The eruption of Mount Dohenia was an unusual case, distinct from ordinary active volcanoes. A Gold Dragon soared high in the sky, looking down at the mountain beneath his feet. In truth, calling it a “mountain” no longer felt accurate—it was more fitting now to refer to it as a hill of lava.
Boom—Thud!
Scarlet flames engulfed and consumed the entire mountain. Animals that had made their homes there perished in an instant, their screams echoing through the air. Most haunting of all were the cries of the plants—rooted and immobile, unable to flee like the animals. The plants, which had long communicated in ways imperceptible to other lifeforms, now screamed with piercing intensity, as if deliberately sending their death cries toward the dragon hovering above them.
The dragon had been watching from the very beginning of the eruption, observing every stage from directly overhead. His chillingly beautiful face was slightly contorted. He did not approve of this eruption—not because of the countless lives being snuffed out without resistance.
He had already lived through countless ages. There had been a time when he believed that this grand mountain would remain unchanged for eternity. Unlike the castles humans outside the forest would tear down and rebuild each time a new dynasty rose, this vast and lush Mount Dohenia had always remained the same, preserving its deep green canopy.
That was precisely why the dragon considered Mount Dohenia one of the few places he truly favored on this continent. Whenever the mountain came to mind, he would lightly take to the sky and visit. The feeling this place gave him was utterly different from the cities where humans dwelled.
Mount Dohenia was one place humans could neither constantly rebuild nor reshape. That’s why he believed—truly believed—that this great mountain would remain as it was forever.
The Gold Dragon’s brow furrowed slightly, then returned to its original calm. He needed a moment to find the right words for this feeling.
His exquisitely shaped lips trembled faintly before he finally gave voice to his conclusion.
“…This is…”
From his lips flowed the clear, resonant voice of the Gold Dragon. At last, he identified the source of the discomfort gnawing at him. He whispered again, this time like an echo spoken to himself:
“Betrayal.”
After that day, the dragon never returned to Mount Dohenia.
***
“Mount Dohenia? You mean the one that erupted a few hundred years ago?”
Mikhail murmured to confirm what he had just read, as if unsure his eyes hadn’t deceived him. Adrian looked equally stunned.
“…The Dohenia Volcano…”
Adrian narrowed his eyes and gazed toward the forest next to the statue. Now that he thought about it, it had seemed strangely familiar. But given how similar forests and mountains could look, he hadn’t been able to place it. To think it was Mount Dohenia!
“It doesn’t really look like an active volcano… It should be fine for now.”
“You’re sometimes absurdly optimistic. That, or you just don’t want to bother thinking too hard.”
“I’d say it’s the latter.”
Adrian nodded casually, as if it were nothing, and tossed the damp bundle of clothes in his hands onto a nearby rock. The sun continued to shine warmly, heating the stone until it was pleasantly warm to the touch.
The Gold Dragon picked up one of the wet school uniforms. The breeze brushed against his bare skin. He needed to dry these quickly. The dragon liked performing such humble tasks himself. There was a sense of satisfaction that came with doing them.
Snap—snap! He shook the wet uniform top a few times in the air, then neatly spread it out across a tree branch, ensuring there were no wrinkles.
But then Adrian stared intently at Mikhail, who sat confidently on the rock beside him, watching them.
“……”
Just as he reached for the remaining clothes, the Gold Dragon tilted his head.
“Why…”
The prince leaned back against the rock, wearing an expression that asked why he had suddenly stopped.
“…Why am I hanging your clothes too?”
“Well, obviously because your pet salamander caused this mess.”
Psshhh! In response to the prince’s accusation, the baby salamander—who had been quietly watching the humans from the same rock—spewed a small burst of flame. Then, without any sharp teeth to speak of, it clamped its mouth around the prince’s hand.
“Hey! What was that for?” Mikhail yelped, shaking his palm. The baby salamander glared at him, occasionally glancing up at the prince while Mikhail slapped its little body in protest.
“Spirits aren’t creatures you can just ‘raise.’ You’re going to flunk Spirit Studies at this rate.”
Reluctantly, the Gold Dragon hung up the prince’s clothes as well. Now, two Basamiel Academy uniforms were neatly draped across the branches. From time to time, the trees of the forest swayed gently, and with each passing breeze, the uniforms fluttered softly in the wind.
Now that he thought about it, if he just used a little magic, this would all dry up in no time.
Adrian, still shirtless, turned to look at the prince standing behind him as an idea suddenly came to mind.
“Wouldn’t it be faster to dry them with magic?”
“……”
The prince grimaced as though he’d just heard something utterly ridiculous.
“You think I’d know a spell like that? A spell for drying laundry?”
There wasn’t a single mage in the kingdom brave—or foolish—enough to teach a royal such a mundane spell. But what Mikhail failed to realize was that a spell specifically for “drying laundry” didn’t need to exist. It could easily be done using a simple combination of elemental magic, something he most certainly had been taught.
“You know… just a little heat magic, and maybe a breeze—”
Adrian’s gaze met Mikhail’s crimson eyes. The prince was clearly telling him to drop it. Adrian promptly closed his open mouth and went back to briskly shaking out the clothes.
“Wow, such a refined mage, Your Highness,” he muttered with a smirk tugging at his lips. No point in saying more.
The Gold Dragon let out a soft sigh and leaned his back against the large boulder where the prince was lounging. His pants, which hadn’t gotten completely soaked, had mostly dried by now.
The sound of flowing water filled the peaceful forest. For a while, the two simply sat there in silence by the gentle stream, basking in the warm afternoon sun—until Mikhail broke that stillness.
It had been a day since they arrived. Though yesterday’s camping had been unintentional, now that they were sitting idly, staring up at the sky, an uneasy feeling began to creep up on the prince.
“Magic class must’ve started by now.”
He didn’t particularly like magic class, but that didn’t mean Mikhail could feel good about missing it.
“This is already our second day skipping class… They’re probably looking for us.”
He spoke casually, leaning against the cliff face with his back to the warm stone.
Adrian cracked open one eye and glanced at him sideways. As if going to class solved everything. He wasn’t even the type to take it seriously—why worry? Still, now that he thought about it, Mikhail had always made sure to attend every single class without fail, even if his attitude during them was less than stellar.
Adrian, sitting right beside him, finally spoke.
“It’s been two days… and maybe four more hours on top of that.”
“What, already?”
The Gold Dragon opened his eyes completely, as if doubting what he’d just heard. He stretched his arm toward the sky, pointing at the sun with one finger. Just as he was about to explain the position of the sun and shadows to the prince beside him—
“The sun’s right up th—”
“…Do I look like I care how you tell time?”
Mikhail cut him off in irritation, brushing back his messy hair. But as always, Adrian stared back at him with that same unreadable expression—neither annoyed nor angry.
“I still haven’t figured out a way back… Can we even return to the Academy?”
The prince let out a tense sigh and clenched his teeth.
“Don’t worry.”
His voice was firm.
“If things get dangerous, I’ll take care of it.”
Mikhail lifted his head at that response, locking eyes with Adrian. He stared directly into his brown eyes—so common that nine out of ten citizens of the Rustavaran Kingdom had the same color.
But sometimes, in those eyes, tiny golden flecks shimmered—glimmering like Adrian’s own golden hair, as though they moved of their own will. Just like now.
Mikhail found himself blankly staring into them, then hesitantly opened his mouth.
“…And what exactly can you do? All you know is plants. I’d be more useful stepping in than you would.”
Unbelievable.
Mikhail let out a dry laugh, half exasperated at himself. It was laughable—how, for a moment, Adrian had actually seemed reliable.
In response, Adrian gave a nonchalant shrug and said,
“Yeah, true enough.”
And wore that trademark deadpan expression of his.
