Rest and recovery

Redd directed King Ghidorah to use his little claws, while Ehm gently helped with his head. With considerable effort, they finally pried Aegon's enormous mouth open a crack.

Redd immediately brought his bleeding palm over, letting the warm blood slide down Aegon's throat.

He dared not be careless and kept a quiet vigil beside him, watching Aegon's status panel.

Time ticked by, each second seeming to stretch out.

Finally, just as Redd was almost out of patience, the word "cursed" on Aegon's status panel began to flicker, then was replaced by "weakened."

[Status: Weakened]

Seeing this change, Redd finally relaxed completely and let out a long breath tinged with the smell of blood.

He wiped the blood from his hand and looked at the sleeping Red Dragon Aegon, a jumble of feelings stirring within him.

He had barely survived tonight. Not only had he nearly lost a dragon, but he had also witnessed an even more terrifying side of the Valyria Ruins at night.

It seemed he needed to be even more cautious. These ruins were far more dangerous and mysterious than he had imagined.

Redd left the rather dim dragon den, picked up a few pieces of dry firewood outside the entrance, and lit them with a flint, building a small fire.

Orange-red flames danced, driving away some of the night's chill.

Holding another lit torch, he walked to the edge of Fire Peak's summit and looked down at the ruins shrouded in darkness below.

That once-familiar land now looked utterly strange and eerie in the night.

He hurled the torch down. Its light streaked through the night sky, briefly illuminating part of the area below.

Redd could clearly see the churning black mist and the lumps-of-flesh creatures he had encountered before.

But the torch's light had a limited reach, and it soon went out against the pitch-black backdrop, leaving only indistinct outlines.

He observed carefully, confirming that those evil things indeed did not dare climb this volcano and had not approached their lair.

Only when the light had vanished completely did he finally feel entirely at ease.

The cool night wind blew past, sharpening Redd's slightly relaxed mind again.

He surveyed this cursed land once more, inwardly on guard.

Only after confirming it was safe did Redd return to the fire, toss the torch into it, then turn and drag his somewhat weary body back into the warm dragon den.

Using King Ghidorah as a mattress, Redd lay down on the soft dragonhide blanket, feeling as though every bone in his body was crying out in pain.

A night of tense fighting and constant vigilance now sent sleepiness washing over him like a tide.

Exhaustion quickly enveloped him like a vast net. His consciousness gradually blurred, and he soon sank into deep sleep.

He slept incredibly deeply.

Only when the next day's light had climbed over the crater's rim and spilled warmly into the dragon den did Redd slowly wake from his dreams.

He opened his eyes groggily, bleary-eyed and still not quite clearheaded.

Suddenly, a faint but distinct tugging sensation came from the top of his head.

"Hmm?"

Redd froze for a moment, then felt something gripping his hair and tugging at it as though playing.

His sleepiness vanished instantly. He sat up, his eyes still hazy with sleep, and looked toward the source of the sensation.

King Ghidorah was beneath him, his three heads reacting in entirely different ways.

The large middle head lifted lazily and stared blankly at the ceiling of the dragon den.

He seemed completely unaware of the ongoing "prank," looking utterly indifferent, as if to say, "Nothing to do with me."

The right head held a few hairs he had plucked out in his mouth. Seeing Redd awake,

he seemed a little panicked and hurriedly spat out his "spoils."

Then he swiftly tucked his head beneath a wing, leaving only a pair of wary little eyes peeking at Redd through the gap.

Clearly, the lingering trauma of Redd hitting his head with something last time still left him somewhat afraid of Redd.

Meanwhile, the little head on the far left was completely immersed in the joy of fine dining (?).

He was noisily chewing on a metal sword hilt he had picked up somewhere, already gnawed full of dents.

He chewed with relish. Seeing Redd awake, he merely paused for a moment before lowering his head and getting back to work as though he had seen nothing, looking adorably clueless...

Freshly awake, Redd's body still retained its habits from before sleep, and he sat steadily on King Ghidorah's relatively flat back.

He rubbed his still slightly sore eyes with one hand, while the other had already felt its way unerringly to Er Lang's neck beneath the wing.

He gave a hard yank. Before Er Lang could react, his head had been forcibly pulled from beneath the wing to face Redd's grumpy, just-awakened expression.

Looking into Er Lang's dragon eyes, round with fright, Redd spoke with a trace of sleepy languor and helplessness:

"Next time, whether you want to remind me of something or wake me up, you have to find another way!

"If I ever go bald because of you little brats' pranks, I'll grind every horn on your head flat!"

"Grind my horns flat..." Redd's words exploded like thunder in Er Lang's little head.

His eyes widened, and a little drama instantly played out in his mind: Da Lang made him do it every time.

He always ended up being pushed forward to wake their master or remind him of something. He clearly wanted to be a good, sensible baby too, yet he always got dragged into it.

Now Redd was actually threatening his horns!

My horns matter much more! That guy makes me do it every time, when all I've wanted is to act like a good baby...

Er Lang rapidly weighed things up in his mind. The next time Da Lang ordered him around, should he play dumb?

Seeing that Er Lang had been frightened, Redd's anger subsided for the moment. Only then did he release him and let him retreat beneath the wing again.

The moment he let go, San Lang (Kevin), who had been beside him chewing with his head down all this time, came over.

With his big head still sleepy and a little adorably vacant, he began rubbing against Redd's arm and face like a puppy begging to be petted.

The rubbing tickled Redd a little. Looking down, however, he noticed that San Lang still held the half-chewed metal sword hilt in his mouth, with some saliva clinging to it...

He felt at his waist. Nothing.

He understood at once. Looking at the adorably foolish big head before him, trying so hard to look cute while exposing the evidence of his crime, Redd did not know whether to laugh or cry.

What else could he say? This fellow had indeed become the scapegoat again.

It seemed he would have to properly "educate" these three little troublemakers when he had time.

At first, Redd really had been unable to distinguish what each of the three heads was thinking. After all, they looked far too alike.

But after spending so long with King Ghidorah day and night, he had long since come to know these three little fellows' personalities inside out.