In that moment, my fear was swallowed by something else—wonder. The stories were true. Dragons were real.
And not just any dragon. Though I didn't know it at the time, it was a giant red dragon—a beast of legend and awe.
That moment was surreal—the emotions I felt were the exact opposite of the fear that had consumed me just seconds before. It wasn't a normal reaction to seeing a dragon. I was stunned, as though I had witnessed something that defied every rule of power and majesty.
Instead of terror, I felt excitement. Even though the creature before me could easily burn entire villages—maybe even a town like Mirnia—in mere minutes, but it didn't match the fearsome image from the tales my parents read to me before bed.
This dragon was different. Its movements were measured, almost gentle, its gaze curious and intelligent. And in its eyes, I saw no malice, no frustration—only wisdom and a deep, unexpected kindness.
In that instant, all I could think about was how amazing it would be if the dragon became my pet. I imagined soaring through the skies, seeing the world from above, traveling across the continent, and befriending other dragons. Of course, I knew such a dream was nearly impossible—dragons were almost extinct. Major sightings only occurred once every two or three years across the entire world.
That fleeting moment of dreaming, standing face-to-face with a dragon, was about to end. The creature likely came here out of curiosity, drawn by the noise and commotion. Surely, it didn't have the time to humor a toddler staring up at it, lost in childish fantasies. It probably had more pressing dragon matters to attend to—like sleeping, hunting, or terrifying people lucky enough to catch a glimpse of its majestic form.
As the major fireworks began, their loud explosions filling the night sky, the dragon spread its enormous wings and took off in a rush. It disappeared into the darkness, leaving me awestruck, its departure as sudden as its arrival.
After staring, confused, in the direction where the dragon had flown, I began to hear voices in the distance. They grew louder and closer with each passing second until I recognized a familiar voice calling my name.
"Arthur! Arthur! Where are you? Oh, my poor child!" It was my mother, her voice trembling with despair as she tried to hold back tears.
At first, I didn't react, still dazed by the events of the night. But then it hit me—how worried my parents must be. Guilt and fear bubbled up inside me as I tried to follow the sound of her voice. "Mom! Mom! It's dark here!" I cried, tears now streaming down my face.
As I moved toward her voice, I began to hear my father too. He was shouting—a tone I had never heard from him before. They both sounded frantic, no doubt overwhelmed by stress and blaming themselves for losing me. But deep down, I knew it wasn't their fault.
Moments later, my mother appeared from around a corner, and just behind her was my father. The instant they saw me, they ran toward me like two professional sprinters. I always knew my parents were strong and fit, but I never expected them to be that fast.
I felt a surge of relief. In that moment, I was grateful it was them—my parents—who found me, and not some random strangers or vagrants.
When they reached me, my mother immediately pulled me into her arms. The warmth of her hug was overwhelming, a comfort I never wanted to take for granted.
"I'm so sorry, Arthur. I shouldn't have left you alone," she whispered, her voice trembling.
My father, standing beside us, wiped his eyes and said, "It's my fault. I was too arrogant. Can you forgive me?" His voice cracked with emotion as tears streamed down his face.
"It's not your fault, Dad," I replied, my small voice heavy with guilt and regret.
After a moment, my mother pulled back slightly and examined me from head to toe. Once she was sure I was unharmed, we all took a breath, and the tears finally stopped. She picked me up, holding me close as she began walking.
"Where have you been all this time?" she asked, her tone gentle but worried. "You had us so scared."
"I wanted to see the town," I explained, my voice still shaky. "And I even saw a big red dragon!"
My parents exchanged a glance before letting out soft chuckles.
"He must be exhausted," my mother said with a knowing smile.
"Kids and their wild imaginations," my father added, shaking his head.
"I did see a dragon!" I insisted, leaning back to look at them. "It was huge and red, with golden eyes—just like in the tales you and Grandpa told me!"
My mother raised an eyebrow and teased, "Well, if you don't rest soon, maybe that dragon will come back tonight to gobble you up!" She added a spooky tone to her voice, making me giggle despite myself.
On the way home, my parents continued to tease me, cracking jokes about the "dragon" I had supposedly seen. Their laughter was infectious, and soon I was laughing too.
But deep inside, I knew what I saw. There was no doubt in my mind. I wasn't dreaming, hallucinating, or imagining things. That creature I had stood face-to-face with wasn't a fantasy. It was real—a dragon of flesh, bone, and fire.
Two years passed. I was six years old then. My parents and I visited my grandparents' house at least twice a week. Their home was on the northern side of town, near the outskirts, close to the main path that led to the Silvermire Ruins.
One day, while exploring out of curiosity, I ventured into the attic. Among the dusty old boxes my grandfather had left behind, I discovered an assortment of peculiar items from his days as an adventurer. There were rusty swords, shattered bows made from some strange wood unlike anything I'd seen before, expired potions that looked like a mixture of mud and baby puke, and even some tattered books.
In my mind, I had always imagined "Gramp Sensei" as having a hidden arsenal beneath the house—a treasure trove of gleaming armor crafted from gold and rare metals. What I found instead looked more like the rejects of an antiquities shop that wouldn't even qualify for a low-tier museum.
After rummaging through boxes of books for several minutes, I was ready to give up on finding anything interesting. Doubts began to creep in. Was Gramps really a famous adventurer? Could it all have been lies? No, that couldn't be true... right?
My suspicions vanished the moment I stumbled upon a peculiar book. At first glance, it seemed like another mundane tome about herbs or biology, but something about it felt different. The book emanated a distinct aura—an energy I could sense even as a child. It was a spiritual sensation, the kind of feeling you get from objects brimming with Mana. This book was radiating it.
I opened the cover carefully, and to my amazement, it was a grimoire. Its pages were filled with spells and techniques designed to increase mana and harness magical energy.
I was completely absorbed in its contents for a couple of minutes when I suddenly heard a creak. The sound came from the trapdoor leading to the second floor. Panicked, I quickly placed the book down and turned toward the entrance of the attic.
As I cautiously moved toward the trapdoor, it swung open on its own. Startled, I let out a scream, but my fear vanished the moment I saw who it was. My grandfather stood there, grinning.
"Looking for equipment to use on your adventures, little man?" he asked, his tone a mix of sarcasm and wisdom.
"Yes, Gramps," I replied, though my voice carried a hint of disappointment. "But I thought you had shining armor."
He let out a hearty laugh. "I'm sorry if it's not what you expected, Arthur. The last time I used any of that equipment was over thirty years ago. I was a famous adventurer, but only for a short while."
"Why?" I asked, tilting my head in confusion.
"Well," he began, his voice softening, "there are other things in life besides slaying monsters. Once the thrill fades, and the exhaustion sets in, you realize that hunting beasts, fighting bandits, and searching for treasures in far-off lands isn't the only way to live. Everyone has their own passions. I stopped because I found mine."
He paused, his eyes twinkling as he spoke. "I met her—the one. Out of all the millions of womens in the world, she was the only one who mattered. For me, she was everything."
I stared at him, utterly confused. What could possibly be better than fighting monsters and exploring the world?
He chuckled, seeing the look on my face. "You'll understand one day," he said with pride. "And when that day comes, I hope you'll follow your heart, not just your head, when you make your choices."
I looked at him, stunned and deeply moved by his words.
"I see you've found my old grimoire," Grandpa said, his voice tinged with nostalgia as he picked it up. He held it carefully, as though afraid it might crumble.
"This was my first grimoire…" he murmured, his gaze fixed on its worn cover. For a moment, it seemed like he was reliving those long-gone days. "My brot—ehm, I mean, an old friend gave it to me as a gift. It's very precious to me."
He turned his gaze back to me, studying my expression. Then, with a small smile, he asked, "Do you like magic, Arthur?"
"Of course I like magic!" I exclaimed, my voice bursting with excitement.
Grandpa's eyes softened, a mixture of pride and nostalgia flickering in his expression. "Do you want to learn magic? To become the strongest magician in the world?" he asked, his voice brimming with energy.
My heart skipped a beat. "You mean you'll teach me magic?"
He nodded, and I could hardly contain myself. "Yes! Yes, yes, yes!" I cheered, jumping with excitement. This was the second most thrilling moment of my life—nothing could top my encounter with the dragon.
Grandpa chuckled but quickly became serious. He put the grimoire back down and looked at me intently. "You know it won't be easy, right? I won't go easy on you. You'll pass out from exhaustion, suffer through pain, and face immense pressure. Magic demands discipline and resilience."
I nodded, my expression firm. "I understand," I said, my voice steady.
He studied me for a moment longer, and then I saw it—the flicker of realization in his eyes. This wasn't just a child's fanciful dream. He could see it in me: determination, the will to strive for greatness.
"Alright, then," he said with a small grin. "It's decided. I'll train you."
A surge of joy filled me. It was official: my grandfather was going to teach me magic.