Crys, calmer now,
looked around the cave again.
The light from the entrance no longer reached this far.
Even the beams slipping through cracks
couldn’t reach the end.
The ceiling was high.
From above, below, and along the walls,
thick, pointed stone jutted out.
In silhouette, they seemed dull—
until, at certain angles of sunlight,
something flashed.
“TT.
Can you light up the whole cave?”
“If you already know I can,
you say please.”
TT smirked
and lifted his staff.
Light shot upward
like a firework.
It burst against the ceiling
and the darkness broke.
Orbs drifted down slowly.
Crys caught his breath.
It was a crystal cavern.
What he had taken for stone
were columns of clear crystal,
sharp and thick as frozen light.
They caught the falling glow
and magnified it.
The orbs touched the ground once,
bounced—
and stayed.
Light flickered.
Edges answered.
Thin flashes ran along the facets.
Sometimes a sound rang out—
a high, clean note.
Like a struck glockenspiel.
Maybe the sound of crystal shining—
or being born.
“…That’s insane.”
“There’s a famous crystal cave in Mexico.
Another in Spain.
But this is different.”
Crys barely heard him.
“Have you been?”
“No.
But photos are enough to tell—
the quality isn’t anything like this.
Is this even crystal…?”
As if in a dream,
Crys reached out.
Cool.
Like touching water.
It was crystal.
He scanned the cavern again—
ceiling to wall—
then down.
A cluster.
Small, compared to the pillars—
though far larger than anything
he’d once collected as a child.
He crouched.
No inclusions.
Thin.
As if it might shatter
or melt in the mouth.
He leaned closer.
Red.
Deep inside.
Like flame in ice.
He narrowed his eyes.
Then—
“Impossible!”
“What?”
TT steadied him
as Crys recoiled.
“There’s—
there’s a ruby vein in a crystal bed!
And this color—
it’s pigeon blood.”
“Pigeon blood?
That?
Whoa. Loot drop.”
Crys nearly stamped his foot.
“There’s a ruby
in a crystal formation.
Doesn’t that bother you?”
“Relax, rock nerd.
Not everyone majored in stones.
What’s so impossible?”
Crys inhaled.
“Crystal and ruby form under different geological conditions.
They don’t occur together.
It’s like—
roses growing in Antarctica.
And pigeon blood is the highest grade of ruby.
Named for its color.
It’s supposed to come from mines in Myanmar.”
“Then this must be Myanmar.”
Before Crys could explode—
“If there’s pigeon blood,
is there cornflower too?”
“…Blue sapphire.
Sometimes called mythical.”
Crys looked.
Soft blue.
Bright but misted.
Not the deep blue you see at mineral shows.
He didn’t shout this time.
“Ruby and sapphire are both corundum,
so that part’s fine.
But this shade—the source material’s exhausted,
and it’s not even from the same mines.”
“Corundum?”
TT was already scanning the cavern for more.
“Mineral name.
Gem-quality red is ruby.
Everything else—
sapphire.”
“I thought sapphire was blue.”
“Yellow. Green. Clear.
Black. Even gold.”
TT looked impressed.
Crys gave an awkward smile.
“You’re a ruby.
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
Rare. Wanted.
Intense—like pigeon blood.
I’m sapphire.
Same mineral.
No clear color.”
“Wrong.
Sapphire is every color.”
TT corrected him
with fresh knowledge.
“Maybe I’m ruby.
One color, fixed.
You know more.
Like more things.
Sometimes that’s worth more.”
“What I know’s useless.
Just hobbies.”
“You don’t know that.
Maybe someday
what you know will matter more
than school or a job.”
TT kept scanning.
Once Crys started looking,
minerals were everywhere.
Amethyst. Citrine. Morion.
Topaz. Tourmaline. Garnet—
those at least made sense.
But emerald.
Alexandrite.
Opal—
When he saw a diamond
the size of an ostrich egg,
he finally stumbled backward with a shout.
Deeper in,
darkness thickened—
like the inside of a stomach.
But the orbs followed TT,
so the path stayed bright.
Flat. Easy to walk.
Too wide.
Wide enough for two tanks to pass side by side.
That bothered him.
A dragon’s path.
The thought made him shiver.
Kadeshara had said
Adama was old—
molting,
long past its prime.
But what if it wasn’t?
What if—
Crys edged closer to TT.
“Scared?”
TT laughed.
“It’s a real dragon.
Close by.
Of course.”
“You’re not?”
“…A little.”
He glanced up at Tsek.
“Tsek says Adama hasn’t left this cave
in centuries.
And Kadeshara said old.
Past the stage of pouncing at movement.
And honestly—
we don’t look filling.”
“TT’s more filling than I am.
I picked a good friend.”
“If it’s that hungry,
it’ll take us both.”
Crys smiled.
TT’s grin softened.
“When I said scared—
I meant excited.
Nervous.
Seeing a dragon
outside a screen.
Each step closer—
heart racing.
You don’t feel that?”
“I’m actually scared.”
His lips felt cold.
“From far away
I just wanted to see it.
But now—
I keep imagining strength.
Fangs.
It stepping out of that dark
and—”
“Ad scared of a dragon?
That’s rare.
You charge them in-game.”
“That’s the real one.
The game version.”
He shrugged.
TT’s voice turned steady.
“You’re the same—
in and out.
No fake version.
Just Ad.”
Crys smiled, thin.
He was glad.
But TT still wouldn’t use his real name.
Maybe he only saw
the in-game Ad.
He said nothing.
The air was clean—
none of the usual cave heaviness.
Still—
his breathing was tight.
He tried distraction.
Minerals again.
Bright face.
Then a grimace.
But the crystals grew larger.
Sharper.
Guarding something.
His heart pounded.
Sweat under his arms.
He was about to speak—
The light stopped.
TT had stopped.
Crys followed his gaze.
A wall of crystal.
It was the cave’s end.
But not sealed.
An arch carved beneath.
If Adama was anywhere—
It was beyond.
They met each other’s eyes.
And stepped
under the arch.
As they walked through the blunt tunnel
carved straight through rock,
something rose ahead—
not mineral,
but like a small hill.
Reddish-brown.
A scrubbed, barren color
that didn’t belong
in a crystal cave.
Then the tunnel opened—
and both Crys and TT
let out a breath.
The deepest chamber
was a wide circle.
The walls were laced
with minerals they hadn’t seen on the way in,
layered and layered,
catching the faint light leaking from cracks in the high ceiling
and throwing it back in glittering shards—
so bright
the orbs weren’t needed here.
And the “bare hill” at the center—
was a creature
too large to take in at once.
A dragon.
Crys’s heart hammered—
and then,
as if the surge crested and broke,
the thrill collapsed.
This was a dragon?
Scales dulled like rusted iron.
Wings cracked like dead wood.
A body washed out,
as if coated in dust.
Not “old,” exactly—
more like something
that hadn’t managed to die.
Crys had pictured
the kind of dragon he’d seen in games—
red enough to wake you up,
alive with heat.
He couldn’t hide his letdown.
But TT didn’t share it.
As if pulled forward,
he drifted ahead,
eyes catching the gemstone light
and holding it
as he walked toward the dragon.
TT—what are you doing?
It’s dangerous. Come back.
Crys didn’t say it.
A voice could wake it.
So he screamed it in his head,
knowing it wouldn’t carry.
Of course it didn’t.
TT stopped
beneath the dragon’s chin.
Even from behind,
Crys could tell—
he was overwhelmed.
TT set his hand
against the dragon’s closed mouth.
Nothing.
Then he slid his fingers up,
to beneath its eye.
“A real dragon,”
TT breathed.
“As if I’d actually get to meet one.”
Crys couldn’t settle.
Even if it looked slow—
if it opened its jaws,
that would be it.
Touching it at all
was already more than enough.
He called TT’s name again,
silently.
This time—
maybe a shift of shadow,
maybe a feeling—
TT looked back,
as if he’d heard.
“It’s fine.
Come on, Ad.”
Crys shook his head hard,
fear plain in his eyes,
lips clamped shut.
TT’s voice could wake it—
that thought wouldn’t let go.
But TT kept coaxing,
patient, intent.
“I’m telling you—
if you let this go, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.
Dragons are romance.
You said that too, remember?
Right here,
in front of you,
a legend you only ever see on a screen
is lying in real life.
Yeah, it looks like it’s in power-save mode
while it molts—
but once it’s done,
it’ll be moving again.
A chance to touch it?
This might be the only one.
Picture it, Ad.
Next time you open the game,
you’ll think—
I’ve touched a real dragon.
One small step of courage,
and the rest of your gaming life
gets better.”
He wasn’t loud.
But the cave carried sound.
The words
found the soft spot in Crys.
He looked at the dragon.
Ugly.
Dust-stained.
A tired, pitiful thing.
Nothing like the romance,
the longing,
people attach to dragons
as rulers of the sky.
And still—
however old,
however dried-out,
however worn—
it was a dragon.
Maybe not now,
but once,
it must have been a guardian here.
His pulse rose again.
He’d thought
seeing it once would be enough.
It wasn’t what he’d hoped for—
but TT was right.
Because it wasn’t moving,
he could touch it now.
Fear stayed.
But curiosity edged past it.
Crys found himself walking.
He couldn’t bring himself
to stand in front of it.
So he aimed for TT,
who had his hand
moving along the long neck
toward the body,
and approached with space between them.
His palms were damp.
He wiped them hard on his skinny jeans.
Then, carefully,
he set his hand to the scales.
Not smooth—
but less rough
than they looked.
Colder than a snake.
Colder even than a lizard.
So cold
it felt less like an animal
and more like stone.
It was exactly
what he’d imagined a dragon would be.
He felt his mouth ease despite himself.
He placed his other hand.
Leaned closer.
A smell—
ashy,
like what’s left after something has burned.
He pressed his ear against it.
Closed his eyes.
He shouldn’t have been able
to hear anything—
no blood, no pulse,
through armor like that.
But after a while,
it felt like listening
to magma far underground—
quiet,
and undeniable.
Crys felt, strangely,
as if he were lying on the earth itself—
when another sound slipped in—
not that.
He blinked his eyes open.
It sounded like a cat
purring through a yawn.
Or—
maybe it was the ground.
And if it was—
they had to get out.
Now.
If the cave collapsed,
fallen rock could seal the way—
and trap them.
As Crys was about to tell TT, “We should go,” a sound like steam venting from a volcano—fshhh—cut through the chamber.
And then a voice,
heavy as the earth shifting,
deep and dense,
rang inside his skull.
—“A rare Koach.”
Again,
that hiss.
Crys and TT looked at each other.
They didn’t need words.
They were thinking the same thing.
TT’s expression sharpened,
as if listening inward.
Crys’s face drained of color.
Careful not to provoke the dragon,
Crys eased his hand away,
stepping back.
But TT,
still stroking the scales,
walked toward its face—
and, of all things,
spoke clearly.
“Was that your voice?”
—“Indeed.”
A slow, weighty tone
followed the hiss,
almost languid,
settling inside their minds.
—“Ye have come unto the deepest reaches,
as others afore,
to reap the jewels that grow upon my flesh.
Yet ye are too late.
Upon this aged body,
no gem shall rise.
Take what stones lie there,
and depart.”
“We didn’t come for jewels.
We wished to meet you,
Tanīn Evenyakarā.
Adama of Draconadom.”
This time,
the hiss was short.
A laugh, perhaps.
Not a pleasant one.
—“Then surely thy hearts are stilled.
I have heard
what manner of dragon
is dreamt in Chutz.”
“Disappointed?
In what way?
You are… beautiful.”
The instant TT said it,
the ground shook.
Vibration rippled outward,
striking the cave walls.
Minerals sang back—
high, clear notes
from every direction.
They layered,
overlapped,
until the air shrieked,
a piercing whine
like the ultrasonic hum
in the corners of tall buildings.
Crys clamped his hands over his ears,
eyes squeezed shut.
Then—
a violent burst,
like a geyser erupting.
The shaking ceased.
The metallic ringing faded.
Adama rumbled,
satisfied,
mouth still closed,
its voice low and resonant.
—“One who beholdeth truth.
What name hast thou?”
“Theo.
That’s what my friends call me.”
—“How curious.
The same name
as mine own companion.”
A light, wind-chime tone
rippled through the chamber.
Crys’s chest tightened.
A Theo.
A dragon’s friend.
There could only be one.
TT, standing beneath Adama’s eye,
looked up at the clouded film
veiling the dragon’s sight.
“What kind of person
is the Theo you call friend?
Does he wear lenses—
ornaments at his eyes?
His build… though I suppose,
to a dragon,
all human forms must seem alike.
Is he gentle?
Calm?”
—“Verily.
Know ye him?”
“We only know of him.
Theo Thomas.
In Chutz,
he’s a well-known game producer.
Creator of worlds.
Through his game,
we learned of you.
Not only us—
many have.
Because of him,
your figure is known.”
—“That is well.
He speaketh little of himself.”
Crys watched from a slight distance
as TT and Adama conversed,
voice and thought entwined.
The sun shifted.
Light through the cracks
gathered at the chamber’s center,
falling like a spotlight
on dragon and boy.
It looked almost mythic.
Two beings
of different species,
meeting as equals.
For a moment,
fear left him.
Then—
something flickered
at the edge of his vision.
Toward the crystal tunnel,
a cloak-like shape
seemed to flutter.
Suguri?
Had she caught up,
then turned back?
Before the thought settled—
a scream.
Not human.
A roar.
One note was enough
to freeze his marrow.
Crys’s heart clenched.
Blood turned to ice.
His body locked.
His teeth chattered.
His breath whitened
as if naked in midwinter.
The roar hadn’t finished
before the ground slammed upward,
again and again.
Crys couldn’t grasp what had happened.
Only this:
danger.
He turned toward the tunnel—
then stopped.
TT.
He wasn’t there.
Crys looked back.
Adama was writhing,
massive body twisting,
crushing the earth.
The mouth once sealed
now gaped wide.
The sacred gravity,
the solemn presence—
gone.
TT hovered in the air,
as if gravity had no claim on him,
near the dragon’s clouded eye,
trying desperately to soothe it.
But Adama heard nothing.
It understood nothing.
And at any moment,
one violent movement
could send TT flying.
In the quake and shriek of minerals,
Crys screamed—
“TT! Over here!”
No response.
He drew breath,
ready to shout again—
TT finally looked at him.
“Rone… call…”
Broken words.
Crys understood.
And shook his head.
“No!
We go together!
It’s dangerous!”
“I can’t… like this.
Almost… can…”
“TT, please!”
Helplessness cut through him.
“You know I can’t do it alone.
That cliff—
I can’t climb it.
Even if there’s another way,
I’m too slow.”
“Shu… is coming.
Tell her…
Rone…”
A roar swallowed the rest.
Adama thrashed,
as if to fling something from its skull.
Then—
it stopped.
It looked.
The cloudy membrane thinned.
Beneath it,
gold.
A vertical pupil.
It rose—slow, colossal—and fixed its golden gaze on TT.
Predator.
The roar and TT’s voice split the air at once.
“Run, Ad!”
