He loved it when he was allowed to travel with him. On every journey he would get to see some new and magnificent wonder. The last time it had been the crystal caverns of Yulindria. And the time before that, the rushing sand river of the eastern wasteland. But this trip promised to be the most special one of all. He was now eight years old and was finally going to see what he had always dreamed of seeing. Dragons. “How long do they live?” he asked. “I’m not sure,” his father replied. “Thousands of years, I would imagine.” Ralmar was a great mage. In Martok’s young mind, by far the greatest mage of them all. The only thing he ever wanted was to be like him. “How do they manage to stay alive for so long?” he asked. Ralmar reached over and mussed his son’s hair. “With magic, of course.” The youngster considered this for a moment. “Does that mean you will live that long as well?”
