A crowd gathered on the Twins Square.

  Under a large tree a small stage was set up; torch-light scattered hungry flicks across the crowd, as if the flames themselves were curious about what was to come.The sweet scent of honey-flavoured wine hung heavy in the air, warming both heart and mind. The stage glowed with lanterns, bright colors dancing over the curtains. The whole town had turned out. The chatter quickly died down as the curtain rose.

  One child, shirtless and wearing a gray wig, skipped onto the stage on a stick horse.

  “Behold, realm!” the child roared in their deepest possible voice. “I am Reralt of Givia!”

  The crowd cheered.

  “This is the story of how I fought the dragon!”

  The child nearly tripped over the stick, drawing a sympathetic ooohhwww from the audience. Another child entered wearing a dragon mask, barely able to walk. On each side toddled another kid dressed as a wing—because, of course, the weaker actors also had to play along.

  “I am Earil the Dragon!” the little girl declared, trying very hard to sound ominous.

  “I will eat your cats, burn your crotch!”

  Laughter burst from the crowd.

  “Crops!” a teacher shouted, weary and overworked.

  “Craps!” the child corrected herself, proudly waving to her mother and a somewhat confused father.

  ***

  In the crowd, people clapped and cheered frantically as the children acted out Reralt’s epic battle with the child Devil, they hissed and roared. Tthey applauded when Narro—played by none other than the smith’s daughter, whose voice was far too good for the rest of the cast—sang The Ballad of Free Fiddy. They nearly fell off their benches laughing when the children reenacted The Strawberry Slaying, where Reralt defeated mighty King Bowser in a strawberry-shortcake-eating contest.

  Then the dragon scene began.

  ***

  A teacher waddled onstage dressed as a bundle of straw, lighting several smoke-pots. The dragon children roared across the boards; one wing went the wrong way, but after a chorus of whispered directions everyone ended up roughly where they belonged.

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  “Rooaaar!” the little girl in the dragon mask gave it her all. “We will burn this town!”

  Children with tin torches charged the stage, pantomiming flames.

  “Mommy, it’s so hot!” the dragon cried, a teacher rushed forward to fan her.

  “Then I will eat all your beloved pets, hahaha!” the dragon bellowed again. The crowd answered with delighted mock-fear.

  From the other side of the stage the two heroes burst on—one wielding a wooden sword, the other clutching a plush toy painted black. The crowd leapt to its feet.

  “Ha! Dragon, you can’t burn Reralt!” the child-hero shouted, his voice wobbling through three heroic tones. He jabbed a finger at the boy cast as Narro. “You distract it, smart bard!”

  The boy froze, searching for the line—then bolted offstage.

  “I’ll get him from behind!” hissed a teacher.

  The boy darted back on and proclaimed solemnly, “I’ll get his behind!”

  A wave of laughter rolled through the square, followed by generous applause.

  Narro faced the dragon and emptied a glass of water down her pants.

  “This will confuse the dragon!” she shouted.

  The dragon—all three of her—spun in panic.

  “This will keep you dragg’n!” Reralt cried, tugging at one of the dragon’s wings.

  The wing promptly walked offstage and, somehow, caught fire.

  Another child hurled the plush toy at the dragon. It landed nowhere near her. She looked at a teacher, who mimed an attacking motion. The dragon nodded solemnly.

  “Oh no, this beast is so viral!” the dragon screamed.

  “Feral!” the teacher yelled.

  “Barrel?” the child guessed.

  The teacher gave her a thumbs-up.

  Reralt shoved the dragon down and took a victory lap under a standing ovation.

  ***

  “Stop!” someone bellowed from the back. “This is highly inaccurate!”

  The voice rolled over the square like thunder—deep, commanding, unmistakable. Every head turned.

  Reralt—the Reralt of Givia—stepped forward.

  His biceps gleamed with a fresh coat of oil. His hair was immaculate, perfectly in place despite the evening breeze. With each stride he paused, turning just enough to make sure everyone saw him.

  He reached the stage, planted one boot on it, and rested a hand on his thigh, flexing with solemn purpose. The children stared up in reverent horror. One of the torch-bearers fainted, dropping his torch and starting a very real fire.

  “I am fairly certain,” Reralt announced, voice full of wounded pride, “that the bard soiled himself before the fight.”

  On stage, the girl playing Narro suddenly shared a familiar scent.

  The crowd cheered anyway.

  18:00 UK time.

  Things are about to get wilder than ever.