, the air came out as slowly as if someone were choking you.

That was how the black mist came out of his throat. Slowly, less than an inch by less than an inch.

Kaon shuddered in pain. He hadn’t even opened his eyes yet.

He kept pulling, and the pain only worsened until he couldn’t bear to continue. He opened his eyes, and molded the black mist. It seemed slower to even fade.

Kaon had gotten used to the uses and limitations of six cubic inches of magical air.

This? It was three, perhaps four.

What a reward for daring to experiment, to try figuring out my Breath.

Kaon stretched. Perhaps it all paled in comparison to his melted soul​-​nexus, but despite having been slammed, knocked across a stone floor, and shot with bolts of flame — Kaon’s body felt worn but alright. He stretched and he shivered.

Even before he opened his eyes, he knew where he was. The feel was unmistakable.

He’d been defeated by a definite enemy, sedated and transported against his will. Why here, and not some villainous lair, or some prison (in the formal sense, that is)? Was that whole encounter just a warning – did they think they’d done enough to scare him off?

Kaon rolled off the soft cot he slept on every night, and frowned. His room; or rather, his slice of the collective lair. Here, he’d been assigned perhaps the worst bed of all.

He looked up. Atop the stone edifice, long openings lined those round walls, with gutters to arrest rainflow. The windows were malignantly positioned; in the morning, hateful dawn light broke in right above his head, and demanded he wake. In the evening when he might retire, the town’s pseudosun would have circled around to blare in from the other window.

Merciless. The too​-​bright light gave him a headache on the best of days, and dizziness from the violence and foreign mana still allayed him.

A yawn surprised him from his musings. He caught a pair of slate gray eyes watching him from a head tilted upside down.

A deep voice. “Oh hey Kaon, yer awake.” The gaze looked away, neck curling the head back into former position.

His lairmate, Oap, lay on his back, gazing at clouds through a wall opening. A white dragon, Oap’s crest scales grew spiky and lightly red; overall he had some resemblance to a rooster.

“What time is it?” He could guess by the sun having not yet circled around to strike from the other side, but that wasn’t specific. Then again, did he expect specific out of Oap?

“Sixth bell rung uh, a bit ago?”

Kaon narrowed his eyes. “Lunch was served?”

Oap gazed out for a moment, leaving Kaon to wonder if he was heard or ignored, before the late response came: “Oh yeah.”

“…Did you get me any?”

“Uh, I thought you’d already ate?”

“I’ve been asleep for at least an hour. Did you wonder how long I was out? Did you consider why?” Kaon didn’t take naps; if Oap had done something comparably out of character, Kaon would have noticed and sought the reason.

Oap rolled his wings in a shrug. “Everyone deserves a good nap. Enjoy yours?”

“No. The agony of my damaged throat nexus and battle scars makes that a little difficult.”

Oap hummed. “Sounds like you’ve been going a little hard. Take it easy, no? Nobody ascends a level in a day, y’know?”

Kaon grunted. He watched the other drake for a moment, considering his plan. Perhaps the red dragon intended to scare him; but he wouldn’t be deterred.

“Hey Oap, want to help me with something?”

A moment of the slow sweeping of Oap’s eyes across the sky. Then, “Huh, sure. Whatisit?”

Kaon lifted his ears. “Ever wanted to see inside a dragoness’s lair?”

“Yeah, we’re the Lair Inspection Team,” Oap was saying. “You heard about the break​-​in, right? Wanna get all the clues, ensure security, yooknow all how.”

Both of the dragonesses frowned. Kaon anticipated imminent failure, and glanced away as if to rob it of some of the sting.

In practice, this wasn’t a training yard. Dotting around were stones arranged for exercises — braces for wing beating, or bipedal balance beams — but between the bubbling fountain at the center and all the dish​-​shaped benches, it functioned in practice as a social space. Pupils from mixed levels (mostly the first three) dotted and mingled in the space. Geddion and Welk were here, in a throng with a couple other drakes. Imbry was here too, alone, but hadn’t seen him or hadn’t recognized him.

(There had been two dragons outside of Haore’s, one for each of them. It was clear why a major player might be interested in Kaon, but Imbry? What had been the motivation?)

Imbry hadn’t recognized them, and not just out of lack attention. They were dressed with some anonymity. Black scarves looped several times around their serpentine necks, and dark shades covered each of their eyes. (Geddion’s private tutors had a set of them to endure the drake’s intense bursts of light, and all it took was Oap asking to borrow them. The temptation to not return them overwhelmed Kaon; the dark glass relieved by small part the pseudosun’s tyranny; the world appeared saturated in color.)

“And what about him?”

The unexpected response drew Kaon’s attention back to the conversation he’d thought doomed. Both of the dragonesses looked at him.

Nesle and her roommate. A dragon of round face and big eyes, Nesle had light green scales, with dots of white and light blue paint spirling into patterns all across her scales, refined to intricacy on her face – the precision of it all looked artful. Beside her was a dark blue dragon, who must have been Vessia’s other roommate.

Nesle merely frowned, but the dark blue dragon had a look of outright distrust, perhaps recognizing him as the Malthec. He’d kept his wings folded, but his pitch black scales weren’t common. The metal neckband, though, was probably the real giveaway.

“Oh, him?” Oap patted Kaon’s back with a wing. “If we’re going to get inside the mind of the thief, we’ve got to have a roguish drake like ’im. He might seem mean, but he’s a good one when you blow away the dust.”

Kaon rolled his eyes. Nesle was nodding, though, a small smile opening. “Oh, thank you both! I’m glad Devain really is taking this seriously. He seemed so… when I told him the horror I witnessed this morning, it was like he didn’t care! My most prized possession!” Nesle looked back to Oap. “How can I thank you?”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s what pupils are supposed to do, right? Keepin’ the order.”

Oap, for all that he didn’t do or achieve much, did have a deep voice and solid, handsome features. It must have been what made the difference, somehow; Kaon, and his struggle, bore witness to distrust and suspicion, but Oap put dragons at ease. He smiled, and they smiled back. Kaon smiling just made things worse.

He looked away from the conversation, scanning over the mill of dragons once more. It wasn’t just relief from the anticipation of something going wrong — Kaon had to stay on guard, check and double check. One of the first level dragons had dark red scales, and nearly made Kaon jump (and imagine explaining that to the dragonesses).

“Perhaps,” the blue dragon started, eyes going back to Kaon. “We could accompany you? It’s our lair after all. I’m not sure why Devain would pick you to do the inspection.”

“We met with Haore earlier. That is a fact,” Kaon said. The plan had been for Oap to do the talking, not Kaon — but every opening felt like a chance for things to go wrong. Oap would let something slip, or they’d poke holes that couldn’t be ignored. “And she’s in charge here while Devain’s gone.”

“Sure, sure. My point stands.”

“It’s dangerous.” Kaon wondered if pointing out his now slightly swollen flesh where the firebolts hit him would help his case. The white dragon lifted eyecrests in surprise as Kaon elaborated, “I was attacked earlier today. If you haven’t deduced that the thief must have had help from inside, I don’t think you’d be much assistance for the investigation,” Kaon said, then frowned. Wrong track. He tried, “Keeping you at a distance is for your own safety. Just leave things to the Lair Inspection Team.”

Oap gave a chuckle, and Kaon bristled. But he said, “See? His intent’s in the right place. Miss Haore really does want us to report back anything we find.  I can make sure K doesn’t get too shifty, if it’ll ease things up.”

(Kaon had figured Oap to be a terrible liar, so he’d made sure he didn’t think he was lying. Selective quoting of Haore’s words, presenting facts out of context — it was a flimsy story, but Oap seemed to buy it.)

“Let’s get started before the trail gets any colder,” Kaon said, and turned and took a step past the two dragonesses. Oap gave a last nod that had a bit of bow in it, and Nesle laughed. The dark blue dragoness was watching him as he walked off, then glancing back to Nesle.

The white dragon came up behind him. The black dragon gave him a single nod of acknowledgement.

“Good job remembering your lines back there.”

“Lines?” Oap said. “You told me what we were doing right before we landed. Did you think I would forget that soon?”

Kaon walked on. They marched towards a cavernous opening on the rocky face of the hall, where they’d find second level dragoness lairs. The dirt beneath their paws was claw​-​scratched and riddled with holes from dragons taking off and landing.

“So, what exactly are we gonna be doing? You never explained what exactly this Lair Inspection would, err, inspect.”

“Leave that to me,” Kaon replied. “I was thinking you could be something of a guard? Do you have any Breath charges?”

“Uh, yeah. Two. But do… you needa guard? Can’t I inspect too?”

While he spoke, Kaon was looking around, checking his surroundings once more. The timing could have been better, but not by much. 

Kaon looked up, and swallowed.

Looking back at Oap, he didn’t answer, and hoped the seriousness in his tone seemed it less like a dodge. “So, I have bad news and worse news,” Kaon said, picking up his pace while Oap slowed in confusion. “The bad: I wasn’t lying about getting attacked earlier. It was a fourth level dragon at least, with Breath of homing flame.” Kaon pointed to the singed scales as evidence.  A pause, then he gave the proclamation: “The worse: they’re coming. Right now.”

Kaon pointed.

A dark red figure glided down.  The dark red figure; there was little doubt.  With his dark glasses, Kaon could make out the scales even at this distance.

“But... I have a plan. In that fight — there’s something I learned about my Breath.  I want to give it another try.”

7: A Devil at the Door

Inhale.

Open your meridians.

And Breathe.

With a few weeks of training, even a dragonet can discharge pure mana.

The mentors repeat it often: mana must be channeled. But why? What happens if you simply produced raw, unchanneled mana?

One quickly observes that its own, pure mana does nothing. It sparkles a little, it glows, and then it is gone. A cheap lightshow.

This tells the wrong story, though; pure mana does not do that — this is an environmental effect.

The true agent responsible is light.

Think of light as a sort of magical weed. It spread incessantly, and aggressively catalyzed any free mana into more of itself. In this way, every ray of light served as a mere spore for the radiances.

Even miles distant, the pseudosun ensured the training yard was replete with light cast and reflected, like any springtime meadow dusted in pollen. One dragon in the training yard, though, reflected little light.

Kaon inhaled.

Light, and its studied effects on pure mana, were not what he was thinking about, really. But the example served to clarify his thoughts.

The black dragonet secreted a little bit of his cast​-​off. As always, it started off dark like inexplicable shadow, and then faded to odd clarity.

But why?

As a single data point, this presented Kaon with a puzzle missing many pieces. But he had gotten more than a single piece, today. He recalled what happened when his cast​-​off was struck with Welk’s lightning. He couldn’t forget the absorption of the fourth level’s first homing firebolt.

Absorption. That’s what they said. It had been right in front of Kaon all this time. Pure mana didn’t glow; one simply saw it always in presence of Light mana, to whom it was a resource ripe for exploitation.

Kaon’s cast​-​off didn’t become transparent; he simply plunged it always into a world suffused with Air.

Did this matter, though? Abstractly, Kaon might never had cared, but for its potential application.

By nature, certain mana dominated out other types of mana: light consumed pure mana, but could not consume Air, or almost any channeled type. Air, though, was dominated in turn: by lightning, bursting across it like a claw swiping through flesh; by fire, simply consuming it like prey. No wonder then, that even after absorbing Air, Kaon’s cast​-​off could then still absorb Welk’s breath, or the firebolt.

Imagine the cast​-​off were a bucket. Any bucket is first filled with air, yet this was easily displaced by water. That water could be displaced in turn by pouring in sand. Wet sand, because the water would remain, clogging things.

But what if you never had to get rid of water?

“We don’t have much time,” Kaon said, even as his mind combed again over the reasoning, suspecting fault. “Are you ready?”

“You know what you’re doing?” The white dragon stood across from him on the dirt path leading from the training yard into the dragoness’s lair. Kaon had lead the way, so Kaon stood nearer to the cavern mouth.

Kaon thought about his response. For half a second. “Of course. I have a plan,” he told Oap with a meaningful nod.

Really, if nothing else — he would cause some proper havoc today. It had been so long.

Kaon watched Oap slowly gather mana into his throat nexus, shaping it. Hints of glowing lines traced along his neck, flowing and swirling. Evidence, Kaon decided, of his poor technique. Kaon had never managed to channel mana as the mentors directed, but even he did better than this – that glow was mana leaking out, and that dense, spiderwebbed network of submerdians was inefficient compared to merging them into direct, voluminous pathways.

Oap opened his mouth, and Breathed.

The white dragon’s breath was not wind. It would produce wind, of course, but you would not say that Imbry breathed heat, nor that Welk breathed light.

What emerged from Oap’s mouth was a Zephyr.

When light shined through air, its inherent mana was attenuated, like a kind of propagation tax. It was how air grew laden with mana; it could not to directly absorb pure mana.  A continuous flow of light, then, from an ooze or a true radiance, would create a gradient of mana​-​laden air. And this is why creatures breathed at all; the lungs extracted ambient mana to sustain life from moment to moment. Most air, however, did not get breathed. Without extraction, the mana density would grow and grow, reaching extremes. And when this happened, the air was ready for a Zephyr, just as a forest layered in underbrush was ready for a wild fire.

From Oap’s mouth emerged a thin, pale swirl. An ephemeral thing, it flowed like slow, sinuous lightning. Tendrils fluttered behind it, or snaked out in front. In profile, it typically looked as a collection of swaying lines, occasionally bunching up into a spiral.

Oap still shaped the mana and he shaped his physical exhalation as the Zephyr flowed out. Like a smoker blowing rings, Oap created a vortex of air that trapped the Zephyr, and directed its path.

Zephyrs sought mana​-​laded air with their leading end, and along the linear “body” the mana was used to grow the Zephyr and create propulsive air flow.

The Zephyr flew right at Kaon’s face. His pulse quickened — few wouldn’t jump at another dragon Breathing at them. But he stilled himself and with timing, pushed out his cast​-​off — all three of the cubic inches he still had.

As Vessia taught him, his own cast​-​off was mana​-​laden. When he released it, the Zephyr hitched faster, responding to subtle changes mana density – it was drawn, attracted.

Kaon pushed it harder, while the cast​-​off still looked black. He reached out for the zephyr, enveloping it. Absorbing it, he hoped.

His cast​-​off began to lengthen like the windblown Zephyr. Success? As the Zephyr flowed at him, he pushed his cast​-​off leftward.

And the Zephyr turned.

“Woah dude,” Oap said. “I didn’t know you could control other dragons’ breath.”

I didn’t either.

Kaon spun the Zephyr in a loop parallel to the ground, seeking a stationary flow pattern.

Oap glanced back — glanced up.  The gliding figure had neared the ground in those few seconds. “Aren’t we supposed to be doin something about that dragon, though? They’re bad news, aren’t they?”

“I am not just showing off,” Kaon said.

Step two.

This was where his plan really began.

Kaon could draw mana out from the corona and let it flow down his spine; he could even begin to channel it, but met resistance when he tried to push it back up his throat. Only pure mana could leave — pure mana, which turned to light seconds after emergence.

But Vessia showed Kaon that he could pour mana into his cast off after it left his throat.

So he pushed his head into the spinning vortex of air, and sent out pure mana, letting his cast off soak it up. His cast off, now acting as a Zephyr.

The vortex grow larger, faster. Kaon heard the whipping wind.

More mana. More.

A large enough Zephyr grew tendrils, trailing behind it like ribbons in the wind, creeping forward like the fingers of lightning.

A large enough Zephyr produced more Zephyrs, just as flames spread.

Kaon’s broke his cast​-​off into pieces and separated them, again and again.

It became a catalyst. Each piece of his cast​-​off a spark, and the tearing lines of multiplying Zephyrs the roaring flames.

The wind began to howl.

“Kaon, buddy, this seems a little dangerous.”

He didn’t respond.

“Did you clear this with the mentors?”

More! Other dragons had limited use of their breath, but Kaon had never worried about charges. Mana wasn’t his limit, volume was. Unlike the Zephyr or the homing firebolt, his cast​-​off wasn’t a construct of mana. It was a conduit for it.

Kaon took a step back, otherwise the swirling vortex would knock him off his feet.

Little motes of dust and dirt spun round and round, drawn up from the ground and caught up in the flow. It sparked an insight, and Kaon kicked more dirt into the mass, then grabbed a handful from the ground to throw in and darken the air. A flinch drew his eye, the other dragon blinking away bits of dirt flung into his eyes.

The two of them stood at the entrance to the young dragonness’s cavern​-​hall. Kaon had stepped into the tunnel — but Oap stood on the other side, a miniature tornado between them. Kaon gazed upon his creation, and looked back to the other dragon.

“Oap!” Kaon was loud, to be hear over the howling. “You’ve still got mana, right? Can you keep feeding this?”

“Does it need to be fed more?”

“It needs mana to not fade away,” Kaon said. In the long term, this was true — that is, after it had exhausted the mana​-​laden air around it, something which might take minutes. Feeding it mana now would only increase its size.

Kaon altered his approach. He pulled his cast​-​off back into himself, then ripped them back out. They were once more black, and he let them take on the translucency of the air. He let them be swept back into the vortex. Then he looked up to the other dragon. Oap looked unconvinced. “Think about it. We’re facing a fourth level dragon. We need all the edge we can get, right?”

Oap was frowning, the red crests over his eyes lowering in suspicion.

“Trust me, please? You can run away when the fourth level gets here, leave me to take him alone. But help me out, for these few moments?”

He thinks of me as a friend, doesn’t he? Would he abandon a friend in the face of something like this?

Oap sighed out a breath. “Okay, Kao. I’ve got your back.”

Kaon looked away, into the tunnel. “Shout when they get here, alright? I need every second if I’m going to find anything in here.”

Oap grunted, and Kaon saw his shadow giving wing​-​salute as the white dragon turned to face what’s coming.

The black dragon turned to get away from it.

8: A Detail in the Dark

It didn’t take long to fall, so Kaon shouldn’t have been surprised that it was seconds before Oap called out.

It worked, in a way. Initially, he had considered a plan of running in, leaving his cast​-​off behind as some sort of delayed payload, some kind of trap. Two problems shot that down. One, Kaon had range limits, and he lost fine control the farther away his cast​-​off got. Two, Kaon thought he needed his cast off for what he would do next.

Knowing the dark red dragon was on his heels, Kaon compressed his cast​-​off. He felt the mana Oap had poured into the vortex, and had let his cast​-​offs get fat (metaphorically) with the stuff.

In the fight earlier, this had produced an explosive release of mana. And Kaon wouldn’t mind an explosion, about now.

So with crushing force he compressed his cast​-​off.

And deeper in he ran.

Air was flowing past him fast enough to make his ears flutter and breathing harder. He heard a yelp in Oap’s deep voice, he heard shouts in the voice of the red dragon, and the indistinct mutter of a growing crowd. But most of all, he heard the roar of the wind. Like any drake from the consequences of his actions, he ran.

The interior of every pupil​-​hall reflected a similar design principle. It was a grand cavern. Surrounding him on all but one side, a great circular rock wall rose high, lined with mouths opening to each lair. Not all opened on the floor — some were higher up on the wall, easily reach by flying there.

Kaon leapt, aiming to increase his speed by even a little. He knew which room Vessia laired in; he’d heard the coordinates from Oap talking with Nesle.

No lair had a door, or any other means of shutting out dragons, but each did have a curtain that could be drawn over the entrance.

Vessia’s lair had the curtain drawn.

(Behind him, the sound of the wind had grown chaotic, and dimunited. He heard the crackle of flames he’d never forget: the sound of the dark red dragon’s firebolts.)

The black dragon had stopped in front of the curtain, and tentatively reached with foreleg to part the two lengths of cloth in their center.

Lairs had openings to let in the light; lairs had bulbs for lightslime oozes. Yet this one was dark.

Feeling crafty after the stunt with the air, Kaon breathed out pure mana, and waited for it to glow. Then Kaon pushed out his cast​-​off. This indirection should let him channel light with his cast​-​off, no?

Bringing his cast​-​off near the glowing mana met odd resistance, and when enveloped, it simply went dark, a snuffer over the candle. It didn’t work.

A waste of time. Kaon stepped into the dark lair. Should he leave the curtains parted to let in light?

No, He didn’t need to.

Inside the dark of the lair, he saw. Never had he had the trouble other dragons had seeing in dim rooms, and he’d assumed it an unexpected feature of the bits of cast​-​off he usually kept in front of his eyes (something he no longer had enough spare volume to indulge, now).

But now, in this darkness, especially in this darkness, he saw.

As though the shadows accomodated him.

Kaon looked around the room.  He noticed in the dark, the colors were odd — different than in the light.  Not wrong — some would call them wrong — but to Kaon, they felt… right.  But he didn’t have the time to admire colors.  

Obvious details stood out — near the entrance, bits of wood and fragments of mirror​-​glass, scratches on the stone floor. Had this been where Nesle’s mirror was? Mirror shards would suggest a careless thief.  Why would a thief be careless?

Kaon looked further into the room. Vessia, he guessed, had the lowest bed. Colorful pillows piled upon one bed, and near it, paints and brushes and paper (surely Nesle’s), while another had leaned against it the bladed weapons creatures other than dragons used, and a smell of oil. Not things he associated with Vessia.

And only one bed, of course, was not made, covers a mess. Just as Haore described — in disarray, as if from haste.

But first, Kaon sought out something heavy and easy to move. The one chest each pupils got to store their possessions? Kaon grabbed one, heavy with whatever Nesle’d stuffed in there, and shoved it toward the entrance, and with a smirk, thought to set it so that the bottom of the curtain went underneath the chest’s mass. Perhaps, if the other dragon tried to force their way in, they might rush into the curtains only to hit them unexpectedly taut.

Kaon immediately felt ridiculous after doing it.  Would that save more time than he’d wasted doing it?

There were times, when playing games of strategy with pieces and boards, he made move and countermove, each one a natural response to his opponent’s act, and at the end of the sequence, found that he’d come to a truly embarrassing position. Each move had seemed reasonable in the moment, but the end result? Hopeless and amateurish.

Everything he’d done to get here, and was this outcome worth it all? What did he hope to find, with a few minutes (if his gambits had bought even a few minutes) to search the room?

Kaon dismissed the thought, and sought to make use of what time he had.

On Vessia’s bed, two books lay, one of them open as if she’d fallen asleep reading it. Kaon read the titles — one Numiel’s Gates, and one Malthec: Reign and Shadow.

Then Kaon looked up, to the openings where light was supposed to shine in. Kaon found them filled with rocks and packed dirt. Whenever that was done, it’d require quite some time to do. Haore implied Devain had left searching this morning. And a thief certainly wouldn’t have time to do this. Who did it, then? Why?

Scant pieces, when he didn’t even know the shape of the puzzle.

Kaon had nowhere else to look, so he crouched down to peer underneath Vessia’s bed.

Was there anything he could under there? But was there anywhere else to look?

Kaon formed his cast​-​off into several long, slender shapes, and with them he felt along the floor beneath the bed.

Tucked away by the head lay a small square form. Pulling it out, he gazed upon a book with no title. Inside, ink stained the fresh vellum, a maze of handwritten symbols. A diary? But the glyphs are unrecognizable. A code?

He swept further. Several small, sharp shapes, and wet cloth. He retrieved a scalpel and some needles, and an odd metallic shape engraved with runes. The cloth was a bandage. Soaked in blood, and dried flakes coated the blade and needles too.

Kaon sighed. More pieces. Were these even for the same puzzle?

And then his heart seemed to stop beating, his breath held.

He heard the steady pounding of a large dragon running on stone.

Getting closer.

Kaon slammed his paw down on a ground. All of this work — and for what?

But what was I expecting?

What could Kaon have found, but clues so cryptic no one bothered mentioning them, sensing their irrelevance? What was there to dig up, with only a few minutes to search?

As the dragon approached, he flung out his cast​-​off under the bed one last time, half desperate, half dismissive.

The dragonet could admit what he felt. Kaon was the only one to figure out something didn’t add up. Kaon was the only one who payed attention to Vessia, who recognized her. Kaon struggled so hard just to get here, because he thought that’s all it would take. Like Vessia would have done all this to leave a note waiting for him alone. ‘I know you’re special,’ it would say. ‘I knew you could do it. I’ll tell you my secrets.’

And that’s exactly what he found.

A thick page sat folded up underneath the bed, and it had his cast​-​off tingling upon barest contact — like from magic. His hope leapt to his throat, almost palpable as mana, and in his eagerness he didn’t just pull the note towards him, he slid under the bed. He unfolded the dark page.

Behind him, the sound of curtains being ripped open. Light rushing in, but not reaching under the bed.

He read:

Black ink painted on black paper. If you can read this…

Hello, Kaon.

I would speak clearly, but I cannot dismiss the threat that despite this precaution, someone else will find this note.

So I’ll only say what is most important. If you’re worth telling, you’ll understand.

1. To seek freedom, reject knowledge and embrace darkness.
2. Write down every plan. Always trust your handwriting, above all else.
3. There are only two players on this board. Pick your side, and soon.

When you’re ready, give this note to some other dragon. As long as you do so before sunset. After then will be too late, and I will not care.

Kaon’s eyes barely reached the last paragraph before he felt a grip – claws digging in — squeezing his tail. Yanking him from under the bed.

“A dust devil.” The voice was a deadly growl. “On Devain’s grounds, surrounded by first levels, with no supervision, you thought it was acceptable to create a dust devil!?”

Kaon tried crushing the paper before the other dragon could see (even though in the light, he sees it’s just a black page).

“What do you have ther–” The other dragon was reaching down and snatching the paper from Kaon’s paws.

Their demand gave way to sudden silence, and Kaon could stand up without interruption. He turned around.

And behind him, meeting his gaze with glowing purple eyes, stood Vessia.

9: Connections Unseen

For one moment, Kaon gaped like an idiot. Then he closed his surprised mouth, and frowned. Vessia! Here, now, somehow — what to say? What was the coolest thing he could say?

“Not just minor telekinesis, then,” he said. “Your Breath, I mean. That is how you appeared here?”

Rather than answer, she said, “Hand me that.”

Kaon gave her the book she had pointed at — Numiel’s Gates. She opened her mouth, and a purple glow condensed as a sphere in her maw. Part of it flew out to strike and engulf the book. The sphere remained, smaller now. Then she turned, eyes landing on the other book on her bed. Now the entire sphere flew, engulfing the second book.

The glow was gone.

Kaon had to look twice before he realized — the book she held was Malthec: Reign and Darkness.

“Teleportation? As a Breath?” Kaon didn’t think to hide his bewilderment. He hadn’t heard of a Breath like that before — and yet, it was not something to be ashamed of. Why hide it?

“I join things. There was no distance between the two. They were adjacent, like two sides of a coin. I flipped the coin.” Vessia held out the book. “You should read.”

“Haore said your Breath was minor telekinesis.” Then he realize he’d said something like that earlier — did he look stupid repeating himself like this?

Vessia Breathed, purple glow engulfing the book she’d given Kaon. “Toss it,” she said, then Breathed the remaining orb.

The book arced in the air before it began to accelerate downwards. Then the motion was arrested as Malthec is replaced by Numiel. Kaon glanced to the other book — to find it flew upward.

“How…” The other book fell with a thump.

Vessia caught and passed him one she’s made fly. “Open it.”

Kaon complied. “I don’t know if you want me to read, or–”

“Only to check that you can read,” Vessia said. Then elaborated, “You flip a letter, and it is not the same, is it? Just as your right paw is not your left paw. I flip without changing left and right by adding a twist to the joining.”

Kaon just stared. Was that supposed to be enough for him to understand?

“Flipping is a kind of spinning, so by changing the twist, I can spin things when I flip them.” Vessia is speaking slowly. “If I join something to itself, I can flip it and change way it moves. Everything is always moving down.”

“Could you show it to me again?” Kaon knelt down to pick up the fallen book. It rose despite him holding onto it with a single claw.

He presented the book, and Vessia sighed and swapped it one more time. This time, his eyes widened. Kaon felt it in his Breath, as he’d snuck it underneath the book to be engulfed in Vessia’s own Breath.

He expected to feel it jumping through space. Instead…

There was a sensation he’d only seen described in tales of other realms, flooded with water and floating platforms called boats. The vertigo of feeling motion and not seeing it, one sense conflicting with another. Kaon felt his Breath move only a tiny, hair​-​width amount if anything, and yet it was far farther away. Jarring.

Even if Kaon couldn’t quite grasp what Vessia was describing, he could at least see the conclusion. “So you made the mentors think… flipping things and changing their velocities was all your Breath could do.” He saw Vessia nod. “Yeah, I’ve been hiding everything my Breath can do too.” Then he glanced at wall, where in the distance his zephyr creation and its fallout lay. “Though I suppose it won’t be much of a secret anymore.”

“No. What are you talking about? You’ve never Breathed.”

Kaon frowned, ears falling back defensively. He opened his mouth — and Vessia interrupted. (Fortunate; he realized whatever he said might have come out with an embarrassing tone.)

“Your cast​-​off is not a Breath. It doesn’t use mana, it’s not channeled – did you never notice how it behaved like no other Breath? Did you not feel you were doing something unusual? To think I had been impressed you managed such an advanced technique.”

“What you’re saying is…” The ridges above his eyes raised.

“If I have to spell it out,” she started, “you don’t have a special Breath. You’re doing nothing unprecedented. You simply found a way to evert a fragment of your soul. Likely it is the very pneumaorgan that typically channels mana.”

Kaon closed his mouth and then lowered his eye ridges before he looked silly. He said, “In your letter, you said there were two sides, and I’d have to choose.”

“This project, this school, Devain’s machine… I don’t fit. You and I are alike, in that way. I have no place in what Devain is building, and I want to escape. He doesn’t want me to. Those are the two sides.” Vessia glances to the book she held. “As for your choice… you and I both have our potential limited here. We’re parts misaligned for this machine — yet you strive to fit anyway. I don’t trust you for that reason. But… you may be helpful for what I am planning.”

“Wh​-​what do you need me to do?”

“At town’s realm​-​gate, I am leaving tonight, whether you’re there or not. Come, even if you’re being followed.”

“The mentors say our realm​-​gate is untethered. It can’t be used without a skeinwalker to rebind it, and there hasn’t been–”

“I am a skeinwalker.”

Kaon blinked.

“We both have inheritances the mentors have kept hidden from us. That book,” — Vessia flips again — “may be worth reading. If you have other questions, try thinking first. I need to go, before Devain senses me and returns here.”

“Wait — that red dragon, are you going to put them back?”

“Yes.”

“Let me get ready to surprise them.”

“Do not kill them, I have an agreement with him.”

Kaon really deserved a prize for not saying ‘what?’ as many times this conversation as he could have. “Given they attacked me — mind explaining?”

“Did a dragon telling you not to come here make you want to come here less, or more?”

Then, without any warning, Vessia disappeared and the red dragon appeared in her place with purple flash.

Kaon could count on their bewilderment, and he had payed attention in their last combat.

He dove forward, paws reaching out for the bag. He retrieves the sleep gem they’d hit him with.

And he returns the favor.

For a giddy moment, triumph flares across his muzzle as a grin. He won. He’d rectified the loss against this dragon. This lasts but one moment; then it falters, ridges above his eyes furrow. But how much of this ‘win’ was his, and not due to luck and Vessia’s help?

Kaon huffs out a breath, then picks up the crumpled paper the red dragon had seized. The black dragon had won, finally done what he’d been angling for all afternoon. What for it? A conversation with Vessia – nice, if confusing — and this piece of black paper. With black ink upon it, if it’s words are to be believed — yet Kaon could read it just fine.

What to do now?

It would be hours until time for Vessia’s plan. And before then, he needed to figure out a way to get there. The realm​-​gate was out in the the city’s oldtown, not Devain’s schoolgrounds — a whole skyland away! A few hours to figure a way past the gatekeeper or the net encircling the school, then winging to the realm​-​gate. How easy.

He unfolded the black paper, but the words, if not seared in his mind, hung heavy and easy to recall. Vessia had given him so little actionable to work with, but eyes flickered to one commandment.

2. Write down every plan. Always trust your handwriting, above all else.

Then he looked about the room.

If the violet dragon herself was asking this, there would be no shame in this, right? Kaon dug through Vessia’s chest until he found some kind of paper and some ink to scratch out words with.

What plans did he have?

His Breath — cast​-​off, rather — danced under his will, still faintly purple.

• have to meet w/ Vessia tonight
• figure out her Breath

Was he forgetting something?

Oh! He sunk a paw into his side​-​strapped bag, and recovered a warm piece of metal. Imbry’s necklace. He needed to get this back to her. If Vessia was leaving, if both of them were leaving… All of this started with him up against a thief. He shouldn’t become one.

He snaked his neck through the looping chain, until it rested against his breast. It had been sitting in his bag for a while, but the metal wasn’t cool. It felt like it’d sat out before a summer radiance.

Kaon frowned. Really, he wasn’t in any danger of stealing this. He wanted to take it off instead. The uncomfortable heat would keep him from forgetting about it again, at least.

Kaon’s head darted around as the lair’s curtain was sliding down the back of his neck. But there were no enemies crouching in wait. He was free for moments more, even if he knew trouble hung inexorably above him. He walked out of the lair, into the wide cavern.

Kaon.

He felt someone calling his name, and then realized it was a voice when it followed up with, “Do you hear me, my pupil?”

Kaon paused, and looked around. “Who’s there?” But he knew.

“Ah, but who else could I be? It is I, Devain.”

10: Caught and Bound

“Ah, but who else could I be? It is I, Devain. I believe you walked past me by mistake? It is dark in here, you must have missed me. But you’re better at seeing in the dark than most, aren’t you?”

Kaon kept looking, then caught the glimmer in the shadows under one outjutting piece of rock. Devain was a dragon of gleaming silver scales and, despite his age, of slender build. Admittly something Kaon might miss in the dark, lost in his thoughts. It was hard to make out the elder derg’s expression, but he could make out the familiar pointed snout and horns that swept back to give his profile a diamond shape.

“I believe I heard Vessia, however briefly. Is that so?”

Kaon looked away, eyes gauging the distance to the exit. What would her wrath be, if he ratted her out?

“Do I sense you ill at ease? Please understand, I have no malintent – Vessia’s disappearance was a shock to me, and I only wish to understand. I suspect I’m as in the dark about it as you. She’s a very secretive dragoness, isn’t she?”

Despite himself, Kaon nodded once. “She… doesn’t like it here, sir.” Devain nodded without a frown, or any other hint displeasure or anger, so he continued. “She wants… well, I think you know she’s not here at the school. That’s on purpose.”

“She wants to escape.” Devain spoke the conclusion, seemingly unconcerned that Kaon told him nothing he didn’t know. “But she must know the Lesser Skylands of Red Radiance are too small to offer her a refuge wherein I cannot find her.”

“Of course.” Kaon thought this bland affirmation offered nothing — but told Devain exactly what he needed.

“So she isn’t going to stay in these skylands. She seeks another realm entirely, doesn’t she?”

Kaon flinched, still for an unblinking moment.

“Thank you. I feared what dark influence could have convinced her she has a way to bind the realm​-​gate.”

“If she could… wouldn’t that be a good thing? Even if we lose students, our realm would be reconnected with the worldskein.”

At this, Devain finally frowns. “No, no. Your history studies haven’t touched this subject, have they? I’ll be brief. The Worldskein was an absolute instrument of imperial control, a conduit for empire to project their tyranny across the myriad realms. The realms aren’t untethered by accident, little dragonet.” Devain moves closer, and Kaon senses a current of deliberation run through the odler dragon’s thoughts. “And there’s more you don’t know. Do you know the last dragon to wield the bindings as tools of oppression? It was one Malthec la Atrocia — your great​-​grandmother. City after city dissevered themselves to be free of her. And do you know dragon who plunged entire realms into darkness and desolation to restore that foul inheritance? Your father, Malthec la Haotik.” Devain says something that might be a sigh. “I know there are many here you treat you unfairly. I’ve tried to speak reason to them – but even when my Breath is truth, there’s little stopping the wheels of gossip and suspicion. I… understand there may, for that reason, be a temptation to follow after her, little Kaon. But if you try to restore the bindings… Well, there’s little I can say to the rumors if you go and prove them true with your actions.”

“I–never knew.”

“I had thought it best. But perhaps now you’re old enough to see it for what it is: a warning, and not some omen of doom. You aren’t you father. I believe in you.” The old dragon smiled.

It might’ve been the first kind word he had heard from an elder. He smiled back. “I — thanks?” He wasn’t exactly experienced in compliments, other than Imbry’s annoying remarks.

“Did Vessia mention anything else in your conversation — her full name, perhaps? I found it has been stricken from our official records.”

“She didn’t tell me anything like that.”

“Ah. By now, if this is the path she takes, then she surely knows. I had thought she might’ve told a friend — but she doesn’t have friends, does she? She’s always been remarkably… cool, toward you.”

“She’s…” Kaon trailed off, thinking of some defense, “understated. She could have just ignored me, like with everyone else. She didn’t have to tell me anything at all.”

“Unless you were merely useful, for today?” Devain’s gaze lowered, finding the necklace hanging off the black dragon. “You aren’t like her, and don’t need to be. I’ve heard Imbry’s quite fond of you. Please remember, if you do go chasing after my wayward pupil… you’ll be leaving behind more than she will be.” The dragon shifted. “I’ve taken up your time, haven’t I? I’m sure you have studies to attend to. Excuse me.”

The elder gestured, and Kaon seized the excuse to break off and scamper away. Away from the dragon who saw through Kaon’s every word, and hid so much in his own. But even as Kaon got away, the conversation sat in his mind. Just that brief exchange had reframed so much, and Devain spoke undeniable sense. Why was he spending so much time and trouble for Vessia? Did she value him at all? Even Imbry, in all her annoyance, hadn’t pushed him off a platform as part of a betrayal…

Would he deserve all the scorn he received if he went along with her plans?

Then he remembered the note he wrote. He planned to meet with Vessia. When writing that, his past self didn’t know what he knew now. But Vessia said to always trust what you wrote.

Perhaps he could explain Devain’s perspective to her, and get her to come back on her own. It’d be the best of both worlds, wouldn’t it?

But getting there meant getting there — and for now, he had another problem.

He’d glided down to the floor of the cavern and started towards the door, where a few third level dragons waited for him. One face was familiar.

“While I agree your punishment was insufficient,” Geddion started, “I think this was not the right way to increase it.”

Another dragon, green scales, was looking around as if expecting someone to have accompanied him. “Where are you going?” he asked.

“I was told to see Haore,” he says. “Devain’s orders. If you’ll kindly not hold me up?”

“What?”

He didn’t expect this confusion. He frowned, then blinked. What other angle could he take? “I spoke with the red dragon — forget his name. Something… came up in Vessia’s lair he had to attend to. Sent me on ahead.”

“Something came up, did it?” Geddion’s eyes narrowed. He expected skepticism, but the sheer suspicion was a surprise. Could he use this?

The black dragon smiled. “You don’t trust Devain’s orders?”

“What orders? Haven’t seen him all day.”

Kaon tilted his head. “Who just walked in here?”

“Last dragon to go in there was Kal. Before that, you.”

“Huh,” was all Kaon said. “Well, I’ve told you where I’m going. If you don’t believe me… it’s entirely within your power to catch me, right? But I think Kal needs your help. You should make sure he’s alright.”

“What did you do to him?”

Rather than answering, Kaon crouched and took off, letting their suspicions fill in the gaps.

Kaon knew where he would hide — of course he wouldn’t just walk into Haore’s wings after all of that. But he wasn’t worried about that, or about Geddion et al coming after him.

Who had he just been talking to?

The indecisive churning of his thoughts of this subject was subsumed under the sound of his beating wings as he strove to make quick work of the distance between him and his destination.

He went where it all began: atop his favorite pillar in the training yard.

He sat, and dismissed thoughts of Geddion and Haore, and instead mulled upon problems to be solved physically rather than socially. Easier to get a handle on, and involved less anxiety. Kaon could think of two ways out of the school grounds. Well, there were three, if digging through the soil and stone was on the table, but it was less a possibility than the option that demarcated the impossible.

Those two options were going through the gate, or getting past the net. The gate was kept by a golden brown dragon bigger than even Devain, whose breath was reminiscient of the Force spellgems. That massive force he could bring to bear lifted the great stone gate when dragons needed in or out. Kaon would not be let past without a good reason — which he didn’t have — and if the gatekeeper wasn’t there, the gate was more of a wall.

The net, then, was the only real option he had. But every dragon had tried flying at or climbing towards the net, to test the stories if nothing else. No one had ever gotten past it, so far as the dragonets knew. On the face of it, it seemed no more viable. Certainly, Kaon didn’t have a way out any time he had considered it.

Before today, that is. Now, though? He had one more tool to work with, and that had to be enough to bring it all together.

If Vessia had eluded Devain for this long, if she thought getting the realm​-​gate in the city was so foregone a conclusion as to plan around it, she had a way out of here — she was probably already not anywhere on school grounds.

And what did she have that no else did? Her Breath.

And what did Kaon now have? He floated his cast​-​off in front of his snout, a purplish mass that curled into a sphere. He’d been careful not to suck it back in since the meeting with Vessia. And now he needed to make that count.

Kaon closed his eyes, and remembered what it felt like when Vessia had used her Breath. It felt like being tied or affixed; it felt like opening up. Then came the hair​-​width of motion. And then that first sensation, reversed. Kaon had felt when the purple glow left the objects she’d swapped — if it had been tied before, then the rope tying them had been cut. And a cut rope frayed.

Kaon’s goal, then, was to un​-​fray the mana in his cast​-​off. He tried a few different things, reshaping the cast​-​off, kneading the mass, even rubbing it with a claw. It felt… somewhat more ordered? He took a stray pebble sitting atop his pillar and enveloped it in his cast​-​off. Then, he pulled off a bit of the cast​-​off, separating it into two masses. Then, like earlier, he squeezed.

In a sense, the pebble… did move.

But what appeared in the other mass was cracked, and disolved into a coarse sand as it fell. He definitely didn’t want to ‘flip’ anything he cared about, then.

As Kaon started kneading the cast​-​off in preparation for another attempt, he heard wing​-​beats. A glance to the source, and he saw Giddeon and the other dragon coming for him.

Glancing back at the school, he mapped out a route and made a plan. A moment later he was leaping off the pillar, directly opposite the fliers. This way, he’d be obscured by its mass for precious seconds. He built up momentum as he flew. Then he turned, and started gliding back towards the lairs.

His pursuers couldn’t cover ground as fast as him — he’d fallen from higher up, so even as they mirrored his dive, they’d gain less speed.

But wherever he went, they’d see, and they’d follow. So he had to lose them.

So, step two.

He flew into the collective lairs, barely arresting his momentum. Nothing awaited him inside; the dragons likely had the last classes of the day to attend. So no one saw Kaon flying up to the room he’d entered just earlier today.

He landed at a run, and only slowed to turn once inside the collective lair. He darted for cover beneath a bed, then waited.

He heard distance steps, then the voice. “Where did he go?”

“He should have crashed into a wall at that speed. No time for the eyes to adjust.”

“Don’t see a groaning draconet on the floor anywhere, so we can’t be so lucky. Did he go into one of the lairs?”

There was a few moments of a silence. Then, “Are we just going to check them all one by one?”

“The sooner we find him, the better. Let’s go.”

There’s more quiet. No footsteps come for him, so whichever lair they guessed was lucky for Kaon.

In fact, there were not footsteps at all.

“Okay, not that one. How about we split up? It’ll be faster if we all check a different room.”

“Is this some kind of joke? Telling us to look then staying here?”

“Be quiet.”

“How is this–”

“It’s not a joke, it was a trick. If he thinks we’re looking, then he could try to sneak out while we’re not looking — only to find us waiting as a trap. But you just ruined it.”

“Oh.”

“Let’s just go back and tell Haore we lost him and he outsmarted us. He’s certainly smarter than one of us.”

“Is this another trick, or…”

“He’s not going to fall for it now! Come on.”

Kaon might have given himself away right then by laughing. But it took enough focus just keeping his cast​-​off out of himself, holding on to Vessia’s mana.

He heard the sound of the dragonets taking off, but he waited there just in case. He had something to do, anyways: more experimenting. He stayed there for perhaps half an hour, “flipping” bits of paper lost under the bed, turning them into increasingly large shreds.

After a while, Kaon starts to feel a sensation unlike any he’d felt before, worsening by atoms each time he squeezes the cast​-​off.

Was this what being low on mana felt like?

That thought finally gets him out of the lair. If he was in danger of running low… he needed to work with what he’d could manage before he lost his sole advantage.

At the cavern mouth, he opted to walk, not fly. Being in the air would make him too visible from too far. He stuck to the shadows cast as the pseudosun set behind the great mass of the main skyland. Behind the school, he approached the net.

If the net was just a net, it would be effortless for even a first level dragon to slash and claw a way out. Even if they wove it of a tough material, it’d be no deterent to determination.

The skyland that hosted the school ended well before the net starts. Past the underground brick wall that kept the skyland from eroding into nothing, there was about a meter of yawning empty space. Rods stuck out from the side like a vertical fence. The net anchored to that.

Kaon walked to the brick edge. He tried to take another step.

He could not.

In distant realms, there are worlds of endless jungle where even dragons could be eaten like prey. The land is instead ruled by crafty spider people, who wove cities out of their collective webs. They could challenge even elder dragons with vast magical arrays. Instead of Breath, the spiders channel their magic through silk.

In realms where dragons found peace with the spiders, they made trade. Even low grade manasilk costs a petty lord’s ransom.

Thus, it was impossble to weave an entire net out of the stuff, not with the wealth afforded to an elder dragon of a tiny realm like the Lesser Skylands of Red Radiance.

So instead, the school is surrounded by a mundane net. But a single thread of manasilk runs along the ropes. It connects to a resevoir and conduit maintained by the gatekeeper. The purpose?

When a dragon gets close to the net, they are pushed back.

The mana you can safely put through a little bit of thread is not much, and ditto for the force it could generate. But if that little bit of force is exerted in unison across a whole area?

It was enough Kaon felt as if he’d walked into a wall.

But he had a plan. It was founded on an old observation. Dragonets occasionally bothered the gatekeeper, either while he was keeping the gate, or when enforcing some rule about who was allowed where on school grounds.

The observation was backed up, if more tenuously, by the Three Hoards games. He’d seen Force push dragons, push balls and push away any kind of tool he might want to use to cut the net. But there was something he’d never seen either of them push.

When dragonets threw things at the gatekeeper, he Forced them back. When dragonets Breathed at the gatekeeper, he dodged.

It wasn’t a breath, but it wasn’t solid matter. Kaon pushed his cast​-​off to the invisible wall around the school. And tried to push it pass.

No resistance came.

Next step. The cast​-​off split, with one half on the other side of the net. Kaon breathed in and out for a moment, trembling a little bit. This was another place his plan could unceremoniously fall apart. But he had to try. It was the only tool he had.

He took a hard, flat pebble, and suspended it in one half of his cast​-​off. It was a tiny thing: he was, after all, not even working with the full six cubic inches right now due to an earlier stunt.

Finally, Kaon took his cast​-​off and… it still didn’t feel like ‘flipping’, to him. He squeezed, and like a slippery thing forced through a gap, the pebble appeared on the other side of the net.

It hung there for a moment, and Kaon watched breathlessly.

Nothing happened. The net’s Force was only one way.

He lifted it higher. There was nothing in the way of his next step, then. He would cut the net. With a tool this small and dull, it’d be slow going. He would start far above his height; this way, the breach in security should remain undetected under tonight.

After so much obscure fiddling with his cast​-​off, there was something relievingly simple about the motion of sawing back and forth — he had been doing manipulations like this for months.

Then he hit a snag — an almost literal snag. Manasilk, he learned, does not cut nearly as easily as cotton fibers. He craned his neck and tips his toes, but couldn’t see the bit of rope he’s cutting. So he kept at it, chosing to believe he’s wearing it down, however slowly.

He flared his ears, hoping to hear some twang of stupidly tough silk tapping.

Before any sound of success came, he felt a dreadful chill. A dreadful and familiar chill.

The sound he’s awarded was instead several solid impacts of feet hitting the ground hard and fast. Kaon was struck by the feeling of being exposed — how absurd did he look, standing at the edge of the school grounds, seemingly doing nothing.

He wanted to turn and look, but could not. Of course. Just like the last time he’d felt this chill.

He was frozen, and Haore says, “Enough, Kaon.”