The corridor stretched on longer than it had any right to.
The boy's small footsteps echoed softly against the marble floor, mingling with the faint flutter of wings behind him. The air smelled faintly of dust and something metallic—old, but not rotten. It was as though the castle had slept for a long, long time, and now watched them wander its empty halls with drowsy curiosity.
"Hey," the dragon said, perched on his shoulder. "You think anyone's still here?"
The boy tilted his head. "If there were, wouldn't they have come out already?"
"Maybe they're hiding."
"Or maybe," the boy said, his lips curling slightly, "we scared them away."
The dragon gave him a side-eye. "You? Scary? You barely come up to my neck."
"You're barely bigger than a loaf of bread!"
"Yeah, but I'm a dragon loaf."
The boy laughed, the sound soft and clear, echoing faintly through the halls. The laughter faded as they turned a corner and found themselves standing before a long passage lined with doors—nine of them, identical in shape and spacing, like soldiers standing in perfect formation.
Each door was carved from the same pale wood, smooth and unblemished by time. Faded plaques hung beside them, but whatever names had once been written there had long since worn away.
"Bedrooms?" the boy guessed aloud, walking closer.
"Looks like it," the dragon said. "All the same size, though… except that one."
At the end of the hall stood a larger door, double the width of the others, with faint gold lines tracing its surface. Something about it felt more… complete.
The boy turned the handle.
The door creaked open slowly, revealing a spacious chamber bathed in muted light. Dust motes drifted lazily in the air, disturbed by the faint breeze that slipped through the half-open window. A massive bed dominated the center of the room—far too large for either of them—with sheets that, despite their age, remained perfectly white and soft.
The boy's eyes sparkled. "Whoa…"
The dragon's wings fluttered faster. "This one's huge!"
"Bigger than all the others combined," the boy said, leaping onto the mattress. The surface dipped gently under his weight, springing back as he rolled across it. "Haha! It's so soft!"
The dragon hovered nearby, indecisive for a moment before landing beside him. "Alright, move over—my turn!"
"Hey! I found it first!"
"Doesn't matter! Dragons always get the best spot!"
They wrestled—if one could call it that. A boy and a small dragon rolling around on a bed far too large for them, laughing between mock growls and half-hearted shoves. Pillows flew, wings flapped, and the quiet castle echoed with the sound of life for the first time in centuries.
Eventually, both collapsed in a tangled heap of laughter.
The boy wiped a tear from his eye, still grinning. "You know what? You can have half."
The dragon tilted its head, surprised. "Half?"
"Yeah. It's not like I can use all of it anyway." He gestured around. "We're both small. Why bother fighting over space?"
The dragon blinked, then smiled faintly. "You're smarter than you look."
"Hey, don't say that like it's a surprise."
They lay there for a while, catching their breath. The room was quiet again, filled only by the faint sound of wind brushing against the balcony curtains.
From where they sat, the boy noticed a few pieces of furniture scattered about—a mirror in one corner, tall and slightly cracked at the top; beside it stood a drawer and a small wooden table, covered in a thin film of dust. Behind them was a closet, its doors half-open, revealing nothing but empty shelves.
He wandered toward the window. Beyond it, a small balcony stretched outward, its iron railings curled in intricate patterns. When he stepped outside, the strange sky filled his vision again—swirling with impossible colors, shifting and rippling as though alive.
The dragon joined him, landing on the rail. "Still weird."
"Yeah," the boy whispered. "Beautiful, though."
He reached out instinctively, as if to touch it—but the sky seemed infinitely far away and impossibly close all at once. A dream painted above a world that had forgotten time.
---
They explored more rooms after that.
Next to the bedrooms, they discovered a corridor that led into what looked like a bathroom wing. A carved wooden sign—barely readable—hung above the archway, split into two directions.
"'Male' and 'Female,'" the boy read aloud, though he didn't quite know how he knew those words.
They peeked into both sides. The rooms were nearly identical—rows of tiled stalls, a bathing area with old shower pipes, and stone basins lined with dust. The only difference was the faint floral carvings on one wall and plain ones on the other.
"Well, that's… something," the dragon said, unimpressed.
"Yeah. Nothing too exciting," the boy agreed.
They didn't bother to look too closely, quickly leaving the place behind.
Not far from there, they stumbled upon a laundry room, lined with baskets and long counters. Faded soap bars sat forgotten in bowls. Rusted basins lined the wall, and a few strange metal tubs rested beside them, each with thin pipes leading somewhere into the wall. The boy tugged on one of the knobs—and to his surprise, water flowed out.
"Hey! Look! It still works!"
The dragon darted closer. "Seriously? But where's it coming from?"
"I dunno." The boy cupped his hands under the stream, feeling the cool water against his skin. "But it's clean."
They grinned at each other, relief softening their faces.
At least something in this strange castle still worked.
---
Their next discovery made their stomachs rumble.
A dining hall, vast and dimly lit, stretched before them. A single wooden table, long enough to seat more than twenty people, stood in the center. Candles lined its length, their wax hardened mid-drip, as though frozen in the middle of a dinner that never ended. A chandelier hung above, its crystals dull but unbroken.
"No lights," the dragon noted. "No switches. No magic stones. Nothing."
"Guess we're doing it old-fashioned," the boy said, brushing his hand across the table's smooth surface.
Through a wide window-like opening framed in glass, they could see into the kitchen beyond. The boy's eyes lit up, and he darted toward it, pushing the swinging door open. Inside, the kitchen was fully stocked—with tools, at least.
A kettle, a wok, a spatula, knives, and even a set of delicate cups sat neatly in place, untouched by time.
"Looks like whoever lived here really liked cooking," the dragon murmured.
"Yeah, but…" The boy opened the fridge—a tall, square thing with faint runes carved into its surface. Inside was nothing. No food. No light. Just a hollow emptiness that made the room feel colder.
They checked the cupboards. Empty. The drawers. Empty. Not even a grain of rice.
The boy sighed, shoulders slumping. "Figures."
"Hey," the dragon said softly, landing on the counter beside him. "At least we have water. And we're not starving yet."
"Yeah," he said with a faint smile. "But I was hoping for snacks."
They shared a small laugh before leaving the kitchen behind.
---
The common room came next—a wide space with a grand fireplace built into the wall. Two couches faced each other with a small table between them, and beneath it lay a simple carpet, patterned with a single blooming flower.
The boy ran a finger along the couch's fabric. "Still soft."
"Cozy," the dragon said, hovering near the fire pit. "Too bad there's no fire."
"I'll start one if we ever get cold."
"With what? Your hair?"
"Maybe."
They chuckled again, the sound lightening the quiet air. But as they explored deeper, the rooms began to grow emptier.
The next chamber was a trophy room—or what must have been one. Rows of glass cases lined the walls, each perfectly polished but completely empty. No swords, no medals, no keepsakes. Only silence.
The boy stared at the empty displays, unease creeping up his spine. "It's like someone built all this but never lived here."
The dragon's tail flicked thoughtfully. "Or they left. A long time ago."
---
They pressed on. Another door opened into a library, though "library" might've been too generous a word. Most of the bookshelves were bare, their wood dark with age. Only a handful of books remained—fewer than ten, stacked crookedly on the lowest shelf.
The boy picked one up. The pages were thick, the ink faded. Strange letters danced across the surface—letters he didn't recognize but somehow felt he should understand. He frowned, flipping through a few more before sighing.
"I can't read any of this."
"Then don't strain your brain," the dragon said, yawning.
Still, something about one particular bookshelf tugged at him. He ran his fingers across it, feeling the faint vibration beneath his skin—like the walls were breathing again.
But there was nothing there. No secret lever, no glow, no sound. Just wood.
"Guess I imagined it," he muttered, setting the book back in place.
---
The last room on that floor was completely empty. Four walls. A bare floor. Nothing else.
The desolation pressed heavier now. Every discovery seemed to whisper of lives erased, memories buried. The boy said nothing as they climbed the spiral staircase to the highest floor.
When they reached the top, the world seemed to open up.
A circular room stretched before them—an observatory. Its ceiling was a dome of glass, cracked in places but still whole enough to show the swirling sky beyond. A single table stood in the center, covered in dust. Nothing else.
The boy stepped closer to the glass ceiling, gazing upward. The bizarre sky looked closer here, as though if he reached high enough, he could brush the edge of its shifting light.
"So strange," he whispered. "Like it's breathing."
The dragon perched beside him. "It's beautiful, though."
"Yeah… beautiful."
They lingered a while longer before heading back down.
---
Outside, the air was softer. The boy blinked against the sudden light.
Beyond the castle's side hall stretched a garden—a sea of flowers and slender trees that danced lightly in the breeze. A pond sat at the center, still and clear, reflecting the impossible sky above. Fruit-laden trees stood nearby, their branches heavy.
The boy reached up, plucked one of the red fruits, and took a bite.
His eyes widened. "It's… an apple."
"An apple?" the dragon echoed. "In a place like this?"
He nodded, chewing thoughtfully. "Yeah. Don't know why it's here. But it tastes real."
The dragon grinned. "Then we've got food. Guess that's one less thing to worry about."
"Yup." He smiled, relief washing over him. "We're not gonna starve."
They wandered a bit more, discovering a small greenhouse beside the garden. Inside, there were no plants, only tools—rusted shovels, broken pots, and dusty seed boxes. The boy sighed, brushing dirt off his hands.
"Guess this one's empty too."
"Yeah."
They walked back to the open grass and collapsed onto the soft bermuda, lying side by side. Above them, the bizarre sky pulsed with light, its colors shifting like waves. For a moment, everything was quiet. Peaceful.
"What do we do now?" the dragon asked quietly.
The boy thought for a while. "We're trapped here, right?"
"Seems like it."
"Then maybe we should check the gate again. Maybe there's a way out."
The dragon hummed. "We could try. But…" Its eyes glinted mischievously. "What about that glowing door you were scared of?"
The boy turned his head sharply. "Wait—are you serious?"