The dry evening wind carried dust and silence as Thaldrik, the wandering adventurer, reached the mouth of the cave. He no longer knew how many years he had roamed the world. His grizzled beard and the scars upon his arms stood as testaments to battles fought against men and beasts, of journeys across endless deserts and through cities that now existed only as ruins.
The cave seemed mundane—merely a dark fissure in the stone hillside. But something was calling to him. It wasn't a thirst for gold or glory. It was an instinct, almost as if someone had guided him there.
As he entered, the gloom was gradually replaced by a soft radiance—not from torches, but from walls that pulsed with an internal glow, as if the rock itself were breathing. The deeper he ventured, the more he realized that the geometry of the space did not obey known laws. The floor elongated, the ceiling receded, and the corridors expanded until, suddenly, the space opened up before him.
Thaldrik stopped.
Before his eyes stretched an entire world hidden within the cave. Verdant forests rose toward bluish skies that had no right to exist there. Rivers meandered until they merged into a crystalline lake that reflected distant mountains shrouded in golden mist. The air was light, fragrant, and carried a sense of calm he had never before experienced.
He pressed a hand to his chest and realized:
His wounds had vanished. The constant ache in his bones, the fruit of years of combat, was simply gone. Every breath seemed to fill him with a long-forgotten vitality.
Advancing through the trees, guided by that majestic lake, Thaldrik came to a sudden halt.
Atop a small mound, overlooking the lake and the mountains, sat something that felt out of place in such a natural setting: an ancient-looking sofa, carved from dark wood and upholstered in a fabric that seemed made of hand-woven clouds. Upon it lay a man.
But he was not just any man.
Even in sleep, his presence made the air vibrate. His skin radiated a subtle glow, like embers buried beneath ash. His hair, long and silvery, was reminiscent of a storm's mane. And behind him, like shadows folded into reality, Thaldrik caught a glimpse of what appeared to be colossal wings, vanishing into the very dimension of space, as if they were too large for that world.
The adventurer's heart raced. The myths whispered in taverns, the songs of bards, the forgotten scrolls... everything pointed to this figure.
Thaldrik fell to his knees, trembling.
"Finally... I have found you" he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.
He bowed his head in respect and remained there, motionless, waiting. He expected a reaction: a roar that would shatter heaven and earth, or at the very least, a gaze that would sear his soul with the weight of eternity.
But the man did not move.
There was not even a sigh.
The silence of the place intensified. The birdsong ceased. Even the wind seemed to stop, as if the entire world were waiting alongside Thaldrik.
And then, the adventurer realized something terrible.
This was not merely the dwelling of the Dragon King.
This entire world was the Dragon King's dream, sustained by his eternal slumber.
If he woke, perhaps this paradise would vanish.
If he never awakened... what would become of the world outside?
On his knees, Thaldrik wrestled with doubt: should he attempt to wake him, risking the unmaking of everything? Or remain there, waiting until the legendary sovereign chose, in his own time, to open his eyes?
The lake reflected the sky, serene and impenetrable, as if guarding the answer.
The adventurer—whose name was Thaldrik von Zurlon III, though nobody could ever pronounce it right, so he preferred just "Thaldrik"—remained kneeling before the Dragon King for... well, he didn't know how long. It could have been minutes, hours, or three seasons of an anime.
The silence was so profound that Thaldrik began to hear his own thoughts, which was never a good idea.
"So this is it? I crossed deserts, fought ogres that smelled like moldy cheese, spent all my coins on health potions (that didn't even work), and the great Dragon King is... what, taking an epic nap?"
He adjusted his posture on the ground, discreetly scratched his numb knee, and grimaced.
"Is this one of those divine siestas that last for millennia? Because if it is, I really should've brought a folding stool."
That's when Thaldrik remembered.
The real, glorious, absurd, and completely improbable reason for his journey:
He was there because he had received—believe it or not—*an invitation to the Dragon King's VIP Club.
He hadn't believed it himself at first. The message appeared out of nowhere, written in flaming letters on the surface of the soup he was eating in a cheap tavern. The note read:
> "Congratulations! You have been selected to become a VIP Member of the Dragon King's Club! Benefits include:
> – Creation of your own private universe;
> – Unlimited energy (never rely on coffee again);
> – Immortality with extended warranty;
> – Absolute control of time and space;
> – Restoration of destroyed realities;
> – Resurrection of the dead (ideal for family reunions);
> – And much more!"
Thaldrik had spat half his soup into the face of a nearby merchant, then stared at the invitation with wide eyes.
Sure, at first, he thought it was a prank. Who sends a registration for the most powerful cosmic club in the multiverse in a thin onion soup?
But he believed. He believed enough to cross the world, following vague clues and poorly translated prophecies, until he arrived here: kneeling before the legendary Dragon King, who slept on a celestial sofa as if it were a Sunday afternoon.
Thaldrik lifted his head, sweat trickling down his temple.
"Your Majesty... uh... Draconic Excellence... Lord of the Heavens and the Cosmic Grills..." his voice cracked. "I came here... because... I have... the invitation!"
He raised his hand, pulling a crumpled, sauce-stained sheet from his pocket. The flaming letters had already faded, but you could still read: "VIP – valid until the end of time (except for cosmic holidays)."
And there he stayed, holding the ticket with pride, waiting for the Dragon King to open his eyes, rise in all his majesty, and say:
"Welcome to the Club, Thaldrik von Zurlon III!"
But no.
The Dragon King continued to snore.
A light snore, yet so imposing it seemed to shake the distant mountain ranges.
Thaldrik sighed.
"Are you serious? I came all this way for this?" he whispered. "If he doesn't wake up soon, I'm going to end up being the first VIP member who was never officially accepted."
He looked at the sofa. He looked at the lake. Then, at the ticket.
And, for a moment, he wondered:
"What if... I already have the powers? Did the invitation activate automatically when I walked in here?"
The snoring that seemed to shake mountains ceased.
Thaldrik froze, the ticket still trembling in his hand.
The air shifted. The lake in the distance stopped rippling, the trees fell silent, and even the birds in flight became motionless in the sky, as if reality itself were holding its breath.
Then, slowly, the Dragon King's eyes opened.
They were immense, deep as starry abysses, each blink releasing golden sparks that danced in the air.
A voice—grave, ancient, and heavy as entire eons—resonated, not just through the space, but within Thaldrik's very mind:
— Who... dares... disturb... my slumber?
Thaldrik swallowed hard. His eyes gleamed with excitement, and with an almost clumsy leap, he sprang to his feet, trying to adopt the posture of a legendary hero. Spine straight, chin up, holding the ticket high like a sacred relic.
— Me! — he said, his voice cracking at first before regaining its firmness. — I am Thaldrik von Zurlon III! He who has crossed burning deserts, faced monsters with breath worse than a drunken necromancer, and survived shady taverns and even shadier inns!
The Dragon King merely blinked.
Thaldrik took advantage of the pause to puff out his chest and continue, a nearly childlike glint in his eyes:
— I came here... because I received... an invitation!
He thrust the crumpled ticket into the air as if it were a mythical sword.
— The VIP Invitation to the Dragon King's Club!
The words echoed, and in that same instant, the sky above flashed with golden lightning, as if reality were reacting to the audacity of such a declaration.
The Dragon King remained motionless for a moment. Then, his titanic eyebrows arched slowly. His voice rumbled, thick with cosmic confusion:
— ...Club... of what?
Thaldrik blinked, paralyzed for a second, then smiled even wider, nearly euphoric.
— The Dragon King's Club, Your Majesty! The one that grants its members unlimited power! Creating universes, controlling time, resurrecting the dead, immortality—you know, the basics! — He gestured with his hands as if it were obvious, the ticket nearly tearing from how hard he was waving it.
The dragon looked at him in silence.
The silence wasn't just silence. It was the kind of pause that made galaxies move in slow motion and caused the seas to stop crashing against their shores.
Finally, the Dragon King took a deep breath—the air rushing in like thunder, making Thaldrik lose his balance.
And he spoke:
— I... never created... a club.
Thaldrik froze, eyes wide, his smile locked in place like someone who had just realized they might have traveled the entire world for the sake of a cosmic marketing fraud.
He looked at the ticket, then at the Dragon King, then at the ticket again.
He swallowed hard.
— ...So... — he whispered, his voice trembling. — I crossed the planet... just to fall for an interdimensional marketing scam?