“For thousands upon thousands of years,” the Minister began, “we have watched humans evolve, grow, and develop. We have not interfered with their progress. Indeed, we passed strict laws to prevent such interference. To help enforce those laws and to keep a watchful eye upon this fragile species, we asked one of our own to sacrifice himself, to take on human form and live and walk among them. We watched over the humans, protected them, nurtured them—all without their knowledge.

“Occasionally there would be interaction between us—a young hot-blood would forget himself and carry off a few cattle or set fire to a barn—but such incidents were few and, I must admit, tended to benefit us more than harm us. For centuries, humans have feared us, held us in awe. Humans have long told stories of how their heroes attacked and even killed dragons, but those tales are just that—tales, myths, legends. No human was capable of slaying one of us.”

Anora’s colors grew dark and grieving. “But that is about to change.”

“What are you saying?” Malfiesto demanded, scoffing. “That humans now have the power to kill dragons? Preposterous!”

“Once it was preposterous,” said Anora gravely. “Not anymore. When a human first picked up a stick, we envisioned the spear. When a human flung a rock, we foresaw the catapult. When a human dug iron out of the ground, we saw the sword in his hand. Such puny weapons could never be a threat to us and so we did not concern ourselves with them. We slept in our caves and wove our dreams of tranquillity and peace. But these dreams have been shattered by the cannon’s blast.”

“Bah!” Malfiesto scoffed. “That puffed-up piece of ironmongery. Humans do more damage to themselves than to any of us.”

“That is true now,” Anora agreed. “And maybe it will be true a hundred years from now But, inevitably, such weapons will be a threat. As we saw the spear from the stick, so I foresee a terrible human weapon that will have the capability of blowing apart a mountain, of slaughtering us while we sleep, of destroying the nests of our young, no matter how well they are hidden.”

Images of fiery death flared in Anora’s mind, images of caves that required hundreds of years of patient carving blown apart in an instant. Images of labyrinthine passages sliding down crumbling mountainsides. Images of eggs smashed and the young dragons crushed beneath tons of rock.

“For the first time in our long history,” said Anora, “I see the possibility of our extinction. And it will be at the hands of humans.”

“Is this true, Draconas?” Lysira cried in silent dismay. “Do humans have such power?”

His colors were dark for long moments and fear gripped Lysira’s heart, for she knew the answer before she saw it in his mind.

“They do not have such power now. But soon.”

7