Book 3 Side Story 2 (1/2)

Tafel was sitting on a couch, a book with yellowing pages splayed open on her lap. A stream of sunlight poured down from between the treetops, illuminating the tiny words written on the page. Tafel’s nose twitched, and she furrowed her brow. She raised her head and closed the book, careful to prevent any damage from occurring. A portal opened beside her, and she placed the book inside. She climbed to her feet and dusted off her lap. She sniffed the air before leaving the room, following the strange yet familiar smell that she suspected to be cookies. When she reached the oven, a small bubble of disappointment filled her chest: Sharda wasn’t there. When she saw who was actually manning the oven, that bubble of disappointment turned to dread. Tafel swallowed and crept back, hoping she hadn’t been found out. Unfortunately for her, the tiny woman standing in front of the oven caught sight of her.

“Tafel! Perfect, you’re here. Help me with this.”

Tafel repressed her sigh and strutted towards the oven with prim and proper steps like she’d been taught when she was little. Even if she was about to attend something unenjoyable, Prim, her etiquette teacher, had told her to hide those feelings behind the veil of a princess instead. “Hey, Alice,” Tafel said and smiled. “What are you making? It’s rare to see you use an oven.”

“I’m making mooncakes. This batch is almost done, but you can help me make the next,” Alice said and wiped the sweat off her forehead with a nearby towel.

“Mooncakes?” Tafel asked, raising an eyebrow. She looked up the sky, but the moon wasn’t out. She lowered her head. “What are those?”

Alice nearly dropped the bowl she had just picked up. “What? You don’t know what a mooncake is?”

Tafel shook her head. Before Alice could reply, the nearby trees rustled, and a familiar face appeared: Alora’s. Vur was sitting on Alora’s head. “Grandma?” Alora asked. “Are you making cookies?”

“I told you it didn’t smell like Grandma making cookies,” Vur said and snorted. “But you didn’t believe me. So, you lost again.”

Alora set the grass in front of her on fire with two streams of flames jetting out of her nostrils. Tafel created a block of ice in the air and set it down in front of the red dragon, smothering the flames. “Do you know what a mooncake is?” Tafel asked the two newly arrived cookie seekers.

“Duh,” Alora said. “It’s a cake made from the moon.”

Vur looked up at the sky, but there was no moon. Tafel pursed her lips when she saw Vur copying her previous actions. “Really?” Vur asked. “Does the moon regrow like a plant?”

“All three of you are uncultured swi—dragons. Uncultured dragons,” Alice said and clicked her tongue. “Haven’t any of you heard of the Mid-Autumn Festival?”

“Is there a Mid-Winter Festival too?” Vur asked.

Alice sighed. “No. No one celebrates winter,” she said. “The Mid-Autumn Festival is a harvest festival that we used to celebrate back at home.” She rolled her eyes. “Not like I expected dragons to give thanks for a bountiful harvest.”

“Oh!” Alora’s eyes lit up. “We have harvest festivals too. The nearby villages celebrate a lot, and it’s always noisy beneath the roost. Then, on the final day of the festival, the villages each send a woman as a sacrifice to us. We tried telling them to stop, but they keep saying, ‘It’s a tradition’ and send us unwilling sacrifices anyway.” Alora scratched her chin. “Now that I think about it, they send a sacrifice every time something good or bad happens. You saw it before, didn’t you? The village of sacrifices that we’ve received and have no idea what to do with?”

“What about you two?” Alice asked, placing her hands on her hips. “If even a dragon knows about harvest festivals, shouldn’t you two as well?”

Tafel scratched her head. “Demons grow their crops with the help of magic,” she said. “We don’t really give thanks to anyone but ourselves.”

“The only crops I grow are bears,” Vur said, sticking his chest out.

Alice sighed again. “Alright, well, back home, we celebrate our harvests with the Mid-Autumn Festival. We eat mooncakes, which are not made from the moon”—she glared at Alora—“they’re actually made from wheat, bean paste, and salted egg yolk, and worship the moon dragon.”

Vur’s eyes lit up. “The what dragon?”

“The moon dragon,” Alice said. “It’s—”

“Your mooncakes are burning,” Tafel said, pointing at the oven.

Alora dropped Vur off of her head. “I’ll get Grandma to come bake!”

Alice drew the tray out of her stone oven and frowned. She grabbed one of the black mooncakes and blew on it before taking a bite. She spat it out and placed the tray down on top of the oven. “Okay. I think I’ll wait for the magical baking dragon to arrive. I’ve never burnt food before. Cooking with an oven sure is difficult.”