While the two dragons were deep in debate about morality and law on Dragon Island, a chubby little kid came clomping by, shovel in hand. Moments later, he clomped back, grabbed the bucket he’d forgotten, and clomped off again. This went on for three or four trips, keeping him incredibly busy.

Just as he was about to dash toward his dragon dad one last time, he was intercepted by a silver-haired uncle who grabbed him by the waist. The uncle said, “Trying to kidnap someone without their permission? Your dad sure is rude.”

Elder Byron knew he couldn’t persuade his dragon friend. Since he couldn’t win in a fight, he resorted to underhanded tactics, trying to awaken Nidhogg’s conscience—at least making him realize the importance of parental dragons setting a good example.

The dragon dad’s handsome face showed no reaction because… his son simply couldn’t understand.

Byron: What are you so proud of?!

Esther, facing the dragon’s abrupt lifting, embraced the situation with the same nonchalance he’d shown when picked up earlier. He merely shifted into a more comfortable position before directing Uncle Silver Dragon to carry him and present the small bucket—just filled with gold coins—to Mr. Dragon. All of it came from the nest.

The little one had already sorted himself out. Since he couldn’t deliver the salad to Uncle Green Dragon, he’d offer the little shovel and hoe instead. Sand was super fun too!

He tilted his nearly featureless, round face upward, sending a signal to Mr. Giant Dragon for help. Dragon turtle soup?

Nidhogg quickly got it.

Bluetooth connection established!

Elder Byron watched for a while before curiosity got the better of him. He crouched down to join in, interacting with the child while chatting with his dragon friend: “What race is your son, anyway? I initially thought he was human, but I’ve never heard such a unique language among humans.”

The black dragon impatiently retorted, “My son is an ancient dragon. Of course, he speaks the ancient dragon tongue.”

Byron: =_= You still haven’t given up on this absurd concept? 

The silver dragon’s rebellious streak flared up, insisting on arguing: “Then why don’t you know it?”

“I’ve never communicated with dragons since birth. Where would I learn it?” the dragon argued convincingly.

The silver dragon crossed his arms. “Then how come your son can?”

“Why wouldn’t he? I inherited the power of the dragons, and he inherited their language!”

His conviction was terrifyingly strong, nearly convincing Elder Byron. He could only continue complaining to the little one in his arms: “Your dad is really unreasonable.”

Little El blinked, still not quite grasping the argument. But since he couldn’t win, he joined in, chattering away to Uncle Silver Dragon: “Where does the north wind come from, whoosh whoosh? Where does it go, whoosh whoosh? The stars are cold and blink their eyes. Why don’t they wear cotton coats?”

Neither of them understood a word the other was saying. Fair enough.

“You really are your father’s son—never one to take a loss, huh?” Elder Byron chuckled helplessly, ruffling the little one’s soft white curls. They felt unbelievably fluffy, like squeezing a ball of cotton.

Where the north wind was headed, Tuto didn’t know. Cotton-Curls didn’t know either. All he knew was that he was off to the pink beach again with Uncle Green Dragon, carrying his sand-play trio molded by Mr. Giant Dragon.

When he presented the sand toys as a surprise gift to Uncle Green Dragon, the dragon suddenly burst into tears. Tears streamed down like broken stones, pocketing the sand with each fall. The flustered little boy, fearing rejection, nearly snatched the gift back, ready to offer something else tomorrow.

But Uncle Green Dragon cried even harder, clutching his golden bucket tightly, refusing to let go. How could he not like it? This was the first gift he’d ever received from anyone besides Alina.

Purle was truly, truly happy.

Unfortunately, the only dragon he could share his joy with couldn’t receive his magic message just yet. Alina was currently in the shadows of the Rift Forest, trying to persuade Nidhogg to don a slime-like disguise: “This will make it easier for us to take down the dark elves.”

Yes, while Nidhogg felt he must seize a legitimate elf for his son’s garden, he wouldn’t spare the Dark Elf royal family either.

The three options Alina suggested that day sounded to all the dragons not like a choice between three, but rather “I want them all.”

Only the order might differ.

After swiftly resolving the Spring Temple with unprecedented speed, the greedy dragons promptly shifted their focus to the royal family of the dark elves.

No wonder—they dared to patrol Dragon territory (Elves: When did this become your territory? I’m not sure!). It was like placing a plump lamb before a hungry wolf, or dried fish in a cat’s bowl. Prey walking right into the trap? How could they resist?

Besides…

“Hello. I hear your royal family possesses the Crown of Wisdom, a treasure of the elven race. I’m quite fond of it. Might I have it?”

The Crown of Wisdom was a demi-divine artifact left behind by the Goddess of Wisdom, one of the Twelve Primordial Gods. It had long been held by the elven royal family until it was lost during the war that split the elves and dark elves. Its whereabouts remained unknown. However, Nidhogg possessed reliable intelligence confirming that this demi-divine artifact had become the private possession of a certain dark elf royal family member.

That reliable source was none other than the traitorous Lich, Savvy.

During the Third Expeditionary War, the elves—who had always maintained an aloof, detached stance—were reportedly provoked into active combat by this very artifact. After years of fruitless searching, it mysteriously surfaced in the Demon Realm. When the demons refused to return it, the Elven King, enraged, agreed to ally with the Church of Light and declared war on the Demon King.

The Crown of Wisdom was indeed in demonic hands at the time—more precisely, in the possession of the Asmodean family. One of the primary reasons Lich Savvy aligned with them was to study this demi-artifact.

However, Asmodeus’s research objectives diverged from those of the Crown of Wisdom. Once he deemed it useless, this turncoat sought intermediaries on the black market and sold it to a member of the Dark Elf royal family, securing substantial research funding in exchange. Given that his idiotic boss kept delaying the promised research funds, citing war budget constraints, he had no choice but to use public resources for his own private endeavors.

Nidhogg felt perfectly justified in double-crossing his own.

“The Grand Elder will be furious when he finds out,” murmured the dragon from the hunting squad, his voice tinged with unease as the dark elves fled in disarray.

“Why? I was perfectly polite,” Nidhogg countered, puzzled.

“Is this about politeness?!” You stole his stuff and got away with it? He’s a power broker in the dark elf royal family. He’ll definitely go complain to the dark elf queen when he gets back.

“What else could I do? Rob and murder?” Nidhogg countered, implying, who’s the real cruel one here?

“…That’s why we all said it earlier: pretend to be another race.“

To be precise, they wanted to pretend to be an entirely new race created by the dragons themselves. From racial traits and social structures to unique magical abilities, it’s built on an extremely strict and meticulous OC framework. This concept has been passed down through generations of dragon-hunting squads. Whenever a cover identity is needed, they don their armor and take the field. Each one dressed like a jelly roll.

The monstrous creatures of the Rift Forest are bizarre enough as it is. Far from arousing suspicion, this only drew hordes of monster scholars eager to study this mysterious race, one that only surfaces during the annual breeding season to pillage everywhere before vanishing without a trace.

Every dragon could recite the Disguise Race’s traits backwards. When it came to doing mischief, they truly didn’t mind the hassle.

Except for Nidhogg, who still clung to the primal thrill of committing crimes under their true dragon names, a practice dating back millennia.

Alina initially disapproved of Nidhogg’s actions until she realized: “Wait—what could that dark elf possibly accuse us of?”

If he dared claim the Crown of Wisdom was stolen by dragons, regardless of the neighboring elves’ stance, the dark elf queen alone would demand a reasonable explanation. Why had he secretly hoarded this demi-artifact for so many years without presenting it to the royal court?

The dragons were stunned—who knew the ancient dragon’s heart was so corrupt?

Had Nidhogg considered all this? Hard to say. As the undisputed pinnacle of power on Farreus, no one had ever been worth his deep thought. His mindset this time mirrored the last: finish quickly, return home sooner.

Yes, even with his recent travels, he still missed his son.

This time, he wasn’t worried about his son being bullied by the exclusionary dragon clan. With his son’s dragon affinity, it would be surprising if he weren’t the one leading the exclusion of others.

His concerns lay elsewhere.

“Didn’t you notice? The moment we returned last time, El charged straight at me.”

“So?” Alina was still trying to grasp the inevitable connection between the two.

“I watched it countless times in the memory crystal. I noticed El kept glancing toward the direction we flew off in, dozens of times over just a few hours. He was waiting for me.” No complaints, no questions asked. But Nidhogg didn’t want his son spending most of his life waiting. He didn’t want him to grow accustomed to it.

Nidhogg had always possessed a peculiar dragon habit: he could wait for others indefinitely, regardless of the duration. After all, dragons lived so long that the concept of wasted time was foreign to them. Yet he found it exceedingly difficult to accept others waiting for him.

Especially when it involved a child who hadn’t yet learned to speak, who understood so little, waiting endlessly, foolishly, without end.

Just thinking about it made Nidhogg’s heart ache.

And little El…

This day had actually been quite busy.

Playing in the sand with Uncle Green Dragon, serving as a gem display stand for Auntie Red Dragon, snacking on treats, drinking milk, examining tiny seashells on the beach, chasing seabirds back and forth along the shore…

The day was packed to the brim.

When Daddy Dragon finally returned, the little one was still organizing the colorful dragon aunts and uncles into shifts, deciding who would carry him tomorrow to beat the other dragons into a pulp.

Nidhogg had thought his son would be lonely, but in the child’s world, when Mr. Dragon was home, he played with Mr. Dragon; when Mr. Dragon was gone, he played with the other dragons. Like a vibrant, thriving sapling, he soaked up sunlight wherever he was.

Today, the little one even found time to pop back to the nest to check on his vegetable garden.

He still clung to hope, convinced the seeds hadn’t had enough time to take root. Perhaps the next time he opened his eyes, his garden would be lush and green. Alas, the heavens did not grant his wish, nor did they grant the little one’s. Even when Esther returned with his dragon father, his garden remained barren and empty.

In the dead of night, the north wind howled.

A sudden rustling sound echoed from the steep cliffs of Helheim’s Tooth. The ever-vigilant black dragon instantly opened his eyes, swiftly coiled his tail around his still-sleeping young, and charged out of the nest.

He cared not who lurked outside or what their purpose might be. He knew only that they were doomed!

What he found was a group of shadowy, glowing “jelly rolls” lurking in the darkness, studying magic to accelerate plant growth in the vegetable garden right outside his home. Just in case, one dragon had brought a large bag of seeds—who knew what varieties—ready to swap them out if one failed.

Nidhogg: “?”

━━ 🐈‍⬛ ━━

Author’s Note:

*Where does the north wind come from? Where does it go? A popular children’s song lately, the theme tune for Big Ears Tutu.