Begin Chapter One

The Dragon's Hoard

Ignis was a profound disappointment to his ancestors, and he knew it perfectly well. While the other dragons of the realm spent their centuries terrorizing coastal villages, hoarding glittering gold, and roasting the occasional foolish prince, Ignis collected paper.

His cavern, nestled perilously high in the Crag of Despair, didn’t smell of sulfur and charred bone. It smelled of vanilla, settling dust, and ancient leather bindings. Ignis was a hoarder of books, maps, and lost manuscripts.

The rhythmic clank-clank-clank of plate armor echoing up the mountain path interrupted his reading of a delicate Elvish history. Ignis sighed, a plume of blue smoke escaping his scaled nostrils, and carefully placed a silk bookmark between the fragile pages.

Sir Galahalt burst into the cavern, broadsword drawn and gleaming with a righteous, silvery enchantment. "Foul wyrm!" the knight bellowed, his voice echoing fiercely off the stalactites. "I have come to claim your hoard and rid the realm of your—"

"Shh," Ignis hissed.

Sir Galahalt froze, his sword suspended mid-swing. "What?"

"Lower your voice, please. The acoustics in here are terrible for shouting, and you are dangerously close to knocking over a first-edition collection of dwarven poetry," Ignis rumbled softly, adjusting a pair of massive, custom-forged spectacles on his snout.

The knight blinked, lowering his sword a fraction. He looked around, his eyes finally adjusting to the dim, golden light cast by the dragon’s glowing scales. Instead of mountains of coins, jeweled goblets, and scattered armor, he saw towering, precarious stacks of literature.

"Where is the gold?" Galahalt demanded, though the aggressive fire had entirely left his voice.

"Gold is cold, heavy, and functionally useless," Ignis replied, settling comfortably back onto his haunches. "A good story, however, can transport you anywhere in the world. Tell me, Sir Knight, are you actually here to kill me, or did the King simply send you away because you ask too many questions at council meetings?"

Galahalt’s shoulders slumped under the tremendous weight of his armor. He sheathed his sword with a heavy, metallic sigh. "It was the questions."

"I thought as much." Ignis reached out with one massive, careful claw and slid a thick, leather-bound tome across the smooth cavern floor. "This is a brilliant treatise on early agricultural reforms in the Eastern Kingdoms. Very dry, but highly informative. Pull up a rock. The natural light is best near the entrance."

And so, another legendary knight was lost to the beast of the Crag—not to fire or fang, but to the quiet magic of a good reading corner.

What kind of stories or genres do you usually enjoy reading when you're looking to escape for a while?

The Dragon's Hoard

Ignis was a profound disappointment to his ancestors, and he knew it perfectly well. While the other dragons of the realm spent their centuries terrorizing coastal villages, hoarding glittering gold, and roasting the occasional foolish prince, Ignis collected paper.

His cavern, nestled perilously high in the Crag of Despair, didn’t smell of sulfur and charred bone. It smelled of vanilla, settling dust, and ancient leather bindings. Ignis was a hoarder of books, maps, and lost manuscripts.

The rhythmic clank-clank-clank of plate armor echoing up the mountain path interrupted his reading of a delicate Elvish history. Ignis sighed, a plume of blue smoke escaping his scaled nostrils, and carefully placed a silk bookmark between the fragile pages.

Sir Galahalt burst into the cavern, broadsword drawn and gleaming with a righteous, silvery enchantment. "Foul wyrm!" the knight bellowed, his voice echoing fiercely off the stalactites. "I have come to claim your hoard and rid the realm of your—"

"Shh," Ignis hissed.

Sir Galahalt froze, his sword suspended mid-swing. "What?"

"Lower your voice, please. The acoustics in here are terrible for shouting, and you are dangerously close to knocking over a first-edition collection of dwarven poetry," Ignis rumbled softly, adjusting a pair of massive, custom-forged spectacles on his snout.

The knight blinked, lowering his sword a fraction. He looked around, his eyes finally adjusting to the dim, golden light cast by the dragon’s glowing scales. Instead of mountains of coins, jeweled goblets, and scattered armor, he saw towering, precarious stacks of literature.

"Where is the gold?" Galahalt demanded, though the aggressive fire had entirely left his voice.

"Gold is cold, heavy, and functionally useless," Ignis replied, settling comfortably back onto his haunches. "A good story, however, can transport you anywhere in the world. Tell me, Sir Knight, are you actually here to kill me, or did the King simply send you away because you ask too many questions at council meetings?"

Galahalt’s shoulders slumped under the tremendous weight of his armor. He sheathed his sword with a heavy, metallic sigh. "It was the questions."

"I thought as much." Ignis reached out with one massive, careful claw and slid a thick, leather-bound tome across the smooth cavern floor. "This is a brilliant treatise on early agricultural reforms in the Eastern Kingdoms. Very dry, but highly informative. Pull up a rock. The natural light is best near the entrance."

And so, another legendary knight was lost to the beast of the Crag—not to fire or fang, but to the quiet magic of a good reading corner.

What kind of stories or genres do you usually enjoy reading when you're looking to escape for a while?