Dragons had been labeled as fictional for years. Bones found had been labeled as unknown dinosaurs since the dawn of time, if there were any found. And any dragons found? Well, the person who found them didn’t live to tell.

Oliver had been fine with this. If there was no solid evidence that he existed. Nobody could find him. Until he took a trip back to Europe a few years back and found out his name was written in the history books. Which was terrifying. Finding out he was a knight who went down in history for the battles he lead. And that his execution had been passed down 500 years to modern historians. Sure, there were errors. But he was painted as a hero. There was even a drawing he didn’t remember of him and his squadron. Which had been…Nostalgic at best.

Maybe he should have just stayed hidden. Something he often thought to himself in situations like this. When a very specific type of nerd walked into his book store. The look that felt like someone knew him more than they should. The ‘You look familiar, but I can’t place why’ thst always made him feel like he’d been caught. But todsy he was met with the question he dreaded most. ‘You look like Sir hensley, are you related to him?’

Today was a good day. It was supposed to be. He splurged snd got a coffee and everything. He never wanted a coffee in the morning. And yet he’d shelled out 8 dollars for the shitty overpriced drinks from down the road. But now he was stood behind the glass counter full of antique books, in a shop that he fully owned and ran. And being accused of being a relative of himself. 500 years. For this? Christ he should have stayed in that cave. But instead of yelling at this absolute moron like he wished. He just frowned and politely (as polite as he could muster), told them no

“As much as I’d like to say yes to your dumb idea. No. And you people need to stop asking me.”