The immortal keeps cutting. The giant hangs above. Then — something falls. Not a bird. Not debris. Something large. Fast. Burning through the mist like a green comet. "Move!" Don Juan shouts. I throw myself sideways. The ground shakes as it hits — hard, heavy, close enough to feel the impact in my teeth. Dust. Steam. A crater in the stone. I stay low, waiting for the second impact. Nothing comes. I look up. A dragon. Small — small for a dragon. Green scales, thin wings folded awkwardly against its body. Its tail twitches. One eye opens. Blinks. It tries to stand. Falls again. Then it lifts one small claw and rubs the side of its head. Slowly. Carefully. Like a child who just fell off a swing. Smoke curls from its nostrils. It snorts — a small, indignant sound, like a kitten that just landed on its feet wrong and is pretending it meant to do that. "Great," Don Juan mutters. "A falling lizard from the sky. Small. Fancy that. And it hisses like a kettle." "It's green," I say. "Probably poisonous." "Probably. Even if it's small. Maybe it fell from somewhere. Maybe its nest is nearby." "Who in their right mind would live here?" "We've already seen a snake woman, a madman who cuts himself, and a metal leg in the sky. Why not a flying lizard too? I wouldn't be surprised if it starts talking. Or melts us." The dragonling looks at me. Its eye is bright, confused, almost scared. It rubs its head again. Smoke curls from its nostrils. "He's not looking at you," Don Juan says. "He's looking at your chest." I look down. The medallion. "He smells it," I say. "Or you. Or what's inside you." The dragonling takes a step toward me. Then another. It doesn't hiss. It doesn't flare. It just watches. "He was looking for you," Don Juan says. "Or for what you carry." "Maybe he's part of it. The ritual. The symbols. The dragon crest." "Maybe. Or maybe it's just fate. Or irony. You wanted to understand yourself — and now a dragon falls out of the sky because it smelled your necklace." The dragonling sits. Doesn't move.Just watches.