The cove was cold as morning descended and the lapping of waves against shore woke the gently sleeping Isanabella. Her little fists rubbed away sleep from her eyes as she yawned and watched the mermaids leave. They swam to the other edge of the pond, which suited her fine. Before, they'd watched her for hours on end with their unblinking stares, judging her as though waiting for her to mess up and kill them. Right upon waking she noticed her energy had dropped overnight to barely a pulse, as though it was slowly being drained from her. My magic! Gasping, she breathed in deep and reached her fingers into the ground, digging around until she touched the sand and dirt there and resting easy with the little bits of magic the world provided.

"They're trying to drain us out," she whispered. The air tasted different in her mouth, less metallic and more sweet. A sure sign of magic displacement. "Dammit! What type of disgusting, vile King would do this? Vaxon. I swear that man shall pay. If I see him again I will gladly use all of my magic to kill him. My life means little now, for I shall only serve to see his death." Her mutters fell short against the pale oranges and yellows that streaked across a sky of deep purples and blues. The moon could still be seen over the horizon even as the sun was spotted, arising and greeting the world with light touches and rays of peace.

Overhead, she heard a deep, loud voice. It came from nowhere and yet could be heard all around, in every crack and crevice in the place. Vaxon. "You may have noticed," he began, a cruel bark of a voice reaching pitches that only served to further her hatred of him, "that your magic is draining. A shame, surely. Twenty six remaining Magi, all rendered useless by a single spell. Ha! And to think one calls you dangerous, one calls you resourceful. Thou dares to try and disable me yet you cannot even survive on your own. Still, I am a gracious King. If you truly desire to live, reach the caves within the next two hours."

Around, nature continued as though he wasn't talking. As though the magic used to create his sound had never existed in the first place. She shuddered, hating every aspect of him more as he spoke. "You're lying," she spat, kicking in the sand around her. "I don't believe a word you say."

His next words were lyrical, almost spoken in song. "Rings, thirteen to Mages.

Energy pulsed, tugged,

Strengthened to increase.

Stylus, five to the Sages.

Writing, runes drawn and cast,

Strengthened and increased.

Wands, seven to the Wizards.

Chanted words, kept in hand,

Spells and power, both increased.

Careful, Magi, in drawing near. A guardian watches, one of the Ancients await." He coughed deeply, then continued in his normal, evil voice. "Inside the caves are twenty six tunnels. Enter, and find your ring, stylus, or wand. If you cannot get yours before the magic is drained, I'm sorry to say that you shall die a most painful death. Don't die too quickly now."

Like that, he was gone. A puff of smoke leaving the world that he'd never belonged in. His words stuck in her head, repeating themselves over and over, but not in his voice. No, it was a charming, rough voice. One of a man that had faced many dangers yet still held a delightful smile upon his face. Brau Municip, the man who raised her after her family had left her to be. They weren't my family, she reminded herself, no. No. Brau was my family. Mathas was my family. The Magi are my family. We, together, are family. And now we're dying. Together. Apart. Strings of a faded fabric. How long will I last with no magic? What if he's telling the truth? Should I risk it?

She didn't want to make the decision. If it were a lie, she risked losing, and dying alongside all those she loved. The risk of failure, greatly at hand, loomed greatly over her head the way the water beside her did as the tide rose and the little rocks were swamped and flooded. What if I cannot save them? Birds chirped around her and a pigeon flew past, looking over at her but gliding on by as if she were nothing but natural. What if we're destined to die here and all I am is a failure?

"What did he meant but 'one of the Ancients await'? Surely, he cannot mean a person," she mused. Her body shook as the magic continued to stream out of her, slowly working its way through her veins and traveling to her wrists. The pressure rose and rose and rose, feeling as though it could last an eternity, then dropped as a bit of the magic left her body. Her blood felt faint and it didn't move as it was supposed to. Each breath transformed into a wheeze and she knew that it wouldn't be long until she was reduced to nothing but a spec of a body. A corpse, left to rot in an arena of death. "He cannot mean a dragon, can he?"

Brau had told her about magics before, back when she was young and when her heart was free of troubles and sorrow. Then, he'd told her all about the world of magic and what had become of it over the years. Twenty some odd dragons were rumored to still be alive. The protectors of ancient objects of legend and lore. Odd creatures, the dragons were known to be as small as a dog or as large as a hilltop. The beasts were covered in spikes that mingled with scales like that of a lizard. They had heads the shape of a foxes but textured as an alligator was. Nothing about them was right or solid, nor did they resemble each other aside from their face. Some were told to have wings larger than any bird was capable of, and others had no wings and bodies that were long and thin. They all had four to six legs and breathed out some sort of fire or frost combination. Famous for his stories, Brau had often enjoyed to tell of his encounter of one of the ancient beings.

"Dragons," he'd begin, "are known for their stealth. They are dangerous and everyone knows that if you go up high enough in the mountains, you can find a cave where one resides. She is an old thing, with wrinkles in her scales and faded colors that touch each tip of her body. Her wings have battle scars, Izzy."

"My name is Isanabella," she would whine. "You tell this story all the time, uncle. Cannot you find another story?"

"Hush! Now, listen good, Izzy. One day, I had climbed up to the very tips of the mountains, and there I found myself by the fire of such a beast. She looked at me with eyes the size of my head! She was gentle, though, and when I leaned to touch her she allowed me to. It was then that I could communicate with her, as she speaks in your head, like all sound dragons do. If you want them to know what you're thinking, let them touch you, or get close enough to touch. They draw you in with their eyes. She was dying, I think, or getting close to it. She breathed in deeply and with each exhale, fire left her nostrils, along with hairs so thick that they couldn't be burnt!"

Izzy always giggled at that part. It was her favorite. The tale of the nostril hairs that couldn't be burnt by dragon fire, strong enough to be used for any sort of tie or bag. Brau claimed one of his bags had been laced with the hair. It wasn't, but she always loved his tales.

"I got close to her, and she told me that if I were to watch the sunrise every morning, I'd live to be a hundred. I'm sixty nine already. I've seen it every morning and I'm still alive. Beating the odds, child, that's how you work. You should stay up with me some morning and watch instead of sleeping as you do," he would finish.

Isanabella shook the thoughts from her head. She hated thinking of it, and that story always hurt the most. It was on the morning that he slept in, too tired to rise and too sick to try to, that he died. Dragons, she'd found out then, told terrible truths. That day the soldiers came and found Brau alone, gathering food for everyone. They killed him and left his body strung up in the trees as a warning to the Magi, one they should have heeded. Though it was years prior, his death was only a shadow of the deaths to come and to the lives that would be tortured and ruined by a lie too big for anyone aside from a king to tell.

The longer she waited the worse the draining became. Soon, she couldn't stand it any longer and she jumped up and ran to the caves. They weren't too far away but every step hurt like fire burning up from her ankles. By the time she reached the caves she was huffing and coughing. Thick mucus caught in her throat and she spat it into the ground with a sigh.

"In I go," Isanabella whispered.

In she did go, for her feet carried her through and past several closed off caves. Only one remained open, which was obviously hers. She entered and immediately felt the cold air of death hit her body.

It was a dragon inside the cave. She could hear its claws attack the ground and feel the presence of magic. Great whooshes of air were pushed back and fourth, the dragon seemingly waiting in anticipation. Smoke curled in the air, sighing as it moved in lazy swirls. Rings had been formed in places and Isanabella raised up a hand to touch one of them, watching as it dissipated in her fingertips. Warmth flooded her body and she felt the already too familiar pressure of her magic growing. Time was fading quickly. Like a spilled hourglass, only mere minutes could be left. I have to get the stylus, she thought. It singed into her intermediate thoughts—not quite leaving a lasting message but pressed her forward into a world of unknown.

It was only a few more turns before she came across a large, open place with a floating dragon inside.

Old age had warped the creature. Her eyes, which once held spark, were dimmed and the color of peridot, faded with a sheen over them. Ombré grays and soft golds mixed into one another, the colors aging the dragon far more than years did. She must've been centuries old, yet even so she moved with agility. The body of a snake combined with the snout of a reptilian.

Where there should have been scales only thick skin remained, there where the gray began and the gold belonging to the actual scales. Only the head, arms, and patches of her torso still retained the hold. Her tail, which wrapped around her body or hung suspended in the air, had a layer of thin, white hair coating it.

It had six limbs, the largest being at the rear and the smallest near the head. It was in the smallest that the stylus was held. The talon wrapped around the thin thing and magic sparked from the tips.

"Hello, Dragon," she said. Her body trembled in the almighty presence of the creature. "You have something I am looking for."

There wasn't a response aloud, but she could hear a low voice in her head talking. "Hello, youngling." The words were hushed by fire and the coolness of sharp vowels.

"May I have the stylus?" she asked.

There was a long pause. Then, laughter filled the room. Snorts of smoke filled the air. Everything grew loud as the rumbling laughter didn't cease. It's going to eat me, she thought in horror. I've angered it!

"Yes."

Isanabella blinked. "W--what?"

"In all these years, no one has ever just asked me for something. They'll try to con me out of it, or kill me, but you have used your manners. You may have the stylus, child," she said. Gently she lay the stylus on the ground and waited for Isanabella to take it.

A smile broke out on her face and she ran over, picking it up and feeling her magic instantly doubling. "Thank you," Isanabella whispered. "Thank you."

"Go now, child. Fight. Escape. Let not the magic die with you in this place," the dragon told her.

"I'll try my hardest."