Ash. The Legends of the Nameless World. Progression Gamelit Story by Kirill Klevanski (ink book reader .txt) 📕

of someone else’s flames seared his face, it became clear that this was all terribly real. Ash was in the center of a huge cavern with a flat ceiling and walls that were too smooth.

He had found himself in a dragon’s abode.

“Interesting,” rumbled a voice so deep and loud that Ash had to restrain himself from shouting and covering his ears with his hands. “How interesting...”

A huge head, the size of a wealthy man’s house, appeared in the light. It was crowned with eight horns, had a reddish mane that looked like a young forest, a stringy mustache the length of a small river, and a pair of bright orange eyes. It was definitely a dragon; one with a long, serpentine body, and no wings. However, it had scales so strong and sharp that they could cut through a diamond, a body so hot that it could melt a glacier faster than a group of fire-wielding mages, claws the size of spears wielded by giants, and fangs like arrows of a ballista. It was still too early to speak of its flame, and if Ash was lucky, he’d never have to learn its color.

These serpentine dragons were so old that they still remembered the era, and so rare that they each had their own color — orange, red, blue, black, and yellow. A fool would think that this determined their power, but a smart man would know that it spoke of nothing other than their status. They say that the head of the legendary White Dragons was a descendant of these scaly beasts.

“What a strange meal,” the dragon rumbled, writhing like a snake. A huge, deadly snake. “It is rare to find food with magic in these mountains...”

Ash’s knees trembled, his hands shook, and sweat dripped down his forehead. He knew that there was no chance that he’d be able to defeat the dragon if it attacked him. Especially an ancient one, who was stronger than a young God.

“Do you, great and mighty Lord of the Sky, feed of puny humans?” Ash managed to mutter through his clattering teeth.

He needed to stall for time, needed to wait a bit to come up with a plan. Maybe, just maybe, he’d manage to survive. “I thought you ate only chaste maidens, and—” He bit his tongue just in time, aware that he would’ve said too much or something rather rude if he continued.

“Goats?” the dragon finished. Ash was about to kiss his life goodbye, but the serpent only laughed. His thundering laughter shook the walls, making the stone crumble off the ceiling. “Tell me, worm, how many goats or maidens a day would it take to satisfy my hunger?”

Looking at the dragon’s body, which was almost a mile long and wide as forty men, he found his answer very quickly. He suspected that it’d take at least all the livestock in the vicinity of the Eastern Territory to feed him. That was without mentioning the chaste maidens, as the entire population of Thirteen Kingdoms wouldn’t have enough young girls to keep the dragon fed for a week.

“I see you have found your answer,” the dragon growled. Its every word was accompanied by a cloud of sparks and fumes spilling from between its teeth.

What should one even do in this kind of situation? What should he do? Play dead? Fall unconscious? Turn white from fear? Try to escape? Rush into a suicidal attack? Perhaps he should’ve done one of those, but Ash was driven by the only two emotions that he had known since the moment he was born. And one of those was curiosity.

“Then what do you eat, great and mighty one?” he asked, perplexed.

The dragon laughed again. The young mage brushed away a rock that was about to fall on his head.

“A conversation before a meal!” the dragon roared, releasing a jet of smoke and ash. “Ah, how wonderful! But it won’t get you far. Listen to me, mortal. Dragons do not feast on meat, blood, leaves, and earth, as your kin does. We feast on power! On Ternites! And there is no greater feast than the power of those you call mages.”

The dragon shook the cavern with its laughter one last time and towered above the cowering young man. His eyes shone like Irmaril at dawn, and its fangs dripped with yellow saliva, more venomous than any potion in an assassin’s arsenal. Ash realized that even he, with his vast pool of energy, couldn’t hope to defeat this monster. So, he had to rely on the only thing he had left — his cunning, which had saved him on the battlefield more than once.

“O, great and mighty one,” he said, dropping to his knees and pressing his forehead to the ground. “Your flame is hotter than the light of the sky wanderer, your fangs and claws sharper than the coldest of winters, and mind cleaner and clearer than a spring stream!”

The dragon leaned his head to the side and looked curiously at the young mage.

“Do not delay the inevitable, worm! I will eat you even if your speech is sweeter than molasses!”

“I don’t doubt it, great and mighty one!” His heart was pounding so fast that Ash felt like there was no pause between the beats. “But I have a suggestion!”

“A suggestion? Well... I have not spoken with anyone in a very long time, so I will let this farce drag on for a while. And the fact that you are holding a piece of Primrose has intrigued me. I am listening.”

Ash gathered his courage, put his thoughts in order, and decided to cling to the straw he had been given. He had nothing else to hold on to, anyway.

“O, great and mighty one, I dare say that the more power you consume, the stronger you become!”

“And you are clever... For a worm, of course.” The