The scent of ginger and scallion oil filled our small wooden house, a warm blanket against the creeping chill of the autumn evening. I was four years old, perched on a wobbly stool at the low table, my chin barely clearing the rough-hewn wood. My brother, Jingming, eight and already full of bravado, was trying to balance a spoon on his nose.
"Yu Hui, watch this!"
The spoon clattered to the floor just as Mama turned from the stove, her gentle face lit by the fire's glow. She didn't scold him. She never did. She simply smiled, a smile that made her brown eyes, so like my own, crinkle at the corners. "Jingming, your feet are louder than a cavalry charge. Come, both of you. Soup is ready, but first, a story."
I scrambled off the stool and into her lap as she settled onto the worn hearth-rug. Jingming plopped down beside us, momentarily still. Papa was still out, working his second job at the mill, but Mama's stories made the house feel complete, a fortress against the vast, dark world outside our village.
"Which one, Mama?" I asked, already knowing the answer.
"The one about the beginning," she said, her voice dropping into the storytelling cadence that made the fire seem to dance in time. "The one about the Four Dragons who brought peace to the world."
I nestled against her, the coarse fabric of her dress familiar against my cheek. Jingming pretended he was too old for stories, but he leaned in closer.
"Long, long ago," Mama began, "the world was all sharp edges and chaos. The seas raged without reason, the mountains shook, fires ran wild, and the winds tore at everything. Then, from the heart of the world's longing, they came. Silanis, the Water Dragon, with scales of deepest sapphire, who calmed the roaring seas and filled the rivers with her gentle tears. Ignis, the Fire Dragon, whose molten-gold body held not destruction, but the warm, life-giving hearth-fire and the forge's creative spark. Terran, the Earth Dragon, cloaked in emerald and rich soil, who raised the mountains to cradle the valleys and made the crops grow deep and strong. And Zephyr, the Wind Dragon, a being of shimmering silver and mist, who carried seeds and song and swept away the stale and sorrowful."
Her words painted pictures in the smoky air. I could see Silanis curling around our coastline, a living jewel. I could feel the cozy warmth of Ignis sleeping under our village.
"They made a pact with the first Emperor, a wise and humble man," Mama continued, her hand absently stroking my hair. "The dragons would lend their magic to the land, ensuring balance and bounty. In return, the Emperor and all who came after him would protect their sacred freedom. For dragons are creatures of peace, and their power is for harmony, not dominion. For centuries, the pact held. Our kingdom was the most prosperous and peaceful in all the world."
Jingming puffed out his chest. "I'd protect a dragon. I'd be the greatest Knight of the Pact!"
Mama's smile faltered, just for a heartbeat. "That is a noble dream, my brave boy. But listen to the end." Her voice grew softer, more solemn. "For emperors change. Hearts grow hard with greed. The emperor now… he sees the dragons not as partners, but as weapons. He whispers of breaking the pact, of forging chains of cold iron to bind them, to steer their might into conquest and war."
A log cracked in the fireplace, making me jump.
"But the dragons want peace," I whispered, the concept of such a betrayal a cold stone in my stomach.
"Yes, little blossom. They do." Mama pulled me closer, her arms a protective circle. "And if the Emperor tries, they will fight. But even dragons can be tricked, and men with hungry hearts are cunning. Their freedom hangs by a thread, a thread some in the palace would dearly love to cut."
The story ended not with a "happily ever after," but with a quiet, lingering unease. The soup was eaten, Jingming's boisterousness returning as he promised to bring me sweets from the city one day. Papa came home, his face etched with tired lines that smoothed when he saw us. He kissed Mama's forehead and ruffled my hair.
That night, tucked into my cot beside Jingming's, I stared at the moonlight slicing through the shutters. The Four Dragons were out there somewhere. Silanis in the deep sea, Ignis in the distant volcanoes, Terran in the bedrock beneath us, Zephyr in the mountain peaks. Were they afraid? Did they know the Emperor's hungry heart?
As sleep pulled at me, I made a silent, four-year-old's vow. Not to be a knight like Jingming, who wanted glory. But to be someone who remembered the pact. Who remembered that true power was meant for peace.
It was the last story Mama would tell me when the world was still whole. It was the first memory I would clutch when the world began to tear apart. The story of the Four Dragons, and the night I learned that even the most magical things could be threatened by the greed of men.
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