In the heart of the kingdom, where the air smelled like warm cinnamon and the wind hummed through the trees like a lullaby, stood the grand Royal Castle. Its stone walls were rough as a dragon’s scales, and its towers stretched so high they tickled the clouds. Owen lived there, a boy with hair the color of autumn leaves and a habit of tripping over his own shoelaces—flop!—at least three times a day.

One morning, as the castle kitchen filled with the buttery scent of freshly baked scones, Owen heard a sound. Not the usual clink-clank of pots or the snap-crackle of the fireplace, but a soft, wobbly wheeee, like a teapot about to sing. It came from the tallest tower, the one everyone avoided because its stairs creaked like a grumpy old man’s knees.

"That’s odd," Owen muttered, his fingers twitching. He loved odd things. The tower’s door was covered in cobwebs sticky as melted marshmallows, and the first step groaned under his foot—eeeeek!. Up he went, his heart beating like a drum in a parade. Halfway up, he sneezed—ah-CHOO!—and sent a cloud of dust swirling like a tiny storm. The wheeee grew louder, now mixed with a tiny sniff-sniff.

At the top, Owen found a round room with walls painted the color of stormy skies. In the middle sat a tiny, trembling dragon, no bigger than a teacup. Its scales shimmered like wet pebbles, and it clutched a golden key in its claws. The dragon’s eyes were wide as saucers, and its tail curled around its tiny toes. "H-hello?" Owen said, his voice squeaking like a mouse.

The dragon let out a squeak of its own. "I-I’m lost! The wind blew me here, and now I can’t find my way home!" Its voice was as thin as a whisper, and its wings drooped like wilted lettuce. Owen’s stomach twisted. He knew how it felt to be lost—once, he’d wandered into the castle’s laundry room and ended up wearing a knight’s sock as a hat for an entire afternoon. Oops.

But asking for help? That was tricky. The castle’s grown-ups were always busy—King Harold was counting his gold coins (again), Queen Matilda was organizing her collection of spoons (she had 4,782), and the royal chef was shouting at a loaf of bread that wouldn’t rise. Owen bit his lip. What if they laugh? He took a deep breath, the air smelling like old parchment and lemon polish. "I-I need to tell someone about this," he said to the dragon. "Will you come with me?"

The dragon nodded, its tiny horns bobbing. Together, they tiptoed down the stairs—creak, creak, creak—and into the grand hall. King Harold was mid-count, his fingers flying over the coins like a pianist. "Ninety-nine, one hundred—" He looked up. "Owen! What are you doing here? And why is there a dragon on your shoulder?"

Owen’s face burned hotter than a freshly baked pie. "Uh… this is, um, Spark. He’s lost. The wind blew him here, and he can’t find his family." His words tumbled out like marbles from a bag. Clatter, clatter, clatter.

King Harold blinked. Then he burst out laughing, his belly shaking like a bowl of jelly. "Well, why didn’t you say so? We’ll send out the royal pigeons! They know every nook and cranny in the kingdom!" He clapped his hands, and in a flurry of feathers and coo-coos, the pigeons took flight, their wings rustling like crumpled paper. Spark perked up, his tail flicking with excitement.

Not five minutes later, a whoosh! filled the air as a gust of wind blew through the hall. In swooped a whole family of dragons, their scales glittering like jewels. The biggest one, with a roar as loud as a thunderclap, scooped Spark into her arms. "There you are, little one!" she boomed. Spark wriggled happily, his tiny wings flapping like a hummingbird’s.

As the dragons soared away, their laughter echoing like wind chimes, Owen grinned. The castle smelled like victory—sweet as honey and warm as a hug. King Harold ruffled his hair. "You did good, Owen. Asking for help isn’t easy, but it’s brave."

That night, as Owen lay in bed, the sheets as soft as a cloud, he heard a faint wheeee outside his window. He peeked out and saw Spark waving from the sky, his tiny claws holding a note that read: Thanks, friend! Owen waved back, his heart full. The stars twinkled like scattered sugar, and the castle’s walls felt a little less rough, a little more like home.

The end.