Donuts: The Tribal Leaders’ Council 

Two months slipped by in the blink of an eye.

Helheim’s Tooth remained humid and sweltering, bearing the indistinct climate shifts unique to tropical islands—as if the goddess of youth had paused here, freezing time itself.

Savvy the Lich, who had to endure the steamy ordeal in the Rift Forest every other day, despaired at the prospect of his “after-sales service” dragging on indefinitely. At this rate, he felt he’d develop rheumatoid arthritis sooner or later. Don’t tell him he was just a pile of bones with no living physiology—he didn’t care. This was a workplace injury!

“So?”

“More money.” The old skeleton answered gravely. He couldn’t believe that with Nidhogg’s abilities, having spent over two months with the hunting squad, the dragon debt he owed should still be outstanding.

Indeed, it had been repaid. Yet Nidhogg remained. Most dragons didn’t rush to leave Helheim after their young hatched. Beyond the hunting squad’s demands, it was because a newborn dragon’s magic was unstable. Whether it stemmed from the engraved amplifying runes or not, the age-old custom was to stay in Helheim until the young dragon’s magic stabilized— a period ranging from a few months to several years.

For this island bears the blessing of the ancient dragons—so the legends tell.

The name “Helheim’s Tooth” originates from one such ancient dragon, the mightiest of the Preier Clan, who single-handedly challenged the gods dwelling above the clouds.

Some believed such a god-slayer deserved to be honored, while others believed he had become a new god by matching the power of the divine with mortal dragon might.

Whether as the god-slayer Helheim or the new god Helheim, his blessing remains highly sought after among the dragon clans, as all hoped their young would grow as mighty as he. This is the path every young dragon must walk—endless refinement to become a pearl among oysters.

Nidhogg would not leave Helheim until his son had perfected his craft.

Savvy the Lich recalled how Nidhogg’s offspring had awakened from its dragon egg with immense magical power, unparalleled physical prowess, and fluency in every language. Yet these past days, it had done nothing but eat and play—where was the refinement? In the end, he could only say, “Well, your son really has his work cut out for him.”

Nidhogg accepted this without a flicker of embarrassment: “Yes, our El is working incredibly hard.”

At that very moment, the “super hardworking” Esther had just awakened amidst a faint clamor. Each morning was a gamble for him—he’d wake without opening his eyes, merely roll over slightly, clutching a corner of his small blanket as he tried to drift back to sleep. Sometimes he succeeded, winning precious extra minutes of blissful slumber. Other times, she failed, roused abruptly by his dragon father or older brother Eli. 

But it didn’t matter—at least he’d tried.

Today was different. The house was unusually loud—at least three voices chattered simultaneously—finally coaxing the little boy awake in a daze.

The first sight to greet him was a nest of multicolored balloons. They drifted beside fist-sized glow crystals embedded in the rock wall, resembling ghostly jellyfish that emitted an everlasting, faint glow.

Each balloon bore the word “sorry,” though Esther couldn’t be entirely certain. While he was fluent in language, he… didn’t recognize written characters.

Beneath the balloons lay piles of various toys and decorations, stacked alongside piles of magical artifacts. These were the “spoils” the Lich had acquired with the hunting party, all thoroughly researched.

A broken greatsword lay slanted in the gemstone mountain. Ancient, gold-embossed notes were casually scattered nearby, along with numerous alchemical artifacts—disassembled for study, their principles understood, and then left disassembled out of sheer laziness. Old Bones Savvy, the old bone, called it a trial for his disciples. And the Holy Son, Eli, had indeed reassembled quite a few—some functional, some not—but all were neatly arranged. On the walls beside each artifact, childish crayon drawings left their mark.

Elder Byron: “It’s truly hard to guess which one belongs to whom.”

Esther tilted his head, his newly awakened brain slowly booting up. Before he could utter “Uncle Byron,” he was met face-to-face with a father clad in black and gold military attire.

“Yay! ” The child’s attention instantly shifted entirely to the dragon father. Grinning widely, he reached out his arms for a hug.

A pair of long, slender hands clad in black leather gloves readily obliged.

The nearly perfect humanoid dragon stood like a long sword poised to drink blood. Legs encased in black boots were long and straight, yet the motion of lifting his son possessed a tenderness rarely seen in dragons.

He longed to show off to the entire world: Look, my little one!

Little El got a close-up view of the Dragon Legion Commander’s uniform—a jet-black velvet coat, its edges embroidered with golden dragon scales. The double-breasted buttons ran meticulously from waist to neck, complementing the rows of medals on his chest that symbolized past glory, glowing with enchanted radiance.

“Where’s Daddy going?” the little one asked. In Esther’s limited life experience, dressing this formally meant he was leaving.

“Your father is going on a long journey with Uncle to attend a very important work matter.“ Elder Byron answered the cub’s question on behalf of Nidhogg, fearful his dragon friend might change his mind. Of course, his silver eyes were also filled with guilt toward the cub, mirrored in the room full of apology gifts. ”I’m sorry, El. Uncle needs to borrow your father. There’s no way he can stay with you.”

Little El shook his head gently. He had grown accustomed to his father leaving every other day for “work.”

In fact, he had often wondered why the teachers at the orphanage and the nurses at the hospital seemed to work every single day, sometimes even on weekends. Why could Dad only work every other day? Esther had once worried terribly, but now things seemed finally back on track. It was such a relief—Dad wouldn’t have to fear losing his job. Though he didn’t know what losing a job entailed, the aunts and uncles at the hospital made it sound like a rather sad affair.

Elder Byron nearly wept at the sight of his perceptive young cub. Compared to the cub, his own father hadn’t been nearly as understanding.

The black dragon still wore a look of utter disgust, unable to fathom why he had to accompany Byron to the Central Realm for some ridiculous meeting of tribal leaders.

“Because they don’t believe you’re still alive!” Elder Byron fumed whenever this topic arose. No matter how he explained it, those fools refused to accept that their ancient dragon was still among the living. Some even ‘kindly’ reminded him that hiding the truth wouldn’t last forever, and keeping a hero’s death a secret was downright foolish. “I really… he… What kind of cookie is he? Talking to me like that?”

The Dragon of Time and Space maintained his impeccable habit of automatically censoring his language until he opened the portal and physically dragged the dragon through it. He would never swear in front of the youngling—because the youngling’s father had a serious aversion to dragons.

Only after the silver magic gate vanished completely behind him did Elder Byron unleash his torrent of passionate curses.

The staff of Valhalla stood dumbfounded.

Valhalla served as the official meeting place for the Council of Tribal Leaders. It was also the most frequent venue for tribal gatherings. Its core purpose was to maintain peace among the continent’s five realms, facilitating the most authoritative, fair, and representative collaboration between races.

This edifice, whose footprint alone rivaled that of a small nation, stood as a majestic symbol of ten-thousand-year peace among the races. Built after the War of the Gods, it was spearheaded by the victorious Dragon, Elf, and Human races, with the Dwarf Grandmaster personally overseeing its construction. It has stood firm through wind and rain for millennia, witnessing one pivotal moment after another in the history of the Faires Continent.

As its name suggests, the palace was built to honor the heroic spirits of all races who made the ultimate sacrifice in battle. Naturally, the list of names requiring inscription on the memorial continues to grow.

“Is this your… your first time here?” asked the staff member after Nidhogg fastened the identity badge. stammered, barely able to form coherent words.

“No,” Nidhogg replied nonchalantly, standing bored at the front of the queue. “Last time I came, I was carrying the head of the Demon King Bymon. Seems there was no need for inspection then. Must everyone go through this? Even the young ones?”

“……”

I have no idea how to respond to that, aaaargh! The staff member screamed inwardly.

Within the blink of an eye, news of the Immortal Calamity Nidhogg’s actual appearance spread like wildfire throughout Valhalla, wings flapping.

Meanwhile, the dragon was riding an old-fashioned elevator, glaring at his friend in annoyance: “Didn’t you say I’d get a bigger stage to show off my cub if I came? Why didn’t that staffer just go along with my story and ask about the cub?”

Yes, this was precisely why Nidhogg had condescended to agree to attend Byron’s meeting. After months of constantly flaunting his cub before the dragon clans, he’d grown rather weary of it.

Every dragon worth mentioning had heard the story at least five times over.

Of course, it was also because Helheim now had more than just him to show off. Besides Typhon from the green dragon family, five more dragon hatchlings had broken their shells one after another. Among them was even an egg that had lain dormant for twenty-two years—far exceeding the normal incubation period—an egg his parents had long given up on, convinced it was dead.

Who knew how much divine favor Dragon Island had received this year, or as Byron put it, how much of a lucky charm El was.

Compared to previous years’ figures, this “high-yield” harvest had the Dragon Clan’s Grand Elder overjoyed. So delighted, in fact, that even if others doubted his claim that Nidhogg still lived, he’d throw a tantrum demanding the great dragon attend a gathering of clan leaders with him, rather than engage in a real dragon brawl with others.

In any case, after Elder Byron devoured doughnuts while burning the midnight oil, poring over countless references, he finally arrived at a startling conclusion: “Among humans, there’s a saying that a couple who’ve given up hope of conceiving and adopt a child actually become more likely to have their own.”

He suspected Esther might be a similar case.

He even began to entertain the notion that Nidhogg had been right from the start—that this child was a gift from the Dragon God.

But given Nidhogg’s arrogant contempt for all dragons, how could the Dragon God possibly grant him special favor? Esther was clearly a blessing bestowed upon the entire dragon race! There was no other way to explain the current hatching boom in Helheim.

Even his name carried the Dragon God’s guidance.

Nidhogg’s sole reaction to this was to fight Byron, making him understand the unbridgeable chasm between ancient dragons and the dragon clan. Why, among the heroes who participated in the Third Expeditionary War, did only Nidhogg’s name become a terrifying legend capable of silencing children’s nighttime cries?

And now, the Dragon Clan’s Grand Elder couldn’t wait to parade this terrifying presence before everyone, proving in the most indisputably powerful way: Our dragons are doing just fine!

Nidhogg’s intimidating aura successfully scared off one nervous representative after another from every race.

Many legs trembled beneath their chairs. How dare they have been so bold as to speculate about the dragon’s demise! By the Light Goddess, I truly meant no offense! QAQ

The black dragon’s expression grew increasingly displeased.

Nidhogg: Why! Up until now! Not a single soul has asked me anything about my cub! Why! I even wore the photo frame necklace with my son’s picture right on the outside!

━━ 🐈‍⬛ ━━

Author’s Note:

Nonsense Skit:

Dragon Dad: Ask me! Ask me! Ask me!