Deep within the Vizehkt Dynasty of the Yenyi, tucked away in hidden valleys of the Upin mountains, rumors spread for a generation. A tiny mountain village was said to raise the strongest heroes, surpassing the might of even the legendary heroes of old. For this reason, the village is still called the Font of Strength to this day. Now everyone knows that the horned Yenyi peoples of this land have always been powerful, but this was new.

The dragons of Yenent did tremble at these tales of might, and indeed many dragons were slain. They dreaded what might happen if other villages learned the Font’s secret magic, allowing all peoples to train up unstoppable warriors. Knowing this would upend the balance of the entire Collective, the Great Dragons did agree that something must be done. 

The task of solving this problem was assigned to the Arch Dragon Nis'ahkt, the Patron of Heroes. She learned the village was built near natural hot springs, giving it the original simple name of The Font. Nis'ahkt also learned of an old man who tended an orchid farm built directly over the hot springs. All rumors hinted he was the mastermind behind the blossoming of the heroes of Font.

Nis'ahkt considered this deeply, then trained up a young dragon in the ways of draconic magix of the mind, honing a spy to determine the secret of the Font and destroy it. The wyrmling was the rarest kind of orchid dragon, one of breathtaking beauty and cunning logic. Nis'ahkt named her Thorn, a blade among the blossoms, and sent her out on her quest to preserve the balance of all things.

After many months and many more miles traveled, Thorn finally approached the village. She hid in the shadows beneath a wagon as it trundled up the road in her avatar form of a beautiful orchid mantis. A disguise within a disguise. To stray eyes that might chance upon her, she was nothing more than an unfortunate flower thrown up by the wheels onto the muddy wagon. Most Yenyi people know to be wary of a mantis that might be a dragon, but few would give a muddy flower a second thought. 

Surely the orchid house will be a grand chateau, she thought as she hid. Such a place of legend and mystery will be more beautiful than the dawn, with tall columns of ivory and gold, and glorious windows to catch the sunlight like diamonds.

But as her wagon rounded the bend, she caught a glimpse of a low-slung building tucked up a canyon. It was a simple and rough affair, with heavy timbers and a latticework of leaded windows adorned with nothing more than the ordinary circle from the glassmaker’s craft. The wagon stopped in the market square of the village, hiding the distant building behind a painfully ordinary tavern. Thorn waited for an opportune moment, then slipped into the weeds while a lanky young man unloaded the wagon. 

The chateau must be hidden further up the mountain, she assured herself. She knew the grand stories better than anyone, for she was trained by none other than Nis'ahkt the Mettlegrit Arm. The Arch Dragon spoke of the Font in a whispered awe, the iron-hard anvil that forged champions.

"Great things must come from great places," young Thorn muttered. "I simply have not found it yet."

Nodding to herself that this must be true, the little orchid dragon found a secure place in the prickly tangle of a rosebush to safely hide away from the oncoming night. 

Birdsong greeted the first light of dawn as Thorn's violet eyes fluttered open. The orchid dragon stretched her mantis avatar body with the tiniest of squeaks, reveling in the simple beauty of a new day and a good stretch. She preened her white petals, removing the last of the road mud as the town slowly awakened. The little dragon drank from dewdrops and washed her face in the chill mountain air. She then climbed a flowering vine on the tavern, proud of herself that she had timed her arrival so expertly with the blossoming of spring. She would be well hidden. Finding a good place, she set out to spy on the heroes. 

Hours passed. The portly man with a limp opened his market stall, then argued with the butcher next door over how much pork meat a jar of honey was worth. A tired-looking woman with three dirty children traded half a dozen eggs for a handful of apples. No heroes that Thorn could see. No armor, or even swords. All day she watched the comings and goings of the little village of Font and not one heroic person did she see. 

Dusk approached, and villagers drew towards the tavern to ward off the night with a ritual of nightly libations. But the sound of clopping hooves caught Thorn's ear. She leaned forward, expecting to see a knight returning home from some glorious victory.

The oldest horse she had ever seen rounded the bend, pulling a sorry wooden cart piled high with empty crates. An even older man drove the cart. A week's stubble dusted his chin like ash, and a thinning mop of white hair defied gravity in all directions, nearly hiding the Yenyi's plain goatish horns. The old man's horned head hung as low as the nag's with the weight of their journey. Thorn's head hung as well, for it seemed the day's hero hunt had failed. Perhaps she had found the wrong village. 

"Ater!!" a merry voice called from the tavern's open door. "You're home!"

"Almost," old man Ater said slowly without stopping the cart. "But not quite."

"Close enough," the woman's voice laughed. Thorn ducked around a leaf to see a middling woman in a vest that seemed two sizes too small from how she spilled out, but she seemed happy enough. She had skewered handfuls of flowers onto her thin horns, as many Yenyi do to celebrate the coming of spring.

"Join us," the woman grinned, approaching the cart. "Fight the Shadow with friends for once," she said with a clipped mountain accent.

Thorn perked up at this. Fight the Shadow? That was indeed a noble thing. Perhaps the villagers hid their true strength behind closed doors, secretly training so the dragons did not know what to expect. She would need to investigate. 

"I only want the company of my pillow, Liatte," Ater shook his head as the old horse continued to plod forward. "The road was long and I am tired."

"Them nobles treated you rightly though, I hope?" Liatte put fists on her hips. "Paid you good?" 

The old man did not pause or respond. And the old horse just continued on as it had before, slowly taking them both from the noise of the tavern. Liatte shook her head with a huff. 

"Ain't right," the woman muttered. 

"It simply is."

The slumped old man and horse made their way away from the town square in silence, Liatte watching them for a long moment as the day's shadows reached towards each other. She spun suddenly, and Thorn could clearly see the frustration on her honest face in the tavern's light. 

"Vannel!" she barked. A muffled "wot" sounded from the depths of the building. "Get out here," she demanded. 

"Why?" a young man's voice sighed as a lanky figure joined Liatte. He wasn't handsome, for his ears stuck out too far and his teeth were crooked. Tiny spikes of a young man's antlers poked through his dingy brown hair which hung limply around his narrow face. Thorn liked him.

"Don't give me that," Liatte's lips pursed. "Go and help the old man unload and I'll give you an extra tonight."

Ah yes, Thorn thought to herself. Bribery and manipulation. I've heard of this peasant practice.

"Liatte, I would do anything for Ater," the young man started down the road, grinning back at her. "And you can't make me take payment for something I'd do for free!"

"Just lemme give ya something for once!" Liatte laughed.

"Never!" he shouted, then sprinted after the old man's cart. 

Thorn blinked. What was the extra? Food? Money? The illogical act of child making which all four peoples seemed to do for fun, even when they could not afford children? The little dragon's mind spun but came to no satisfying answer. The young man was skinny enough, he was probably starving. Clearly, he needed to eat or have money for food, so why was he refusing payment for honest labor? Perhaps he was insane and Liatte simply wanted him gone? No, that makes little sense. Or maybe the old man would pay him also, so he'd get double. That must be it. Maybe?

She knew she was in the right village. She knew it. But nothing made sense. It was all fae backwards and shadowrought wrong. She had to unravel this tangled mess if she ever hoped to understand the secrets of the heroes of Font. 

Liatte turned back into the tavern, so Thorn leapt out on mantis wings to glide after the young man. Whispering the Quickstep spell, she darted through the roadside weeds. In a moment she overtook Vannel, then caught up to the lumbering wagon. She found a comfortable knothole beneath the left front wheel to snuggle inside, but the wheels squeaked too loudly to eavesdrop on the two Yenyi men. Soon it would be night, when the Shadow grew strong. She would need to wait for dawn to see how best to proceed. Then she could think clearly in the light. She could...

Birdsong greeted the warming dawn as Thorn stretched her little mantis body, her eyelids fluttering open. The tiny beauty yawned her tiny, squeaking yawn with her tiny mouth. She would need to spend time in her true body soon, or else she would feel horribly cramped no matter how much she stretched. 

There would be time later today to escape the overthinking peoples and stretch her wings.

She peered out of the knothole but could only see the stacked stones of a wall, mossy with age. Something felt off, but she couldn't quite name it. Something felt different. The tiny dragon mantis climbed from the knothole and crawled upside down on the belly of the wagon towards its edge. Pausing for a moment to listen, she heard only birdsong, so she peered around and gasped.

Rows upon rows of orchids greeted her, hanging from baskets or strung on a tangled latticework of vines. They draped down from pots and spilled over containers wedged in tree branches. They were tied to planks and tucked into crannies in a riot of colors. From tiny wildfire blossoms to huge blooms bigger than a dinner-plate. These were the legendary flowers that all Vizehkt people prized, symbols of power and wealth. And somewhere here, the rumors whispered, the most valuable flower of all the lands grew. A single blossom was worth more than a castle.

With a giggle, she leapt towards them to plunge into their midst. Her petal-like wings carried her from the wagon across a small path.

"Oh my..." the gruff old voice threw her heart sideways. The little orchid mantis floundered, fluttered, then landed awkwardly just a foot from the path. Her mind froze as heavy footsteps approached. She should run. She should get out and get away, back to the dragons to tell of the location and her discovery. Before it was too late. She should....

"A mantis?" the old voice muttered. It was oh so close now, but she dare not move. "Oh, but what a mantis you are, pretty thing. All the same, I should..."

The old man's breathing was coarse but steadied as the silence fell again. Thorn knew what Yenyi people did to any mantis they found, for everyone knew that the mantis was either a dragon in hiding or an insect ally to the dragons. They were all squashed, dragon, spy, or innocent bug. The dragons obviously survived, though recovery was inconvenient. The bugs, however, went the way of little things and were no more. Dragons didn't hold this against the Yenyi, for the dragons squashed the little Yenyi people all the time. It was only the way of things.

Nothing happened.

After a long moment, she dared to twist her head ever so slightly. Ater squatted just a step away, rough hands resting on his knees. The deep lines of his face couldn't hide a boyish awe as he examined this marvelous wonder before him.

"Are you a dragon?" Ater whispered. Thorn didn't answer, too much was at stake. The old man licked his lips. "Little bug, you should fly away. They will kill you if they find you. They won't care that you're beautiful."

Thorn did the only thing she could think of, and that was to take a step. Then another. She rocked back and forth, feeling that her entire mission, her life's purpose, and the balance of all things rested on the next few seconds. If the people found out she was there as a spy...

"That's alright," Ater rasped. "You can hide here. But if you are a dragon, you should go. It isn't safe for you here. If you're a bug, Little Bug, help me with the aphids."

The old man put his hands on his knees and stood with a creaky groan. He wobbled for a moment, wincing and rubbing his back. Then he turned and walked back the way he had come.

Thorn continued to take one buggy step after another until a shrub hid her, then she scrambled away. Deeper and deeper into the tangled mess of trellises, beams, pots, and leggy trees. Away and further, until she came against another wall of stacked stone. She went up it faster than a blink, but leaded glass windows barred her way. The tiny dragon ran along the wall of glass for a stretch before pausing behind a pile of tools.

She let the stillness drape around her as she caught her breath. The birdsong was muted and the warm air filled with dampness. Only then did she realize that was what had felt off. The air itself was odd. Too warm. Too wet. And the smell of brimstone was far more noticeable now than even under the wagon.

After a long moment of quiet, Thorn climbed up the leaning pile of rakes and shovels to survey this strange place. She was inside a long and low building made of hundreds, if not thousands, of small glass windows that covered not only the walls but also the peaked roof. At the center, not far from Thorn, three pools of steaming water bubbled. The center of each pool was deep ultramarine, ringed with yellow and gold. She climbed a little higher to try to see the bottom of the pool, but could not no matter how high she went. One pool flowed into another, and they all passed into a stream that escaped under a low archway near the wagon.

Small trees grew inside the glass hall, but they were little more than a framework for flowers. Everywhere Thorn looked, orchids grew. The majority hung in rows from long ropes that were strung between trees and posts. But they were in pots on the floor, in the branches of the trees, and on boards, buckets, and every container imaginable, strewn everywhere in a haphazard cacophony of petals and pollen.

Ater stood at a small workbench near the wagon at the far side of the building, near great wooden doors. Surrounded by piles of wickerwork and crates, he looked to be repairing a square basket. Thorn waited and watched and watched and waited. But the old man only went about his work.

"I don't understand," she whispered to the flowers and mists. "Where are the heroes?"

Days came and went, but little changed. Thorn explored every house and barn in the village, and every nook and cranny of the surrounding mountains. She could find no hidden chateau, no secret castle. It was just the village and the hot spring's orchid house.

It was all too ordinary. Ater led a simple day of tending to the delicate orchid's needs. The farmers farmed and villagers villaged. Their rhythms were as regular as the dance of dawn and dusk. With each passing day, a weight settled deeper into the pit of Thorn's stomach. The rumors were hollow myths, or there had been some mistake. Perhaps it was a different village that grew heroes thick as weeds. For certainly, it could not be Font.

The pressure was building to kick Font's dust from her feet and leave when the sound of a horse's hooves caught her ear. She was in her new favorite place in the orchid house's rafters. The beams met in such a way that she could see most of the orchids below but still have a view through rough windows to the path outside. She had claimed the prime location three days ago after evicting a crabby spider.

A figure on horseback came up the path, and the late afternoon's light reflected golden on polished armor. A precious gem in a field of mud.

A Knight.

Ater paused in his work and listened to the steady clop, clop, clop. Thorn watched the old man curiously as he gave a small sigh and hung his head. He carefully set aside the orchid he was repotting, then fixed a lock on the heavy wooden doors of the orchid house. Thorn blinked in surprise as the old man then barred them, struggling as he let the heavy beam fall into place with a solid thud.

The Knight outside reigned in and dismounted. He waited, expectantly. Through the wavy glass, Thorn could barely see the frown painted on his princely face as he looked for an attendant to take his horse. He bore the twisted, spiked horns of the noble House of Drunard, a wealthy barony to the south. Thorn was proud to recognize his family's horned crown, glad her studies were not completely wasted.

She couldn't help but laugh a little, for she knew his disappointment. No attendant would come, for this was no glorious castle with an army of servants. She peered down and saw Ater fold his arms and slump against the door. He looked more tired than usual.

"Oh noble Ater Herowright, Orchid Master of the Font of Strength," the knight stood firmly before his horse. "I have traveled these three months to find you, great trainer of champions. Word has reached my father's lands of your many student's glorious deeds. Talimor slew the vicious tar drake of Clovermook. Cuthina single handedly defeated the ravenous fae destroying the fields of Rolcaster. And even the fair Lanisti, she..."

"Go away," Ater barked.

Thorn had been watching the knightly image of story and legend outside, but she turned back to the old man below her. He had not moved, but his lined face seemed to carry all the pain of the four worlds.

"I understand that I will need to prove myself to you as a man of honor and strength," the knight beyond the doors continued. "I am willing and ready to do anything I must to prove myself worthy."

"You have already failed," Ater said, his voice more feeble than Thorn had ever heard it. "Go away. Tell your father that I will not train his knights nor his heirs. I train no one."

Thorn looked back out the window to see the knight take a step closer.

"Yes, this is what the tavern wench said you would do," he said eagerly. "She told me not to come, that you refuse everyone. But this is the way of stories, is it not? The wizened mentor refuses to teach the young hero, then he proves himself worthy to earn his place. I am ready for any challenge you give me."

"And yet you refuse my simple request to leave me alone," Ater said. "Go away, young fool. Sacrifice your hopes and dreams on some other old man's doorstep. You are too powerful."

With that the old man turned away from the door and made his way back to the workbench. He opened a small jar and pulled out wads of cotton, which he proceeded to twist and shove in his ears. He then continued with potting the orchid he had set aside.

Over the next two days, Thorn watched as the knight beyond the doors did everything he could think of to convince Ater to let him in. On the first day, he tried words, proclaiming his nobility and prowess. On the second day, he tried bribery and threats.

But Ater was ready, and the orchid house was well stocked with provisions to see him through such knightly sieges. The bar held the door firmly closed and the cotton swabs helped Ater find some measure of peace. But as evening fell on the second day, Thorn could feel the knight's anger growing. She was surprised to find herself worried for the old man.

That night as she hid from the Shadow, she could not sleep. She told herself it was just the darkness of the Shadow, making her more afraid than she ought to be. But such logic didn't help. Then, in the wee hours, when the Shadow was greatest, a candle flickered to life inside the orchid house.

The old man shuffled about, wandering through the paths of plants and pots, whispering. Thorn feared the Shadow had taken his mind, that he would do something rash in the dark of night. But as he drew closer to her, she made out his whispers.

"Little mantis? ....Little flower bug? Are you there?"

Thorn's heart skipped. Ater was looking for her. She thought he had forgotten her, after so much time.

"Little Bug, I need to speak with you, please," He continued, making his way down a path. "I will keep your secret. Are you there?"

The weight of all things bore down on the tiny orchid dragon once more. She now knew she was indeed in the right place. But she was still so confused.

"Please," he whispered. "I brought light to push back the Shadow for you. Please, answer me."

"I am here," the words sprung from her before she realized what she was doing. The old man turned towards the small sound, searching. Thorn closed her eyes and decided to see this through. She took a few small steps from the broken pot she had made her bedchamber.

"There you are, beautiful one," his smile piled wrinkles around his eyes. He took a step closer, hesitated, then awkwardly settled himself onto the ground. Ater set the candle between them, so they both could sit in the ring of light.

"Speak, old man," Thorn said with as much authority as she could manage. He wouldn't know how young she was, even if he had guessed that she was really a dragon in hiding. The old man nodded, clearly trying not to stare at her.

"Tomorrow, that young man will either give up or try to force his way inside. These knights expect that they will have their way on the third day, like in the stories. And when they don't, they tend to get upset. Violent even. I am ready for this, and the village knows what to do."

"So why tell me?"

"If he, er... attacks me," Ater swallowed hard. "Don't interfere."

Several questions assaulted Thorn at once, but one sprang out first.

"Why would he attack you?"

"He's a knight," the old man shrugged as if this explained everything.

"Well, he's no knight if he attacks an old man. But why wouldn't you want help, if he did such a thing?" the little dragon blurted.

He tilted his head curiously at her, blinking several times.

"Do you know nothing of the world?" he muttered, more to himself than her. "Knights take what they want any way they can, then sing songs of how generous they are. Many knights have attacked me and they will continue until one finally strikes me down forever. Then that one will proclaim himself the greatest knight, for having vanquished the Herowright," he smirked, a sour, wry smile twisting the corner of his mouth. "The good ones give up and leave with their honor in defeat. But that is rare. To be a knight is to have power and to take and get one's way."

"That's not a knight," she countered. "That is a villain. You are confused, old man. And you did not answer my second question. Perhaps you will need my help to live. Perhaps I shall save you!"

"Little Bug," Ater looked directly at the tiny mantis, his eyes sharper than a diamond's edge in the flickering candlelight. "If you help me defeat this man, then every knight, bounty hunter, mercenary, and so-called hero in the land will set out to find and destroy the orchid dragon. What a prize you would be. I do not know your strength or magix, but enemies would unite for the honor of bringing down such a rarity. Even if you are one of the ancients, it would be your doom."

A long silence fell, for even the cricket song had gone to bed.

"I am not one of the ancients," her small voice whispered.

"No," he said gently, his weathered face kind. "Your questions gave you away, youngling. So it is my job to protect you, not the other way around."

"But I am stronger," she couldn't help but keep the pout from her voice.

"No doubt," he chuckled softly.

"What if he kills you?"

"Then an old man goes to his rest, and a young dragon has learned an important lesson about the way of things."

"But I.... this isn't.... you..." she blubbered. "It's not right! He wants your help! You should help him. Why don't you just train him?"

"I am. I am saying no. It is an important lesson, for the silver plattered."

She opened and closed her mouth several times, her mind spinning. Nothing had prepared her for this. Everything was topsy-turvy and backwards.

"Give me your word, Little Bug. Promise that you will not step in tomorrow, come what may."

"What if I want to sacrifice myself to save you?" she winced at the whine in her voice. "Isn't that what heroes do, oh Herowright?"

The old man winced and pulled back, then let out a long sigh. "They sent you, didn't they?" he looked at the dirt and flicked a pebble. "The Great Dragons finally heard the stories and sent you."

Thorn said nothing. He seemed older, a frail husk of time and weariness. But she had seen a flicker of the strength he hid.

"Do as you will, little dragon," he finally said, standing with a grunt, picking up the candle. "That knight might just do your job for you, if the ancients want me dead. You won't have to do a thing and you'll both leave heroes." The word was sour on his lips. "Imagine that."

He waited, but the little dragon couldn't find any words that seemed right. So the old man gave her a respectful nod and made his way away to the rough cot he had in the far corner of the orchid house.

She stood there, frozen in uncertainty for what felt like an age. She thought and she thought and thought, until the dawn made the skies above blush and hid the stars.

"Herowright!" the knight's harsh voice shattered the stillness, cutting off the morning birdsong. "It is dawn of the third day, let us be done with this ritual. I have withstood your ordeal and proved my commitment. It is time to fling wide the doors and truly begin."

Thorn climbed up to her favorite perch to watch, but she couldn't see the knight from this angle. She realized he stood directly before the door and she couldn't see him from her vantage point. So she looked back in the orchid house, towards Ater's cot. Usually he rose with the dawn and followed a predictable schedule of tending to his own needs, then the flower's. But the form in the cot did not move. Thorn sharply inhaled. Was he....

Her heart leapt as the knight pounded on the door. Dust shook from the rafters as the low-slung building trembled. Ater rolled over on the cot and pressed his pillow over his head.

"Ater!! Enough of this! It is time!"

POUND POUND POUND

"You insult me, and dishonor my father's crown," the voice outside bellowed. "I will not be refused! I am the greatest among my family, the one deemed most worthy!"

The glass panes rattled in the windows with the knight's pounding. Thorn only now noticed multiple signs of repair across the expanse of windows below her. Shards of glass still lay scattered among the stones beneath the hanging orchids. How many times had knights such as this broken through?

How many times had they beaten Ater to get their way?

"Sir knight!!" a young man's voice shouted, and the pounding stopped. "There is no honor for you here!"

Ater snapped upright in his cot, the pillow flung aside. Thorn turned to see the lanky young man, Vannel, standing meekly near the knight's horse.

"Let me alone, boy," the knight growled. "Know your place."

"M'lord," Vannel kept his eyes low, as a lowly peon should. "I do know my place, and that is why I speak as a servant to your lordship. You have now seen the truth, this is only but an old gardener's flower house. Our village is a simple hamlet, nothing more. Look around, m'lord and see with your own eyes what your loyal servants tried to tell you. We are not deserving of your greatness. How can an old pauper teach someone as honorable as you anything? I don't think he even knows how to read!"

Thorn held her breath, watching as the shining knight stalked up to the scrawny peasant. The knight backhanded the young man with a gauntleted fist, sending him sprawling in the weeds. Vannel slowly stood, but kept his head down and averted his eyes.

"Forgive me, your lordship," the young man muttered. "I only speak because a good servant wants his master to know the truth."

"But the stories! He is the Herowright of legend" the knight nearly roared, jabbing an accusing finger at the orchid house. "All the stories point here!"

"Stories grow into fables that become faleshoods, with enough time," Vannel muttered, hanging his head even lower. "I'm sorry, m'lord. He's just an old man who's good at growing flowers."

"Then you should stop the stories," the knight spun back to Vannel, towering over him.

"We try, m'lord," the young man whimpered. "We try. But we fail."

"Pathetic," the knight sneered and shoved him away. "This has been a waste. I should send in troops to completely destroy this village, but even that would be a waste of time and energy. This is the Font of Falsehood, and nothing else. I am done with it. You hear that, old man! You are a disgrace and liar! All the world will know it, I swear."

He swept up his pack and vaulted into his saddle. Spinning his charger around dramatically, he kicked the animal and galloped away.

Thorn let out the deep breath she didn't know she was holding and laughed as Vannel made a dance of multiple rude gestures towards the knight's retreating behind.