Chapter Text
Rafayel didn’t mean to trip over a dragon.
In his defense, he had been foraging for Bluecap Mushrooms—very specific, very rare, very glow-in-the-dark, and apparently prone to growing next to mortally-wounded apex predators.
He’d just spotted a cluster under a tree root, glowing faintly like tiny ghosts, when his foot caught on something hard, and the ground shifted with a deep grunt.
He landed face-first in the moss.
The “root” moved.
Rafayel’s head snapped up.
The dragon lay coiled, midnight-black scales dull with dirt and blood. A faint red shimmer ran down its spine and along the edges of its wings, like dying embers still glowing under the surface.
His eyes locked with a massive slitted red eye, set in a face that was definitely not a tree trunk.
The dragon’s eye focused on him.
Rafayel screamed. Loudly. Not a noble wizard scream. A high-pitched, panicked, very peasant one.
Then, in a panic, he yanked the nearest bottle from his satchel and threw it.
A soft pop followed.
Then glitter rained down. Like an overly enthusiastic party spell.
The dragon blinked once.
Rafayel blinked back. Covered in sparkles.
“…Okay,” he said, voice squeaky. “That was meant to be a sleep charm. Probably expired. You’re welcome.”
The dragon’s nostrils flared. It didn’t move beyond that, but Rafayel had enough sense to know he was about three inches from being flash-roasted.
But it didn’t attack.
Still frozen, Rafayel slowly took in the full picture. The blood. The deep heaving of its chest. Its wings were folded awkwardly, one dragging against the ground, torn and bleeding. It had a long gash along its ribs, another along its wing joint. Deep cuts, maybe from a fight, or worse, a hunter. Rafayel’s brow furrowed.
He didn’t know if that was impressive or terrifying.
Probably both.
He sighed, rubbing his temple. “This is a terrible idea.”
A pause.
“But I’ve had worse.”
He crept closer and crouched beside it, tossing his satchel open. “Okay. Ground rules. Don’t kill me. Don’t eat me. Don’t sneeze fire unless I say so. Nod if we’re good.”
The dragon’s tail gave a faint thump. Almost polite.
“…You’re weirdly well-mannered.”
“You shouldn’t even be conscious with wounds like that,” he murmured, setting down his bag. “Guess I’ll be stupid now and help you.”
He pulled out bottles, herbs, bandages, a pestle and mortar. The dragon stayed still, watchful but unmoving. Rafayel began mixing ingredients, speaking more just to fill the silence.
“I live just a bit north of here. Cottage. Overgrown. But cozy enough. Full of talking mushrooms that won’t shut up. You’d love it.”
Another puff of smoke. Was that a snort?
“Fine. Maybe not. But it’s safer than this. And if you’re not going to eat me—which, thank you, by the way—I can help you heal faster. Can’t have a giant fire-breathing corpse scaring off my mushrooms.”
The dragon gave a very slow blink. Rafayel interpreted that as agreement. Or indifference. Either was fine.
“You’re not like the dragons in books,” Rafayel said, pouring a glowing green potion over a gash. It hissed on contact, and the dragon flinched but didn’t lash out. “Most of them would’ve barbecued me by now.”
The dragon exhaled a thin stream of smoke.
“Don’t give me that look. I know what I said.”
Getting the dragon back to the cottage was a logistical nightmare.
Even with two levitation spells and one extremely awkward attempt at pushing it with a tree branch, Rafayel barely managed to get the dragon into the clearing beside his home. Barely. His herb garden was now crushed, but he was too exhausted to mourn it yet.
The dragon lay curled just outside the cottage wall, wings folded tight, breathing heavy but calm.
Rafayel plopped down beside him. “You owe me a whole patch of glowroot, you oversized salamander.”
The dragon’s eye half-closed. He looked… tired. But not in danger. That was good.
“Don’t die. That’d be rude.”
He was completely unaware that something ancient and strange had just stepped into his life.