I think every child dreams of a summer like this. A festival where the air is thick with the scent of roasted almonds and honey cakes, where mages dazzle with their tricks beneath swaying lanterns, knights march proudly in shining armor, and magical creatures weave through the crowds. A place where adventure hums in every whispered story, and the world feels endless, as if anything could happen. Now… close your eyes and try to picture it. Wonderful, isn't it?
Imagine being there—perched high on your father's shoulders, sticky with cotton candy, your little fingers gripping tightly as laughter and music swirl around you. The colors are brighter than any dream, the sounds pulse like the heartbeat of a living, breathing tale. That's how it was in Mirnia that evening.
The festival was alive, and so was I—just a boy with wide eyes and boundless wonder, wandering a town made for heroes and dreamers. Lanterns bobbed on invisible currents, their soft golden glow blending with the deep purples of the twilight sky. Somewhere, a lute played a melody that felt like home, and the murmur of voices carried the weight of ancient stories on its tide.
As we drew closer to the center of town, the music grew louder, the fireworks brighter, and the scent of sweets so thick I could hardly breathe. Paradise on earth.
When we reached the central plaza of Mirnia, my mother spotted her friends and, with a casual smile, said, "Why don't you two spend a bit of time together?" My father stared after her, confused, his brow furrowing as she walked off, as clumsy as a newborn taking its first steps. He was in distress. He wasn't used to crowded places, let alone the responsibility of watching over me in the middle of all this chaos.
My dad was an average farmer, someone who'd spent most of his life tending to grain fields. His name was Marvin… Marvin Silvertale. He had black hair with silver tips, dark eyes, and a lean physique—actually, perfect for an adventurer. My mother, though, was something else. Her name was Leila. She had long red hair, striking blue eyes, and a tiny upturned nose. I never quite understood how my dad had managed to win her over. I must have inherited the best of both—his black hair with silver streaks and her beautiful blue eyes.
One of my dad's friends approached us and invited him for a beer. As we made our way to the bar, my father gently set me down. "Don't go anywhere, Arthur. I know it's only your second time at the summer festival, but you shouldn't wander off. Remember, even if this town seems like pure fun, there's always something lurking in the shadows," he said with a tone of proud warning, as though he were some sort of veteran passing down wisdom.
Maybe this was something he inherited from his father—my grandpa, or better yet, Gramp Sensei. His name was Ethenol. The pride of the Silvertale family. In his golden age, or better said, in his prime, he was a famous adventurer known across the western regions of the continent. He'd slay giant werewolves as if they were mere puppies. He'd roamed the entire middle continent with his party, fighting monsters, uncovering treasures, and earning a legendary reputation. He was never defeated in a one-on-one duel throughout his entire adventuring career. That's why I look up to him. He's my role model. I want to be just like him one day.
And of course, he was married. My grandmother's name was Claudia. She was small, her back slightly hunched from years of hard work, and not a single strand of her once-blonde hair remained. But I loved her dearly. She was the heart of our family and the best cook in all of Mirnia. When she was young—long before she had met Ethenol—she ran a renowned restaurant by the coast. People would travel miles just to taste her seafood stew or honey-glazed pastries.
But enough with introductions! Let's get back to what happened that day.
After my father sat me on a chair and firmly told me to stay put, I looked around with my big blue eyes, taking in the bustling scene. I lasted about five minutes… okay, maybe four… or three. Fine, you got me—it was probably closer to two. I couldn't help myself. The excitement was too much to bear. Without a second thought, I hopped down from the chair and set off on my own little adventure.
Walking wasn't exactly my strength, so you can probably imagine how clumsy my running was—or maybe it's better if you don't. But hey, I was only four years old, so I think I deserved some slack. Still, I gave it my best shot, darting through the bustling crowd as if I knew exactly where I was going.
After wandering around for a while and stopping at every street food stall that caught my eye, I somehow made it out of the crowd. I ended up in a quieter part of the town—somewhere I definitely wasn't supposed to be. The streets became emptier, the voices fainter, and the vibrant glow of the festival seemed far away now. At first, I didn't even notice how isolated it was.
And the people? Well, what were they thinking when they saw a little toddler like me wandering around alone? Wouldn't you ask yourself where his parents were? Sure, most of them were probably too drunk to care, but come on! A four-year-old, out on his own? Someone should've noticed.
After wandering aimlessly, I finally realized I was lost. I didn't know how to find my way back. The tall buildings around me loomed like silent guardians, blocking my view, while the old, flickering light bulbs cast weak, unreliable glows that barely lit the cobblestone streets.
A heavy sadness crept over me, tightening in my chest. I regretted my decision not to listen to my father. Deep down, I knew he only wanted to keep me safe. This was his rare moment to relax—just a little break after a long year of hard work in the fields and the challenges of raising a son who had just turned four. And here I was, ruining it all.
I started crying, my voice breaking with each sob as I called out, "Mama! Mama! Mamaaa! W-Where… where are you?" My little body trembled, and my words wavered between desperation and fear.
Then I felt it—a presence lurking in the shadows, just beyond the edge of the hill beneath me. My father's words echoed in my mind, warning me of dangers hiding in the darkness. Fear gripped me like an iron vice, cold and unrelenting. It was as if two invisible hands were closing in: one silencing my cries, the other tightening around my throat, squeezing out every ounce of courage I had left.
I couldn't scream. My throat locked tight, and I stood there like a statue, frozen in place.
The moment my eyes met the creature's, everything else faded into the shadows. Its gaze was piercing—sharp, intelligent, and unyielding. Its irises gleamed like molten gold, glowing faintly in the dim light. For more than thirty seconds, we stared at one another, locked in a silent standoff.
Then it moved, cautiously at first, its movements calculated and deliberate. As it stepped closer, its silhouette began to take shape. My wide, tear-streaked eyes drank in the details: a massive creature with jagged teeth, claws that looked like they could rend stone, and wings as wide as two houses laid side by side. The leathery appendages shimmered faintly in the moonlight, their crimson hue almost glowing.
It had four powerful legs, a long, sinewy neck, and a pointed snout that ended in a pair of flared nostrils. At first, I thought it was some sort of giant turtle or a titanic salamander from the wild stories my grandpa told. But no. This was something else—something I had only ever read about in the pages of old storybooks.
I always loved tales about these creatures, but deep down, I never truly believed they could exist. And yet, there it was before me: a dragon.