Ankita could hear the dragon’s thoughts, a tectonic rumble vibrating against the walls of her mind. For days, the village elders had warned her that hearing the Old Ones was a curse—a symptom of a fractured soul. But standing in the cavernous, shadow-drenched pantry of Mount Solis, she felt entirely whole.
“Gold… crisp, tempered gold…” the beast grumbled. The thought wasn’t a roar, but a low hum of dissatisfaction that made Ankita’s rib vibrate.
The great dragon, Ignis, shifted his massive, obsidian-scaled bulk. A cascade of priceless coins and jewelled chalices spilled around his claws, yet his slitted, molten eyes scanned the floor with palpable irritation. He wasn’t hoarding; he was snacking. But the local ore was too pure, too soft. It melted like butter on his blazing tongue. He craved resistance.
Ankita took a cautious step forward, her soft leather boots silent against the stone. She didn’t speak aloud; instead, she focused her intent and pointed toward the heavy shadow beneath the roasting pit. Hidden in the ash lay a single, heavily alloyed sovereign—an ancient coin, impure and mixed with iron.
The beast snorted, a plume of sulphurous smoke erupting from his nostrils. He lowered his massive snout, his hot breath stirring Ankita’s hair, and snapped up the tarnished coin.
Crunch!
The sound echoed through the cavern. The dragon closed his eyes, savouring the firm, unyielding texture against his massive fangs. It didn’t melt immediately. It held its shape, offering that perfect, stubborn bite.
‘Just perfect.’ he thought.
A rumbling chuckle echoed directly in her skull, warm and surprisingly gentle. ’Name your wish, young whisperer. You have exquisite taste,’ the dragon offered, his massive head tilting as he truly saw her for the first time.
Ankita smiled, the fear draining from her chest. Understanding wasn’t a curse after all; it was a recipe for survival.
INSTANT NOODLES 