The sun beat down on Tristan’s back as he stomped across the soggy road. It had rained the night before and the entire region was soaked through. It made travel hellish, and all but the most stubborn traders would be waiting until the ground firmed up a bit. But not Tristan. This type of hard travel was what he had grown used to over the past few years.

  He trudged along the path slowly but surely, following the glimmer of sparkling starlight from the lantern on his hip. Tracking the light was especially difficult during the day, but it was the only guiding light to try and find the creature that had plagued his existence since he set off on his journey two years ago. Sent out at the ripe, young age of sixteen to go and slay a dragon. But not just any dragon, a fairy dragon. The weakest of the bunch – but also the most crafty and nefarious.

  Oh, he’d almost caught the small creature a few times. But each time, it slipped away, or he struck an illusion it created, or he experienced some terrible luck and slipped on some ungodly substance strewn upon the ground. Every time he had gotten close, he’d either barely injured it before it escaped, or it hexed him, cursing him with bad fortune.

  His quest was to kill the thing, but even a shoddy student like Tristan knew that a fairy dragon could only be killed by trapping it within a cage of iron and then slaying it. Like the cage that he had strapped to his back. It had been a heavy burden to carry over the years, but it was the only means he had to permanently put it down. That was, at least, if his grandfather’s dragonslaying manual was anything to go by.

  Some dragonslayer I’ve turned out to be, he thought. What would father or grandfather think of this whole mess? Chasing the weakest of the dragon-kind for years and years? Bertram or Gisele would have killed it in their first encounter, I bet.

  Bertram was five years his elder, and Gisele was three years older. Both were full-blood Humans, just like their father. Tristan shared the same father, but his mother was of the Elves, tracking her heritage from across the sea, as she used to tell a younger Tristan when he would be on her knee in the study.

  Thus, he had always been compared to his siblings; and not in a good way. Bertram, more traditionally handsome than him, was popular with the girls. He had made a name for himself at twelve when he helped their father kill a nefarious dragon cultist in the Kingdom of Bhant. Tristan vividly recalled the evening lessons on dragonkind with his grandfather, and how Bertram instead chose to stay in the practice yard swinging his weighted blades over and over.

  Gisele, on the other hand, was not a skilled swordswoman. She was a natural. Their father used to say that she was born to have a sword in her hand, and she barely had to practice with the blade. Ironically, most of her time was spent at the court. She still wanted to be a dragonslayer, like their father and grandfather, but Gisele also had her eyes set on ascending the ranks of nobility. Leveraging her family name and impressing a possible husband was one of the easiest ways she could do that.

  Tristan…was more or less average at everything he tried. The only half-breed of the family, Tristan was quite attached to his mother, the only one who seemed to truly love him for who and what he was. She had taught him history, reading, writing, and a whole slew of other subjects and academics – spurning the private tutors his brother and sister were assigned. His grandfather simply taught him how to slay dragons, as he did with the other children.

  But…his whole life he had been plagued by bad luck. And it had manifested once more, as his thoughts returned to the present. The rain from the night before came out of nowhere, and it made traveling hell. Tristan could feel the mud working its way through the armored soles of his greaves and wiggling into the boots inside.

  Tristan paused as he felt the lantern on his hip vibrate. His green eyes began scanning the drowned farmland, searching for any sign of magical activity. The lantern began to pull away from his hip slightly, indicating a very strong presence of magic…and a direction. Magic always left a ‘glimmer’ of some type in the air to indicate its presence, like a mirage in a desert.

  Leaving the road, he began running across the field, tripping and falling a few times and having to heft himself up out of the mud. He was not clumsy, and there was no good reason to fall. Fairy dragons were well-known for their trickery and practical jokes, and Tristan chalked his slipping up to that malevolent magic that had plagued him ever since he first encountered this creature. That, or the natural bad luck he’d been cursed with.

  I’m so close! he thought as he drew one of the Anorox family’s ancestral blades. The blade was steel, but an almost white hued metal that had been forged and refined for precise stabbing. Injure it, grab it, get it in the cage. Then stab it.

  The crops that were knee-height became taller and taller the further away he ran from the road. He could no longer see that muddy trail, and his eyes were glued, transfixed on the shining trail of glimmering starlight. The pull on the lantern was stronger than he had ever seen. There’s so much magic around this place. Must be powerful essence-weaving at work.

  He slowed his gait and walked more cautiously, zoning out as he focused solely on his hearing. An Elvish trick he had learned from his mother, as she taught him to listen to the very sounds of nature for hints to danger in the environment. The rustling of the corn stalks, the scent of the fallen rain…and a strange noise just barely on the edge of his hearing.

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  He could hear the faint giggle of laughter somewhere in front of him. Too many crops to make a stealthy approach, he thought as he heard the crunch underfoot of a bit of corn that had seemingly fallen right in front of him as he was creeping. Once more, he cursed his luck. I could just rush it, but without vision that’s tricky. Think. Options…

  The lantern kept pulling, and he took a sharp breath. It must be casting some big spell! It’s all or nothing! He charged forward through the tall grass, cutting left and right to make a clearer path so that he could speed up his approach. He could feel the adrenaline pumping through his veins, the thump thump of his heart in his chest, and the exhilaration of finally tracking down his prey…again. Gods, please don’t let there be anything to screw me up this time. Please let my bad luck just stay away.

  He entered a clearing that glowed with magical energy. The whole environment was warbling and warping from the power’s distortion. He had no clue the type of spell or which Order it might fall under, as essence-weaving was a school of learning reserved for those with the ability to become a mage. He knew the basics well enough, as any noble did. But essence-weaving was beyond his capacity.

  In the center of the clearing was his prey. The fairy dragon he had been chasing all this time. It could be considered cute by some. A small, foxlike creature covered with armored scales that glimmered with the hues of the rainbow. Instead of ears, it had a pair of deer antlers that were a stark white color. Its wings were like that of a songbird mixed with a butterfly; a crimson and blue that clashed with each other.

  “Well, look who found me, again,” the feminine voice said arrogantly. “Aren’t you tired of chasing dragons?” It giggled and then flew up from the ground, and Tristan spotted some type of circle on the ground under it. “I’m going to be going now. Don’t get me wrong, it’s been fun! But you’ve bored me…for the last time”

  Tristan did not engage in banter as he had before – it was a mistake he’d made on his first encounter, letting himself get distracted by the dragon talking. Something that was not in his grandfather’s dragonslaying manual.

  Instead, he charged forward and chopped down with his sword. Silent, reserving all of his energy to fight.

  “Hey, that is not nice!” the fairy dragon dashed sideways, dodging the blow. Tristan’s lantern was spinning wildly on the small chain it was attached to, and the device exploded with an enormous crack from the sheer amount of magical energy present in the ambient environment. The shards pinged off Tristan’s armor, but one of the bits of iron caught the fairy dragon in the body.

  “Ouch!”

  Almost not believing his luck, Tristan gleefully took advantage of that opening and slashed with a horizontal swing, catching the creature and shearing clean through its wing. It let out a scream of pain as it fell to the ground. Tristan immediately sheathed the sword, loosened the cage from his back, letting it fall to the ground, and tackled the creature. A move he had practiced over and over the past few years, preparing for this moment.

  “No! This is not fun anymore!” the fairy dragon shouted. “I’m going home!”

  “No you don’t!” Tristan shouted as he tried to wrestle the fairy dragon to the cage. His grandfather’s manual stated that fairy dragons could only be killed if they were trapped in an iron cage. Just get in there!

  Suddenly, the world began to glow a cerulean blue, and Tristan squeezed his eyes shut, still holding tight to the fairy dragon as he wrangled it. The creature tried to claw and bite at him but found no purchase against his armor. Tristan was able to haul it to the cage behind him and shoved the fairy dragon into it before slamming the door shut.

  I…I got it! Tristan began to draw his sword to deliver the final blow, but the entire world flashed white around him. Huh? Did it cast a spell? There was no gesture! No spell phrase!

  “Really? Really?! A Cage?! That was your grand plan?”

  Tristan was confused, “What?”

  The white vanished and left Tristan in a black void. Still on some type of solid surface, but nothing else existed except for him, the cage, and the fairy dragon. “Nice going, jackass. You got us in between your home and my home!” Tristan watched in disbelief as the fairy dragon’s wing grew back. It said something he didn’t catch, and with a burst of magical energy, the cage turned into a bunch of flowers that cascaded down.

  But…fairy dragons can’t do anything against iron. Unless grandfather’s manual was wrong?

  “You’re an idiot. Who wastes two years of their life trying to kill a fairy dragon? Seriously! We don’t hurt anyone! Just harmless pranks! Well, mostly harmless.”

  Tristan felt frustration boil up in him and shouted, “I can’t go back until you’re dead!”

  The fairy dragon’s face shifted and showed a dour expression, “Well that’s a s-t-u-p-i-d, stupid rule. Did I emphasize how stupid that is?”

  “It’s because you stole the king’s scepter!” Tristan screamed, wanting to tear at his hair. That was when it had all started, when the king’s symbol of office was stolen, a chamber pot poured on his head in the dead of night, and a giggling, laughing fairy dragon made its presence known by pissing on priceless paintings in the halls of the Blackspire. That was when the Anorox family was called upon…and they sent the half-breed Tristan on his mission.

  The fairy dragon giggled, “Oh, yeah. That was a fun prank! Who puts all their authority to rule into a silly metal stick? Doesn’t seem like a solid system of government. ‘Whoever holds this bit of metal gets to rule the kingdom’ what i-d-i-o-t came up with that?”

  Tristan growled and grabbed the thing, “I’ve chased you for two years.”

  “Waste of time. I thought we were playing a game of chase, but nooo. You just up and had to chop my wing.”

  “I just want to go home.”

  “So do I! I tried to do my u-n-i-q-u-e ability that o-n-l-y fairy dragons can do – and it caught us between your home and my home!”

  The world began to light up. Gradually shifting from black to grey, to a blinding white. “What’s happening?” Tristan asked, as he felt his frustration at this thing replaced by confusion, and just a trace of fear.

  The fairy dragon replied with a giggle, “Yes! We’re going to the Fey Realm! In your face, wanna-be dragonslayer! My desire to go home was stronger than your desire!”

  “What Realm?”