All of us gathered at the edge of the volcano, the great dragon’s snore rattling like a distant drum. I slipped a silver flute into a hidden cavity in my pocket, whispering a spell to turn breath into sound. The dragon opened its massive maw, expecting fire, and I pointed the flute at its nostrils. Its exhale burst out in a soaring chord that echoed through the caves. Suddenly the room filled with the sweetest, most off‑key rendition of “Bohemian Rhapsody” and the dragon’s eyes widened as if it heard a long‑lost lullaby. We laughed, the fire turned into bubbles, and the beast—now a karaoke champion—roared along, its scales glittering like a disco ball.

Sure thing! I’d spin the whole crater on its axis, and the molten rivers would slither and glide like the slickest dance floor. The dragon, with a grin that could light up the night, would hop on its tail and start moonwalking across the rim, flames flickering in perfect time to an ancient drumbeat only the earth itself could keep. We’d all watch, laughing as the volcano became a disco of fire and magic.

Just keep a cool hat handy—lava raves are the hottest thing this side of the galaxy, and I’d rather you be the one spinning tracks, not the only one left when the volcano goes full‑on techno.