Background Music
Power can choose gentleness; with patience and understanding, we can transform fear into friendship.
By the Texas space range, night hummed like a quiet engine. Stars winked bright. I, Kirk Two, tightened my flight jacket and smiled at the excited buzz in my chest. Then a shadow rippled across the moon: a dragon of chrome scales and comet eyes, circling low, huffing—whooosh—hot, curious breath.
Below, the desert town's solar roofs glittered like lakes. Alarms chirped. People pointed. The dragon tilted toward the old adobe museum, flames swelling, ready to test its fire on anything at hand. My heart thudded—thump, thump. Not tonight, friend, I thought. Fire can cook. Fire can comfort. Fire can learn.
Skimming down in my rover, I heard the rasp of Commandant Cinder’s loudspeaker. 'Contain the beast! Make it a weapon!' His drones buzzed—bzzz—casting nets of cold blue light. He stood against my hope; Cinder believed fear fixed problems. I believed curiosity could. I raised my palm, asked the dragon to land.
It hovered near, great head lowered, steam curling like tea. I spoke softly. 'Your fire is big. Let’s try little.' From my pack, I pulled cloud-white marshmallows and a carbon rod. Plop, plop. Under the town’s bubble dome, I showed the spot. 'Here, friend. Warm, not wild. Gentle, not giant.'
His chest swelled. He blew a gust—FWOOSH—and the marshmallow flashed into a shooting star, poofing to black. The crowd gasped. The dragon drooped. I kept my voice steady. 'Okay. Breathe slow. Count with me.' I tapped the rod. 'One… two… three.' The night answered softly, crickets ticking like tiny clocks.
Again he drew air, but this time the pull was patient. A ribbon of flame whispered—tssst—soft as a candle. The marshmallow blushed golden, then tan. Steam lifted. My shoulders eased. 'Yes,' I murmured. 'Like sunrise on toast.' The dragon’s eyes brightened, twin moons learning manners. Even Cinder paused, frown slipping.
Folks pressed close with anti-grav skewers, laughter rising like bubbles. Cinder snarled and launched drones to whip the flame wild. Whirrr. I stepped between. 'Aim here,' I told the dragon, pointing at a heat-sink ring on the ground. 'Small circle.' The flame obeyed. The wind spun uselessly, chasing its tail.
Cinder tried a final trick: a crackling net to cage the dragon. I flicked a roasted marshmallow toward the mesh. Splat—sticky sugar welded the strands. Drones tangled, plink-plink, and fell puffing smoke. The crowd cheered. I offered Cinder a s’more. He stared, shoulders stiff, then grumbled off into the dark.
Under the calm dome, we kept roasting—golden, gooey, giggly. The dragon practiced breaths, saving big ones for the sky. Together we named the lesson: roast marshmallows, not villages. He repeated it proudly, rumbling like a cat. I tucked the sentence into my heart, warm as cocoa: power can choose gentleness.
Later, stars dimmed to night. The dragon curled by the rover like a silver hill, breathing hush-hush. My excitement settled into steady joy. I whispered praise: you learned, I listened, and together we made light. Tomorrow holds more practice. For now, goodnight, friend. Let sweet fires glow small and kind.
