Humans - a semi-intelligent race native to Earth. For eons, the species lived primitively, taking over its homerealm, recklessly wasting natural resources and causing the extinction of other native species. Only about three centuries ago, when they became less opposed to visitors from other realms and learned from them instead, had their civilization crawled forward. Their advances in combining runecasting with “science” (an attempt to study elements and mechanics, mimicking alchemy and functional relics) showed a promise of a golden age for the simple race. Time will tell if their civilization will ever compare to those found in major realms or if it will always lag behind.

Excerpt from: Elementary Realm Studies.

Ansgarde had never purposely studied the human race, only knowing the basics every spawn was taught in early life. She had never expected to find herself in their territory, having no interest in traveling to Earth. Even less likely had she ever expected to find herself in a human’s arms.

Though he looked the part, Larimar did not reek like an unwashed crude. The sharp scent that clung to him took her a while to place - a freshly cut tree. It was a relief. She would rather crawl on her belly or take her chance with the wind again than tolerate body odor from this close. While she held onto his neck, feeling small in his arms, Spinel secured herself in her collar and quietly hummed a merry tune.

Being carried was not half-bad. His body and his cape provided a shield against the wind, and she could allow her hurt ankle to rest. Still, she wanted to feel at least a little in control of where they were going.

“Are you taking me to your village?”

“We’ll stop at Communal Nest. Warmer there.”

Good. She didn’t want to deal with humans and their sick appetites. How dare they call her a beast? Him alone, she could handle. She was doing well so far, though his mysteries bothered her.

“Larimar, what did you do to save Spinel?”

He walked for at least five wing flaps before he answered. “Had to fish her soul out of the depths of the Sleep realm. She was locked on tight.”

This didn’t really answer her question. “Are you a Mystic like your sister?”

He exhaled. “She’s not the Mystic.”

Ansgarde frowned. “What? You are?”

He shrugged. “You assumed it’s a woman. Didn’t correct you.”

She wanted to hit him but settled for a disapproving scowl. “Why bother with lying to me and then come clean just the next day?”

He walked another couple of wing flaps before answering. “Didn’t trust you.”

“And now you do? What changed?”

His eyes scanned down her exposed arm, speckled with the glowing plants. “You’re the Starlit Sky.”

She looked up at the stars twinkling above. Fuzzy clouds passed overhead, pushed by the hands of wind, obscuring the magical dragon-like constellations. The sky here was dark blue at night, not dark red like in the Nether. Under the dim moonlight, her skin took on a similar shade. Well, wasn’t that poetic of him.

He was watching her attentively as she made these observations. She looked away, heat building in her face. She didn’t want males of any species to be looking at her like this.

Her further questions halted as she noticed a purple glow on his face. Up ahead, the source of the light was drawing close. It was something tall, dark in some places, glowing in others. The closer they were, the clearer the image of it - a multi-trunk tree.

Light emanated from under the roots. At the canopy, a few branches twisted into intertwined circles, light escaping the cracks in the bark like veins, pulsing with life.

He put her down and helped her settle on a large protruding root. She sighed in relief as only dry heat emanated from the tree. She wasn’t shivering anymore. Even the wind was calmer here.

He crouched with his back against the tree and scratched his messy scalp. “How’s the foot?”

“Fine.”

She had forgotten about her foot by now, enchanted by this special place. Veins of light escaped between the cracks in the ground, creating patterns around many shallow holes. There had to be dozens of them scattered around the glowing tree.

“Hatching holes,” he answered the question before she asked it.

“What?”

“For dragon eggs.”

Ansgarde gasped and tried to get up, wanting to inspect them immediately, but plopped back down with a yelp. That bad foot would take some getting used to.

“They hatched here?” she asked instead.

“Hatched, fledged, and raised.” Larimar made a wide gesture, pointing out the dark grounds. “This island was a nursery.”

Ansgarde squealed, unable to keep her excitement at bay. She imagined a swarm of baby dragons flying around, playing with each other, training their skills while their massive mothers looked over them. She could almost hear the flaps of their little wings accompanied by infectious laughter.

“Why attack Mafic?” he snapped her out of the dream.

She had to think for a moment before she understood the question.

“He almost ate Spinel!” she complained, her hand automatically reached up to her collar, where the little demon sat. Spinel hugged her finger in response and hummed a new tune.

“What?” He frowned but then noticed Spinel and sighed. “Oh. She’s the size of a miff - an insect. Sorry about that. He didn’t know.”

“Sorry?” she huffed. They would have to do more than a measly sorry to make it up to Spinel.

She looked away from him, eager to get moving. She wished the day came already, so she could start exploring the island. What other mysteries did it hold?

“She will suffer the fate of dragons,” Larimar whispered while staring at the ground. “I believe now.”