“Man, your species' history really is awful,” Flynn murmured while flicking to the next page of the book in his hand.

  Oscar gave a pitiful groan. “Dragons are not known for their kindness.”

  “Could’ve fooled me,” Flynn muttered, skimming over a lengthy paragraph detailing the third dragon war of the fifth century.

  “I’m a fluke, if you will,” the dragon said with sorrow in his voice.

  Flynn nodded pensively.

  Not usually a man of the written word, he found himself truly captivated by this first volume of ten about the history of the dragon empire and its relationships with other kingdoms, most notably the human realm of Verantis. Ever since the first dragons had roamed the continent, there had been conflict. At first, it only brewed among their own kind, with different clans fighting for dominance. Later, though, when other species started to call the continent their home, they’d branched out to seek war with those they deemed inferior — which, apparently, was everyone. The humans proved to be the most tenacious opposition. Not because they were particularly smart, or cunning, or skilled at anything in particular, but simply because there were many of them. And unlike most mythical creatures, they seemed to spawn like weeds. For every dragon that was born, at least a thousand human babies saw the light of day. Eventually, that fertility led to a shift in the balance of power, with the dragons losing control over part of the continent. In their wake, the newcomers formed the kingdom of Verantis — a rather mundane and dull kingdom in the grand scheme of things, with really not many remarkable aspects about it. But at least the humans were less hostile towards other mythical creatures than the dragons were, and so Verantis became a melting pot of mind and matter. Though ruled by humans, mythical creatures could soon be found in almost all areas of everyday life, whether that was in pastry stores or hospitals, restaurants, or in taverns. Some of them even joined the military, which was always in need of new recruits to fend off the advances of Althareon’s dragon armies.

  “You’d think after ten or so failed conquests, they would eventually learn their lesson,” Flynn mused.

  “Dragons can be rather stubborn, I’ve heard.”

  Flynn raised an eyebrow and glanced at Oscar over the rim of his book.

  The dragon shifted behind the small coffee table that stood between them, mindful of his tail. The library was a rather spacious tract of the Mythical Ward, but most structures would reach their limits when confronted with the likes of the blue dragon.

  After their meeting with Ruby, Oscar had insisted they’d follow up on her recommendation, and so they’d come here as soon as their agenda allowed it. Now, surrounded by bookshelves the height of city houses, they were sitting in one of the side pockets of the central library hall. Flynn was sprawled over a comfortable leather chair, his legs resting on the small table between them, a fragile-looking plant by his feet.

  It hadn’t taken them long to find the section about dragon history and literature, although it was way out of Flynn’s reach in the upper third of one of the tall bookshelves. Carefully maneuvering his sharp talons, Oscar had delicately plucked out two books from up above, one for each of them, and they’d begun reading the hefty volumes.

  They sat in silence for a long time, the peaceful atmosphere of the library like a soft blanket. Flynn had to admit it was oddly relaxing.

  Their moment of quiet togetherness was interrupted when Oscar suddenly puffed awkwardly, and a jet of hot air shot across the table.

  When Flynn glanced over, he could see that the dragon’s neck was a mild shade of pink.

  “What is it?” he asked and lowered his book.

  “Oh,” the dragon stammered, “nothing! It’s just … very educational.”

  Flynn furrowed his brows.

  “Remind me again, what is your book about?”

  The dragon’s neck turned from pink to crimson.

  “My book? Oh, uhm … dragon stuff.”

  Flynn craned his neck to get a better view of the cover, and Oscar instinctively moved his wings in to block his sight.

  “It’s about dragon anatomy, if you must know.”

  Flynn snorted. “I see. Anything interesting in there?”

  The dragon’s eyes scurried through the room. “It’s very … informative,” he murmured.

  “I bet it is,” Flynn said with a smirk.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” the dragon growled.

  Flynn didn’t comply. “Better to learn about these things ahead of time,” he quipped instead. “Never know when you might need that kind of knowledge.”

  “I have no idea what you are talking about,” Oscar growled defiantly.

  Flynn shrugged. “Nothing. Just trying to look out for you.”

  “Because you are the expert on these kinds of things?”

  A librarian scurried past them and put a haggard finger on her lips, her stern eyebrows furrowed.

  “I do have some experience, thank you for recognizing,” Flynn said facetiously.

  “Did you use that experience with Dora the other day?”

  The dragon’s amber eyes looked down on him with an unusual intensity. Flynn’s smug smile died abruptly and gave way to a bitter frown when he was reminded of what the Werehuman had said to him.

  There will come a time when Oscar doesn’t need you any longer.

  “No,” was all he managed to say, his tone sharper than intended.

  Flynn lowered his eyes, pretending to read the open book in his hands. In truth, he was blankly staring at nothing, Dora’s voice echoing in his ear.

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  As was tradition, the dragon immediately caved.

  “I didn’t mean to—”

  “It’s okay,” Flynn gently cut him off, his voice calmer now. “Really.”

  “I’m sorry if I offended you.”

  Flynn looked up at the large dragon, who squirmed uncomfortably under the tall ceiling.

  “There is nothing you have to apologize for. I’m sorry for teasing you. Again.”

  The dragon puffed. “It’s okay, I don’t mind.”

  “You should,” Flynn said with a defeated sigh.

  They fell silent for a moment, absorbing the tranquil atmosphere of the library.

  “Take your dirty boots off the table!” a squeaky voice screamed into the quiet.

  Flynn startled and almost tore a page out of his book. Oscar roared and jammed his head into the upper part of the nearest bookshelf. A cloud of dust erupted from the wall of ancient volumes, and a few of them trembled dangerously close to the edge. Flynn’s eyes darted through the room in search of whoever had yelled at them, but they were all alone.

  Flynn cautiously lifted his feet off the table, holding his book like a weapon.

  “You heard that, right?” he hissed into the tense silence.

  The bruise on Oscar’s head was confirmation enough.

  “I sure hope he heard me,” the squeaky voice cut through the air. “Although I didn’t see his talons on this precious table.”

  Flynn narrowed his eyes and examined the scrawny plant in the center of the coffee table. At first, he thought his mind was playing tricks on him, but when it scoldingly raised a branch, there was no denying it any longer — the plant was moving. It was some sort of miniature tree, although Flynn had no idea what type. He wasn’t exactly a plant guy, and yet, he was utterly captivated by the tree as it twisted its tiny branches.

  “That is … adorable,” he whispered, reaching for the plant with one of his fingers.

  “Adorable?” the plant screeched, almost rupturing his eardrums.

  “The small ones are always the loudest,” Oscar commented, rubbing the bump on his head with his wing.

  The plant huffed. “Are you out of your mind? I have not lived 387 years on this planet only to be called adorable and small by the patients of this esteemed institution!”

  Flynn’s jaw dropped, and the dragon’s scales seemed to lose their color.

  “D-Di-Director Nemus?” Oscar stuttered, his eyes widened in disbelief.

  The plant didn’t hear him over its tantrum. “What has become of this place? What has become of proper etiquette and respect for your mentors and elders? Have we turned into a madhouse? I remember —”

  “Excuse me, Sir?” Flynn tried to interject, but the tiny tree wasn’t having it.

  “— and to think that I was once awarded the Order of the Golden Lotus by the king himself in recognition of my achievements in leading this therapy center. And now this? The audacity of—”

  “Excuse me, Sir!” Flynn said more firmly, grabbing the plant’s pot. “We’re sorry we offended you. Again. It was not our intention.”

  The tree looked at him with natural disapproval. Flynn continued before Nemus could talk himself into a rage again.

  “We didn’t notice you were … well … here … with us.”

  The director scoffed and shook his trunk.

  Oscar leaned over to Flynn. “Do you think he shrank?” he whispered conspiratorially — except, dragons can’t whisper, so half the library heard his question.

  The tree ruffled its leaves. “I beg your pardon?” it squeaked. “I did not shrink.”

  “But then how are you here?” Flynn asked in honest confusion.

  Director Nemus gave both of them a long, scrutinizing look.

  “I can tell you really don’t know the first thing about Arbori,” he concluded.

  Flynn shrugged. “Well, no. Never even knew they existed before meeting you.”

  Nemus muttered something along the lines of ignorant youth.

  “As an Arborus,” he began with a condescending voice, “I can control multiple host flora at the same time.”

  “So you are some kind of hive mind?” Flynn blurted out.

  The tiny tree impatiently drummed a branch against its bark.

  “No, I’m not a hive mind. What do you take me for? It’s not like I control otherwise sentient hosts — I can only insert my mind into other plants.”

  “So that’s how you can be in other places?” the dragon asked cautiously.

  “Indeed,” Nemus confirmed.

  Flynn frowned. “In how many different places can you be, exactly?”

  The tree offered a smug smile. “The answer to that question might disturb you. Besides, I don’t think you’ve earned the right to know.”

  “So, why are you not always a tiny plant?” Flynn continued, unfazed, “People could just carry you around.”

  “That,” Nemus said and clicked a branch, “is also a highly offensive question.”

  Flynn decided to drop his planned inquiry about the Director’s stance on books being made of paper, and, by extension, trees — turning the library into a mass grave of sorts.

  They fell silent for a moment, the judgmental eyes of the director on them.

  “I see you are reading up on dragon history and … anatomy,” he finally said, the edge slowly taken out of his voice.

  Oscar blushed. Flynn forced himself to take his eyes off the tiny plant and instead looked down at the book in his hand. He still had a death grip on it, his knuckles white and bony.

  “We thought we’d use our day off for personal education and self-improvement,” Flynn said.

  The sarcasm was lost on Nemus.

  “Excellent,” he squeaked. “That might just be the first sensible thing to escape your mouth!”

  Flynn took the win, and nodded.

  “Director Nemus?” Oscar asked sheepishly.

  “Yes, Oscar?”

  “Have there been many dragon patients at the Mythical Ward?”

  Nemus considered the question for a moment.

  “Dragons are notoriously detached from their emotions, which makes you think they’d end up here in numbers. Sadly, their species usually chooses to suppress any feelings that are considered … unbecoming … of a dragon.”

  Nemus glanced sternly at Oscar, and the dragon’s tail drooped slightly.

  “In the history of the Mythical Ward, there have only been very few dragon patients. In my lifetime, I’ve only seen a handful, if that. The fact that we now have two at the same time is nothing short of a miracle.”

  Oscar’s expression was one of conflicted emotions. The director’s insights were clearly a lot to digest.

  “Well, it’s good not to be the only dragon here, I suppose.”

  “You’ll always be one of a kind,” Flynn said and shot the dragon an uplifting smile.

  It took a moment to catch.

  “I meant that as a compliment,” he added, when the intent seemed unclear.

  In an unexpected turn of events, the tree seemed to agree with Flynn.

  “You are wise to seek out our help, Mr Scar,” Nemus said calmly. “That sure makes you special among your kind, in the best possible way.”

  Oscar’s features relaxed. “Thank you,” he said and puffed. “I appreciate that.”

  The tree crossed its branches in satisfaction, giving the expression that nothing other than appreciation was expected for its words of wisdom.