September 2022

A hero prepares to slay a dragon—but the dragon has other plans The hero had not signed up for this. When she had set out on her quest, sword raised, ready for an adventure, and eyes sparkling with ambition, she’d never predicted that she’d arrive here: standing in a dragon’s lair, facing the beast’s flames. The hero attempted to draw her sword, but it seemed far too heavy for her to wield, weighted down by the curdling fear in her gut. Still, she lifted her chin and said to the dragon, “Prepare to meet your doom, you vile creature.” The dragon, who was a beast of great culture and respect, took personal offense to this statement and said, irritated, “I don’t understand why dragons always have to be vile creatures. Tell me, hero, what makes me so evil that you have no other choice but to smite me down?” Baffled, the hero groped for a reply. “Because, well . . . you’re a dragon. Dragons breathe fire and serve demons and eat people.” Sigurd Faces Fafnir, the Dragon The dragon raised an eyebrow. “I breathe flames to cook; I have never seen a demon in my entire life; and I find humans to be quite crunchy, so I’m a vegan. That may be a perfectly fine reason to rid this world of me and my all-plants diet, but my point is, you’re making inaccurate assumptions about dragons.” The hero’s eyes narrowed. She knew of the tricks dragons played and knew not to be fooled by their words. “Just because you use flames to cook, it doesn’t make them burn any less dangerously. Just because you haven’t seen a demon doesn’t mean you don’t serve them. And you may be vegan, but how would you know what people taste like unless you’ve devoured them before?” She found the strength to lift her sword and raised it, baring it at the dragon. “You, dragon, and all the others like you, have an evil, blackened heart. And so I must vanquish you.” The dragon sat down, bracing its large head on its arms. Its interest was aroused; no hero had ever talked back to it as fiercely as this one. “So what if my heart is dark? Everyone was born with the same heart beating in their chests. Mine was pure once, and it still can be. Perhaps it is not so different from yours. Is that not enough for you to spare my life?” The hero’s sword faltered. She hadn’t come on this quest to discuss philosophy with a beast. She hadn’t even come here to slay it. Once again, she hadn’t signed up for this. But she also hadn’t anywhere else to be, so the hero told the dragon, “Even if you once were good, you have done things so awful that it has turned your heart black, and that is why we are different.” She paused as a thought occurred. “However, people can be open to change. If you apologize for what you have done, if you regret your horrible deeds, maybe I will see that your heart can be pure again and spare your life.” The dragon tilted its head to the side and looked intently at the hero. “Why should I say sorry for doing what a dragon was made to do? The world didn’t say sorry when it made me like this—when it made me a creature for brave heroes to come and slay because they have nothing better to do.” It smiled an odd, almost sad smile that showed its rows of razored teeth. “If you’re looking for a villain to blame, hero, I suggest blaming the world. It is the cruelest of us all.” The hero’s sword faltered. She hadn’t come on this quest to discuss philosophy with a beast. The hero mirrored the dragon’s smile. “I find it easier to fight things I have at least a little control over, dragon.” “I think,” answered the dragon, “that a true hero does not fight because it’s easy. A true hero fights because she believes in what’s right.” “Those heroes often find themselves burnt to a crisp by dragons,” the hero—but maybe not so much a hero anymore—said. She sheathed her sword. “I’m late for supper, dragon; I must be on my way.” She turned to go and paused. She hadn’t signed up for this, had she? And yet . . . “Maybe I’ll come over tomorrow for tea?” The dragon, for the first time in a long while, blinked in surprise. And then it laughed, a dry sound that sounded like the crackling of flames. “I would most enjoy that.”

A wizard regrets his spiteful decision to change a young boy’s fate In a place where unknown darkness lingered beyond wooden shelves, where books flew and pages of paper fluttered like flowers, where clocks ticked and chimed far away and the lanterns were strung with glimmering strings, a wizard sat in the center of the floor. His aged hands hovered over a luminous globe. With a flick, the clouds cleared from it, revealing a boy with messy hair and untied shoelaces trudging down a sidewalk, kicking at a rock. The boy reached his mansion and was welcomed home with hugs and kisses. The wizard summoned a book with a wave, a mean gleam in his eyes. He deftly pulled a glimmering string from it, then wound the string around his fingers, again and again. He twisted and weaved the boy’s fate until he was satisfied, then tied the string to the book and watched it fly off into the darkness. Years passed. The wizard’s hands began to tremble. His eyes, which used to be so brilliant and mischievous, were now wise and knowing, full of somber weight. One day, a book unexpectedly flew into his sight. The string inside was blackened at the edges. The wizard reached for it. Once the string was pulled out, the globe cleared, revealing the same boy, except now a youthful teenager. He was taking care of a coughing parent while working on homework under a dim candle. The teenager kept on writing, but soon he began crying, tears gleaming like crystals as they landed on his papers in large, wet circles. Drift The ticking and whirring and rustling and creaking in the room all suddenly stopped. For the first time in centuries, it was utterly, heavily silent. The wizard’s horrified expression was fixed on the teenager. His sobs echoed from the globe to fill the whole room with their sad, layered volumes. The wizard rubbed at his eyes, then his wrinkled face, before he began to wring his robes with shaking fingers. Abruptly he got up with a speed he thought had been long lost to time. The wizard grabbed a new, sparkling string and began to weave it into the blackened one with careful precision. The noise in the background started up again, softer, but growing louder as the puddles of pooling sunlight seeping in from windows began to move toward the west. Finally, when soft, sleepy moonlight brushed against the shelves, the wizard was done. He tucked the string back into the book and sent it off. In the globe, the teenager awoke from restless slumber to find a parcel at his doorstep. Inside was a bottle full of pills and a wad of money. Immediately he jumped with delight and fed the pills to his sick parent. The wizard watched with contentment at the teenager’s happiness. He then dismissed the sight from the globe. He fell asleep on the floor strewn with fates.