“You’re mad. You’ve gone completely and utterly mad, Xander. Do you know how insane you sound?” Erred crossed his arms over his chest and glared down at his oldest friend, a friend who at that particular moment in time was beginning to irk him. He heaved a sigh and sat back against the bench, watching the townsfolk go about their business.

“I’m not mad,” Xander insisted. “I saw it, a pillar of flame rose into the air and shot through the clouds. I swear.”

Erred sighed, shaking his head disdainfully. “It’s a volcano,” he reasoned. “What do you expect it to do? Dance and sing a jolly tune?”

“It’s not a volcano, it’s just a normal mountain. The flame is caused by dragons.” Xander could see that he was getting nowhere in speaking to Erred about this, but nobody else would listen to him. The villagers thought that he was mad, and now even his best friend was beginning to think he’d gone insane. “There was no magma in the flames,” he sighed in an attempt to explain himself. “It was just pure fire. I’m pretty sure volcanos don’t do that.”

“I’m also sure that dragons don’t exist,” Erred told him sharply, trying not to get too annoyed at him. Xander was a dreamer, he always had been and he’d come to the conclusion that he always would be, but his babbling nonsense and insistence that there was more to their world than darkness was starting to irritate him.

He stood and turned on his heels to face him, letting out a long, tired breath and running his hand through his fair hair. “I know you’ve dreamt of dragons and wizards since you were little, but it’s time to let those dreams go. You’re doing yourself no favours by believing in things that don’t, and never will, exist.” He felt guilty for putting it so bluntly, for being so abrupt about something that had meant a lot to Xander for a very long time, but he was worried that if he didn’t stop now then he’d live a life where nobody believed a word he said, where he’d grow old alone and be deemed senile and mad. It wasn’t a life for anyone, especially not in a village that prided itself on its normality. “What I mean is, if dragons really did exist, they certainly wouldn’t be here? There’s nothing in the village they can steal, no gold or jewels, and there’s no food they can eat.” He pointed up to the tall mountain looming over them, the silhouette of the peak only just visible above the thin veil of clouds. “That is a volcano. Not a dragon’s nest, not a wizard’s hideout, a volcano.”

Xander bowed his head in defeat, tears in his eyes and shame washing over him. Maybe Erred was right? Maybe the mountain was just a volcano and he really was going mad? But there was a way to prove it. He could climb the mountain and see for himself what was up there. If it was just a volcano as everyone believed then he would return to the village and speak no more of mystical beasts and sorcery, but if there really were dragons, or even the slightest hint of magic… “Maybe you’re right,” he said, his voice small and quiet. “Maybe it’s time I grew up.” He got out of his seat, making his way across the square and refusing to look back.

“Xander, I didn’t mean that!” Erred called, running after him and hoping he’d give him the opportunity to explain himself, but it was no use. He turned the corner onto the main street and Xander was nowhere to be seen amongst the bustle of life that occupied the cobbled road.

Erred ran his hand through his light hair for the second time that morning and grunted in annoyance, kicking aimlessly at a pebble and watching it skitter across the ground while he pondered on his predicament.

Xander hid in a small gap between two houses and peered around the wall, watching as his only friend turned back and disappeared around the corner. I’ll prove once and for all that there are dragons in that mountain, he thought to himself as he slipped beneath the awning of a shop and began to run towards the outskirts. I’ll show them all that they were wrong to call me mad.

He didn’t have much trouble in getting to the outer edge of the village, the townsfolk giving him a wide berth as he bolted past, not wishing to catch any madness he had, and within the hour he’d reached the base of the mountain. He looked up at it in wonder, spotting the peak through the shifting clouds, and without so much as a glance back at his hometown he began to climb.

The journey was perilous, and he lost his footing many times, almost tumbling down onto sharp protruding rocks and falling to his death, but he remained determined, refusing to stop for anything. He would prove that there was such thing as dragons, that this mountain was magic, not volcanic, and he wouldn’t give in until he’d found the truth.

He didn’t know what it was that drew him to the place. It was more than just a childhood dream; it was a feeling, an instinct buried deep within him, a desire that he couldn’t sate no matter how hard he tried.

For hours he climbed, and as time drew on he begun to grow weary, his lack of preparation beginning to take its toll. There was no water up there, nothing he could eat or drink, and the growing warmth was starting to weary him.

Just as he was about to collapse, to give up and begin his journey home, an orb of flame shot into the sky, the ball disappearing into the darkness above and exploding into hundreds of tiny white lights. The illumination skimmed his awe-struck features before the shadow of the eternal night dawned again, and with as much strength and energy as he could muster, he headed towards the source of the glow.