The dragon's head tilted, its horns scraping the cavern ceiling like ancient pillars grinding stone. When it spoke, its voice was vast yet lazy, curling around me like a stormcloud drifting without purpose.
"Come now… speak, little ember. What tale coils behind your ribs? What song do your bones remember?"
I hesitated, throat dry. "I… have none," I said. "If I did, it has been long forgotten."
For a moment, its eyes flickered with something. It exhaled, a gust like a sigh from a mountain bored of standing.
"Forgotten, is it? How quaint. Even ash clings to its fire longer than you cling to memory. Elaborate, then. I am… amused."
I searched myself. What story could I tell when my own name felt foreign? My fingers trembled around the ruined spear. But in the darkness behind my eyes, I still remembered the words carved into the mausoleum walls.
"I was a warrior," I began slowly, "from an empire called Krieg. The king sealed me, along with others, scattering us across the world to be unsealed in the future. That is all I know of myself. I woke here. I wandered the cavern. I fought the undead knights that prowled it."
Its eyes opened a little wider—barely a flicker, but enough.
"Krieg…" it muttered, as if tasting a long-dead name.
"You know of it?" I asked.
Its voice rolled like velvet thunder. "Only that it existed. I was born after the spread of the Scourge."
Those last words cut through me. I raised my head. "What scourge?"
It stared at me for a long while, its expression unreadable and ancient, with faint curiosity. Finally, it spoke:
"A sickness, the greatest sickness. A curse that seeps into blood and soul, twisting. It devours not just flesh but soil, sky, and thought. It spread after Krieg collapsed. Your empire died, and in its corpse, the Scourge bloomed."
I fell to my knees. Tears traced my cheeks, but my face stayed blank, like a statue weeping. The spear fell to the ground beside me.
It looked at me with a gaze older than most of the world, yet not as old as my soul.
My thoughts grew hollow and cold. What use is a blade when there are no shields left to guard? What use is a warrior when his kingdom has rotted to dust?
I stared at the stone beneath me until my vision blurred.
Its voice softened but not in kindness, in understanding; it had lost a lot in its semi-eternal life as well. "Has the knight lost its kingdom?"
I raised my head slowly. "Dragon…"
The beast tilted its enormous head, one eye like a dying star fixing on me. "What? Want me to kill you?" It asked.
The question was almost casual, like a child offering to snap a toy it had grown bored of.
"No," I said quietly. "Tell me… how do I get out of this dungeon?"
For a heartbeat, it looked almost surprised. Its pupils narrowed, then it gave a faint smile, showing teeth like broken moons.
"Usually a warrior in your place would rather crumble into nothing, blade in hand, than face the emptiness. But you…"
It leaned closer, the cavern quaking with the weight of its breath. The air itself shuddered, pressing against my chest like an unseen tide. Yet I did not cry out. Instead, I rose to my feet.
Its face loomed vast before me, its eye alone larger than my head. But when I looked into that abyssal gaze, when my own onyx eyes met its ancient orbs, something shifted. For an instant, there was no difference between us—two mirrors staring into one another, flame reflected in flame.
"…the blaze in your eyes burns still. Bright. Bright as the sun."
I looked at it. "How large of an impact has this Scourge had?"
Its gaze softened—not with kindness, but with a weariness that stretched centuries across the cavern.
My knees pressed into the cold stone. "How… how much of it is left?" I asked again.
It tilted its head. One golden wing shifted, stirring the treasure around us. "Enough to drown hope, little ember. Enough that the kingdoms you hear of in tales do not exist. Only ruins, echoes, and the scattered bones of rulers clinging to empty thrones."
I swallowed. My hands gripped my spear tighter, though it had long since lost the strength to guard me fully. "And the people… the survivors?"
"They are fewer than the shadows of crows, hiding in hollowed lands and broken keeps," it replied.
Silence stretched between us, heavy as falling stone. My mind turned over the horrors I had yet to see—what the Scourge had done, what it could do to me if I faltered.
Finally, I asked, voice barely more than a whisper, "Why… why are you here, then? Why not leave?"
It lowered its massive head, scales scraping the cavern floor. The shift of its weight sent a tremor through the treasure-hoard. "I cannot," it said, its voice muted, like wind through broken glass.
"Long ago… a wound. Another dragon… treachery, fire against fire. I was forced into this cavern. My body… my organs… most are damaged. My mana… tampered with, diluted by time and curse alike. I am too weak to leave, bound as surely as any prisoner."
I hesitated, gathering courage from some invisible well. "Then… why… why tell me all this? You could have ended me."
It let out a hardy laugh, first like stone rolling down a hill, rumbling but with a hidden mirth. Then, slowly, it lowered its head closer to me. Its eye fixed on my soul, unblinking.
"I see it in you," it said softly, voice curling lazily through the chamber.
"I see a path of misery etched into the marrow of your bones. You are bound for a journey most miserable, yet… I find it amusing. A spark of fire where darkness should consume."
A short pause went by and then:
"Hahaha!!"
I laughed as well. A short, harsh bark that echoed oddly against the cavern walls. Its eye narrowed in curiosity.
"Why… why are you laughing?" it asked, tilt of the head sharp, yet its tone tinged with amusement.
"I… I did not want to cry," I admitted quietly, voice strained. "So I laughed."
It exhaled a long, drawn sigh, and for the first time, its amusement was plain.
"Hrrm… little ember… even in despair, you are… curious. Bold. Foolish. Amusing."
The cavern fell silent but for the sound of its slow, rumbling breath. Then, at last, it spoke again, voice curling with sudden amusement:
"Tell me your name, little ember."
My lips parted, but no sound came. At last I whispered, "…I have none. Perhaps I once did. But I have long forgotten."
It regarded me for a long time. Its massive lids drooped, the fire of its gaze half-hidden. A sigh escaped it, so vast and ancient that dust shook loose from the cavern ceiling. Yes… it sighed.
"Pathetic," it muttered. "A knight without a name is like a sword without a hilt. But… very well. If you have none, then I shall bestow one upon you. See it as the highest of honors."
It tilted its head, humming faintly to itself as if turning the thought over, and over, and over again. The long pause stretched, almost comical, until it finally rumbled with satisfaction.
"Alaric will do. Yes… Alaric. Here it, little ember… from now on…"
Its voice boomed, shaking every jewel and coin in the treasure-hoard like thunder rolling through the world.
"Your name is Alaric!"
I looked up, breath caught in my chest. The sound of that name echoed inside me, as if the syllables had always been buried in my marrow, waiting to be unearthed.
For the first time since waking from that sarcophagous sleep, I felt whole.
"Could you tell me your name?" I asked.
Its eyes narrowed.
"Hah… truly bold, fine, take it as a great honor. My name is Sassafras, The Silver Scholar of Fate! The Bearer of Ideals! The Queen of the West!"
I smiled.
"Pleased to meet you, Sassafras."