A gentle, fragrant mist dropped over the academy grounds as the sky bloomed with rainbow-bright ribbons of pearl and gold.
Hovering just above the terracotta rooftops was Xiao Long, the Nine-Clawed Azure Flood Dragon. Sinuous, majestic, and spanning more than one hundred meters from his antlered brow to the tip of his glittering tail, the sky sovereign moved through the air with the weightless grace of a silk ribbon caught in a spring draft. His jade-and-sapphire scales gleamed softly under the afternoon sun, trailing wisps of refreshing vapor that smelled of high-mountain snowfall and sweet lotus ponds.
Hundreds of years ago, the descent of a flood dragon meant world-ending disaster. Mortal kingdoms would mobilize hundreds of thousands of archers, sacrificing entire provinces in wild attempts to appease the dragon’s wrath or defend against continent-drowning tsunamis. Training grandmasters would burn their souls to activate mountain-shattering sealing arrays, scared of the dragon’s ancient storm.
Today, there were no war horns, no sealing arrays, and no trembling emperors.
Instead, the academy courtyard erupted into wild cheers of pure young ecstasy.
“Uncle Dragon! Uncle Dragon is here!” shouted dozens of voices all at once.
Xiao Long lowered his huge head toward the grass lawn. His golden whiskers, each nearly thirty feet long, fluttered gently in the breeze. His massive ruby-gold eyes, capable of gazing through the nine layers of heaven, softened into warm, affectionate pools of kindness as he rested his snout against the soft clover.
