The peasant froze like a cornered mouse, seeing a dragon towering right in front of him. Sylvarin could have ended him then—one bite and it would be over—but he just growled instead, forcing the scared prey to keep running. After all, Sylvarin was the king’s mascot. He had to put on a show.

It was the high point of the tournament. The king and his courtiers watched the hunt unfold on the palace grounds from a safe distance, cheering and clapping. It was known that the peasant was the brother of the leader of the recent rebellion—but he screamed just like anyone else when the dragon’s jaws finally tore his legs off.

***

Sometimes one blow is all it takes to break a man—or to break him free. When the King’s tax collectors came to arrest his brother, Bruce stood up for him. A guard swung a bat across his back, sending him to the ground. Normally, he would have stayed there, lying in the dirt. He was used to being beaten. All of them, working the fertile fields of the kingdom, were free only on paper; in practice, they were all slaves, used and abused by the nobles.

But this time, something broke in him. He grabbed a stone, rose from the ground, and jumped at the guards with a fury he never knew he had. And then a miracle happened: his neighbors joined in. More and more peasants came to stand by his side, and more guards arrived. A brawl turned into a skirmish, and soon hundreds of farmers left their lands to join the rebellion. Bruce was the grain that tipped the scale, awakening a wave that couldn’t be stopped.

Not until the entire king's army surrounded their camp to choke the uprising did Bruce fully realize he was now a leader, responsible for the lives of thousands of men. They were rebels with a cause, but with no chance of success.

***

Despite being the size of a wagon, Sylvarin could move as quietly as a cat, all thanks to the king's demand for the dragon’s claws to be regularly filed down so as not to damage the wooden floors. Sylvarin didn’t even remember what it was like to actually have claws. And he didn’t mind; his soft paws made playing hide and seek and jumping out of nowhere at unsuspecting courtiers so much fun.

Sylvarin sneaked through the palace corridors until he heard the sounds of two of the king’s advisors arguing in an adjacent chamber. He took a position at the entrance, preparing to jump at the first one to go through the door… and realized this was no ordinary conversation he was eavesdropping on.

‘Didn’t we slay them, back when the cub was taken?’

‘Father, yes. But the mother got away. She’s back now, spotted at the mountain pass.’

‘Make sure the rumor doesn’t spread. We don’t want the mascot uneasy. Not now.’

 

***

The king’s army stood unmoving and unyielding: a thicket of spear shafts slightly waved in the wind above the neat rows of polished steel helmets and cuirasses. Bruce could clearly see the King’s palanquin at the center of the enemy lines, adorned with royal banners of white, bearing a golden dragon silhouette. It would have taken only one arrow, shot with deadly precision, to turn the tide of history… but no, the distance was far too great, and the king was surrounded by guards.

Bruce glanced around at the rebel forces. Most of the peasants had no weapons except for farming tools. Only a handful wore thick jackets or sparse pieces of armor taken from enemy soldiers, while most of them wore nothing at all. It was clear that this would be a massacre. Bruce rode along the rebel lines, raising his voice to shout at the troops, in his last speech trying to instill in them a sense that there was still a chance… But soon he stopped, seeing in their eyes that hope was lost, and it was never needed. They were ready to fight and die for the cause.

Freedom was simply in their nature.

***

At that moment, Sylvarin realized his entire life had been built upon a lie. With one leap, he broke through a stained glass window, spread his wings, and rose above the city, his golden scales gleaming in the sunlight. A sensation welled up in his stomach, as if his insides burned with a thirst for revenge. But when he opened his snout to roar, a blazing stream came out of it. For the first time in his life, Sylvarin breathed fire. And he was furious.

***

A giant golden arrow flew above the battlefield, causing soldiers and rebels alike to turn their heads and squint to see the shape against the sun. It was the King’s personal dragon. The beast rose towards the sky, provoking a wave of applause from the king's soldiers. Bruce felt the rebel ranks shake with instinctive fear.

Suddenly, the dragon plummeted directly toward the King’s position and spewed fire, engulfing the palanquin in flames. Within seconds, the forest of spears wavered and fell, and the entire army began to flee from the deadly inferno sweeping through their ranks.

***

Sylvarin circled above the battlefield, watching the king's soldiers run amok, peasants chasing after them, and servants slaying their masters. He saw the chaos he had created, and it felt good. It felt natural. Without looking back, Sylvarin flew toward the mountains.