When the brothers came of age, the Dragon God announced a festival of fire. Before the eyes of the kingdom, his sons would prove their strength.
First came flight. Glow leapt into the sky with ease, wings spread wide, rising higher than the peaks. Sparks fell from him like golden rain, and the crowd roared his name.
Dwarf launched himself next. His wings beat furiously, his body heavy, his flight rough. He rose, but the ground shook with every thrust of his wings. Some clapped politely; many watched in silence.
Then came fire. Glow breathed a stream of warm, golden flame. Where it touched the valley, flowers bloomed. The people gasped in wonder.
Dwarf opened his jaws and roared. His fire was darker, harsher, scorching the earth until nothing remained but ash. His strength was undeniable — but so too was the fear in the eyes of those who saw it.
That night, Glow found his brother apart from the feast, claws dug deep into stone.
"You were strong today, Dwarf," Glow said softly. "Stronger than I could ever be."
"Do not mock me."
"I don't," Glow replied. "You are the rock, and I am the flame. Without rock, flame burns out. Without flame, rock grows cold."
But Dwarf only turned away, the whispers in his head louder than his brother's kindness.
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