He wore the Sky Guard uniform, and he had introduced himself as a ‘dragon specialist’, whatever that meant, sent by Falka to collect Kalai’s translated documents.
“How many are about wild dragons?” the specialist asked, tilting his head to better read the titles.
“These five at the front are all on wild dragons.” Kalai pointed to the second stack. “Some of them are from the burned documents, so not all of them are complete texts, but Falka informed me they’re all valuable.”
“Very valuable indeed, Mister Ro-Ani.” The specialist took the folder when Kalai held it out.
Kalai simply smiled. He’d long since given up correcting people on his name.
They shook hands. The specialist’s grip was firm and brief. “I’ll see you this time next week, unless Falka decides to come, himself. Have a good afternoon, sir.”
“You too,” Kalai said, following him to the door and closing it.
Returning to the desk, Kalai pulled out the box of medicine. Picking the half-empty vial, Kalai shook out a single pill and washed it down with tea. Falka had said to take a dose morning and night, but Kalai felt certain upping the dose by a single pill a day would be both harmless and effective. He had only had one episode since arriving in Valreus, after all, and that had been before he started taking the medicine.
Red ink caught Kalai’s attention. Taking a seat, he reached for the note he had left on the desk, the one with the poetic message underlined in red.
“The mighty dragon sleeps for a thousand years,” he read out loud. “She breathes fire and wakes her children.”
Could it be describing Ibi-shao, the dragon the Kykarosi called the Executioner? Wild titans ruled over entire groups of dragons, and Kalai had seen her lead an attack on Valreus with his own eyes. But titans couldn’t sleep for a thousand years, no living thing could even grow that old. And none certainly breathed fire. “Her wrath consumes all who dare witness her power.” He had to admit Ibi-shao had been a terrifying sight, hovering above the city like a dark omen. And then there were the numbers on the back. -1866. -866. 134. And 1134 circled in red. What were they? Years? The text had mentioned a thousand years, and there was exactly a thousand between each number. By the Sharoani calendar, the year 1133 was coming to an end, but aside from the cryptic poem, the note said nothing about what might happen once 1134 rolled around.
Putting the note aside, Kalai reached for a document he had found earlier in the day. He had left it backside up and hadn’t shown it to the specialist.
Flipping it back over, he traced the text. More than half the words were scratched out with black ink. At the bottom was the unmistakable seal of the Sharoani dragon masters, identical to his own dragon-shaped pin. Beside it, a single Kykarosi word was scrawled: THEFT.
Kalai wasn’t sure what to make of it, but something told him it wouldn’t be wise to show the Sky Guard what he had found. The seal looked frighteningly real, which shouldn’t be possible. The documents in the dragon temples were sacred and must never be removed from the mountain. And while none of the other documents Kalai had found so far carried the same seal, this wasn’t the only document that looked like it belonged in a temple rather than a city archive.
Pounding at the door made Kalai flinch. He quickly tugged the desk drawer open and hid the papers inside.
“Coming!” he called, slipping from the chair.
When Kalai opened the door, it wasn’t the accusing stare of a guard that met him, but Tauran’s sky-blue eyes, wide and glassy and filled with a desperation that made Kalai’s blood run cold.
“What happened?” Kalai asked, letting Tauran step into his embrace. Tauran was heavy against him, and Kalai had to take a step back to hold his weight. “Tau,” he gasped, twisting his head sideways to get a glimpse of Tauran’s face pressed against his shoulder. “Are you hurt?”
“No. Yes... I’m sorry.” Tauran’s voice was rougher than Kalai had ever heard it.
“Is it your leg?” he asked softly.
Tauran nodded.
“Can you make it upstairs to the bed?”
“I...” Tauran raised his head. His skin was damp with sweat.
“I’ll help you,” Kalai promised. “Just put your weight on me.”
Tauran nodded again.
The staircase might as well have been a mountainside. Tauran winced and gasped, his grip on Kalai’s biceps bruising, and halfway up the steps, Kalai almost wished he