Sam’s eyes were closed as he lifted up a claw. Cool, moist air filtered in from the creche cave’s yawning exit to his left. His snout twitched at the bouquet of smells that assaulted him. He could almost imagine the wet foliage and flower fields that spawned the exotic scents, but like most kobolds, Samazzar had never left the comforting embrace of the mountains.

To him the smells were little an abstraction. The Crone’s books mentioned the common plants and animals that existed outside the tribe’s caves, but beyond illustration, he’d never had an actual chance to look at them. Still, his imagination ran wild as he imagined sprinting through the forests, their leaves forming a tunnel roof above him to keep Sam safe from the flying predators that patrolled the foothills.

After all of his time cooped up in the caves, the open fields sang to him. It’s not that he disliked creeping from tunnel to tunnel, it was all Samazzar knew and he tried to make the best of it. But every time he closed his eyes, Sam couldn’t help but envision spreading his wings, letting the wind rush past him as he swooped through the air toward some imaginary prey.

“Focus little dragon,” Crone Tazzaera’s voice crackled like tinder. She’d been waking up later, usually as the result of her violent coughing fits.

Sam was worried about her, but at the same time, he didn’t know what to do. He had considered making a dangerous journey out into the mountains to look for a way to improve her bloodline. Some of the tribe’s warriors whispered stories about the clans of primitive lizardmen that populated the mountain around their caves.

The monsters in question were Saurians, Samazzar was sure of it. Everything about the scouts' descriptions lined up, from their size and coloration to the quasi magical bloodline abilities demonstrated by their larger specimens.

The good news was that Saurians had a draconic bloodline. The bad news was that they were intelligent and worked in packs. Not very intelligent, but they were much bigger, stronger, and prone to bloodline abilities than kobolds. That made hunting them a more dangerous proposition than simply leaving out some tainted meat.

“Quit daydreaming Samazzar.” He flinched as Tazzaera’s cane thwapped into the rocks beside him. “You need to focus your attention on the heat in your claws. Concentrate on it until your perception narrows and you can’t feel anything else.”

He did as she commanded, scrunching the scales on his forehead tight as he excluded everything from his magical vision but the outstretched claw. It glowed orange against the dull yellow ambient heat that followed the wind into the creche cave.

“Good,” the Crone continued with a grunt. “Now take a thread of that heat and pull it from your body. Wad it up into a ball and prevent any of it from escaping.”

Sam nodded silently, ignoring the chill that entered his palm as he robbed its warmth. In front of him, an orangeish yellow sphere began to take shape. His tail twitched with exertion as Samazzar wrapped his will around the ball. Just like a high pressure area, the heat wanted to expand into its cooler surroundings, and it took a good deal of his mental energy to keep the unruly mystery in line.

“Now for the final steps. Amplify the heat, and once it becomes too much to bear, throw it away with your mind. It should maintain its shape long enough for you to strike a target if you manage the mystery right,” Crone Tazzaera finished before breaking out into another round of coughing that wracked her frail body.

He squashed the part of his awareness that worried about the Crone. That was a problem for another day. Instead he pushed his focus into the ball of heat. The fourth level of the mysteries allowed him to amplify their effect, stoking and building the heat until it transformed from a tiny orange ball to a writhing white one.

Heat bathed him, and Sam’s mouth fell open as he instinctively started panting in response to the boiling ball of energy floating in front of him. Finally, he reached out with his mind and took hold of the sphere and threw it out of the cave.

His magical sight tracked the glob of energy as it spun away, gradually losing its original form. It sped into a pile of wet leaves, drying them out almost immediately and-

Sam grinned as he suddenly began to sense embers. A flick of his wrist brought a wave of good air that he mixed with the smoldering leaves. He pushed with his mind, amplifying the remaining heat from his previous magic, and a second later they burst into a small and cheerful flame.

“Hold still,” Tazzaera’s voice froze Sam. “You’re almost there, little dragon.”

The fire in front of him folded in on itself, pulled by some invisible force until it compressed down to a pinpoint, lifting off of the ground and floating toward him.

Sam’s breath caught in his throat. For the first time he was looking at magic, truly advanced magic, through his own supernatural sight. The fire bobbed through the air, cradled in the invisible claws of Tazzaera’s will.

“Open your mouth little dragon,” she rasped out. “You’re ready for a baptism into the mystery of fire. Just remember, heat is fire’s teeth and claws. You’ve already mastered them. With a little effort, this won’t even hurt.”

“What won’t h-” Sam choked to a halt, eyes shooting open as the flames darted into his open mouth.

For a moment, the fire licked at the roof of his mouth, burning Samazzar as his eyes widened. Then he clamped down with his mind,bending the heat back in on itself until he couldn’t feel anything. Only with the help of his magical vision could Sam even sense the orb of flame glowing in his mouth.

An ear twitched as a whine wrenched itself from his throat. Samazzar shuffled uncomfortably, trying to ignore the pain from the roof of his mouth as he turned to look plaintively at Crone Tazzaera.

“Don’t flash those eyes at me, little dragon,” she chuckled. “You’re not a pup anymore and you’re certainly not Lellassa. Trying to look cute won’t get you anywhere.”

Sam’s tail thwapped nervously against the ground as he cocked his head to the side, ears flicking backwards.

“Oh don’t you worry.” She waved a claw at him, clicking her tongue dismissively. “I’m trying to help out. I could tell from your little stunt with the leaves that you’ve learned enough to advance to the second level with the mystery of fire.”

“Honestly little dragon,” Tazzaera continued while he squirmed uncomfortably. “I’m not sure whether I’ve forgotten how easy the early levels of a mystery are to learn or if you’re just a genius. It took me months and months to raise a level, even when I was your age.”

“Heh,” she snorted. “It’s not like I’ve been studying every day since, but it’s been at least seven years since I last attained a level in the mysteries. It’s almost a shame you were born a kobold Samazzar. You have too much potential to let yourself stay trapped in these drafty tunnels.”

“Promise me Sam.” The Crone’s voice took on a more somber note. “Once I pass, don’t let yourself get ensnared by the tribe. Their petty machinations and politics, those are just a stumbling block for someone with your awareness and drive.”

Samazzar coughed, eyes watering as he struggled to keep the heat contained in his mouth. His focus blurred and ebbed, occasionally letting a strobe of intense warmth escape the magical containment and assault the back of his throat.

He tried to redouble his efforts to contain the fire, but Sam could tell that he was at his limit. It was like being a pup all over again, clinging to a cave wall as he came to the realization that no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t let go of the rock to find another hold.

Luckily, he only ended that afternoon covered in dirt and minor bruises, a testament to his small size. What he did learn was that willpower and determination could only take him so far. Without proper rest, nutrition and muscles, at some point, simply wanting something more than another kobold wouldn’t cut it.

“You’re done.” He almost flinched as Crone Tazzaera’s claw touched down on his bare shoulder. “Cut off the flow of good air to the flames and they’ll die on their own. You’ve held onto the flame long enough to trigger the baptism the second they go out.”

Gratefully, Sam nodded at her. Reaching deep inside himself to find a second wind. Samazzar’s vision blurred as he wrenched the good air away from the ball of flame, barely able to keep his focus on containing the heat while he guided the good air past it and into his throat.

The fire ebbed. Over a handful of long, painful seconds it grew dim before guttering out entirely.

Sam collapsed to the ground, smoke flowing from his nostrils and a million thoughts and ideas about the true nature of fire racing through his head. Great convulsive coughs wracked his body as Samazzar’s magic lost hold on the clouds of soot and bad air that poured from the guttering embers.

“There you are my boy.” Crone Tazzaera patted his back gently. “Let it all out.”

“I could feel you lagging near the end there,” she continued softly. “You shouldn’t worry about it. You haven’t learned any proper magic yet, so it really hasn’t come up, but your willpower is like any other muscle. It grows as you flex it. Not a whole lot, but a little bit of work with the mysteries each day will do wonders to improve your stamina.”

“After all,” Tazzaera chuckled, “we can’t have you running out of stamina in the middle of some casting. It wouldn’t do for either of our reputations if you simply collapsed heaving and spent a minute into your first duel with a hostile magic user. At the very minimum, we don’t want you to come off as an overexcited pup on his first date.”

“But don’t you always complain about the pups?” Sam choked out between coughs, finally righting himself enough to sit up and wipe the tears from his eyes. “Almost every time I train with you, you bring up how energetic they are and how hard it is to get them to calm down enough to go back to bed. It doesn’t make sense.”

“Come now Sam,” she shook her head, a smile on her muzzle. “You know exactly what I’m-”

Tazzaera paused, grin fading as she frowned down at Samazzar.

“You don’t, do you?” She asked, shaking her head. “Takkla hasn’t told you anything about the birds and the bees, has she?”

“I am aware that bees are insects like the cave crawlers and coal moths,” Samazzar answered, brow furrowed as he wracked his memory. “Birds are dangerous. Although the smaller ones are juicy and delicious, larger birds can swoop down and carry off unwary kobolds. That’s why we generally avoid the prairies when we go scrounging for food. There isn’t enough tree or rock cover to hide us from hawks and storm crows.”

“Never mind.” Tazzaera replied with a bone-deep sigh. “I don’t know what I was expecting, but now certainly isn’t the time for it.”

“Now pick yourself up off the floor little dragon.” The crone turned and began hobbling away, her stick clicking against the stone floor of the cave. “I would offer you a claw, but I’m old and feeble and, well- you’re big spry lunk. You don’t need any help.”

Sam heaved himself off of the floor, wobbling for a second before he jogged after Tazzaera, catching up with the shuffling older kobold in a matter of seconds.

“Wow,” he remarked cheerfully, reaching out with his aching mind to observe the cave’s fire. His magical senses were assaulted with a riot of vague feelings. From the temperature of the fire over the last couple of hours as well to where the fuel for the blaze had been gathered, the bonfire’s history bubbled to the surface like a hazy and half-forgotten memory.

“There’s so much more information at the second level of a major mystery,” Sam mumbled to himself, wonder tinging his voice.

“Of course.” Tazzaera’s head bobbed in a quick nod as she continued toward the side cave she had claimed for her bedroom/laboratory hybrid. “The jump in utility between a minor and major mystery is huge. I’ve been told that there is a much smaller bump in power between a base, advanced, and noble mystery, but in a tight contest, tiny differences can matter.”

“I’ve seen reference but no real explanation of what base, advanced, and noble mean,” Samazzar responded inquisitively. “It sounds like they’re different classifications of mysteries, but-”

“That they are little dragon,” Crone Tazzaera replied. “The major mysteries are classified by how many minor mysteries you need to learn to completion before you can actually begin earning levels in the major mystery. Base mysteries only need one, advanced mysteries require a second, and as you are well aware, noble mysteries involve three.”

“Only a couple people know about royal and supreme mysteries,” she finished, pausing outside the entrance to her cave to lean a shoulder on the rough, rock wall. “Honestly, I only know that ‘life’ is a royal mystery. Beyond that, even their identities are an enigma to most practitioners.”

Samazzar nodded thoughtfully, mind abuzz. It made sense that fire wasn’t as complex as life, but at the same time he couldn’t help but wonder what other secrets were out there. If life were only a royal mystery, what would even qualify as supreme? Would it even be something that a being like him could begin to comprehend.

“How do I raise my understanding of fire to level three?” He asked with a shake of his head to clear his spinning thoughts. “Also do you have any advice on the minor mysteries of pressure and flow? Ever since I came back from the depths we’ve focused on perfecting my knowledge of fire. It feels like the two of them have fallen by the wayside.”

“Of course they have, boy,” Tazzaera rasped. “I don’t know the first thing about those mysteries. You’ll be on your own there.”

“As for fire?” She asked with a shrug. “Like any mystery, the first two levels are fairly straightforward. Your gains from here on out are where things will start to become truly dangerous, but you’ve read over my alchemical texts enough to have an idea of the compounds you should be brewing to help your transition.”

“I think the exercise you learned today is a good starting point.” Tazzaera jerked her head toward the mouth of the cave. “Not only are heat blasts one of the most common attacks used by initiates, the actual act of combining heat, fuel and good air together will help you immeasurably as you try and deepen your understanding of the mystery.”

“At the same time, you should make sure to practice the skill you learned during your baptism.” The Crone pushed herself off of the wall, taking a hesitant step toward her chambers. “Once you can protect yourself from the flames, you’ll be able to get that much closer to observe it and meditate on its secrets. Remember, heat from fire and fire from heat.”

“But Tazzaera,” Sam began, only to halt himself as the older kobold began coughing again.

He stood on, gazing helplessly as Crone Tazzaera’s frail body shook and shuddered. Quietly he reached out with a claw, grasping her shoulder and steadying the old woman as her body heaved violently.

She doubled over, clapping a claw to her snout as another wave of wracking coughs consumed her. Her cane fell to the cavern floor, drawing a grunt from Sam as her weight shifted onto his claw.

Then he stood there for almost a minute, supporting her and wishing there was something more he could do. Still, despite all of his knowledge and physical gains, no matter how much he wracked his memory looking for a solution, Samazzar’s thoughts came up blank.

Finally, the shaking coughs came to a close. Without comment, Sam reached down and picked the crone’s cane up, handing it to her. Gratefully, she shot him a weak smile.

“As I said.” She opened the claw that had been over his mouth, displaying her blood-covered palm. “I think I’ve helped you as much as I could in your growth. It’ll be self-study from here on out little dragon.”

“But-” He began, stopping himself and biting his lower lip. Crone Tazzaera simply cocked her head, gazing maternally at him.

“Not now Samazzar,” she sighed. “Whenever I have one of my spells, it takes a lot out of me. We can argue later, but right now I think all I can manage is to drink some tea and rest.”

An hour or so later, after making Crone Tazzaera her tea and helping the old woman drink, Sam found himself patrolling the tunnels of the tribe’s caves restlessly. He knew that it would be more productive to spend his time on studying the mysteries or mastering the bloodline abilities he had earned in the deep tunnels, but after putting the Crone to bed, he just couldn’t focus.

A quiet jingle halted his steps.

Sam’s head whipped up, taking in the heat signature of a female and two larger male kobolds as they stepped out of a shadowy side cavern. His stomach sank as Lellassa’s polished and painted form made her way into the light, the bells adorning her ribboned tail clinking as her hips swayed.

Both of her companions remained in the alcove. Samazzar knew they were there and Lellassa knew that he knew, but she didn’t say or do anything to indicate their presence, content to let them linger as an unspoken threat.

“Hello little dragon,” Lellassa’s voice came out as a dangerous purr. “We haven’t had a chance to talk since you… decided to grow. That’s a shame. I’m sure that the two of us have plenty to talk about.”