The scene grew intensely awkward.

“Wait, I know this seems weird, but we can explain, really!” After getting caught by His Majesty the Dragon, the group of “Jelly Rolls” panicked, terrified he’d mistake their visit for an eagerness to meet the Dragon God.

Trespassing into an ancient dragon’s territory without permission was practically suicide in most dragons’ eyes—but they genuinely had a legitimate reason!

It all started as a little dragon’s idea: Green Dragon Purle wanted to sneakily surprise the little ones.

Fearing Esther might discover them, the green dragon even followed his girlfriend to borrow jelly roll costumes from other male dragons in the hunting party. He figured that even if spotted, they could pretend to be minions of the Earth Goddess—jelly roll sprites, ahem, no, seed sprites. Only the best younglings could receive help from seed sprites, gaining a vegetable garden overnight.

Across the way was another helpful dragon. Upon hearing Purle’s plan, he not only generously lent the costume but also offered to join the vegetable planting.

But one outfit couldn’t possibly fit two dragons. As the borrowing spread and word got out, the operation grew unnoticed into its current scale.

“Seed Sprites” sprouted like bamboo shoots after rain overnight in Nidhogg’s garden. Most dragons didn’t have deep reasons for their actions—like this time. Since the young ones wanted help and they happened to be able to lend a hand, they came.

Some dragons brought ready-made plants to swap in, others planned to conjure a spell on the spot to accelerate growth, while still others… chose to call in reinforcements. One dragon sent a magic message to their druid friend, whose ethereal image roared beneath the stars: “My god, my ability is to transform into animals and communicate with them! How the hell am I supposed to know how to scare plants into growing faster? Why don’t you try playing some music?”

Each dragon’s reasoning sounded perfectly valid yet utterly unnecessary.

A bunch of stubborn snobs started explaining, but within seconds, it devolved into a “You’re the dragon expert!” “No, YOU’RE the dragon expert!” shouting match. Only when the ancient dragon emerged from the darkness with overwhelming pressure did the few remaining rational voices snap back into focus. The dragons exchanged glances, adhering to nature’s survival truth: “If the enemy doesn’t move, I won’t move.” They began frantically saving themselves.

Though they believed their justifications were sound, how could you reason with lunatics? Haven’t you heard the legend of the immortal calamity Nidhogg going berserk and attacking his own kin?

One dragon, nearly driven mad by terror, blurted out in sheer panic: “W-we truly are the nature goddess’s attendants!”

The dragon beside him promptly stomped on his foot. “Are you stupid? Nidhogg is part of the hunting party. How could he not recognize Jelly Roll’s disguise?”

“What if he really didn’t know?”

“What the hell did your dragon-egg mother bring back today? Don’t tell me you can’t recognize that huge dark elf insignia. When robbing the dark elf royal family, what else would you wear but a disguise? Yours?”

Before Nidhogg could intervene, the dragons present nearly came to blows.

The elder dragon, however, remained unhurried. Compared to dealing with dragons invading his territory at midnight, he was more concerned about whether his son had been woken by the commotion. The elder dragon’s most dangerous tail had now become a cradle for his young. He gently rocked his son, who was as soft as a little dumpling, as if cradling his entire world.

Just in case, Nidhogg cast several more layers of sound-blocking magic arrays.

Only after confirming his son wouldn’t be disturbed did he charge toward the vegetable garden. Amidst the terrified stares of dragons waiting to be beaten senseless by a madman, he barked, “What are you all standing around for? Get to work! Dawn is breaking!”

“!!!” Thank the dragon gods.

And so, under the high moon, a group of jelly rolls toiled tirelessly through the night. When little El finally stirred from his drowsy slumber, he found himself back in the nest—cool in summer, warm in winter—with only himself and Mr. Dragon left in the home.

Still groggy from sleep, the little one sat upon the high bed with soft pillows, surveying the familiar treasures scattered throughout the nest. Mr. Dragon seemed to truly enjoy sleeping amidst this glittering, intricate splendor. The child couldn’t make sense of the XX-century royal scepter, nor did he understand what made the candlestick a masterpiece even dwarf masters admired. He only saw the “task reward” he’d given the dragon displayed in a transparent case sealed with countless intricate magical arrays, standing prominently in the most visible spot of the entire home.

Truthfully, Esther still hadn’t figured out what distinguished Aunt Red Dragon’s gems from those in the dragon’s collection, or why only those particular gems were singled out under the spotlight.

Still, the little boy was overjoyed to have brought Mr. Dragon such a cherished reward.

Every morning, the white-haired curly-top coaxed himself awake this way: think of something happy, and you won’t dread getting out of bed. Once his brain was fully operational, he climbed down from the big bed and began his routine with astonishing efficiency, as if he’d long been accustomed to taking care of himself.

When Esther first woke up, he’d instinctively raise his arm, waiting for the nurse to measure his blood pressure and oxygen levels. It took him several days to realize how silly he’d been—this was a holographic game, after all, where none of that was needed.

This realization amused him for quite some time. Only occasionally, very rarely, would he wonder: Was it really okay to keep going without medication or IV fluids?

While brushing his teeth, Esther—now a healthy youngster for the first time in his life—patted his body. Seemed fine enough.

The aroma of sizzling bacon wafting through the air interrupted the little one’s thoughts. He twitched his nostrils slightly, almost able to picture the streaky slices of meat crackling and releasing oil in the frying pan.

Bacon!

His favorite bacon!

By the time little Esther put on his bib and sat down at his usual spot at the table, his dragon dad had already set out the cutlery. With a flick of his long fingers, he directed the fried eggs and bacon, which had been lying quietly in the pan, to leap one after another into the child’s bone china plate. They landed like expert divers, without a single splash.

Esther looked forward to this every day, because Mr. Dragon’s cooking was absolutely delicious. The bacon was crispy, the fried eggs golden, and the aroma of buttered toast opened her appetite for the day.

This was truly a master dragon with exceptional culinary talent.

Sometimes, when El wasn’t satisfied, he’d throw a tantrum while playing Dragon vs. Turtle Soup, declaring, “Eat a lot? Eat more?” ” His eyes sparkled with childish mischief.

Unfortunately, Nidhogg understood.

The learning capacity of ancient dragons was truly terrifying. Whether his young would one day master the languages of this world through engraving remained uncertain, but Nidhogg felt he was rapidly grasping his son’s tongue.

For some reason, this unfamiliar language—barely comprehensible to other dragons and notoriously difficult to articulate—came to Nidhogg with surprising ease, as if he’d known it in a past life.

He could now manage simple exchanges.

Like: Come, Good, No, Sleep, and most crucially, Eat!

The dragon learned with remarkable precision. When the little one’s tantrums failed, he didn’t get upset. He was just testing—if it worked, great; if not… well, after eating, it was time to rest and prepare for exercises.

Every day, Esther would go to the entrance of the nest, basking in the sun while doing his morning exercises. Day after day, without fail. He couldn’t recall who it was, only that this person would tirelessly remind him during their daily morning rounds: “Exercise builds strength and health. We’re the best, the most disciplined, right?”

Right!

The most wonderful, most disciplined little El had started his exercises punctually today. Yet the dragon who usually accompanied him pretended to bustle about the kitchen stove, holding his breath and pricking up his ears to listen.

Only when he heard the child’s excited squeal did he wag his tail proudly. His son sounded so happy, so utterly delighted.

Esther was truly overjoyed. Facing mountains and valleys covered in blooming flowers (the dragon’s flower-growing spell had gotten out of control), he’d never seen such a beautiful sight. After the squeal, the little boy came running back, clumsily gesturing at the dragon: “They bloomed! My seeds bloomed so many, many flowers!”

Regardless of whether the other understood, he eagerly grabbed the dragon’s hand, urging him outside to see the flowers.

His grip was incredibly strong!

With just a tug, the dragon found himself being led along.

Outside the dragon’s lair, a sea of flowers surged and swayed. Amidst dazzling layers upon layers, blossoms stretched from the cave entrance all the way to the edge of the cliff, vanishing into the distance. The rugged rocks formed a stark contrast to the delicate petals. A few resilient wild roses had even climbed the highest cliffs, stubbornly blooming in the biting sea wind.

The rising sun bathed this dreamlike floral expanse in a delicate, fragmented golden glow, transforming the entire mountain peak into a vibrant tapestry of colors.

The child gasped, “Wow!” again and again.

Then…

They began performing the harvesting gesture toward the flower sea. This was a universal action across all holographic games—at least in every game Esther knew. The fixed sequence was always the same: raise your arm, select the harvesting area, then rotate your wrist in the air like twisting a light bulb. After a full 360-degree turn, tighten your grip to complete the harvest.

Except today.

At first, Esther thought his harvesting motion wasn’t precise enough. Though AI gesture assistance had matured considerably in today’s holographic games, the child stubbornly tried several more times. Still, nothing happened.

The little one was completely stumped.

Faced with a sea of blooms, a thought struck him: Was the game glitching? Or did he have to pluck them all by hand? 

Esther’s pupils dilated in horror—how long would this take?

The farmer’s soul was mortally wounded.

Until Mr. Dragon clumsily presented a bouquet, pulling everything back into focus.

—When life gives you lemons, make lemonade. When life gives you mountainsides of flowers, turn them into wreaths.

Don’t ask how Nidhogg learned such craftsmanship. It’s hard to explain, impossible to explain. He remembers neither the time nor the reason, only that it must have been an ordinary afternoon. As usual, he soared over the Turan Plains when a casual glance caught sight of a shepherdess sitting beneath a tree. She hummed a gentle ballad while weaving a wreath for her infant child, still swaddled in cloth.

Her face remains a blur in his memory, yet the tenderness in her lowered gaze endures, timeless.

It should have been an insignificant moment in Nidhogg’s long dragon life, yet now, when he recalls it, he can see every movement beneath the shepherdess’s rough palms with crystal clarity.

Nidhogg couldn’t explain why he remembered it, yet he was profoundly grateful that such a scene had graced his life. It allowed him to bring just the right kind of joy to his young cub now.

Esther truly was an easy child to please. With his flower crown, he forgot all about the real-life troubles of farming.

When the little one placed his very first hand-woven garland upon Nidhogg’s head, a wave of warmth surged through every fiber of Nidhogg’s being, reaching its peak.

Then…

He watched, wide-eyed, as his son wove garland after garland, gifting them to dragon after dragon.

━━ 🐈‍⬛ ━━

Author’s Note:

Nonsense Theater:

Dragon: Son gives me a wreath, son good! Other dragons take my son’s wreath; other dragons are bad!

PS: Father and son will be able to communicate normally tomorrow or the day after. No need to worry, mwah.

Dragon Dad: No worries, I’m almost fluent in Mandarin too. Smile.jpg