Dragon gathered himself off the floor. Eta was much stronger, but that didn’t bother him. Dragon made a decision. It was the right decision, he knew that now. As he watched that former bedbound bunsack—no—his former princess walk away, carrying that sickly intruder, Dragon realized he never regretted making the correct decision so much in his entire life.

For him, logic trumped all. The world was cruel and fair. He needed to show that to her. She was strong, but not suited for survival.

Taking advantage of her feeble mind, Dragon forced her to kill the intruder. It was the right decision. The intruder deserved death.

And Dragon’s princess…

His former princess walked away.

It wasn’t right. It should have been, but it wasn’t.

“Oenus,” Dragon said.

“It’s Loogman,” his moronic business partner replied.

“Loogman, about payment, how many questions do I have left?” Dragon already knew the answer.

Oenus—no—Loogman counted on his fingers and mulled around for small while.

“One thousand and two,” he replied.

“Answer one for me,” Dragon said. “I want to understand Ayleth.”

Dragon was a relatively young bogavart, lording high above the bunsacks. He’d seen enough of this realm to understand the basic principles guiding it. This realm was fair; that he admired, but it wasn’t free. The King’s honor wasn’t true honor.

It was a twisted depravity.

Had it not been for Dragon’s gift, his discerning eyes, he’d have certainly overlooked that glaring flaw. And, had Oenus never sought his aid, he’d have never acted on his impulse.

The honor, ‘Face’ as the King called it, was valued far above flesh, and there was power in the flesh. All power came from the flesh.

But ‘face’, for some inexplicable reason, trumped it.

The King built a religion around his honor, his ‘face’. He both held no power and all the power. That wasn’t freedom.

Beezle might have been a sad, subservient creature, but Beezle met Oenus, a god not a king. And Oenus, though mismanaged as his own world was, had freedom, and, right then, Beezle decided to become Dragon because he learned dragons were meant to be free.

He was well informed through no small expense, mind you. But that expense afforded Dragon the means to discern the inklings of truth surrounding the first settlers of this realm. Most of it was myth shrouded in propaganda, his discerning eyes told him that much.

But buried within that myth were sprinklings of truth; all great lies held sprinklings truth.

He needed to understand it; the truth of how Oenus separated his own territory into a living world. And the myth of Bloody Ayleth, Oenus’ long-dead wife, cut straight to the heart of that matter.

Despite all that, as Dragon watched his former princess walk away, he was conflicted about his motivations. It was a question that he needed answered, but why right now…?

Loogman’s moronic expression contorted. He bit his knuckle, ripping a piece of flesh from bone. Then he laughed, giddy with trepidation.

In a blink, that hopping imbecile disappeared behind a veiled curtain, his gift.

A moment later, Dragon felt a warm trickle down his legs. He turned and was greeted to the sight of Loogman’s cock, pissing down Dragon’s leg.

“Bloody chaos and golden sprinkles,” Loogman said and laughed and laughed and laughed.

Dragon grit his teeth and smacked his moronic business partner upside the head.  That didn’t stop the laughter, but it made him feel better.

“I expect an answer,” Dragon said. “It’s my due.”

Loogman shook his head. “You don’t have enough questions, no, no, no. You need one thousand and three! Too bad, so mad.”

Dragon’s teeth crunched, but he took a deep breath and pointed toward his former princess walking down the hall. “Then tell me—”

Loogman held up his hand, clearly anticipating Dragon’s next words. “I’m an expert! You now have one thousand and one questions remaining.”

Fine…a worthy expense.

“You see,” Loogman began. “They need space. You know, it’s all fun and happy and then…Bam! She goes crazy and there’s not enough chamois in the entire realm to soak up that mess. Then some lovey-dovey. And then some space. And then some golden sprinkles. And then you gotta chop her up and throw her in the ocean. You understand?”

Dragon shook his head, half tempted to waste a question on what the function of a ‘chamois’ was.

Loogman pursed his lips in thought. “You gotta give her space, but not too much space or else you’re gonna have to chop her up, and that’s not fun…it’s really not. Like it isn’t and then you find out it actually is, and Mister Jenkens sees you. And then you see that big fat cunt and start answering yourself, and that’s just nuts, right?”

Dragon tried to digest Loogman’s inane ramblings. He saw there was value in those words, but hadn’t a clue where to begin. Perhaps…perhaps, he was answering my first question?

Filing that information away for later, Dragon nodded, satisfied. “I now have one thousands and one questions.”

“Damn right,” Loogman said, finishing his piss in the corner.

If Dragon learned one thing from their…strangely enlightening exchange, it was that, maybe, it took more than knowledge to discern the truth. He never understood most emotions. He had them, of course, but never put much stock into them. They were flimsy and mostly illogical.

However, having met his former princess and Loogman, he reassessed that conclusion. Perhaps, emotions were the heart of the real truth.

Give her space…it would be a crying shame, as one says, to have to chop her to pieces, my princess.