The wind was soft that morning—carrying the scent of blooming jasmine and the distant crackle of dragonfire from beyond the hills.
Kiko stood barefoot in the grass, her eyes fixed on the large, scaly lump curled beneath the mango tree.
It was a baby dragon.
Well, not a tiny one—closer in size to a large cow—but with oversized wings and stubby horns, and he kept sneezing little puffs of smoke.
"Hi there," Kiko said cautiously, gripping a slice of grilled fish in her small hands. "I brought you breakfast!"
The young dragon's eyes opened a slit—amber irises with slit pupils gleaming like polished jewels.
He snorted.
Kiko blinked. "Okay. Not a fish fan? I also have some boiled sweet potato!"
Another snort.
She placed both on a nearby stone and backed away slowly, crouching in the grass and watching him.
"I'm Kiko. I live here. Papa says I'm a 'bundle of chaos and glitter,'" she added proudly. "What's your name?"
The dragon shifted slightly, stretching his legs. His wings fluttered, stirring the leaves above him.
He looked at her a long moment… then turned his head and plopped it down with a grunt.
Kiko pouted. "That's not very polite."
She tapped her chin. "Papa says when someone doesn't want to talk, you can still be kind to them."
So she sat nearby, humming softly while braiding long strands of grass into little loops. Occasionally, the dragon peeked at her from the corner of his eye.
And when she offered him a mangosteen?
He snatched it up and crunched it like a candy.
She grinned. "I knew you were sweet-toothed!"
Meanwhile, Ryuuji stood at the base of the old forge built into the cliffside—a place once used by wandering dwarves centuries ago. The anvil was cracked in two when he found it, but he'd reforged it himself with ancient techniques and a sprinkle of modern creativity.
Beside him stood a dragonling—not quite a child, not yet an adult. Her name was Rhelia, daughter of one of Elysia's vassals.
She was quiet, thoughtful, and very curious about human tools.
Ryuuji handed her a hammer. "It's not magic," he said. "Not like the fire you breathe or the scales you grow. This is work. Patience. Rhythm."
Rhelia nodded. "Then teach me, Master Ryuuji."
He smirked. "Just Ryuuji is fine."
The forge came alive with heat, bellows wheezing like a sleeping beast. The metal glowed orange.
"Step one," Ryuuji said, rolling up his sleeves. "Heat until it sings. Not screams."
He placed the iron on the coals, eyes watching for the perfect hue.
Rhelia studied it closely, her silver claws curled behind her back.
"Step two," Ryuuji continued, lifting the glowing bar with tongs, "you shape it while it's soft—not when it's stubborn."
He struck once. Twice. Sparks burst like tiny suns.
Rhelia's eyes widened.
"Now you try," he said, stepping back.
She lifted the hammer with surprising ease. Her first strike was timid.
"Don't be afraid," Ryuuji said calmly. "It's not strength that forges—it's rhythm."
The next blow rang true.
Later that afternoon, Ryuuji returned home to find Kiko dancing in circles while the baby dragon clumsily followed her, wings flapping awkwardly.
"Papa!" she called. "I made a new friend! His name is Popo! I gave him three mangosteens and now he follows me everywhere!"
Ryuuji blinked. "You named a dragon Popo?"
"He's round and bouncy like a dumpling!" she explained.
Popo gave a puff of smoke in agreement.
Ryuuji couldn't help but laugh. "Alright then. Just keep him away from the chickens."
"Too late," Kiko said with a giggle.
He heard distant squawking and sighed. "Of course."
That evening, Ryuuji prepared grilled eggplant with sesame glaze while Elysia brewed herb tea from her native dragon flowers. Kiko was trying to teach Popo how to sit. It was mostly unsuccessful.
Rhelia, soot-streaked and proud, brought over a half-finished dagger she'd forged that day.
"You've got good instinct," Ryuuji praised, inspecting the spine. "You'll make a better blacksmith than I was at your age."
Elysia smiled beside him. "You say that like you weren't reforging mythical blades a decade ago."
"Those were different times," he said simply.
As they ate together under the hanging lanterns, a sudden ripple ran through the warding spells Ryuuji had placed along the outer perimeter of their 10-kilometer peace boundary.
He stood slowly. "Someone's entered the protected zone."
Elysia's expression darkened. "A threat?"
Ryuuji shook his head. "No. Just… curious. But they shouldn't be here."
He handed the last piece of grilled eggplant to Popo, who inhaled it whole, and vanished into the trees.
He found the visitor within minutes—thanks to both his spells and his own honed senses.
The man was young—barely older than twenty—with a mage's robe dusted from travel and a spellbook swinging at his hip. He wasn't armed.
He was standing at the edge of a stream, sketching something into a notebook.
Ryuuji stepped out from behind the tree with the silence of a ghost.
"Beautiful spot, huh?"
The young man nearly jumped into the water. "By the Stars—! Who—?!"
Ryuuji raised a hand, calm. "Easy. I'm not angry. Just curious."
The man looked at him warily. "Are you… the guardian of this island?"
"Something like that."
"I didn't mean to trespass! I swear! I was mapping ley lines from the neighboring island, and the readings just… pulled me here."
Ryuuji nodded. "The magic here is strong. Old. And private."
"I—I didn't know it was off-limits. There were no signs."
Ryuuji tilted his head. "That's intentional. If you couldn't sense the boundary, you weren't meant to be here."
The young mage swallowed. "So what happens now?"
Ryuuji studied him for a long moment. Then reached into his pocket and pulled out a smooth stone, etched with a glowing rune.
"Take this," he said. "It's a ward-stone. If you try to cross the boundary again without it, the dragons won't ask questions first."
The young man's eyes widened. "D-Dragons?"
"You're lucky I found you before they did," Ryuuji said, voice gentle but firm.
"I—I understand. Thank you for not… vaporizing me."
Ryuuji chuckled. "I'm more of a pacifist these days."
The young mage looked down, thoughtful. "You're him, aren't you? The hero. The one who defeated the Demon Lord."
Ryuuji's smile faded slightly. "That was a long time ago."
"Still… thank you. For everything."
Ryuuji gave a small nod. "Safe travels, kid."
And with that, the young man vanished beyond the trees—wiser, and a little more respectful.
That night, Ryuuji sat beneath the stars, sharpening a blade not for battle, but for trimming branches. Elysia leaned against him, warm and silent.
Kiko was fast asleep inside, one arm around Popo's snoring snout.
The pups had curled beside Kaen and Yuki, safe and full.
Rhelia had left a thank-you note by the forge, scribbled in runes.
And the island exhaled once more.
Peace.
Guarded, quiet peace.
With laughter, and tea, and young dragons learning how to be more than just creatures of might.
And a man, once lost in war, now found in calm.
Tomorrow, there would be new things.
Maybe Kiko would teach Popo to fetch.
Maybe another dragon would want to learn cooking.
Maybe another visitor would come.
But for tonight?
Everything was exactly where it belonged.