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// I should just tell you 
// Story: Steel. 
// by Petrichord 
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It was amazing, Ember decided, how it was possible for a dragon’s body to feel a decade older from only an hour of conversation.

Then again, it was amazing how she could explain the same dozen points until her face was purple, and evidently still fail to get anydragon to actually listen to her. Appealing to their greed and pride apparently went far when the only concern was the prettiness of her words, but all their attention evaporated like a puddle in summer as soon as actual legislature got brought to the table.

Ember knew that greed, self-assurance and time let a dragon grow from a teenager into an adult, but at this point it wouldn’t have surprised her if vapid stupidity was also necessary. Was she going to end up like that when she grew up? A lazy dullard with an IQ somewhere in the single digits? Being an adult might have helped her get other dragons to listen to her, but part of Ember wondered whether or not she actually wanted to be an adult anymore. A dull headache tapped the front of her skull like a small but tireless hammer, not painful so much as aggravating, and she briefly hoped that the next thing on her itinerary wouldn’t be relentlessly irritating.

Then she remembered what the next thing on her itinerary was, and all the irritation drained out of her. There wasn’t much room left for it after trepidation slammed its way into her skull like a bowling ball into a set of candlepins. The deftness of her stride gave way to an awkward gait, and she slumped as she turned towards an unlit staircase and walked down.

Dragons didn’t believe in secrecy. But Ember knew that discretion was a different thing entirely. Discretion wasn’t exactly lying, per se, and it made things easier for everydragon else. If anything, her discretion about this whole affair was for the betterment of the entire empire, and Ember wanted to believe that dragons who thought otherwise were fools. Unfortunately...

Reaching the bottom of the staircase, Ember took a step forward into the darkness. Two steps. But before her foot had lifted off the ground for the third time, the center of the cave exploded into flame: A colossal jet of fire billowed down onto an unseen pit in the floor, which roared to life with the scope of a dragon-sized campfire and the intensity of an active volcano.

And there, looming above the conflagration, was Torch. Torch, who called mountains his equal in size; Torch, whose unbreakable scales called diamonds their brethren. If his sorrow was great, his tears would drown a valley, and were there music in his heart the gaiety of his song would outshine even the purest vein of gold. But he never wept, for naught could threaten him so greatly that he would be tempted to despair; and he never sang, for singing was for silly dragons, and his mind was too sharp to burgeon even a sliver of mirth.

Torch, who could crush her with one talon as easily as she could crush an ant, and if the expression on his face was anything to go by, he was very, very tempted to do so.

“WHAT. ARE. YOU. DOING?” The former dragonlord boomed down at her.

Part of Ember wanted to respond with the obvious rebuttal: “Talking to you, clearly. Or being shouted at by you, anyway.” The other parts of Ember weren’t quite so keen on being crushed into paste, and instead she opted for silence.

“WHAT IS THIS?” Torch clarified, as one massive arm thrusted out of the firelight to brandish a small object at her. It was round and about fist-sized, and it glimmered in the firelight like a violet wisp. And, at least at first blush, it seemed to be everything she had hoped for.

“A crystapple, da- Your Resplendence,” Ember corrected herself.

“AND WHAT, EXACTLY, IS THAT?”

“A fusion. Between an organic plant and minerals. I’ve got a research team working on developing crystals that will be able to quickly self-replicate.”

“WHY.”

“Food. I want to have a reliable and renewable food source for when our empire expands. I know that finding crystals we can eat is slightly less difficult than taking a bath, but that’s not going to be the case when the empire grows. We need sustainable sources of food-”

“WE NEED TO BE SLAVES TO DIRT.”

“That’s not what I said.” Ember frowned, crossing her arms.

“IT’S WHAT YOU MEANT. YOU WANT US TO BE WRIGGLY LITTLE WORMS.” Torch jabbed a talon into the stone floor, ignoring the sharp crack of the rock splintering beneath it, and wriggled his talon in a grotesque pantomime of a nightcrawler. “WRIGGLING IN THE GROUND UNTIL WE DIE.”

“I’m not asking us to be worms. I’m asking us to take responsibility.” Ember hadn’t expected her voice to waver, not near the end of that sentence. She wasn’t sure if she could keep it from coming back. She needed to do something.

“RESPONSIBILITIES WE DON’T NEED.”

As Torch turned back to face her, Ember stared directly into his eyes. It felt like looking into the sun. But she couldn’t give up now. Couldn’t blink. She had to do this.

“Responsibilities that we’re going to need if we want to embrace our undaunted heritage. You think dragons are powerful enough as is, D-Your Resplendence? You think we should just settle for things being “good enough” as they are?”

Torch glared down at Ember. Ember was almost positive that the rock behind her was liquefying from the force of his gaze. She wouldn’t have been surprised if she was liquefying from his gaze, and even having his undivided attention for a few seconds was making her want to claw her eyes out.

“WHAT ARE YOU IMPLYING?” Torch boomed, after far too many seconds of silence.

“I’m implying that we can take the world for ourselves if we want it. I’m implying that it’s in our grasp, and always has been. But I’m also recognizing that it takes work to do that, and whether or not we’re willing to exert ourselves to claim our birthright is within our control. You see this as wriggling like worms?”

“I DO.”

“I see it as waving a paintbrush. I see every arm we flex and every claw that clenches as another stroke on the tapestry of our legacy. I see a vision of us growing from isolated beacons of power into a million glorious spires, so omnipresent and mighty that our majesty blots out the sun. And that vision is painted with the brushes of every muscle strained in the service of dragonkind. Would you turn your gaze from that?”

Silence reigned once more.

Abruptly, Torch dropped his gaze and turned around. There was a small clunk as he dropped the crystapple in front of her, and his voice echoed as he retreated back into the shadows.

“DO WHAT YOU WANT. COMMANDER.”

Ember waited until his footsteps had been swallowed by the darkness before collapsing to the floor. Her chest heaved as she gulped down unsteady breaths, and for a few shuddering minutes she sat there, in the dark, relief washing over her like an unexpected cloudburst.

Until she realized how utterly frustrated she was supposed to be.