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Chapter Text

Danny noticed the first flake of gold during a lesson with Frostbite.  The older ghost was teaching him how to use his ice powers more effectively, both in combat and outside of it.  They were working outside of the village, because most of the other yetis still didn’t want to be around while Danny was practicing, because of the freezing incident.  Incidents.  Just a few– Well, there were more than a few.  

Moving on.  

Today, Frostbite was focusing on fine control, using detailed ice sculptures.  That is, Frostbite was creating detailed sculptures as examples.  Danny was making the ice sculpture equivalent of stick figures.  

“You are doing excellently, Great One,” said Frostbite.  

“Uh huh,” said Danny, looking dubiously at his rough collection of geometric shapes.  His gaze slid sideways to where Frostbite’s latest sculpture, a life-sized image of Danny, stood.  “That’s nice of you to say, Frostbite.”

“Truly,” said Frostbite.  “Despite your, ah, difficulties at the beginning, you are progressing immensely."

Danny sighed, then lifted his hand to rub his eye.  He’d gotten an unusually sparkly bit of snow or dust stuck in his eyelashes.  Then he looked down at his hand and frowned.  “Frostbite?” he said.  “What’s this?”  He peeled the small flake off his glove and held it up between his fingers.  

Frostbite blinked, then leaned close.  “That’s… interesting.”  He poked at the gold, partially spearing it on his clawtip so he could bring it up to his eyes and examine it more closely.  

“Yeah, I mean, where did it even come from?” asked Danny.  “Is someone doing something at the forge today?  That’s pretty far away, though, so how did it get here?”

“Nothing planned, to my knowledge.  It may have been carried here on ectoplasmic currents from another Realm.”

“Really?  Isn’t that…”  Danny looked up into the sky.  It was a rare clear day, and there wasn’t another island in sight, overhead or otherwise.  “Kind of unlikely?” he finished. 

“Quite.  There is another possibility.  I would need to do some tests to determine if it was the case, however.”

“You don’t need to do that,” said Danny, quickly.  “It’s just a weird thing, and I was curious.”

“Yes, and curiosity ought to be rewarded.  Besides, if it is the case, it will be important for us to know for other reasons.”  He took a small cloth from a pouch inside his belt and folded it around the gold flake.  

“Huh, okay,” said Danny.  He rubbed his eye again, making doubly sure there was nothing left in his eyelashes.  “Um.  Are you going to tell me what the other possibility is?”  He didn’t mean to sound sarcastic, but he spent so much time being sarcastic that it just sort of happened.  

Luckily, Frostbite didn’t take offense and laughed.  “Yes, of course.  Forgive my mysteriousness, Great One.  Only, I am unsure if you have heard of the turning of the age.”

“I don’t think I have,” said Danny. 

“Hm,” said Frostbite.  He stroked his chin.  “It isn’t a concept you have in English.  Let me think for a moment.”

Danny bobbed up and down in the air, pulling his feet up so he could sit cross-legged.  

“A turning of the age is a shift in the overall character of the Realms, as caused by a change in ectoplasmic energy.  It tends to be accompanied by a change in color and what you might think of as aesthetic, with the color of the ectoplasm generally indicating the character and aesthetic.  For example, green ages tend to be more chaotic, naturalistic.  Meanwhile, red ages tend towards the demonic, blue ages tend towards the heavenly, and cyan ages towards the oceanic.”

“And where does that gold come into it?” asked Danny.  

“Why, this could be a fragment of shifted ectoplasm.”  Frostbite patted Danny on the back.  “Don’t look so worried, Great One.  While shifted ectoplasm has great transformative power, the transformations are slow, much like the turning of the age itself.”

Danny hadn’t been worried about that, but now he was.  “What do you mean, aesthetic?  Demonic?  Heavenly?”

“Never mind the red and blue,” said Frostbite.  “Although the age sometimes turns many times in quick succession, we don’t have any evidence that it is changing at all.  This could be a perfectly normal piece of gold.  But the aesthetic part…  You are aware that different groups throughout human history described the afterlife differently?  Elysium, Heaven, Hell, Purgatory, Valhalla, all the rest?”

“Kind of, sure,” said Danny.  

“The humans who described these different places were often looking into different ages,” said Frostbite.  “If the age changes, then our current aesthetic - all these small floating islands, the ruins and stairs, the doors, the vast stretches of green - would go away, replaced by the new.”

“Oh.  And what’s a gold age like?”

“Yellow ages tend to be more Earth-like, at least in terms of geography, weather and such,” said Frostbite.  “On occasion, ghosts might even lose the majority of their powers and live much as they did as humans.  Gold shares many of those qualities, but it has what you might call a twist.”

Danny frowned.  After all this time, he wasn’t enthusiastic about the idea of losing his powers.  Especially flight.  He loved flying.  “What’s the twist?”

“No two ages are exactly alike,” cautioned Frostbite.  “Although red ages can sometimes seem that way.  However, gold ages generally include large, mythical creatures, notably dragons.”

“What, like, just showing up?” asked Danny.  “Spontaneously?”  

“Ah, no,” said Frostbite.  “Ghosts become dragons.  After coming into contact with enough changed ectoplasm, ghosts themselves begin to change their aesthetic to better match the age.”

“Um,” said Danny, looking at the folded cloth with much more apprehension.  

“As I said, the transformation is not immediate.  It is not even guaranteed that all ghosts will change in such a way.  In one gold age I am aware of, ghosts were divided into the roles of dragons, knights, princelings, villagers, and sheep.”

“Sheep?”

“A general term for nonintelligent ghosts,” said Frostbite.  “Tasty ones,” he clarified a moment later.  

Danny decided to ignore that, and its implications, for the time being.  He’d ask later.  “But sometimes it is everyone?”

“Oh, yes.”

“What is that even like?” 

“Complicated,” said Frostbite after a moment.  “It isn’t only one’s physical form that changes, after all, and dragons, as you might imagine, are quite territorial and possessive, particularly over things they consider valuable, such as gold, jewels, eggs, princelings.  They’re worse than demons, in some respects.”

“Worse than demons?” asked Danny.  “Wait, do ghosts become demons in some of these things?”

“Well,” said Frostbite.  “Yes.  Of course.”

Chapter Text

“To be honest, and as much as it pains me to admit it,” said Frostbite, after Danny continued to question him and circled back to the present issue, “our tribe's record-keeping tends to suffer in gold ages.  Draconic territorial needs - or the needs of other large beasts that occasionally arise - force us to scatter.”

“So, you usually don't become knights or… princes…?”

“The more accepted term is princeling, I believe, to account for all genders.  And not to my knowledge, even when such things are a possibility.  Oh, we all maintain friendly relations, but certain activities require greater unity of purpose - or greater foresight - than is generally expressed at such times.”

Danny hummed in what he hoped was an understanding sort of way.  Frostbite sounded sort of embarrassed.  

“Generally, I would recommend you to the Kingdom of Mattingly.  They enjoy gold ages greatly in that Realm.  However, considering Prince Aragorn's proclivities, it would not surprise me if their records were as incomplete as our own, and they are unlikely to be objective when recounting the virtues and flaws of such ages.  I understand you are acquainted with the Master of Time?”

“Clockwork?  Yeah.”

“He will likely be the most objective raconteur, and one whose protection may be valuable, should this prove to be one of the more complex iterations of the age.”

Danny made a face at the idea of needing protection, but said, “You mean, if it's not just dragons?”

“Precisely.  I have no doubt you would hold your own as a dragon, or even as a knight, but it is possible you may be forced into a different archetype.  On the other hand,” Frostbite continued, “should that be the case, I, or others of the Far Frozen, would be more than pleased to welcome you.”

“Um,” said Danny, not entirely sure what that meant.  The Far Frozen was pretty welcoming to him already, weren’t they?  “Thanks?”

“Of course, Great One.”  He turned his gaze back to the ice sculptures.  “I believe that we have been distracted enough that little good will come of continuing.  Shall we return to the village for some cold chocolate?  I believe it may do you some good.”

.

“That’s really weird,” said Tucker.  “The Ghost Zone is really weird.  Or should we call it the Dragon Zone now?”

Sam made a face.  “Isn’t that the name of a TV show…?”

“No idea,” said Danny, “to either of those things.  Hold up, I’ve spotted something.”  

He zoomed off and had a brief fight with a rather blobby lizard.  By the time he returned, the thermos just that much fuller, Sam and Tucker had gotten into a rather intense discussion about what kind of dragon Danny would be.  

“You know,” said Danny, “there’s not even a guarantee that I will be a dragon.  Or that the next age is even going to be gold.  Frostbite told me that sometimes the colors change partway through the shift, or sometimes it just stops and goes back.”

“Sure,” said Tucker.  “But, hypothetically, if you do get zapped by weird ectoplasm radiation that turns you into a dragon, what color of dragon do you think you’d be?”

“Uh,” said Danny, looking down at his suit.  “Black?”

“No, no,” said Tucker, “black dragons are chaotic evil.  You know this.”

“They’re usually chaotic evil,” countered Danny.  “Besides, this isn’t Dungeons and Dragons,” he continued, rather wistfully.  “It’d be cool to do some of the stuff they can do in there.  Like the shapeshifting.”

“You can shapeshift, though,” said Sam.  “You shapeshift all the time.”

“Well, yeah,” said Danny.  “But I mean, back into this me.  If I wind up being a dragon.”  And, although he hadn’t mentioned it to Sam and Tucker, Frostbite was a bit worried about how a big change to his ghost form might affect his human form.  Maybe that wouldn’t be as much of a big deal if he could shapeshift.

“Huh, point,” said Sam.  “Do you think that the dragons will be able to get through the portal?  If the dragons are bigger than ghosts, I mean.”

“Hope not,” said Danny, fervently.  “It’d be cool to have a calm year or two, after all this.”

.

By the time Danny was able to take enough time to visit Mattingly, flakes of gold drifted through the Ghost Zone sky like snowflakes, coming to rest in drifts on the islands– all sides of islands, because gravity was still inconsistent in the Ghost Zone.  

(Danny really should ask if there was a proper name for the Ghost Zone when the ghosts were dragons, or if it should still be called the Ghost Zone.  Since they were all still ghosts.  Weren’t they?)

In some places, the islands looked gilded.  In others, it looked like they’d had a bunch of glitter dumped on them.  

The gold gathered on Danny, too.  It didn’t stick, but like any glitter, it was impossible to completely brush off.  

The glow of the Zone behind Mattingly was yellower than usual, like a setting sun, and the light glinted off the tall towers and proudly snapping banners, all of them lined with gold.  The island seemed livelier than usual, and– Larger, perhaps?  Yes.  It was larger than when Danny last saw it, and there were colorful tents set up all around the castle, as if in preparation for a festival.  

As he got closer, Danny realized that there was no as if.  People here were celebrating, shouting toasts to the turning of the age, selling dragon-shaped tokens, embroidered handkerchiefs, fair food, smearing handfuls of gold on their faces, brushing it into their hair, forging it into larger objects in small crucibles and forges, or even by hand, with ghost powers.  Almost everyone he saw was smiling, beaming, even, and the main topic of conversation was what, exactly, the new age would be like.  

It was nice to see people so excited about it.  Well, the Far Frozen was excited, too, but in a notably different way.  They were making preparations for scattering, for not seeing each other regularly for what might be hundreds of years.  Here, they were coming together.  

Danny wove through the crowds, watching the festivities with curiosity, but politely rejecting things like mead full of floating golden flakes, pastries dusted with the same, and an offer to paint his face with gold and silver powders.  He was looking for people he knew.  He hadn’t seen any so far, which wasn’t too surprising, since he’d only been able to visit Mattingly a handful of times after Sam’s kidnapping.  

He’d probably have to go up to the castle.  Hopefully, they’d recognize him and let him in, even if they were busy with the festival down here.

On the way up, he let himself be distracted by a few carnival games, and found that they were much easier than similar games back on Earth.  He wondered if that meant carnival games back home really were rigged, or if his abilities were just that much better in ghost form.  Either way, he won a medium-sized stuffed dragon and a handful of candies, which he passed off to some watching ghost children (he didn’t trust the glittery bits in them), playing things like the ring toss.  

But, eventually, he did manage to present himself at the castle gates, stuffed dragon tucked under his elbow.  Could he have flown over the wall?  Yes, but that seemed rude, especially when he was asking for a favor.  

He stepped up to the heavily armored ghost standing at the gate.  “Um, hi!” he said.  He hadn’t decided what he would say.  Definitely an oversight, now that he thought about it.  

“Sir Phantom,” said the guard in a gravely voice, floating to one side.  “We had word you had arrived.  The Queen is expecting you in the solar.”

“Oh!” said Danny.  “Thanks.”

Well, that was easy.  Hopefully, asking Dorathea for her help would go just as well.

Chapter Text

Danny didn’t know his way around the castle.  Obviously.  Being an ally of Queen Dora didn’t magically tell him how to get around her house.  Castle.  Keep?  Whatever.  Danny didn’t know castle terminology, so sue him.  He didn’t live in one.  

Although, if he did, maybe he wouldn’t have felt so lost.  

Luckily, the festival was in swing inside just as much as it was outside.  Besides the guards, servants were bustling all around, carrying food, plates, chairs, and even some tables, and there were more noble-looking ghosts - many more than Danny remembered from when Aragon was in charge - dressed in sparkling gold, yellow, orange, and white, with tiny highlights of other colors, flashing rubies, shining green eyes, a ribbon of deepest purple–  They were all loud and smiling and moving.  

But as overwhelming as the crowd was in the hallways of the castle, it also meant that there were plenty of people to ask for directions.  So, in no time at all, he was sitting in Dora’s solar, a high room with large windows and lots of plants.  

Dora looked much the same as she had the last time he’d seen her.  Green skin, long yellow hair, red eyes, and an elegant gown.  She was a beautiful ghost with nothing obviously draconic about her.  

However, today she was wearing gold.  Whole panels of her dress seemed to be made of woven gold threads - which couldn’t be comfortable - and the rest was a kind of pale goldenrod color that caught in the buttery light coming through the other windows.  Like the other nobles, her skin and hair glittered with it, and the golden crown she was wearing seemed especially elaborate, her hair braided around and through it.  

She directed Danny to sit, tell her why he’d come, and then to tell her what he already knew about gold ages– Then, she laughed.  

It was a nice sort of laugh, he didn’t feel like she was making fun of him at all, but he was still rather put out about it.  

“Oh, dear, Sir Phantom,” she said, hiding her mouth behind a polite hand, “I’m not laughing at you.  Only, it’s very clear that your friends among the Far Frozen are rather isolated during gold ages.  That’s a terribly simplified way to think about it.”  She sobered slightly.  “On the other hand, they are correct that my brother destroyed many of the records from before his reign, so I cannot tell you about a great many gold ages.  Only the ones I experienced myself, and some small samples of lore.”

“That’s okay,” said Danny.  “I’ve never been great at history, so even if you did have all that, I probably wouldn’t be able to do much with it.”

Dora raised an eyebrow.  “Forgive me, Sir Phantom, but are you not a regular visitor to Lord Clockwork?  That would suggest that your relationship to history is rather closer than that of most.”

“That’s more of a ‘he bails me out sometimes’ relationship, rather than a ‘I do useful stuff for him’ relationship, to be honest.”  He had done a few errands for Clockwork, but considering that the guy could control time, create portals, and, vitally, use duplicates.  He didn’t really need Danny’s help.  

“I see,” said Dora.  “Even so, if you want to know more than the little I do, you would do well to visit him.”

“Frostbite said that, too,” said Danny.  

“Ah, then you see I am right.  Now, you have said your piece, and have given you little refreshment other than tea.  Let me rectify that.”  She made a gesture, and servants with platters of food literally crawled out of the woodwork to place their burdens on the table.  Dora nodded at Danny.  “Take what you would like, Sir Phantom.”

“Oh,” said Danny.  “I couldn’t.”  Although he had to admit, the confection that looked like caramel apples coated in gold foil was certainly tempting.  

“Are you worried it will change you?” asked Dora.  

“Not really,” said Danny, making a face.  “Frostbite told me enough for me to know that it’s probably inevitable, but I’d like it to be slow.  Or Frostbite would, anyway.  He’s said that he’ll keep being my doctor until we can’t stand to be around one another anymore, and I’ve got some health concerns.”  He shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant.  

Truthfully, if it weren’t for Sam, Tucker, and even Jazz being of the opinion that half dead and a dragon wasn’t all that much weirder than just being half dead, he would be genuinely and truly freaking out right now.  Even with that, the whole thing about the change affecting his human form was scaring him…  He just didn’t want to admit that to Dorathea, and had practiced saying so in the mirror this morning until the words came smoothly.  

(What?  Sam thought she was cool.  Sam didn’t think anyone was cool.)

She didn’t seem to believe him.  Well.  Crud.  

“Hm,” said Dorathea.  “Regardless, you have come to me for information, and you shall have it.  What Chief Frostbite told you is not completely wrong, but there are several kinds of gold age, and it is fairly unusual to find one in which all ghosts become draconic, although they exist.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yes,” said Dora.  “There have even been ages where blob ghosts become dragons.  Or so I’ve heard.  I’ve never witnessed it myself.  More commonly, only intelligent ghosts become fully draconic, with more intelligent, more powerful dragons becoming larger and stronger dragons than weaker ones.”  She waggled her fingers, then selected a bonbon with a perfectly smooth square of gold foil adorning the whipped cream on top of it to pop into her mouth.  “Such ages are somewhat inconvenient, I must admit.  There is a strong draconic instinct to claim territory and other valuables, so most dragons become quite isolated, living alone in their lairs with their hoards and eating as much gold ectoplasm and unintelligent ghosts as they can while patrolling their territories.”

“That sounds pretty boring,” said Danny.  “But, dragon hoards are golden ectoplasm?  Not real gold?”

“It’s real enough, while it lasts,” said Dora, shrugging.  “Some of it even stays, when the age turns again.”

“And dragons eat it?”

“It helps maintain ectoplasm levels.  When one is so large, there is a limit to how much you can absorb from the air, and much of the ectoplasm in the air condenses in gold ages.”  She pinched a flake of gold from the air.  “As you can see.  During a gold age, most ghosts must eat something to maintain themselves.”

“Oh, okay,” said Danny.  That made Frostbite’s comment about tasty sheep make more sense.  

“Now, as to your earlier comment, it isn’t all boring.  My people still find such ages rather enjoyable.  Even with territorial instincts, we are able to cooperate more than most others, and there are a great many things to do as a dragon that might otherwise be rather difficult, such as exploring dangerous ruins.”

“So… dragons go into dungeons…?”

“Rarely dungeons,” said Dorathea, “but areas that are not as dangerous to a large, armored creature as a small, squishy one.”  She shrugged, elegantly.  “But, all things considered, perhaps it is a good thing that such ages do not last long.  The one I experienced lasted for only a few decades.”

“But that’s not the only kind of gold age, is it?”

“Not at all.  In some ages, other ghosts become creatures like manticores, sphinxes, hydras and the like.  Not us here, of course - we are too closely associated with dragons.”

“Of course,” echoed Danny.

“The mixture does let us have a greater amount of society, which is appreciated,” she made a little face.  “Or so I’ve heard.  I confess I’ve only heard of such ages second-hand.”

“It does make sense, though,” said Danny.  

“Quite,” said Dora.  “Then, there are ages where although most become somewhat draconic, or reptilian, few become dragons outright, with the lesser ones organizing around the greater ones, so as to provide for themselves more effectively.  Such lesser draconics do not agitate territorial instincts as much, and they find that they have need of the greater dragons to protect them and their harvests.”

“Harvests?”

“Because ghosts need more sustenance than the air alone can give them,” said Dora, “so we need to act somewhat as we did while alive, and extract good from the earth.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Danny.  “You did mention that, sorry.  That sounds a bit feudal?”

“Which may be why my kingdom has always favored such ages.  We favor the next kind, which is the other kind Chief Frostbite told you about, even more.  That is to say, ages where many ghosts do not become draconic at all, but more like humans.”