In history it has had many names, Plague, Black Death, Razor Wing, Death Mist. But it wasn’t an entity that cared for names.

In history it is said that bad luck followed its existence. But the creature was one that didn’t believe in luck.

In history, the creature had always been alone. Of course the rare change would happen. Some foolish people might pray to it as a god or demon, or it may take the occasional species under its wing. But such a thing was ancient history now. It had settled once more into its lonely existence.

That is until an alarming word passed by its ear.

The creature wanted to leave the issue for the humans to deal with. But they seem to have failed. It seems the creature had no choice but to investigate for itself.

It wanted to see that gall of a human that dared call itself the King of the Goblins. The creature wanted to see who dared take one of it’s titles.

Seated at the outdoor table Philip, the man, and Gunt were sitting in slight discomfort.

The earlier night was obviously reported to Philip. So the man, not seeing anything wrong with it, offered to introduce the king to the goblins.

The man was supposed to act as a translator but instead Philip merely stared at him blankly.

"I suppose I shouldn’t be too surprised." Philip sighs. "I did wonder how the garden grew so quickly. The builders were always whispering to each other about goblins but I didn’t know it was true."

"Ah well… It all sort of happened. I never got a chance to mention it."

Philip snorts, thinking of the many various times the man could have mentioned it. "Well in any case. I want you to tell him thank you. All of the guards we left here were very grateful. Also I personally wish to thank him, not only for protecting you but also for not attacking our city despite our encroaching on their land."

Relaying the words for Philip, Gunt emits various sounds which the man then translates for Philip.

"He say’s 'its ok'."

Philip was slightly dumbfounded but shrugged it off. "Anyways, we need to determine the culprit in all this. Most of the Dark guild members have been questions but none of them know anymore than what was written on the bounty. We also probed the Mill association and they still don’t have a clue of who you are. And most of them are more in favor of bringing you into the guild, not harming you."

"So we are back to square one." The man says scratching at his head. "How about you Gunt? Any idea who might dislike me?"

"The… The old master…" Gunt blankly replies staring off into space with a slack jaw.

"Oh? That former Goblin King? Didn’t you say they died…" The man replies not attracting the Goblins attention at all. "Oh hey? Whats going on? You look like you’ve seen a ghost."

Without a word of reply Gunt extends a finger in the distant hesitantly.

Philip and the man glance in the direction and see what has the goblin so entranced.

Instantly the guards in the area launch into formation around the group of leaders. But really what could they do against such a massive enemy.

Towering higher than Aelwick’s Capital wall, an iridescent purple dragon flapped its spine covered wings.

Landing on the road and crushing its way towards the group the dragon’s mere steps caused the earth to shake.

The guards, and even the goblins hidden in the shadows instantly lost their will to fight. Immense fear had instead spread throughout their bodies. Shots of intense pain followed the fear forcing them to crumble to the ground.

None of the guards, elite as they may be could even turn a head towards the deadly beast before them.

Not just the guards but even Philip, Gunt and the man felt an immeasurable pain at the sight of the beast.

"Who… is one that calls self… King of Goblins?" The dragon crackled from its steaming lungs.

The words left burning scars in every ear it passed through. If the people could they would immediately give up the identity, but even moving seemed impossible under this imense weight.

"It’s me. Although I didn’t ever call myself it. They were the ones who started calling me it." The man replies.

"Oh?" The dragon licks in reply. "You can move? Strange. But I need no excuse or scapegoating. If it is you then…"

"Ah, don’t misunderstand. I don’t mean to escape the blame at all nor shed it. I’m simply explaining that the duty was thrust upon me." The man explains without a hint of worry. "I believe I understand the situation roughly. You are the former Goblin Master correct? The one who first brought the goblins into alliance with each other."

"Mhm." The dragon growls in reply without taking eyes of the man.

"I think we share a feeling then." The man says with a grin as if speaking with an old friend. "From what I have heard you were a good leader, who helped them in a time of great need. In my case, the need may not have been as great but I did do my best to help them."

"They…" The dragon shifts its slit eyes towards the Gunt seated beside the man. "You were in trouble?"

The dragon, shifting to Goblin tongue asks the question with a hint of sorrow.

"You two talk a bit. I’m going to make some lunch."

Without waiting for a reply the man escapes towards the stove and began grilling slice after slice of thickly cut meat.

The talk between Gunt and the Dragon was gibberish to Philip but he had an odd feeling that it seemed somewhat awkward. Both Gunt and the Dragon seem hesitant in their words.

Several times the dragon scowled as Gunt spoke. Philip was sure each time he would be consumed by a jet of fire but it never happened. Instead the dragon looked somewhat sorrowful.

Eventually the man returned with several plates full of meat. Two he set down by the dragon while the rest were given to Philip and Gunt.

Could they really eat in a situation like this?

Even the dragon asked itself that question amongst others.

The guards, who were still paralyzed in fear and pain found themselves growing hungry from the delicious scent, but they dare not even make a move.

Noticing the tense environment the dragon grimaced before swallowing up the meat quickly and taking a final glance at the man.

"You… What is your name? Why do you not fear me?"

"Name…?" The man says with a shrug. "Don’t have one. As for the second question… well. Its kind of embarrassing. And maybe a little rude."

"Hmm?" The dragon tilts its spinney head, nearly impaling a fallen guard.

"You see, I was super intimidated at first. Seriously. It was bone-chilling." The man explains recalling the feeling of mixed pain and fear. "But then I imagined you were a cute girl talking to me. Suddenly the fear was replaced by nervousness. And the pain went away. That pain came from fear didn't it? It seems like a troublesome power."

Its impossible to tell based on the physiology of dragons but Philip was almost sure he saw that dragon blush before turning to fly away.

"Ah! Wait... What is your name?" The man asks, stepping after the rapidly leaving dragon.

"Mm?" The dragon murmurs tilting its head over to glance at the man. "Like you, I have none. I’ve been called countless terrible names, though luckily none have ever stuck."

"Death… Death's mist." A guard lightly murmurs remembering a tale he was told by his grandmother.

"Misty then." The man says with a smile. "It was nice to meet you."

"Wha…" The dragon growls in shocked confusion. "You… Fine. Then your name shall be Silva."

The man grew a wide smile at the dragons words. "Thank you! I’ll cherish it."

Thus the man Silva, was named by the dragon Misty. And vice versa.

The act of giving a name to a beast is not something to be taken lightly. A named beast will grow abilities far greater than those of an unnamed beast. But of course Silva wasn’t thinking about that at the time. He was simply happy to have made a new friend. And this one had even given him such a precious gift. Not even Philip or the goblins had given him something as special as a name.

To say Silva was extremely happy would be an understatement.