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A ndre grinned in the way that beasts do when they try to imitate humans. Tonight, he was feeling delightfully cruel. And as it often followed, the blonde-haired boy who sat in his office was being spared no ounce of the usual torment. "Tell me," said Andre, "how's that rent coming along?" There was a pause in the darkened room. The chair across from Andre creaked, bearing the ire of its sitter. "Splendid," returned the boy coldly. "Last week I received a birthday c

T he night air was cool and peaceful, aside from the echoes of Andre’s cursings that faded behind with each step. When Petra had reached the warm, familiar awning of Crumpettail’s Bakery, he purchased a blackberry bun and left it behind the door of Andre’s office building. He could hear the dragon inside shuffling around and sulking to himself about his many misfortunes. Petra’s own anger had already dissipated. He wouldn’t have dared brought it with him into the li

I nstinct told him that this was the last straw. A bloodied cloth and whatever grim implications it held were beyond what Petra’s tired mind was willing to handle. He took a step back from the object. Shaking his head he said aloud, “no. No—not tonight.” There was a lot to consider here, and it was important to not jump to conclusions. Petra hesitantly turned and continued on in the direction for home, (this time wide awake). But his head was now swimming with more thou

T he defiance in its eyes flickered. This animal seemed entirely different than the ones Petra had encountered all his life. Its head was turned, staring at him. Daring him to make a move. It also seemed unbothered by Petra’s lantern. And the creature gave off an eerie, unpredictable sort of energy. Petra could be unpredictable too. He’d have to be in order to gain the upper hand. Beside him, the girl’s body had started to move. She tried to raise herself on one arm, the

A s the boy and his rider hurried towards the clearing, the cockatri pursued from behind. It was the first time that night the creatures had started acting normally—except of course, besides that they were hunting humans. For the learned in Skaadom, cockatri flanked their prey from one side as a diversion. While the flock chased and antagonized on the left, a solo cockatrice, known as a “cutter,” would hang back in the blind spot of the right. Cutting down their prey lit

“ O pen up, Vingarde! We know you’re in there!” Behind his living room armchair, Petra evaded the shouts from the intruders at his door. He was clutching his beloved “Catalyst.” A sword that had become quite famous in the short span of his career. He’d have no choice but to use it if things went south. Thump thump thump! “Open this door!” The pounding was giving Petra a headache. When the voices outside finally quieted, Petra held his breath to listen. The

“ O h, Petra—” Amber slowly swept her gaze around the house’s interior. “Sterling was right. Have you tried talking to someone about your problems?” The floor before them was covered in empty glass bottles. Of all various shapes and sizes, cheap alcohol littered the room like an addict’s ball pit. “Bletchny’s sake—” Petra muttered, kicking a cluster of bottles out of his way. He turned to Amber. “You’re not thinking these are mine, are you?” Amber hesitated. “

L eaving Amber behind felt like a punch to the gut. He hadn’t been deaf to her concerns, though Petra worried from her perspective it might’ve seemed that way. If he had a choice, he would’ve taken the day off for both of their sakes. On the road that led to town, Petra imagined how such a request would’ve gone over with boss number two: Ebony Bronson. “Chawhahaha! Take the day off? I’ll be bletched—ya only work one day a week! I’ve told ya lot of kettle scum once,

S ilo Park had a reputation that was only as good as the day was long. In the bright morning it thrived with parents and their kindlings; starry-eyed human and dragon children, jostling about the flowery walkways, “hand in claw.” But at sundown, hands dealt and claws threatened—fostered by the dim lanterns of Osmond Caswell. At least that was Petra's theory. True to its name, a forgotten silo stood tall within the park's gates, bearing with pride centuries of "scorch gra