The evening sky stretched wide and quiet, painted in lazy strokes of orange and deepening red.
Indura glided through it with his massive wings spread wide, going nowhere in particular, doing nothing in particular. A few bold birds had decided his crimson scales made an excellent resting spot and perched comfortably along his side. He glanced at one of them. The bird tilted its head and stared back. Indura looked away first.
Bold little things.
The sunset washed over his scales in slow-moving waves of warm light. Below, the capital of the Vartas Empire was beginning to glow as lanterns and mage-lights flickered to life in windows and along the streets.
It's been a while since I stepped down there, he thought idly.
His mind wandered to the female vendor and her radishes. Did she still have the same stall in the same spot? Were the radishes still crisp and fiery, or had she changed suppliers? He pondered this for longer than the subject probably deserved.
With a soft sigh, he decided one quick look wouldn't hurt.
Indura tilted his body sideways and kept tilting, rolling smoothly until he was flying completely upside down, back toward the ground, the sunset now filling his entire field of vision. The birds scattered in a flutter of wings. He watched the colors bleed from deep orange into rich red, then fade into the first hints of dark blue at the edges.
Not bad, he thought. Not bad at all.
He stayed like that for a while, diving effortlessly through the air, the wind brushing across his chest while the world hung above him. There was something deeply satisfying about the arrangement, something he didn't feel the need to explain to anyone.
Eventually, red energy shimmered around him. His titanic dragon form pulled inward, shrinking smoothly until the armored humanoid shape settled into place. Noble clothing materialized around him as he dropped through the clouds and angled toward a quiet gap behind the storage buildings on the eastern edge of the capital. He landed without a sound.
Indura straightened his clothes, brushed a stray leaf from his shoulder, and stepped out into the street with his hands clasped behind his back.
Nearby citizens were still staring up at the sky, murmuring among themselves.
"Something must have come through the clouds," one man said, squinting upward.
"It was a shadow, just like three months ago," the woman beside him replied. "Remember? It looked like a dragon descending from the sky."
They kept staring for a few more moments before shrugging and returning to their evening routines.
Indura walked past them calmly, golden eyes taking in the scene. A kite drifted lazily above the street with no string attached. Further down, a merchant and a buyer were arguing loudly over the price of cloth. Patrol guards on horseback moved through their evening rounds with practiced boredom.
Indeed, he thought with quiet satisfaction, this is much better than the wilderness.
Then he heard it — loud, unselfconscious crying coming from a narrow corridor between two buildings.
He stopped and peered inside. A small boy sat there: short black hair, well-worn brown clothes, and a face streaked with tears and everything that came with them.
So weak, Indura thought. Crying that loudly behind a wall.
He turned to walk away.
Suddenly, Syphon's voice echoed in his head — uninvited and impossible to ignore. Indura paused, feeling distinctly unpleasant about the intrusion, then turned back with a reluctant sigh.
The boy looked up, saw him, and immediately scrambled to his feet. He ran straight toward Indura, but his foot caught on an uneven stone. He tumbled hard and landed at Indura's feet, looking up with wide, wet eyes.
"Please," the boy said, voice thick with tears. "I got lost. I can't find my way home. Please help me… I'm scared to walk alone."
Indura stared down at the boy's face — specifically at those large, glistening eyes that seemed to be working overtime.
He found the entire situation frustrating.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"Jin."
Indura tilted his head slightly. "Jin? Who in their right mind names someone Jin?"
Jin blinked in confusion.
"Get up," Indura said, sighing again. "Which direction is home? I'll escort you."
Jin's face lit up with pure joy. He pointed west and fell into step beside Indura without the slightest hesitation or caution, as if walking next to a complete stranger was the most natural thing in the world.
They hadn't gone half a block before Jin started talking.
"I have a friend called Ren," he began cheerfully. "He runs faster than anyone — even the older boys. One time he ran so fast he fell straight into a bucket of water. Everyone laughed, but he laughed too, so it was fine." Jin took a quick breath. "And there's Mira. She makes whistles from river reeds. She taught me, but mine never sound right. They sound like a sick bird." He demonstrated with a short, pathetic whistle. "Ren says it sounds like two sick birds."
Indura said nothing, walking with his hands still clasped behind his back.
This child, he thought, has not stopped talking since we started walking.
"When I grow up, I want to be a knight," Jin continued without missing a beat. "A strong one. The kind that protects the whole kingdom — not just the palace, but even the parts outside the walls." He looked up at Indura with bright eyes. "Do you think that's possible?"
Indura remained silent.
"I think it's possible," Jin answered himself confidently. "You just have to train a lot. Ren says he wants to be a knight too, but Mira says he falls into too many buckets to be taken seriously."
Indura stared straight ahead.
This child has quite the tongue. He's slowly driving me mad.
Jin suddenly stopped and stared longingly at a sweets stall halfway down the street. The colorful treats sat temptingly on a low table, bread stacked neatly behind them. His expression was one of quiet acceptance — the look of someone who had already decided he couldn't have them.
Indura glanced at the stall and found it mildly interesting too.
Ah… those do look sufficient as a snack for later.
Jin turned those big eyes up at him and said nothing — just looked.
"I don't have gold," Indura said flatly. "I can't buy anything right now."
Jin kept looking.
"I don't carry gold. I've never carried gold. I'm telling you the actual situation."
Jin's small fingers found the hem of his own shirt and twisted it nervously.
Indura looked at the sweets. Looked at Jin. Looked at the sweets again.
"Keep moving," he muttered. "Point me toward home."
One hour later, Jin still hadn't stopped talking.
"My mother works at the textile stalls," he said. "She works every day. We only eat one meal at home because that's what we can afford. But it's okay." He said it simply, like stating a fact. "She always makes sure it's a good one."
Indura glanced down at him.
This child… has seriously not given his tongue a single break. I'm starting to remember every single thing he says.
"She's really strong," Jin continued. "Stronger than she looks. She carried me on her back all the way from the eastern market once and didn't stop, even when I could feel her breathing really hard." He looked ahead. "I want to be strong like that someday."
Indura stayed silent.
Sure, sure… you can stop talking anytime now.
"My father used to tell me stories," Jin said, his voice growing quieter. "About other worlds. Places above this one and below it. He said some warriors lived in the sky and that the sky went on forever if you flew high enough." He paused. "He said someday he would take me up high enough to see it." Another pause. "Then he left to fight for this world… in the skies. He never came back."
Indura looked at him.
I just need to disappear at the next turn. That way I won't have to listen to any more of this.
Jin stared at the street, his small jaw tight as he fought to hold something back.
"He always said fighting for something was the most important thing," Jin whispered. "That it was what made a life mean something."
Indura looked away.
How old do you have to be to remember all that? This child…
"How far is home?" he asked.
He stopped and turned. Jin was no longer beside him. The boy stood two steps back, eyes wet, clearly losing the battle he'd been fighting with himself.
Indura studied him for a moment, then made a decision.
"Do you want to see a magic trick?" he asked.
Jin blinked and nodded eagerly.
"Close your eyes. Don't open them until I tell you."
Jin squeezed his eyes shut tightly, hands clasped together in front of him like he was taking a very serious test.
Indura looked at him, a small smile tugging at his lips. Perfect. He glanced at the sweets stall twenty meters back, then vanished in a blur.
High above the capital, Indura hovered with a cloth he'd snatched from a nearby washing line.
Foolish child, he thought, laughing softly. Trusting a complete stranger. Closing your eyes in the middle of the street just because someone told you to.
Completely foolish.
He looked down. Jin was still standing there, eyes closed, hands together.
You're still there…
Indura sighed.
Tch… what's wrong with me today?
He descended like a shadow, scooped the sweets, and was back beside Jin before the vendor even noticed anything was missing. Shouts of confusion rose from the stall far below.
"Did you open your eyes?" Indura asked casually.
Jin's eyes flew open. He stared at Indura, then at the cloth bundle, then back at Indura. His face went through several emotions at once before settling on something that was trying very hard not to cry.
"I thought you left," Jin said, voice breaking. "I thought you were gone."
Indura scratched the back of his head and looked pointedly at a wall to his left. "Tsk… I only went to get something. Obviously." He held out the bundle. "Here. Take all of it. Every sweet. They're yours."
Jin reached in, took one sweet, and held it out to Indura with both hands.
Indura stared at the small offering, then at Jin's face — so full of simple kindness. He took the sweet.
"It tastes good," he said after a bite.
Jin smiled — wide, bright, and with his whole face. "Thank you," he said softly. "Thank you for making me happy, mister."
Indura felt something light and unnamed stir in his chest. He looked away quickly before Jin could notice.
"Come on," he muttered. "Which direction?"
They reached Jin's home in the western quarter as the last of the evening light finally surrendered to night. The small house leaned slightly. The door didn't close properly, and one window had cloth instead of glass.
Indura stared at it in mild disbelief.
"Where's your mother?" he asked.
Jin looked at the ground. "She got sick. She's at the healing ward. It's been a while." He picked at his shirt hem. "It's bad enough that she can't come home."
Indura waited.
"I've been by myself," Jin added quietly. "But it's okay. I'm managing."
Indura dragged both hands down his face.
He stood like that for a moment, then dropped his hands and walked inside without another word.
The inside was even worse than the outside suggested. The mattress was pulled crooked from the wall. The blanket looked like it had been washed far too many times. A single candle sat on the floor.
"The Great Forest had better living arrangements than this," Indura muttered.
Jin carefully placed the bundle of sweets against the wall, then straightened the mattress and looked at Indura with the proud expression of a host who had just prepared the guest room.
"You can sleep here," Jin offered.
Indura looked at the mattress, then at Jin. "Why are you this nice?" he asked. "Do you not understand how the world works? What if I were dangerous? What if I walked in here and took everything?"
"There's nothing to take," Jin said simply.
"That's not — that's beside the point."
Jin looked at the floor. "My father said everyone is the same. Friend and enemy. He said they're both just people, and if you treat them like people, they might remember it." He was quiet for a moment. "He said kindness wasn't weakness. It was the hardest thing to keep doing."
Indura stared at him, then sat down on the floor without another word.
The single candle made the small room feel warm and intimate. Jin crawled under the blanket. Indura lay on the floor beside him, hands resting on his chest, staring at the ceiling.
"Tell me a story," Jin asked softly.
"Go to sleep."
"Please."
Indura glanced sideways at those big, pleading eyes and exhaled.
"Do you know about dragons?" he began.
Jin turned toward him instantly. "No. What are they?"
"The finest creatures in existence," Indura said with clear pride. "Mighty. Ancient. Better than most things in most ways." He paused. "There is one in this world. A red one."
Jin pulled the blanket higher. "What happened to it?"
"Oh, it was living quietly on a mountain, minding its own business. Then two human kingdoms went to war nearby and made a terrible amount of noise. So the dragon came down and ended the war in one evening." He smiled faintly. "The humans were so grateful they built it a grand castle."
"A whole castle?"
"A whole castle."
Jin's eyes widened in awe. "Then what?"
"Then there were dwarves who thought they were clever. They tried to challenge the dragon. A shining warrior from the sky came down to fight for them. The dragon fought him… and won completely without breaking a sweat."
"It beat a warrior from the sky?"
"Easily."
Jin made a small sound of pure wonder.
"Then the dragon helped the elves," Indura continued. "An evil man was doing terrible things to children in the forest. The dragon found him and helped put an end to it." He gazed at the ceiling. "And then more sky warriors came. The dragon faced them too."
"Did it win?"
"Of course it won," Indura said. "And then it went to its castle."
Jin was quiet for a moment. "What did the dragon do after?"
Indura thought about the nearly finished castle on the eastern lands. About what came after walking through those gates. About purpose for something that had never needed one before.
"It went to sleep," he said simply. "Because it was tired."
Jin laughed — small and sleepy. "That's the whole story?"
"That's the whole story. The dragon never did much anyway."
"I liked it," Jin whispered. "Thank you, mister."
"Well… I'll take that for the night," Indura muttered. "Perhaps you are a good child after all."
"Go to sleep."
Jin closed his eyes, a small smile still lingering on his face, and drifted off.
In the quiet dark space within Indura, the True Self laughed once — brief and dry, as if it had just heard a magnificent lie.
Indura lay in the darkness, listening to Jin's slow, even breathing.
What is my purpose?
The question sat there quietly. Six hundred years without one. The mountain had been enough. The mountain was gone. The castle would be finished soon.
And then what?
He turned his head and looked at Jin sleeping peacefully, one small hand tucked under his cheek, blanket pulled up to his chin.
Small, Indura thought. So small. One meal a day, a sick mother, a father who never came back… and still smiling.
He placed his hands behind his head and relaxed.
Having company… is not so bad.
He blew out the candle. The room fell into comfortable darkness. Outside, the capital continued its gentle night sounds — distant voices, a cart on the road, a dog barking somewhere.
Indura closed his eyes and began to snore — deep, rhythmic, loud enough to have startled wildlife in the past.
A while later, Jin opened his eyes.
They were no longer brown.
They glowed silver in the darkness, like two quiet moons, casting a faint, ethereal light across the small room. He turned his head and looked at Indura, who continued snoring peacefully, completely unaware.
Jin watched him for a long moment. His expression was no longer that of a child — something older, patient, and ancient looked out through those silver eyes.
Then he smiled. Small. Cold. And strangely genuine.
He closed his eyes again. The silver glow faded. The room returned to ordinary darkness.
Nothing had happened.