Book 3 Side Story 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.”

“What about the moon dragon?” Vur asked.

“Something smells good!” Emile and Susan flew down from above before Alice could respond. The two phoenixes landed on the still-hot metal tray. They stared at Alice with unblinking eyes. “Can we eat this?”

“…If you want.”

Emile and Susan cheered before pecking away at the burnt food.

“What about the moon dragon?” Vur asked again.

“If I could stop being interrupted,” Alice said and looked around. She made sure no one was coming. Then she nodded. “Okay. The moon dragon is a legend about a gluttonous dragon. He used to eat all of the crops and livestock that the villagers grew, so much so, that the villagers rose up and revolted. They defeated the moon dragon after a huge ordeal involving bribing the river dragons and earth dragons. But the river dragons and earth dragons couldn’t stomach the thought of killing another dragon, so they worked out a compromise.

“The moon dragon was ordered to stop eating everything the villagers had because they couldn’t provide offerings to the other dragons if they were to all die of starvation. So, the moon dragon, unwilling to give up his gluttonous eating style, decided to instead bless the villagers crops and livestock, making sure that even if he ate his fill, there would always be some left over.

“This worked well for many years, but one year, a curious child went up to the moon dragon whilst he was eating the child’s favorite chicken. That child asked, “Mister Dragon, why do you have to eat my chicken? The moon is made of cheese. We can’t fly, but you have wings, Mister Dragon. Why don’t you eat the moon instead?

“So, the gluttonous moon dragon, moved by the prospect of eating a whole moon’s worth of cheese by himself, immediately flew up into the sky towards the moon and disappeared. That’s why we pay our respects to the moon, specifically the moon dragon, in the hopes that he’ll continue to give us bountiful harvests.”

Emile swallowed. “What about the child’s chicken? Did it survive?”

“It was eaten,” Alice said.

“Oh.”

Susan stared at Vur, who was staring up at the sky. She raised her head, but the moon wasn’t out. “I wonder if Dad has met the moon dragon up there.”

Emile choked. “What?”

Susan tilted her head at her brother. “What do you mean what? Dad lives on the moon, remember?”

Emile picked apart the burnt mooncake in front of his sister with his talons. He glared at Alice. “Did you put liquor in this? We’re underaged! You have to warn us first.”

Susan pecked her brother’s head. “I’m not drunk, stupid! Mom said Dad lived on the moon when I asked her where he was!”

“Mom lied to you! Don’t peck my head; you’ll make me dumb!”

Alice ignored the squabbling phoenixes. “And that’s the story of the moon dragon.”

Vur nodded. “So that’s how all those craters on the moon were made. The moon dragon ate those parts of the moon.” Vur smiled at Tafel. “Let’s go to the moon one day.”

Tafel smiled. “Yeah, sure. I wonder what it’s like up there.”

Alice stared at the two idiots smiling at each other. They weren’t planning on bringing her along, were they? If they were, trying to make mooncakes while they were around might’ve been the dumbest thing she tried in a while. She sighed. Two dragons lumbered into view, shaking the ground, and Alice waved her hand at them. “You’ve arrived, Mrs. Matriarch.”

Sharda glanced at the oven. “I heard that there are some pastries that need to be made?”

“Yes,” Alice said. “Yes, there are.”