The Burning Sky's ancient voice wove through the afternoon air like smoke from a sacred fire, carrying the children into a world that existed before memory, before time, before the forests and rivers and mountains had learned their names.
"Long ago," he began, "before the beasts of the lowlands walked the earth, before the first village was built, before the sun and moon learned to take turns in the sky, there was only the sky. Endless. Empty. Waiting."
Zhen leaned forward, her purple eyes wide. Tao Zi crept closer, his shyness forgotten. Even Yòu Lín stopped bouncing, his eyes fixed on the ancient dragon's face.
"And in that sky," the Burning Sky continued, "there were the First Ones. The dragons who were born from the stars themselves. They did not eat or sleep or breathe like we do. They simply... existed. And in their existence, they shaped the world."
He paused, letting the image take hold. The children were silent, their breaths held captive.
