Dragon Disaster
1
Lilith awoke to a weak, hazy light outside the window. She stared at the ceiling. There was a low hum in the air, constant and unchanging. She closed her eyes, but the sound didn’t vanish. Instead, it seeped deeper into her bones, like a single drop of water falling into an empty room.
She sat up, leaving a faint impression on the pillow. The broadcast began, its voice gentle, steady, utterly without inflection.
The existence of dragons has not been confirmed, but necessary preventative measures will continue.
She drew the curtains. Behind the glass was an empty street, the wet tarmac gleaming under the streetlights as if trapped in a permanent night. The building opposite was dark, its windows black voids. A faint water stain ran down its wall, like the trace of something left behind.
There was a knock at the door, soft and steady, without hesitation.
She opened it. Victor Blackwood was standing there, his hands in his pockets, his head slightly bowed.
‘Did you hear?’ he said.
‘Hear what?’
‘Isabel.’
She didn’t answer.
Victor’s lips parted and closed, as if trying to add something more, but in the end, he just took half a step back, his voice low.
‘She’s gone.’
Lilith turned her head, her peripheral vision catching the door at the end of the corridor. Its paint was peeling, the peephole sealed with black tape.
‘When?’
‘Last night.’
She nodded slowly.
‘What did she say?’
‘She took a photograph.’
Victor glanced around, his fingers rubbing the hem of his jacket.
‘A photograph of what?’
He paused, then said quietly, ‘A shadow.’
Her fingertip tapped the door handle once.
‘And?’
‘The photograph was deleted.’
She frowned, an almost imperceptible movement.
‘And her?’
Victor shrugged, looking up at the ceiling. The light at the end of the corridor flickered, and the hum grew a little louder.
‘Nobody knows,’ he said.
She closed the door and went back into the room. The broadcast was still playing, the sound seeping through the walls, inescapable.
The existence of dragons has not been confirmed, but necessary preventative measures will continue.
She drew the curtains again and the room darkened. She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes, aware only of the broadcast and her own breathing.
After a few seconds, she opened her eyes, walked to the window and, through the glass, looked out at the empty street.
She waited for a moment.
Nothing.
2
When the knock came, Lilith was washing her hands. The water slid between her fingers, snaking down the white porcelain of the basin and into the drain, vanishing completely. She watched it for a moment, then turned off the tap.
Two men stood outside, dressed in dark grey uniforms. Their epaulettes were smooth, bearing no insignia.
‘Lilith Evelyn?’ the man on the left asked. His voice was mild, his tone even.
‘Yes.’
‘We’re from the Dragon Disaster Investigation Committee,’ the man on the right added. His voice was deeper, his speech slow, as if he were chewing over every syllable.
She looked at them and nodded.
The man on the left smiled and handed her a document.
‘Please fill out this Report of Not Seeing a Dragon.’
She took the document. The paper was dry, its edges sharp. The print was neat, every line perfectly aligned.
‘What is a “Report of Not Seeing a Dragon”?’ she asked.
‘It’s quite simple,’ the man said, still smiling. ‘Please describe the circumstances of the dragon sighting, even if you did not witness a dragon.’
She didn't reply, turning a page. Her name was already printed on the form. The date was filled in. The signature line was blank.
‘If I haven’t seen a dragon, why do I have to write a report?’ she asked.
The man on the right blinked, as if considering the question. His companion’s voice remained gentle. ‘Precisely because its existence has not been confirmed, we need to confirm its non-existence.’
She closed the document, her gaze falling on their epaulettes. The blank space was unnaturally smooth, as if an emblem had once been there, only to be erased.
‘And if I refuse to fill it in?’
The man on the left gave a small, clean, precise smile, like a rehearsed expression.
‘Then we would need to ask you to assist us with our investigation.’
The man on the right took a pen from his pocket and placed it gently in her hand. The movement was soft, as if he were performing a routine task.
She returned to her table and spread the document open. The neat letters on the page, the uniform lines, seemed like an invisible fence.
Question 1: Please describe your movements over the past 48 hours and state whether you witnessed a dragon.
Question 2: Please describe the specific circumstances of you “not seeing a dragon”.
Question 3: Have you heard any reports of dragon sightings? If yes, please list the relevant information.
Question 4: Have you taken or received any photographs related to a dragon?
She stared at the paper, her fingers tapping lightly on the tabletop. The streetlight outside flickered, and the room was plunged into darkness for a second.
She picked up the pen and wrote on the first line:
I did not see a dragon.
Then she stopped, her gaze fixed on the edge of the paper, as if waiting for something to appear.
The two men outside stood ramrod straight, motionless, like precisely measured statues, waiting in silence.
3
Lilith signed her name in the last section of the document and placed the pen back on the table. The two men outside didn't hurry her, nor did they speak. They just stood there, like precisely calibrated instruments, maintaining their silence.
She handed the document over. The man on the left took it and examined it carefully. His fingertip traced the line of her writing, as if confirming the ink was dry.
‘Thank you for your cooperation,’ he said, his tone as mild as ever.
The man on the right nodded, a steady movement, like the execution of a silent ritual. They turned and walked away, their steps even and unhurried, until their figures were swallowed by the light at the end of the corridor.
The door closed. All that remained in the flat was the hum of the broadcast, the sound bleeding through the walls like a liquid, slowly saturating the air.
The existence of dragons has not been confirmed, but necessary preventative measures will continue.
Lilith stared at the door, her fingers tapping an unsteady rhythm on the tabletop.
She stood up and drew the curtains. The street was still quiet. The orange-yellow streetlights spilt onto the wet tarmac, and the buildings in the distance stood silent, like an empty theatre stage.
Her gaze fell on the spot where Isabel used to stand on her balcony to smoke. Now the window was shut tight, a seal fixed to the frame.
She narrowed her eyes, trying to see more clearly.
The light flickered, and the room was briefly plunged into darkness. When the light returned, there was nothing on the window.
She put on her coat, walked to the door, and paused for a moment with her hand on the handle.
The door opened a crack. The corridor was empty, the light stark white, casting long shadows on the walls.
She stepped out, her footsteps light, and descended the stairs. There was a subtle dampness in the air, as if someone had just passed by.
She stopped on the second floor.
Victor’s door was sealed.
Red caution tape was wrapped around the handle. The black text on the sticker was clear:
THE RESIDENT HAS BEEN TRANSFERRED TO A SECURE LOCATION FOR VIOLATING ORDER REGULATIONS.
She raised her hand, her fingertips brushing the door. Beneath the wood, there was only silence.
She took a step back, her gaze sweeping the length of the corridor. Door after door was shut tight. No light, no sound from the gaps beneath them.
She glanced back at the stairwell. No footsteps, no figures, only the light casting a faint tremor on the walls.
She returned to her flat, locked the door, and stood leaning against it for a while, listening to her own breath.
The pen was still on the table. The document had been taken away, leaving only a blank memo slip, its edge slightly curled, as if waiting to be written on.
She picked up the pen and wrote one word on the paper:
Victor.
She stared at the word, waiting for a moment, as if it might turn into an answer on its own.
But it just lay there, like a forgotten testimony.
The broadcast started up again, gentle, steady, its rhythm unchanged.
The existence of dragons has not been confirmed, but necessary preventative measures will continue.
She closed her eyes, listening to the sound reverberate, as if coming from a great distance, or perhaps emerging from within her own body.
4
Lilith awoke. The room still held yesterday’s light, yesterday’s air, yesterday’s scent, yesterday’s silence. The broadcast repeated itself in a low voice, like a stubborn dampness seeping into the walls, into her skin.
She stared at the ceiling, the dregs of a dream clinging to the edge of her consciousness. A shadow, a door handle, the silence at the end of a corridor, a muffled whisper. Victor’s name was like a scrap of paper blown by the wind, drifting in the air but never landing.
She got up and walked to the table. The memo slip was still there. The word she had written yesterday was unchanged.
She picked up the pen and drew a line under ‘Victor’.
Then she went to the window and drew the curtains.
The street was still deserted. The streetlights had not been extinguished. The buildings stood silently in the morning mist, a forest of stone tablets that could not leave. She turned her head to look at Victor's balcony. The window was sealed, the tape a pale white in the morning light.
She stared at the window and said softly, ‘A dragon’s shadow.’
She opened her phone and typed ‘dragon’.
A prompt box appeared on the screen:
THIS CONTENT CANNOT BE DISPLAYED.
She then typed ‘black shadow’.
NO RELEVANT INFORMATION FOUND.
She stared at the screen, her fingertip hovering over the input box, considering her wording.
The phone vibrated.
She looked down. A message had arrived from an unknown number.
Are you still looking for him?
Her fingers froze over the screen, her heart skipping a beat.
…Who is this? she replied.
There was no immediate answer. The light from the screen flickered in her pupils. A few seconds later, a second message appeared.
Victor isn’t here.
She typed quickly: Where is he?
This time, the reply was slow in coming. The ‘typing’ indicator blinked on and off, an invisible thought process circulating in the air.
Then, the third message arrived.
You have already seen his final shadow.
She stared at the sentence, her grip on the phone tightening, her fingertips growing cold.
She looked up, out of the window. The distant streetlights were still on, their light shimmering in the mist.
She typed: What does that mean?
The message failed to send. A prompt box appeared.
THIS NUMBER DOES NOT EXIST.
She looked down at her phone screen. The time was frozen at 05:47. The battery showed 87%.
She looked up, out of the window. The street was silent.
A knock came at the door.
She spun around. The phone slipped from her hand, landing face down with a dull thud.
There were no footsteps outside, only a series of short, regular knocks, evenly spaced, with a steady force.
She stood motionless.
The knocking stopped for a few seconds, then resumed, the sound unchanged, as if it were waiting.
She walked slowly to the door, her hand resting on the handle, not turning it.
She held her breath and looked through the peephole.
The corridor was empty. The light was yellowed. There were no shadows on the floor, no footprints, no trace of anything.
But the knocking continued.
Then it stopped.
She didn't open the door immediately. She pressed her ear to the wood, listening to the air outside. The corridor was as quiet as if it had been forgotten by time. The light cast fixed shadows on the floor. There was no sign of movement in the air.
She waited a full minute, then slowly released the handle and took a step back.
The broadcast began, earlier than usual.
The existence of dragons has not been confirmed, but necessary preventative measures will continue.
She looked down at the gap under the door. There was nothing on the floor. Even the dust seemed unnaturally neat. She turned to look out of the window. The street was still deserted, the buildings standing silent, like a row of shadows awaiting judgement.
She crouched down and looked out through the gap under the door.
There was a piece of paper on the floor in the corridor.
She hadn’t seen when it had been put there, nor had she heard any sound of it sliding. It just lay there silently, its corners neatly folded, the white paper appearing unnaturally bright under the light.
She stared at the paper, then slowly drew it under the door and unfolded it.
There was only one sentence on it:
You are requested to report to the Dragon Investigation Bureau.
Below it was an address.
She stared at the words, her fingertips gently rubbing the edge of the paper.
You are requested to report.
It wasn't a command, nor was it a request. It was like something that had already been decided, an unalterable fact.
She took out her phone and entered the address. The page loaded for a moment, then a message appeared:
THIS LOCATION CANNOT BE DISPLAYED.
She stared at the screen, thought for a few seconds, then put the phone in her pocket, put on her coat, and opened the door.
5
The street air had a damp chill. The sky was a hazy grey, the sun not yet fully risen. The light seemed to pass through some thick barrier, unable to truly illuminate anything.
She followed the route on the note, her heels tapping a short echo on the ground. The streetlights along the way were still on, their light stretching and shrinking between the gaps in the buildings.
She crossed two streets and came to a junction she had never noticed before.
The writing on the signpost was blurred, as if soaked by rain, or perhaps deliberately erased.
She looked up and saw a low building ahead, its colour dark, bearing no sign. Two men stood at the entrance, dressed in dark grey uniforms, their epaulettes smooth, without insignia.
They stood there, their expressions calm, as if they had been waiting for a long time.
‘Lilith Evelyn,’ the man on the left said, his tone flat, without inflection.
She stopped, not answering.
The man on the right nodded, stepping aside to clear the doorway, and made a gesture for her to enter.
She stood still, her gaze sweeping over the nameplate on the door. It bore no agency name, only three letters:
D.I.B.
She looked at the three letters, her lips parting slightly, but in the end, she said nothing.
She went inside.
The door closed silently behind her. The corridor was dimly lit, the air carrying the faint smell of antiseptic.
She followed the directions, her footsteps echoing in the narrow space, as if the entire building were listening.
At the end was a black door.
She stopped. The door was unlocked. She reached out, pushed it open, and walked in.
The room was brightly lit. A huge city map hung on the wall, each district marked with a number, a dense network of red lines crisscrossing it like a city-wide spider’s web.
A man sat behind a desk, dressed in a black suit, leafing through a thick file.
He looked up at her, his gaze scrutinising, yet devoid of emotion.
‘Please, sit down,’ he said, tapping a finger lightly on the desk.
Lilith didn’t move. Her gaze fell on the file on the desk. A page was slightly turned, revealing a photograph.
Her photograph.
She sat down, her eyes not moving from the paper.
The man gently closed the file. ‘Please tell us,’ he said mildly, ‘what do you know about dragons?’
6
Lilith did not answer at once. Her gaze remained on the file, where her own photograph was covered by a sheet of semi-transparent paper, its edge slightly curled, as if it were cocking its head, awaiting instructions.
She looked up at the man opposite her. His hands were still on the desk, his fingertips tapping a steady rhythm on the file's cover.
She spoke, her voice even. ‘I don’t know.’
The man nodded slightly, as if he had heard an answer he had long expected. He opened the file, his eyes scanning the words on the page. He read aloud softly:
‘Lilith Evelyn, resident of the Third District. Last recorded movement: three days ago, walked to the supermarket, no anomalies. Your submitted Report of Not Seeing a Dragon has been archived, but we have a few details to confirm.’
He paused, his eyes resting on her face.
‘Have you ever heard any direct reports of dragon sightings?’
Lilith was silent for a moment before answering, ‘No.’
The man nodded again, flipping through the file to reveal another photograph.
Victor Blackwood.
His face was frozen in a single moment, his eyes staring straight at the camera, his expression stiff, his mouth slightly open, as if he hadn't had time to finish what he was saying.
‘You know him, don’t you?’
Lilith’s fingertips curled slightly, but her voice remained steady. ‘I do.’
The man watched her. After a moment, he closed the file, leaned forward slightly, and his tone became soft.
‘Then where is he now?’
Lilith pressed her lips together, her gaze still fixed on the desktop.
‘Shouldn't you know better than I do?’ Her voice was very quiet, but every word landed firmly.
The man smiled, a brief and empty expression. He leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers together. ‘We investigate dragons, Lilith, not missing people.’
She did not reply.
He sighed gently, as if dealing with a stubborn student. He rummaged through the file, pulled out a single sheet from a stack of papers, and pushed it across to her.
She looked down.
A new form.
The title at the top read:
STATEMENT REGARDING THE SIGHTING OF A DRAGON—VOLUNTARY CONFIRMATION
Her name was already printed on it. The signature line was, again, blank.
She looked up at the man.
His tone was gentle. ‘You just need to sign, confirming you have not seen a dragon, have not received any false information regarding a dragon, and have not participated in any unauthorised discussions.’
He paused for a moment, a vague curve appearing at the corner of his mouth.
‘Then you can go home.’
7
She picked up the pen, its tip hovering over the paper. The faint smell of ink was just discernible.
She looked at her name. Below it was a blank line, waiting for her signature.
Her finger tapped the barrel of the pen once.
‘And if I don’t sign?’ she asked.
The man blinked, as if he hadn't heard her correctly.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘If I don’t sign,’ she repeated.
A brief silence fell in the room. The air seemed to grow heavier.
The man looked at her, his gaze unwavering. His hands were still laced together, his index finger slowly rubbing the knuckle of his thumb.
Then he smiled and said quietly:
‘Then we will have to assume you have seen a dragon.’
Lilith didn’t answer. Her fingertip tapped lightly on the desk. The pen in her hand was still suspended over the paper.
She looked up, her tone calm. ‘If dragons don't exist, why do you need to confirm I haven't seen one?’
The man’s smile faded slightly. His gaze fell on the unsigned form.
‘We didn't say dragons don't exist,’ he said slowly. ‘We just said, their existence has not been confirmed.’
Lilith stared at him, her expression unchanging.
The man paused, his tone becoming even softer. ‘You know, we just want to ensure everyone's safety. If you have no issues, then sign, and we won't bother you again.’
He leaned back, his fingers once again tapping lightly on the desk.
‘But if you do have an issue…’ he smiled, ‘…then we will need a more detailed investigation.’
He did not explain what ‘more detailed’ meant.
Lilith’s fingers rubbed slowly against the paper, the nib of the pen poised over the blank signature line.
Outside, the sound of the broadcast seeped through the thick walls, its tone steady, gentle, almost reassuring.
The existence of dragons has not been confirmed, but necessary preventative measures will continue.
She slowly raised her head, her gaze resting on the man’s face.
8
Lilith did not sign.
She placed the pen back on the desk. The sound was faint, but in the silent room, it seemed unnaturally clear.
The man’s fingers stopped on the desk, curling slightly, then slowly relaxing. He didn’t speak at once but watched her, as if waiting for her to change her mind.
She did not change her mind.
He looked down and flipped through the file, his fingers sliding over the paper as if adjusting his rhythm. Finally, he sighed gently, pushed the unsigned form to one side, and looked up, his tone still mild.
‘Very well.’
Lilith didn’t move.
The man leaned back in his chair, his gaze sweeping over her cursorily, with a kind of professional understanding and resignation.
‘You can go.’
She stared at him for a few seconds, then stood up. The chair scraped briefly against the floor.
Without looking back, she walked to the door and pushed it open. The corridor was empty, the light dim, the air filled with the faint smell of antiseptic.
She took a step out. The door closed slowly behind her with a steady click.
She walked out along the corridor, her steps very light, as if the entire building were listening silently. As she passed the front hall, she saw the staff behind the counter, heads down, organising papers. No one looked up. No one noticed her.
She pushed open the main doors. The night was heavy, the air cool. The distant streetlights were still on, rows of light falling on the damp road surface, blurry and distorted, like some fading reality.
She stood where she was, took a deep breath, and scanned the street, making sure no one was following her.
Then she started walking back the way she had come.
She took a few paces and stopped.
There was a smell of burning in the air.
Faint, but real.
She narrowed her eyes and looked into the distance. The night was too dark to see anything clearly, but the smell was spreading slowly through the darkness, like a premonition that had not yet arrived.
She carried on, her pace quickening.
Turning down an alley, she saw the distant skyline glowing a faint orange-red. It wasn't the afterglow of sunset, but something burning, its light weak, yet clinging stubbornly to the night sky, as if trying to break free from some invisible restraint.
She stared at the light, her steps slowing.
Then, the broadcast began.
Earlier than usual, more urgent than usual.
Please do not panic. A localised fire incident has occurred in the containment zone. Everything is under control.
She stood in the middle of the street, completely alone, only the sound of the broadcast echoing in the air.
The light in the distance grew brighter, tongues of flame surging, illuminating the clouds, like something that had been released and was now breaking free from the night's blockade.
She thought of Victor’s flat. Isabel’s window. The people who had disappeared. The files on the desk at the Bureau. And the name she had not signed.
The firelight cast a blurred black shadow in her eyes.
Like a dragon's shadow.
—But it was only the shape of the flames.
The broadcast continued, its pace as steady as ever, its tone as gentle as ever.
The existence of dragons has not been confirmed, but necessary preventative measures will continue.
She stood in the darkness, watching the flames consume everything, the light leaping, the shadows twisting, like a crack that had existed for a very long time but had only now, at this moment, truly shown itself.
On the other side of the crack, something was watching her.
She didn't know what it was, or if it even truly existed.
9
The firelight lit up the skyline. The night air shimmered in the burning heat, and a red glow flooded the street.
Lilith stood at the junction, gazing at the fire rising in the distance. The end of the street was hazy, as if obscured by smoke. The broadcast was still on a loop, its tone even, unchanged:
Please do not panic. A localised fire incident has occurred in the containment zone. Everything is under control.
The air was thick with the smell of burning.
She walked forward along the street, her shadow stretched and shrunk by the firelight, swaying on the ground. She passed a derelict bus stop. The light in the sign was faint, the poster behind the glass faded, its corners peeling. A torn notice was stuck to it, the writing blurred, but a few key sentences were still legible:
THE DRAGON THREAT IS NOT YET CONFIRMED. DRAGON DISASTER PREVENTION REGULATIONS ARE IN EFFECT. ALL UNAUTHORISED EXCURSIONS ARE A VIOLATION.
The wind blew, and the paper trembled slightly.
She continued forward. The air grew hotter, the fire churning in the night.
‘Still looking for answers?’
The voice came from the edge of the flames, carrying a casual weariness.
Lilith stopped. The firelight trembled on the wet road, making the distant ruins seem warped and indistinct. She turned her head and saw a figure standing just outside the thick smoke, hands shoved in the pockets of a trench coat, his silhouette flickering in and out of focus in the light.
Sebastian Larsson, Dragon Investigation Bureau official.
He didn't come any closer, as if waiting for her to speak first.
‘What’s this fire about?’
She asked simply, her tone calm, as if afraid that adding any emotion would alter the answer.
Sebastian tilted his chin up slightly, looking at the burning ruins in the distance as if confirming something. He was silent for a moment, his gaze sweeping over the black pillar of smoke filling the night sky before finally settling back on her.
‘What do you think?’
She frowned. Her breath was full of the smell of burning. The flames were distorting the distant air, like a colossal creature breathing.
‘I want the truth.’
He tilted his head slightly, a vague curve playing on his lips, as if he had just heard a ridiculous question.
‘The truth?’ he repeated softly, his tone carrying a non-committal amusement. ‘Can you handle it?’
Her fingertips tightened. She stared at him, saying nothing.
Sebastian finally sighed, as if weighing up some unnecessary patience.
‘Dragons?’ He shrugged, his tone light. ‘I’ve never seen one.’
She narrowed her eyes. The firelight cast a sharp shadow across the side of his face.
‘But the fire?’ she asked.
Sebastian gave a low laugh, as if talking to himself with a kind of resignation.
‘The fire has always been here.’
Her fingertips grew cold.
‘What does that mean?’
Sebastian didn’t answer straight away. He glanced down at his watch, seemingly calculating a specific point in time. His expression was lax, as if this conversation were merely an unimportant procedure.
‘The fire is the dragon’s body,’ he said, nodding towards the distant blaze, his gaze as calm as still water, as if stating the most natural fact in the world.
‘The dragon is the fire’s name.’
She frowned. ‘So you use “dragon” to mean fire?’
He didn’t answer, staring at the burning building in the distance. The flames twisted, the smoke roiled, like a creature rising from a crack in the earth.
‘So do dragons exist or not?’ she asked.
Sebastian turned his head to look at her.
The firelight was reflected in his eyes, the shadows distorting, as if something were gazing at her through his pupils.
‘Everything gets twisted by the great fire,’ he said. ‘And then it becomes a dragon.’
She opened her mouth, wanting to say something, but the heat seared her throat.
She turned her head and looked at the fire.
It was devouring the street, the sound of its burning a low and constant roar, like a slow, steady exhalation.
She still hadn’t seen a dragon.
10
Lilith stood before the fire, the heat washing over her face, the air scorching her skin, the smoke churning. The distant building warped in the high temperature, its windows exploding with sharp, short cracks of sound.
Then she heard the voices.
Faint, broken, swallowed by the roar of the flames.
At first, they were just indistinct whispers, like the wind passing through the night. But soon, they became clearer—cries, calls for help, surfacing intermittently through the billowing smoke.
Her body tensed. Her gaze fell on the building ahead.
The sounds were coming from there.
Lilith walked forward, the soles of her shoes crunching on the ash, the firelight dancing on her shadow. The light and dark twisted, like tentacles wrapping around her ankles.
She stopped in front of the building. The exterior walls were blackened by fire, the windows blown out, the edges of the glass scorched. Tongues of flame licked out from the broken gaps, swaying in the night. She looked up. On the third floor, a figure moved in a window, their silhouette blurry, their face lost to the smoke. Their mouth opened and closed, vocal cords vibrating, but nothing could penetrate the air, leaving only noise, a stuttering tremor.
She rushed to the entrance, grabbing the iron gate with both hands and pulling with all her might. The gate didn't move.
She looked down and saw the chains stretched across the doors—thick, heavy, rusted, wound in layer upon layer. A dense cluster of padlocks hung from them, nails driven into the iron, forming a solid blockade.
She let go, took a step back, and looked around.
The street was deserted. No people, no cars, no rescue services. Only the firelight reflected on the wet tarmac, casting a hazy red shadow.
She went forward again, her fingers touching the chains. The cold seeped through her skin. She pulled, she tugged, her knuckles turning white, but the chains held fast. The voices behind the door grew more urgent. Palms slapped against the metal, a sharp cry for help piercing the thick smoke.
She turned, looking for a tool, for a person, for anything that could pry this door open.
But the street was still empty.
No footsteps, no sirens, no other sounds, except for the low roar of the fire gnawing at the building.
She looked up. The building’s windows shattered in the blaze, flames licked out from the gaps, the fire churning, the smoke rising, shadows twisting and distorting in the light, like some struggling creature.
The people behind the door were still shouting, their voices hoarse, mixed with the sounds of banging, kicking, and the scrape of fingernails on wood.
She heard someone scream with all their might, ‘Help—’
Then, a tremendous crash. The ceiling of a room collapsed. The fire swallowed everything. The voices were cut off abruptly.
She took a step back, a ringing in her ears, her fingertips still clenched around the door handle. Her throat was dry, her thoughts sluggish, as if sinking into a thick, viscous liquid, every idea suppressed beneath the surface, unable to rise.
She opened her mouth, trying to say something.
The broadcast began.
It came from the loudspeakers on the street corners, from the Tannoy on the building’s facade, from every available device, the voice even, mild, without inflection.
The existence of dragons has not been confirmed, but necessary preventative measures will continue.
She stood motionless, her breathing shallow, and looked up at the night sky.
The broadcast didn't pause, didn't hesitate, offered no extra explanation, like a pre-recorded message playing on a loop, right on schedule.
She stood before the locked door, the spreading fire behind her, the silhouettes of people trapped in the smoke before her.
She stood there until the crying stopped, until the steel beams collapsed under the heat, the window frames twisting like a mouth being devoured by flames.
She stood there until the broadcast began once more.
Please do not panic. A localised fire incident has occurred in the containment zone. Everything is under control.
She closed her eyes. The heat from the fire gently brushed her skin, like an unseen hand on her face.
She finally understood—
The door wasn’t to keep the dragon out.
The door was to keep them in.
11
The cries gradually faded, the smoke surged, and everything was swallowed. Lilith’s palm was pressed against the door. The metal was scorching, like something long dead still holding its last residual warmth.
She let go and took a step back. The street was still. The fire consumed the high-rise. The night enveloped the city. A derelict theatre, the stage burning, the actors struggling in silence, the audience empty.
She wanted to scream, to smash something, to charge inside, but she could do nothing.
She could only stand there.
The broadcast continued, its voice steady, as inconsequential as background music:
Please do not panic. A localised fire incident has occurred in the containment zone. Everything is under control.
She clenched her fists, her breathing rapid, her heartbeat heavy, as if she were dragging an invisible block of iron. She spun around and ran towards the end of the street. She needed to find someone, find a tool, she needed to do something, anything.
Then she stopped.
The street was full of people.
They stood silently in the night, arranged neatly on both sides of the road, as if they were waiting.
The firelight cast distorted shadows. They weren't crying, they weren't panicked, they had no expressions. They just stood there, their hands folded, silently watching the flames.
Lilith held her breath, her throat dry. She opened her mouth but could make no sound.
She scanned the crowd. The faces were both strange and familiar, like passers-by she had brushed past, or people who had never existed.
Then she looked into their eyes.
They reflected the firelight, but held no light of their own.
She took a step back, her heart racing, her body instinctively wanting to flee. She wanted to shout, to question them, to tear apart this silence, but her throat felt sealed by the night. No sound could get through.
In the front row, a woman slowly raised her head.
It was Isabel.
Lilith froze.
She was alive.
But her face was blank. No fear, no pain, not even a question. She just stared at Lilith, her lips slightly parted, as if about to speak.
Lilith took a step forward and whispered, ‘Isabel?’
The woman’s lips trembled slightly.
Then she spoke.
Her voice was like scattered ash.
‘The dragon has come.’
Lilith’s fingertips trembled, her pupils constricting.
She wanted to ask, ‘What?’
But she didn’t get the chance.
The broadcast began again, clearer than before, echoing between the fire and the night, like a final declaration:
The existence of dragons has not been confirmed, but necessary preventative measures will continue.
The crowd began to move.
They didn't run, they didn't push, they didn't hesitate. They walked towards the fire with the same even pace, orderly, as if completing a pre-determined procedure.
They walked towards the locked door, towards the burning building, towards the heart of the flames.
Lilith reached out and grabbed Isabel’s arm.
‘Stop!’ she cried.
Isabel turned slowly, her gaze calm, her tone soft, as if she were soothing a child who didn't understand.
‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘We’re just returning to the dragon’s side.’
Then she gently removed Lilith’s hand and continued walking.
Her steps were steady, without hesitation.
Lilith stood rooted to the spot, her heart racing, her limbs stiff.
She wanted to stop them, to scream, to block every single one of them, but her body wouldn’t move, her voice wouldn’t come out.
She could only watch them, witness them disappear one by one into the fire, without a struggle, without a backward glance.
The inferno consumed them, their shadows twisting in the firelight before merging with the black smoke.
The broadcast sounded again, its tone unchanged, its rhythm unchanged, as if summarising an event that had long since ended:
Please do not panic. A localised fire incident has occurred in the containment zone. Everything is under control.
Lilith stood in the middle of a street, staring at the burning ruin. The firelight illuminated her face. Faint embers drifted through the air, landing on the silent street.
One side of the building had collapsed, exposing blackened steel beams. The glass was shattered into powder. The iron door was still locked tight. No one was trying to open it anymore.
She looked at her own palm. The warmth of Isabel’s touch lingered on her fingertips, but soon, that too was gone.
She closed her eyes. All she could hear was the sound of the wind.
The broadcast had stopped.
12
Lilith stood there for a long time. The wind blew, and her shadow flickered in the dying embers. The street was empty. The fire had receded, leaving only a blackened ruin and an unanswered silence.
Suddenly, applause rang out in the distance.
She spun around.
The sides of the street were lined with people. They were dressed in neat black suits, their hands raised, clapping in unison. The rhythm was steady, each clap like a pre-choreographed part of a performance. Their faces were expressionless, their eyes fixed on her, as if in praise, or perhaps in expectation.
‘Excellent,’ a voice came from the crowd.
She followed the sound. From the centre of the crowd, a man walked out slowly. He wore a gold monocle and carried a thick folder. The heels of his shoes clicked on the ground, the sound inappropriately clear, as if this were not a ruin but a bright, clean conference room.
‘Truly excellent,’ he said, looking down at the document in his hand, as if what he had just witnessed was not a disaster but a contract worthy of consideration.
Lilith didn’t speak. Her lips were dry, her body rigid.
The man closed the folder and looked up at her, a polite, almost pleasant smile on his face.
‘Lilith Evelyn,’ he said, his voice soft. ‘In accordance with Article 78 of the Dragon Disaster Prevention Regulations, you are now formally charged.’
She blinked, frowning slightly.
‘Charged?’ Her voice was a little hoarse.
The man nodded, took a step forward, and opened the folder. His finger slid across the text on the page as he read aloud:
‘Charge the first: Obstruction of Order—for demonstrating a clear attitude of suspicion during an official announcement.’
‘Charge the second: Interference with Public Administration—for questioning ongoing preventative measures without authorisation.’
‘Charge the third: Unauthorised Observation of a Dragon Disaster—for failing to leave in a timely manner before the flames were extinguished.’
Lilith’s fingertips tightened, her frown deepening.
‘What?’ she said under her breath.
The man sighed, closing the file as if disappointed by her slowness.
‘These are the basic regulations. You should understand,’ he said. ‘Unauthorised witnessing is illegal. We can only assume you are either an accomplice of the dragon, or you were attempting to disrupt order.’
He glanced at the crowd behind him. The crowd took a uniform step forward. The applause continued, like an emotionless programme, every clap perfectly precise.
‘It’s all right,’ he said, turning back to smile at her. ‘You can go to court and defend your actions.’
Lilith took a step back.
‘I didn’t do anything,’ she said.
The man shrugged. The gold monocle glinted in the dim light of the embers.
‘But we know what you wanted to do,’ he said, gesturing to the side.
Enforcement officers in black uniforms stepped out from the crowd, surrounding her from all four sides. Their steps were synchronised, without a hint of hesitation, as if they were carrying out a routine duty.
Lilith looked around, searching for an escape route, but the end of the street was now blocked by a wall—not of brick or stone, but formed by the onlookers. They stood shoulder to shoulder, linked together, an impassable barrier.
‘Please cooperate,’ the man said, his tone calm, as if she had already agreed.
An officer stepped forward and reached out his hand.
Her wrist was seized in a firm grip, a cold metal lock freezing her movements.
‘You can’t do this,’ she struggled.
The man offered a thin, humourless smile. ‘The law allows it.’
Lilith was dragged towards the centre of the crowd. The embers of the street were still drifting. The air still smelt of burning. The broadcast had stopped completely. The night was silent.
The applause behind her gradually faded, like a set being slowly lowered on a stage.
The crowd parted, revealing a black vehicle at the end of the street. It was parked there silently, its door already open, like a mouth that had been waiting for a long time.
She was pushed inside the car. The door closed behind her, and the world was plunged into darkness.
The vehicle started, pulling away silently into the night.
13
Lilith sat in a chair, her wrists fixed to the tabletop. The manacles were cold, as if just brought in from the snow. Her fingertips were pale, her skin pressed against the metal, as if she were part of the table.
The courtroom had no windows. The walls were high, a sterile grey that stretched to the ceiling. There was no light, and no shadow. The room was vast, the echo low, as if the air itself were whispering, though the content was indecipherable.
The judge on the high bench was robed in black, his silhouette indistinct, his face buried in shadow. His lips moved, and a voice flowed out, without inflection, like a pre-recorded programme, echoing steadily through the room.
‘Lilith Evelyn.’
The voice was slow, like the swing of a pendulum, precise and even.
‘You are charged with disseminating false information, inciting panic, and resisting order. How do you plead?’
She licked her chapped lips and looked up, trying to see the judge’s face, but it remained hidden in the darkness. Only the voice floated in the air.
‘What… false information?’ Her voice was hoarse, as if full of dust.
The judge opened the file on his desk. The sound of the pages turning was clear, each one falling like a door slowly closing behind her.
‘Regarding the fire.’
Her fingertips tightened a little.
‘You have claimed to others that the fire was no accident, but the result of some deliberate act.’
The judge’s mouth curved slightly, as if he were reading an insignificant footnote.
‘Do you still maintain this claim?’
‘The door was locked,’ she said quietly.
The judge tilted his head slightly, as if waiting for more.
‘Oh?’ His tone was placid. No interest, no doubt. ‘And did you lock it yourself?’
She frowned. ‘Of course not.’
‘Then did you see with your own eyes who locked it?’
She opened her mouth but found she could not answer.
‘Do you have any proof?’ the judge asked, his tone even, as if guiding a logical exercise.
Her fingers tightened, her breathing quickening. ‘Didn’t you investigate? There were locks on the door, chains, they were trapped inside!’
The judge’s fingertip tapped the desk. The sound was clean and sharp, like some precisely calculated signal.
‘That is only your memory.’
He said it flatly. It was neither a rebuttal nor a confirmation.
‘We prefer to believe in facts that have a higher degree of credibility.’
Her heart sped up, her nails digging into her palms.
‘What facts?’ she asked.
The judge smiled faintly and gestured gently behind her.
‘You can ask them.’
She spun around, a shiver running down her spine.
The public gallery was full of people.
It had been empty a moment ago.
They sat there silently, arranged neatly in rows of wooden chairs, their hands resting properly on their knees. Their faces were pale, their eyes vacant, their lips slightly parted as if whispering. But she heard no sound.
Her heart pounded. Her gaze swept over the faces, each one more familiar than the last.
Isabel.
Victor.
And the shadows she had seen in the firelight, the people who had walked into the flames. They sat there primly, their clothes neat, their skin smooth. No scorch marks, no sign of struggle, no fear.
It was as if—
—they had never left.
She held her breath, her fingertips trembling. Her chair shifted with a faint creak.
The judge was still smiling, as if he had been waiting for this very moment.
‘Tell me,’ he began slowly, ‘which of these people was locked in the fire?’
She didn’t answer, her throat tight.
‘If the door was locked, how could they be sitting here?’ The judge’s tone was mild, as if clearing up a simple misunderstanding. ‘Are you sure you aren’t misremembering?’
Her nails bit into her palms, a ringing in her ears. Her memories spun in her mind, churned by something, round and round.
The building’s door was locked.
But they were sitting here now.
The judge closed the file and let out a long sigh, as if dealing with a stubborn child.
‘One last question.’ His voice was soft, as light as the night fog, seeping slowly into her consciousness.
He leaned forward, his gaze piercing the shadows, his tone even, without a trace of a tremor.
‘Lilith Evelyn, have you seen a dragon?’
Her lips trembled slightly.
She knew the answer.
She could say ‘no’, she could say ‘I haven’t seen one’, but the words were caught in her throat like a fishbone, impossible to dislodge, impossible to voice.
Her memory blurred. The fire, the shadows, the inferno churning under the night sky, Isabel’s face, and that low whisper—
The dragon has come.
The judge didn’t press her. He just waited with a faint smile. The crowd in the gallery watched her silently, without blinking, without emotion. Their gazes were uniform, like silent sculptures.
Lilith’s hands gripped the tabletop, her knuckles white, the manacles leaving red marks on her wrists. Her breathing was rapid, her heartbeat a heavy thud against her eardrums, like a machine out of control, unable to stop.
She stared at the judge, at the face hidden in the shadows, at the eyes that were always calm, always cold, always ‘all-knowing’.
‘I… I saw it.’
Her voice was faint, as if testing the words.
‘Yes, I saw it—’
Her chest heaved, her voice suddenly rising.
‘The fire! I saw the great fire!’
‘I saw it!’
Her voice was like shattering glass, piercing the stillness of the courtroom, the echo rebounding off the vast walls like an irreparable crack.
‘The dragon and the great fire! The dragon exists! It breathed fire!’
She shot to her feet, the chair dragging across the floor with a sharp screech. The air in the courtroom tensed abruptly. The echo was swallowed by the high ceiling, as if some invisible barrier had snapped shut.
The judge didn’t move, his gaze still steady, as if waiting for a programme to finish running.
‘The dragon started the fire! It was him! It burned down that building! It burned down the whole city! Those people—they were devoured by the dragon!’
Her voice was hoarse. The manacles rattled with her violent struggles, like a tethered beast tearing futilely at the air.
‘The dragon is real!’ she gasped, her eyes bloodshot, staring at the judge as if trying to rip some kind of answer from his hidden lips.
‘You know it! All of you know it!’
Her body heaved, her hair was dishevelled, her fingers dug fiercely into the tabletop as if to tear reality from its surface.
‘It was you! It was you who locked the door! It was you who burned them!’
She spun around to face the gallery.
They were still sitting there. They hadn't moved, hadn't blinked. Their faces were expressionless, their eyes vacant. The air was heavy, like a huge, solid block of glass separating them from her.
Her breathing grew heavier, cold sweat beaded on her palms, and the ringing in her ears vibrated inside her skull.
They didn't react.
It was as if they were watching a farce that had nothing to do with them.
Her fingers trembled, her nails digging into her palms, the blood pulsing under her skin, like something about to explode.
Her gaze swept over their faces, each one strange and familiar, each pair of eyes reflecting the fire.
But—
Their skin was unmarked.
Their clothes bore no trace of burning.
Their eyes reflected the fire, but held no light.
She gripped the table, head bowed, gasping for breath, her mind on the verge of shattering from the violent shock. More frantic words were rolling in her throat. She wanted to scream, to make them hear, to tear apart this world’s lie.
But the broadcast began.
From where, she didn't know. From which corner, she couldn't tell. The voice emerged steadily, mild, calm, precise, like some ritual that had been repeated countless times.
The existence of dragons has not been confirmed, but necessary preventative measures will continue.
Her voice was cut off.
The courtroom fell deathly silent. The sound of the broadcast echoed in the air, the reverberations overlapping, like a thousand invisible lips whispering in her ear.
The gallery was silent.
But a crack appeared in that silence.
At first, it was just a subtle change.
One person frowned, the corner of their mouth turning down, as if they had caught a whiff of something unbearable. Then another person covered their nose, a look of disgust on their face, their gaze shifting away from her, as if avoiding something unclean.
Low whispers began to spread, like rotting seaweed exposed by a receding tide, first intermittently, then merging into a single sound.
‘She’s lying.’
‘Disgusting…’
‘Listen to what she’s saying…’
‘The lying woman.’
The voices overlapped, seeping in from all directions, as if the room itself were whispering. Someone frowned in disgust. Someone else began to cough violently, as if the air were thick with the stench of decay.
Then the first piece of rubbish was thrown.
A crumpled ball of paper flew through the dull air and hit her on the shoulder. The light impact made her flinch. She looked down. The paper ball rolled onto the floor and unfurled. It was a crumpled Report of Not Seeing a Dragon, the writing blurred, the ink smudged with sweat.
She looked up as another paper ball flew towards her, grazing her cheek, leaving a faint, dull ache.
‘Burn her!’
A voice exploded from a corner of the gallery—she recognised it as Isabel’s, a sharp spark igniting the viscous air.
‘Burn her! Burn her! Burn her!’
‘Liar!’
‘Fraud!’
‘She’s making up stories about dragons!’
Rubbish rained down on her—balled-up documents, rotten fruit peels, an empty tin from somewhere—hitting her arms, her chest, her face. She raised her hands to shield herself, but it was useless.
‘Burn her!’
They shouted, their bodies leaning forward, their voices growing more and more frenzied, like a dormant volcano now erupting with lava. Someone stood up and spat at her. Someone else ripped off their own cuff, tore it into a strip, and threw it hard at her face.
‘She’s a liar!’
‘Dragons don’t exist!’
‘What did she see? She saw nothing!’
‘Burn her! Burn her! Burn her!’
Her back hit the chair. Her body was trembling slightly. She looked around at the frantic crowd, their faces twisted in the courtroom’s dim yellow light, mouths agape like broken masks, their eyes burning with a hollow fanaticism.
The judge still sat on the high bench, saying nothing, a faint smile on his lips, his fingers tapping gently on the desk, tap, tap, tap.
Lilith gasped for breath. Rubbish was caught in her hair, landing on her lap. The floor was littered with stained, crumpled paper balls. Her nails dug deep into her palms, the blood pulsing under her skin like something about to burst.
She looked sharply at the judge, her voice trembling but shrill.
‘Is this what you wanted?!’
The judge blinked, as if he had finally taken an interest in her existence. He leaned forward slightly, his gaze calm, his lips parting. His voice was still mild, as if he were reading an insignificant regulation:
‘The existence of dragons has not been confirmed, but necessary preventative measures will continue.’
Lilith’s heart skipped a beat.
The gallery erupted.
‘Burn her! Burn her!’
Her fingertips gripped the edge of the desk. She could feel the air in the courtroom getting hotter, an invisible flame licking at her limbs, scorching her skin. She looked down and saw her shadow twisting on the floor, as if flames were dancing at her feet.
She looked up sharply at the shouting crowd. Their eyes reflected a red light, not from the lamps, but from something approaching.
She could smell smoke. The entire courtroom was actually heating up.
Her throat tightened, her body rigid, her eyes darted around, searching—
They were really going to burn her.
14
Lilith’s throat was parched, her lungs felt as if they were filled with scorched air. The roar of the crowd echoed between the high walls, the voices overlapping, swirling, becoming more and more alien, more and more incomprehensible.
She looked up sharply, trying to see the faces of the crowd, but their silhouettes kept distorting in the firelight, their noses lengthening, their eye sockets sinking, their mouths gaping wider and wider as they yelled, like a series of masks out of control. Flames danced in their pupils, as if something older, more savage, was staring at her through their eyes.
Then she saw it—above the crowd, in the shadows of the walls, coiled a colossal creature.
Its form emerged in the firelight, its silhouette fractured by the smoke, like something that did not belong to reality, squeezed into the space of this courtroom. It had a long, slender neck, a curved spine, and black scales that glinted vaguely in the reflection of the flames, like a great, cracked plain of earth. Its long tail whipped across the gallery, almost touching the ceiling. Its hollow eyes were staring at her, its pupils like fissures in the heart of a fire.
It lay there silently, as if it had always been there, and she just hadn't seen it before.
Her chest heaved, her stomach churned. She wanted to look away, but her gaze was pinned by it.
The shouts of the crowd grew louder, their voices hoarse, fanatical, like the roar of a hurricane, wave after wave.
She spun her head to look at the judge.
His face no longer had its original shape.
Shadows spread across his features, his skin peeling away, his bones deforming. His head elongated, the bridge of his nose becoming sharp as if carved by a blade. His mouth opened slightly, his teeth growing pointed. The shadows of his eye sockets grew longer and longer, his pupils contracting into long, narrow slits.
A chill ran down Lilith’s back. The blood drained from her limbs, as if it had been siphoned out.
This isn’t real—
She gritted her teeth, digging her nails into her palms, trying to use the pain to bring her back to reality.
But the dragon’s shadow was still there.
The judge was still there.
The fire grew closer. The shouts were swallowed by something larger, transformed into a blurry, meaningless roar. The crowd had become part of the fire, their bodies blurring in the flames, their faces twisted by the light into unrecognisable phantoms.
The judge—or rather, the creature—lowered its head and looked down at her, the corners of its mouth turning up slightly.
Its voice was a low rumble—
‘Necessary preventative measures will continue.’
She opened her mouth, wanting to scream something, to refute it, to escape, to deny the reality of it all.
But she could do nothing.
She had already been condemned.
The crowd cheered, the flames churned, and the shadow spread its wings, looking down on her, on the city, from the sky.
The judge looked down at her, scales glinting in the firelight, its vertical pupils unmoving in the blaze.