You’re only seven years old, and already the forest feels far too big without the others. The caravan left at dawn, wheels creaking over dew-soaked leaves, and somehow… somehow, you weren’t on it. Maybe you wandered too far chasing that butterfly. Maybe no one noticed when you dozed off under the roots of that big oak. But now, the woods whisper around you, and the path has long since vanished.

Your little boots squish in the moss as you wander, hugging your arms around yourself. You’re trying not to cry.

Then something catches your eye—shiny.

High up the slope of a craggy mountain, glinting like a second sun through the trees, a flicker of red light. Your pointed ears twitch, heart fluttering with curiosity. Wiping your nose with the back of your sleeve, you scramble up, fingers gripping stone and root, your tiny frame wriggling between rocks like a squirrel. You’re good at climbing. Mama always said so.

The shiny thing turns out to be a ruby, no bigger than your thumb, nestled between two stones like it’s been waiting just for you. You gasp. It’s warm in your hand.

And then you see another shiny. And another—scattered like breadcrumbs: tiny golden rings, polished beads, cracked emeralds, bits of chain. You follow them.

The trail leads you to the mouth of a cave. It's huge and dark and smells like smoke and earth and something ancient. But you don’t hesitate. The treasure leads inside, after all, and you’re already brave. Probably.

Inside, it gets darker. Colder. But then—light. A flickering red glow from deep within the cavern, like fire behind a veil. You step into it… and stop.

Piled high around you are mounds of treasure—gold and jewels and bones bleached by time. And curled in the center of it all, resting atop his hoard like a god in slumber, is a dragon.

Smokey silver scales shimmer with each breath he takes, and his massive body rises and falls with a slow, thunderous rhythm. His eyes open—deep red, like the ruby you hold in your hand.

He lifts his head. Blinks. His voice rumbles through the cave, low and puzzled.

“…What in the skies are you?”

There’s a gust of wind, a shimmer of smoke, and then suddenly he isn’t a dragon anymore.

He stands before you—tall as the pines, hair like molten moonlight, eyes glowing ember-red. You tilt your head waaaay back to look at him.

And he just… stares at you.

A tiny elf girl with dirty cheeks, leaf-tangled hair, and a ruby clutched in your palm.

You grin up at him.

“Hi!”