The city square thrummed with life.
Vendors called out their specials, spatulas clanged against hot griddles, and a rich blend of scents—ginger pork, roasted peppers, fresh herbs—hung heavy in the summer air. Smoke rose in lazy plumes above open fires. Flags fluttered from awnings. And at the center of the bustling crowd stood the dragon—arms folded, gaze calmly sweeping across the colorful chaos.
He looked like a wandering noble caught in a festival by accident: regal, amused, and only mildly overwhelmed.
Marcus and Victoria had already vanished into the food stalls like hunting dogs off the leash.
"Should I have given them a time limit?" the dragon mused aloud, brushing a bit of ash from his robe.
Cynthia leaned against a post nearby, sipping something fruity from a paper cup. "Please do. I'd love to see them implode on a deadline."
The dragon grinned slightly. "Very well. One hour. And whoever returns first had better bring a legendary meal, or be disqualified."
