Farvus sat against a crumbling boulder, chest heaving. Eventually, his breathing subsided, leaving him exhausted. A few minutes later, it clicked. I just beat…a SteelDragyn, he thought. No, I couldn’t have, it must’ve been someone else. He glanced around. It felt like he had done it, if he glanced down he could even see the steel remains of the Dragyn far below.

It came, slowly at first, then building with a giant roar. Suddenly, he leaped up from his rock and punched the air with his fist. “I did it! I beat a SteelDrag—!” he cried, cut short when he realized his arm was dislocated. “Ow,” he squeaked. An understatement.

~

In the castle, King Merrymir sat in his throne talking to his advisor once more.

“Sire, you still haven’t heard from your son for a week.”

“And, so…”

“He might be dead, sire!”

“Wait…who’re we talking about?”

The advisor sighed worriedly, wondering if the king had lost his mind. “Your son, sire! Your son!”

“Ah, yes. Farvus. Nice boy.”