Africa Leveling

The village of Huan-Li clung to the edge of the Ironpeak Mountains like a stubborn lichen, its wooden huts and terraced fields carved into the cliffs. For generations, the people had lived in harmony with the harsh landscape—until the dragon came. Its shadow darkened the sky at dawn, its roar shook loose avalanches of rock, and its flames scorched the eastern fields to ash. The elders called it *Jinlong*, the Golden Scourge, a beast of ancient fury. But to twelve-year-old Kit Mi Kai, it was a puzzle to solve, a challenge to meet. And deep down, he knew it was his *destiny* to face it.

Kit had always been different. While other boys practiced archery or learned to mend fishing nets, he spent hours in the crumbling archive beneath the village shrine, poring over scrolls about dragons. His father, a blacksmith who'd died defending Huan-Li from bandits, had once told him, *"Dragons are not monsters, Kit. They are mirrors. They show us what we fear… and what we might become."* Kit didn't fully understand the words then, but they burned in his chest now as he tightened the straps of his leather armor—a patchwork of scraps he'd sewn himself—and slung his father's rusted sword over his shoulder.

The climb to Jinlong's lair took all night. Kit's fingers bled from gripping frost-slick stone, and the thin air bit his lungs, but he pressed on. By sunrise, he stood at the mouth of a cavern, its entrance glittering with veins of quartz. The stench of sulfur and burnt meat made his eyes water. *This is it,* he thought. *The dragon's nest.*

He expected fire. He expected talons. What he didn't expect was the sound—a low, keening wail that echoed through the tunnels. It wasn't the roar of a predator. It was the cry of something… wounded.

Kit crept forward, his sword trembling in his grip. The cavern opened into a vast chamber, lit by an eerie golden glow. Piles of scorched armor and splintered weapons—relics of failed hunters—lined the walls. At the center of the room lay Jinlong, its massive body coiled around a clutch of glowing eggs. The dragon's scales, once the color of molten gold, were dull and cracked. One of its wings hung mangled, and a jagged spear protruded from its flank.

But the eggs… they pulsed like tiny suns.

Jinlong's head snapped up, its slit-pupiled eyes locking onto Kit. Smoke curled from its nostrils. *"Another fool,"* it hissed, its voice a rumble that vibrated in Kit's bones. *"You will die like the rest."*

Kit's throat went dry, but he stood his ground. "I'm not here to kill you," he said, surprised by the steadiness in his voice. "I'm here to… to understand."

The dragon laughed, a sound like boulders grinding. *"Understand? Your kind knows only greed and fear. You see my eggs and think of power. Of weapons."* It reared up, towering over him. *"But you will not touch them."*

A jet of flame erupted from Jinlong's jaws. Kit dove behind a boulder, the heat singeing his hair. He'd read enough about dragons to know their fire came in bursts—three seconds of inferno, then a pause to draw breath. *Three… two… one…* He lunged sideways as another fireblast incinerated the boulder.

"Wait!" Kit shouted, scrambling to his feet. "Your wing—you can't fly! That's why you're stuck here, why you attacked the village! You're protecting your eggs!"

Jinlong hesitated, its tail lashing. *"They are all I have left. My mate… your villagers killed her. For *sport*."*

Kit's stomach twisted. He'd heard stories of a "great hunt" last winter, led by the village chieftain. A dragon's head mounted on the hall wall. A trophy.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "But the people down there… they're scared. They don't know *why* you're angry. Let me help you."

The dragon's growl deepened. *"Help? You, a child?"*

"Yes!" Kit sheathed his sword—a gesture of trust that made his hands shake—and stepped closer. "If I can heal your wing, you can leave. Take your eggs somewhere safe. Far from here."

For a long moment, Jinlong stared at him. Then, with a snort that scattered embers, it lowered its head. *"Your courage amuses me, little human. Very well. Try."*

Kit worked quickly. Using a salve of cave moss and melted snow (a remedy he'd read about in a scroll titled *Draconis Medicus*), he cleaned the infected spear wound. The dragon's wing was harder—the delicate membranes torn by arrows. Kit stitched them with thread from his cloak, fingers steady despite Jinlong's occasional growls of pain.

"Why do you do this?" the dragon muttered as Kit bandaged its wing. *"You owe me nothing."*

Kit glanced at the eggs, their light flickering in rhythm like a heartbeat. "Because you're right. My people took from you. Maybe this is how I… balance the scales."

Jinlong's eyes narrowed, but it said nothing.

By nightfall, the dragon could stretch its wings without bleeding. *"You have done what you promised,"* it rumbled. *"Now go. My children and I depart at dawn."*

Kit turned to leave, but a faint *chirp* stopped him. One of the eggs—smaller than the others, its shell a soft blue rather than gold—had rolled to his feet. It trembled, and a hairline crack split its surface.

*"No,"* Jinlong snarled. *"That one is weak. It will not survive the journey."*

Kit knelt, brushing his hand over the egg. It was warm, and the crack widened. "But… it's hatching."

*"A runt,"* the dragon said dismissively. *"The weak have no place in the sky."*

Before Kit could react, Jinlong's tail hooked around the healthy eggs, cradling them close. Then, with a mighty thrust of its healed wings, the dragon surged upward, shattering the cavern roof and vanishing into the night.

The blue egg chirped again, plaintive and alone.

Kit didn't remember the journey back to Huan-Li. He only remembered the weight of the egg in his arms, its light dimming as the winter winds bit through his cloak. The villagers gasped when he stumbled into the square, his face smeared with soot and blood.

"The dragon is gone!" he shouted hoarsely. "It won't return!"

The chieftain, a broad man with a boar's beard, scowled. "And you expect us to believe that, boy? Where's your proof?"

Kit hesitated, then unwrapped the egg. Its shell was now a pale, lifeless gray.

The crowd erupted. "A dragon's egg!" "Burn it!" "It'll curse us all!"

"No!" Kit clutched the egg to his chest. "It's dying because of *us*! Because we took its mother! Don't you see? We're the monsters here!"

Silence fell. Then, from the back of the crowd, a woman's voice: "Let him keep it."

It was Lian, the village healer. She stepped forward, her herbal satchel clinking. "The boy has the sight. And the heart. If anyone can save that creature… it's him."

Grudgingly, the crowd dispersed.

Weeks passed. Kit kept the egg by the hearth, swaddled in woolen blankets. He sang to it—silly fishing songs his father had taught him—and fed it drops of honeyed milk. Slowly, the blue glow returned.

One morning, as frost painted the windows, the egg hatched.

The creature that emerged was no larger than a house cat, its scales the color of a midsummer sky. It blinked up at Kit with eyes like liquid silver and sneezed a tiny puff of smoke.

"Hello, little one," Kit laughed, tears in his eyes. "Let's see… You'll need a name."

The dragon tilted its head, chirping.

"How about… Bóluó?"

In the old tongue, it meant "storm." But to Kit, it sounded like hope.