Just stick the landing.

Master Adan's advice echoed in my head. Odd, what you think about at the end.

Not life flashing by. Just his frustrated voice after my tenth failed round off.

Just stick the landing.

My leg was caught in the rope. Jek's pale face peeked down. One hand over his mouth, the other gripping the rope he'd let slip. Annice covered her eyes, trembling.

I glared at him. If I got out of this I'd thrash both of them.

Below, gem-encrusted weapons gleamed. I inhaled. Silent as the grave, I pulled myself up. My muscles screamed, but I freed my leg and caught the rope with my feet.

Right-side up, I gave a thumbs-up. Annice uncovered her eyes, mouthing, Faelwen, come back!

I shook my head.

Right side up I turned and gave a thumbs up to Jek and Annice. Annice jerked her hands up at me mouthing, Faelwen, come back!

Just stick the landing.

I descended. Below lay Vylarion, the great Wyrm. The emerald death. He'd slept for a thousand years, guarding his hoard. No one who saw him lived. 

Gazing upon his elongated form I believed them.

My heart pounded in my ears. Could he hear it over his snores?

The treasure was too tempting. Legends or death—that was the gamble. My feet hovered above the floor. No going back once I landed.

Just stick the landing.

My feet hit the ground toes gently rolling down until I was flat footed, kicking up a silent puff of dust. 

I inhaled slowly, silently as I took in the cave. Weaponry of all shapes and sizes littered the ground. Must and the musky odor of the dragon permeated the air. The stench of rotten meat invaded my nostrils. On the ground bits of bone littered the area. Walking through this mess was going to take stealth upon stealth. 

There was one in particular that I wanted. One object that I hadn't mentioned to Jek: a sword lost to my mother's people. It would be a plain weapon but beautiful nonetheless. No gems encrusted its pommel, only knotwork made of silver and steel. The blade when lost sent the elves of Nymira into their downward spiral, until a few half-blood bastards such as I myself were all that was left. I wanted Vaelorian, the blade of Eternal Grace.

I took a step forward. No sound, no movement. The dragon snored on. I chanced a glance up, Jek and Annice were small black heads against the bright sky. 

Another step. I'd stuck the landing, I'd won. 

Crack!

A small bone snapped underfoot. I froze, eyes shut tight.

When I opened them, a green eye the size of my face stared back. The dragon had moved faster than I thought possible. I was pinned under its gaze. My body shook. I sank back, sagging to the floor, hand sinking into something moist and spongy. Stinking muck. I froze. I was dead. So dead.

I could hear Master Adan's disappointed sigh in my head. 

So the blood of Nymira returns, watered down as it is. What do you seek, child?

The dragon's voice rumbled in my head. It raised its head, waiting.

I opened my mouth. I wasn't dead yet. I knelt, bowing low. Does one bow to a dragon?, I wondered.

"I seek Vaelorian, the blade of Eternal Grace." I meant to sound brave. It came out a squeak.

The cave boomed around me. It took a moment to realize Vylarion was laughing.

What foolish creatures mortals are, even the long lived elves. Did I not tell you, seek me and you will find me?

"I don't understand," I whispered.

Oh child, the dragon stood and stretched its wings spanning the cave. I am Vylarion, the blade you seek. How you've butchered my name these past centuries. No matter. You are here now. The trickle of Nymira. Let us begin.

I stood, frozen. Vylarion and Vaelorian were one? My mouth opened, but no words came.

Hold out your hand.

I did. Warm steel melted into my palm. The sword, bright and covered in knotwork. The dragon was gone. In its place, Vaelorian, the blade of Eternal Grace, rested in my hand.

Trembling, I stared. This wasn't what I'd expected.

But first, we must seek out Master Adan, the dragon whispered from the sword. He and I are old friends. You must tell him—you finally stuck the landing.