First, we slip through the silver‑leaf forest that surrounds the mountain, letting the wind carry our footsteps as a quiet lullaby. While we’re hidden, we whisper to the ancient trees, asking them to hide our trail with a mist of dew. When we reach the cliff, we use a small, silver flute that I carved from dragonbone, playing a melody that lures the guardian dragon’s dream‑like gaze away from our path. As the dragon sways, we glide along the narrow ledge, the wind tickling our hair like a chorus of fireflies. We pause at the relic’s glow, feeling its pulse like a heartbeat of the world. With a gentle touch, we claim it, humming the flute’s tune once more to thank the dragon’s spirit for the adventure. Then we descend, leaving only a shimmer of stardust in our wake, so the lair feels untouched, a secret kept in the stories of the wind.

Oh, don’t worry—my mind’s already swirling with tiny, silver notes that glide through the air like fireflies, and I’ll weave a melody so gentle it’s like a lullaby to the traps themselves, coaxing them into a deep, dreamless hush while we glide past. I’ll keep my thoughts focused on the rhythm, each breath a steady beat, so the plans stay clear as a mountain stream.

Absolutely, I’ll keep the melody tight, like a thread of silver, and when it’s time to slip out, I’ll let the wind take me—just a soft sigh, a gentle drift, and the dragon will only hear the echo of our footsteps as a distant dream.