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Scales and Honor: Embers of Dawn

Our tale begins on the storied continent of Sethera, within the heart of a kingdom whose influence was said to reach every distant shore of the known world. This realm was Lumara — a land both noble and ambitious, one where progress and wonder walked hand in hand. It stood as a beacon, a bastion of magic and technology intertwined, striving to uplift all who dwelt beneath its banner. Here, humans and sapient gryphons made their home, a hard-won alliance born from centuries of bitter rivalry and mistrust.

Their union was forged in fire, tempered by battles fought side by side. For when the arcane tyrants of Rothdell had encroached from their towers, hungry for dominion and power over the races they deemed their lesser, Lumara had stood defiant against them. Together, they shattered the oppressive chains that had wreaked havoc upon the countryside.

From that day forward, the fates of gryphons and humans became irrevocably entwined, bound not merely by treaties or shared battles, but by a fellowship as enduring as the mountains. It was said that scarcely a family could be found in Lumara that did not count both gryphon and human among its members.

But Lumara was not only known for its people. The true marvel of this kingdom was its inventions, wonders that stood as testaments to the ingenuity and ambition of its citizens. At the heart of these creations lay mana stones—concentrated shards of raw power. With these luminous crystals, they wrought wonders both small and immense: from weapons of unmatched precision to mighty airships that cut through the heavens like arrows, allowing them to tame the skies themselves. And it was through this mastery of magic and technology that Lumara's reach extended far beyond its shores, bringing distant kingdoms to heel in the name of enlightenment and to ensure such terrors as Rothdell could never plague them again.

Nivra Graysword was their queen, a woman not easily broken. Where others bent under the weight of tradition or the burden of expectation, she stood firm, her spirit unyielding. In her, Lumara found a ruler of uncommon courage and adaptability, one whose clear-eyed vision cut through the murk of politics and deceit like a blade honed for battle. She saw the world not for what it was, but for what it could be, and it was that vision—sharp, relentless—that drove her forward, dragging her kingdom with her whether it was ready or not.

There was a time when her father, a man driven mad by his lust for power, had dismissed her as weak—a frail daughter with no place in the harsh world of kings and warriors. But she had defied him, quietly nurturing a resolve as unbreakable as iron, waiting for the moment when she could take her destiny into her own hands. She left Lumara a whisper in the shadows, only to return a storm on the horizon. Gone was the meek girl; in her place stood a hero who had tangled with and befriended dragons, fought against ancient horrors and survived.

Nivra did not merely take the throne; she seized it with a conviction that burned away all opposition. And once she held the reins of power, she turned them against the very forces that had long defined her kingdom. No longer would Lumara hide behind hollow platitudes while its armies spread fear and destruction under the guise of enlightenment. Nivra would see to it that the ideals they claimed—of justice, unity, and peace—were not just words whispered in darkened halls, but principles lived by, fought for, and upheld.

With a swiftness that left her detractors reeling, she ended the conquests that had bled nations dry. Under her iron will, the wars that had raged for generations ground to a sudden, bewildering halt. It was a peace many had not believed possible, and with it came a reckoning. Lumara was no longer at war with its neighbors, but it was now at war with itself, forced to confront the wounds it had inflicted in its blind pursuit of control.

Peace would not last for long within this era, for even as Lumara flourished under the steady hand of Queen Nivra, shadows still lingered over the world. Not long after she ascended to her throne, a great calamity had shaken the very foundation of the kingdoms. It began with the fall of Tiamat, the malevolent dragon whose iron grip had cast darkness over the land for eons. It was not armies that brought him low, but the red dragon Veledar and his courageous companion adventurers whose audacity defied the very heavens.

Yet their triumph, instead of heralding a new dawn, seemed to provoke the ire of the gods themselves. One dark night the sky was split asunder by a fiery omen. A great meteor, like a blazing spear hurtled down to the earth. It struck the heart of Rothdell, obliterating its capital in an instant. The proud wizards who had ruled for generations were annihilated in the blink of an eye. What remained of their kingdom disintegrated into chaos, the once-unified realm splintering into a mess of rival city-states, each scrambling for control like scavengers over a carcass.

This single event was but the herald of a far greater strife that would sweep across the world, unleashing destruction the likes of which history had never known. The land trembled as though possessed, the seas churned into a frenzy, and the skies themselves turned as black as a mourner's shroud, rent by the relentless lash of lightning's fury.

Whole towns vanished overnight, swallowed by titanic waves that crashed upon the shores with merciless force, or consumed by storms that tore through the earth like the vengeful fingers of gods. In some places, the very ground yawned open like a ravenous beast, devouring villages whole, leaving nothing but gaping chasms where once there had been life.

Whispers spread like wildfire through the panic-stricken populace. Some claimed the gods had turned upon one another, driven by ancient grievances and fresh betrayals, their celestial quarrel spilling over into the mortal realm. Others murmured that this was the prophesied end, that the world itself had grown weary of its inhabitants and was intent on shaking them from its surface like dust from a tapestry.

But Lumara refused to bow before the storm of despair. Queen Nivra and her people steeled themselves, determined to weather whatever trials lay ahead. The kingdom set its eyes on survival, seeking new ways to adapt and overcome the ever-growing chaos. Yet, in their resolve, they were blind to the shape of the shadow that loomed just beyond the horizon—another change, one far more profound, that would alter the fate of Sethera and beyond for generations to come.

** * * * * * * * * * **

Chapter 1: Heart of Gold

Within Lumara lay its crowning jewel: Entis, the City of Light. Here, beneath its gleaming walls that seemed to touch the sky, a vibrant tapestry of races coexisted, each weaving their lives into the bustling heart of the city. The cobbled streets thrummed with the ceaseless pulse of everyday life, the rhythmic clatter of carriages mingling with the calls of merchants hawking their wares. Above, the skies were alive with the darting forms of gryphons, their wings flashing in the sunlight as they delivered parcels, carried messengers, or whisked travelers to their destinations with swift efficiency.

Entis was a melting pot that drew all comers to its luminous embrace, its skies thick with activity. Not only did the gryphons reign here, but mighty airships, both grand and humble, drifted with an almost regal grace above the city spires. These marvels of both beauty and function sailed the winds on wide, billowing sails, proudly bearing the emblem of Lumara—a rampant gryphon in gold. They carried within their spacious holds the lifeblood of the realm: goods from distant lands, merchants eager to strike deals, and travelers willing to pay the steep fare for a view of the world from above. Racing gryphons flitted about them like birds chasing a ship at sea, none suspecting that a dragon made his lair just beyond a few hours' flight from the city walls, hidden in the craggy shadow of the Dragon Neck mountains.

To the north, beyond the bustling city, lay the Crimson Vale—a vast, rolling expanse of farmland renowned for its fiery hues come autumn. As dawn broke, the first rays of sunlight spilled over the horizon, igniting the landscape below in a blaze of colors that seemed to set the very world aflame. Rolling hills undulated like waves of molten gold and deep crimson, each leaf upon the trees a stroke in nature's grand masterpiece. Seas of amber wheat, tall and proud through the harsh winter months, now bowed under the touch of the morning chill, their heads whispering secrets to the wind.

Above, the skies teemed with the flight of birds and gryphons, their wings cutting through the air with practiced ease as they soared high above the countryside. Below, the earth was alive with the rumbling of wagons drawn by horses, their wooden wheels creaking as they trundled along the dirt roads that wove through the land like veins. The paths were often long and winding, bordered by fields of ripening crops and stretches of untamed wildflowers, where the sounds of nature filled the air, broken only by the occasional shout of a farmer or gryphon's cry.

Further still, beyond the fields and rolling hills, lay the forest of Garland, a place steeped in both mystery and warning. The trees here were said to whisper among themselves, their ancient boughs creaking in soft, mournful voices that only those who dared venture into the depths of the forest might hear. It was said that any who harbored ill intent toward the sacred wood would meet a fate most terrible and grisly, though few could say with certainty what such a curse might entail. The forest was a labyrinth of thick trunks and tangled undergrowth, where the sun barely kissed the earth below, and paths twisted like serpents, leading those unwise enough to venture too deep into its heart to become hopelessly lost.

It was within this tangled, cursed expanse that the dragon found his refuge. Amidst the thickest of the trees, he had chosen a place of comfort—a hollow at the base of an ancient oak, its bark gnarled and twisted by centuries of growth. Here, hidden from the eyes of the world, he rested, his mighty form coiled beneath the shadow of the tree's wide canopy. The murmuring of the forest seemed to welcome him; the whispers of the leaves no more unsettling than the familiar sound of his own thoughts.

Nelneras was his name, a dragon of great power and regal bearing. His golden scales gleamed in the dappled light that filtered through the canopy above, each plate a flawless piece of armor that stretched over a body many times longer than that of a man. He lay sprawled, his massive form stretching out with a languid ease, as if the very earth beneath him had been made for his comfort. His feathered wings—vast and powerful—were of dark brown and cream, the feathers soft yet strong. They fluttered occasionally with each rise and fall of his chest, while his onyx claws, sharp and capable of rending stone, twitched and swayed in quiet rest.

His nostrils flared rhythmically with each deep breath, the steady exhale a soft whisper against the silence of the forest. A low, rumbling snore escaped from his throat, vibrating the very ground beneath him, as his mind wandered into dreams of far-off kingdoms—places where people danced to customs, he found both strange and fascinating, and where the meals were so rich, so succulent, that he wished nothing more than to devour them all in a single sitting.

The dragon stirred, his gleaming turquoise eyes cracking open as the sunlight caught them, casting specks of gold and green across the forest floor. For a fleeting moment, he longed to remain lost in his dreams, to linger in comfort. But duty, as it so often did, called to him—a quest that he could not abandon. Reluctantly, Nelneras let out a low growl of resignation as he stretched, his long body shifting with effortless grace. With a powerful flick of his wings and a flex of his mighty neck, he flipped onto his belly, the soft earth beneath him crumbling slightly under his weight.

As his wings unfurled, stretching wide like great sails of dark feathers and bone, a few small birds darted playfully around his black horns, chirping in carefree oblivion. They flitted about him, unaware that the creature they danced around was no mere beast, but a predator of unmatched power. Part of him, a quiet, dignified part, whispered that such disregard was an insult to his might. But that voice was soon drowned out by a far more pressing need—the rumbling growl of his belly, raw and urgent, pulling his focus away from his pride and back to the immediate world around him.

Looking around, Nelneras surveyed the remnants of his campsite from the night before. The fire had long since faded, leaving only a bed of grey ash as a reminder of the warmth it once provided. By his forepaws lay a thick, leather-bound book—its weight fitting for a creature of his immense size.

To the casual observer, the tome might have been a spellbook, a collection of arcane knowledge filled with techniques on how non-dragons wove the magical weave to shape the world around them. But that was not what captivated Nelneras. No, the great dragon was far more enthralled with the contents of this particular volume. Its pages were worn, corners dog-eared from repeated readings, its subject matter something that few would expect from a dragon of his stature. It was a romance novel.

The story within spoke of a powerful dragoness—one of grace and strength—who found herself drawn to a charming human knight. Their paths crossed amid turmoil, their hearts intertwined amidst drama and peril. The plot was a tapestry of intrigue, suspense, and, of course, passionate, steamy relations between dragon and man. Nelneras could not help but be entranced by the tale—the way the dragoness and the knight navigated their differences, their shared moments of tenderness amid fierce challenges.

Beside the book, Nelneras' sizable harness rested, its intricate leather straps woven with magical runes. The runes allowed the harness to fit him perfectly, no matter what size he shrunk or grew to. Numerous pouches and sacks were bound to the harness, their contents seemingly endless to the untrained eye. To anyone watching, it might have appeared as though the dragon's pack was of no importance, yet it was essential, a well-practiced companion on his travels.

With a stretch like a cat waking from a long nap, Nelneras padded over to the harness and unfurled the various pouches with practiced ease. He unbuckled one and reached inside, pulling out a package wrapped in an amber leaf, bound tightly with thin yet durable wire. Within, nestled carefully, was a block of Vitolis bread. Its moist surface glistened under the sunlight as if it were alive with its own magic.

Plucking it delicately with a talon, Nelneras brought it to his snout, letting the bread rest on his thick tongue. Crafted with elven ingredients, infused with the magic of a goodberry spell, it was a delicacy even dragons could not resist. As he took a bite, the burst of wild berries, honey, and vanilla filled his senses, the rich flavors unfolding on his tongue. Though the portion seemed meager—far from the large feasts he was accustomed to—it was far more than it appeared. The magic embedded in the bread did more than satisfy a dragon's hunger. It could sustain an adult dragon like Nelneras, its enchantment weaving through his body, replenishing him with energy and nourishment as though he'd consumed a full meal.

While hunting wild games or feasting on livestock might have been more thrilling, this humble offering prevented numerous problems during his travels. No longer would he need to worry about overstepping boundaries with farmers, or the hefty coin required to replace stolen livestock. It was a small price to pay for the luxury of peace, and Nelneras found that it suited him just fine.

Beneath the treat, Nelneras noticed a written letter, its parchment stained with the crumbs from the bread. Of course, she'd sent him off with a letter. His eyes rolled as he took it in his claws, the familiar scrawl of his Aunt Faelwin smudged across the paper.

No matter how large he grew, or how many centuries passed, Faelwin still saw him as the same wrymling she had met so long ago. He had often reminded her of this, though it seemed his efforts fell on deaf ears. Just before he had set out on this venture, he'd made sure to stand before her, towering at nearly four times her height, to let her know just how much he'd grown. Yet, she still treated him as if he were the same hatchling who had once fit comfortably in the crook of her arm.

“Why do you think that would change anything?" Aunt Faelwin had laughed heartily as his great snout lowered toward her. She brushed a strand of her braided brown hair from her amber eyes, her smile as warm as it had always been. "When you're grown, you don't have to keep insisting that you've done so." With that, she had reached up, her hand resting lightly on his snout, her affection evident. The gesture brought a deep, exasperated huff from him, the most annoying one he could recall giving.

“I don't know why I even come around here anymore."

“Have you enough supplies for this trip?" Faelwin asked, her eyes scanning him across his mighty form. “I know how your appetite can be."

“I'm a dragon, Faelwin, not some overburdened traveler." He'd snorted, rolling his eyes, “I'll be fine. Don't waste your time worrying about me."

“And what if that dragon doesn't maintain his strength in flight?" She had replied, offering a satchel of her Vitalis loaves. “Take them. They'll help you on the journey."

“I'm nearly one hundred- and thirty-one-years old woman. You don't need to baby me," Nelneras growled, though he allowed her to stuff the loaves into his satchel. “I've survived far worse than a long flight."

She gave him a look, one that knew him too well. “The roads are dangerous, Nelneras. Bandits, monsters... all manner of creatures. Don't be so quick to dismiss the risks."

Nelneras grinned, his eyes gleaming with confidence. “I'll deal with whatever comes my way. Fire, flame, or talon—whatever I face, they'll be no match for me." He gave her hair a light ruffle, his snout sending a gust of air. “Your concern is misplaced."

Her expression softened. “Just because you're a dragon doesn't make you invincible. Remember the old saying? 'A wise dragon carries not just strength but caution with each wingbeat.'"

“I was the one who taught you that saying," Nelneras replied with a raised brow.

“And wise it is." Faelwin said, with a smile, her voice a quiet reassurance. She gave him one last kiss.

“A kiss today, Faelwin? How rare." he'd teased, though the affection was clear in his tone. He'd looked toward the horizon, “Wait and see. When I return, this place will see a new dawn. You'll know I've kept my word."

Faelwin placed a hand on his forepaw, her touch gentle but firm. “They'd be proud of you, Nelneras. Even if you don't succeed, they would be proud."

“That I know well." He replied softly, before guiding her away and taking flight upon his feathery wings.

Pulled from his reverie by the soft landing of a bird upon his gleaming golden snout, Nelneras shook his head, dislodging the chirping annoyance with a flick of his neck. "I am not some log in which to rest!" he muttered with a growl, the bird flapping away in a startled flurry.

It seemed a fitting signal that he had lingered too long, lost in the past. Rising to his full height, Nelneras stretched his glorious limbs, bending his body in a fluid, graceful motion, first left, then right, tapping his shoulder scales as a quiet tradition for good luck. With a long, satisfied breath, he lapped up a drink from a nearby pond, the cool water refreshing his parched throat.

But as he stood, preparing to gather his belongings, something strange happened. The clearing around him began to shift, the world itself seeming to stir with an unfamiliar, almost imperceptible tremor. Something was changing.

Loose twigs began to tremble, a subtle vibration at first, hardly more than a whisper against the forest floor. But as Nelneras turned his sharp gaze toward them, the quivering intensified, as though an unseen hand had seized them in a frenzied grip. Smooth stones rattled, while loose leaves lifted from the ground, drawn irresistibly toward a single point.

The air rippled, the debris swirling together, spinning faster and faster until they began to coalesce, gathering substances as they did. From the swirling chaos, a form took shape—first, the rough outline of four limbs, then wings unfurling, a long tail uncoiled behind a serpentine neck. The figure became clearer with each passing moment, solidifying into something all too familiar.

Nelneras couldn't suppress the deep, rumbling groan that escaped him.

Before him stood the unmistakable figure of a black dragon, his silhouette even more imposing in the dappled forest light. Valcagor's sheer bulk dominated the clearing, each breath expanding his already formidable girth. His amber eyes gleamed with a sly amusement, the sort of a parent might wear upon catching a child in a mischief they thought concealed. A thin, insincere smile curled along his snout, a display that sent an involuntary shiver down Nelneras' spine.

There was no escaping the dread that accompanied this presence. Valcagor wasn't just any dragon—he was the one who held sway over Nelneras' fate, not through bonds of loyalty, but through sheer dominance. He owned the lands where Nelneras' family now sought refuge, a fact that kept the young dragon tethered, however reluctantly, to this master he'd never have chosen.

“Oi, there ya are, Nelneras! Finally tracked ya down, thought ya might've buggered off somewhere sunny." Valcagor barked, his deep, gravelly voice filling the clearing. The hulking black dragon lashed his spiked tail impatiently, his scales glinting like polished obsidian. “What in all the bloody hells are ya playin' at, eh? You've been flappin' about like some pampered peacock while the rest of us are sloggin' away! We got deadlines, mate! Endreross ain't gonna wait for us forever!"

A jagged claw made of twisting vines and dirt waved behind him, and the spell shifted to reveal smaller, scurrying figures. The scene quivered as it adjusted, bringing into focus a gang of kobolds—half the height of a human, their scales dull under the sun, hunched beneath the weight of pickaxes and worn tools. They were scrambling over rocks, their breaths heaving as they dug and hauled under Valcagor's ever-watchful gaze.

“These useless sods," Valcagor spat, his disdain almost tangible through the magical display, “my so-called 'interns.' Shellin' out gold for the little wretches! What's this world comin' to?" He let out a harsh, distorted snort that scattered the spell's edges, sending ripples through his conjured image.

"Interns?" Nelneras arched a brow ridge, letting the word hang in the air like a sour note. "So, they've been upgraded from 'slave,' have they? How charitable."

“Oi! Keep that trap shut about the s-word!" Valcagor hissed, leaning in close as though the very stones might overhear. His eyes darted left and right, the crude spell flickering with his agitation. “Folk these days get all jittery when ya toss that around. Not like the kobolds mind, though! Bloody hell, they're practically skippin' for joy to lick my claws."

The older dragon's laughter rolled deep and hearty, rumbling like boulders down a mountainside. He gave his barrel-sized chest a hearty slap with one clawed paw, sending scales rippling. “Ain't that right, you little scamps?" He twisted the projection to show the kobolds scurrying about, hauling tools twice their size, eyes wide with the fervor of true zealots. “See? I treat 'em better than the queen treats her lapdogs!"

Nelneras narrowed his eyes, watching the kobolds scramble around in a panic as one of them, brimming with gratitude, had dropped to kiss the very scales on Valcagor's forepaws. The sight did little to settle his unease.

“You are still paying them, right?" he asked, trying to mask the growl in his throat, his wings fluffing up as he glanced over at the bustling kobolds. "Not some nonsense about 'exposure' being payment?"

Valcagor let out a heavy sigh, the rumble of it resonating deep in his chest. “I tried, Nel, I bloody well tried," he grumbled, slashing a claw through the air in frustration. “Endreross got all high and mighty, insisting we're 'putting on a new face.'" He tilted his head and waggled his wings in mock quotation marks, snorting through his nostrils. “Rich coming from her, that one. I've seen her roast whole hordes of the little buggers before, and now she wants me to coddle 'em? What's got her tail in a twist?"

Though Nelneras said nothing, he scowled, his eyes flicking from the laboring kobolds to the smirking dragon before him.

A salacious grin took the larger dragon's snout, a far more salacious gleam lighting his gaze. “Mark my words, Nel," he began, leaning in conspiratorially, lowering his voice as if about to share some grand secret. “It's her mate not shagging her enough. The poor old girl's on edge, can't think straight. Ness needs a right dicking, she does—"

Nelneras stood unmoving, his wings stiff at his sides, letting Valcagor's harsh words drift over him like the distant rumble of thunder. There was little to gain by responding. The larger dragon's crude, thoughtless rambling was a familiar annoyance, and though he'd long ago learned to ignore it, the bite of it still lingered. Dragons like Valcagor, self-serving and narrow-minded, were a stain on the reputation of their kind. They saw themselves as lords of the world, deserving of everything they laid their eyes on, their arrogance carving deep scars into the mortal realm. The fact that mortals feared them, resented them, was no mystery to Nelneras. He'd heard the stories. He'd seen the consequences of dragons who believed their power made them gods, untouchable and above reproach. But there was no use in dwelling on that now. He had more pressing matters to attend to.

“Bah, but I can't be talkin' all day, got shit to do." Valcagor snorted, the shift in his posture signaling the end of his playful tone. His eyes, once filled with self-satisfied amusement, darkened, the words turning sharp as they were spat. “What ya doin', Nel?"

He exhaled, releasing the tension in his chest with a slow, measured rhythm “Visiting Lumara," he replied, his voice tempered by the weight of his years. “Entis specifically. It has quite the history—"

“Lumara?" Valcagor's voice thundered, cutting through Nelneras calm like a blade. “What in the nine hells are ya doin' over there? Ya can't just go flying off whenever ya feel like it, Nel! I've got ya under contract! I thought you cared about what happens to those human pets of yours."

Nelneras' claws dug deep into the dirt beneath him, grounding himself, keeping his gaze fixed on the earth. His breath slowed, drawing in and out with practiced control. He refused to let Valcagor's words—words he had heard countless times before—get under his scales. Yet the sting was still there. They were not “pets." They were his family. And no matter how many times Valcagor belittled them, he would never let the insult stand.

“They are not pets," Nelneras said, his voice steady but laced with a quiet steel. His tail flicked behind him, betraying the frustration that was simmering just beneath the surface. “They are my family."

“Right, yer, family." Valcagor chuckled, his voice dripping with mockery, the words flowing from him like venom. He shrugged his wings with a nonchalant flick, his claws digging into the earth beneath him as his grin stretched wider, sharp as broken glass. “Whatever kink gets ya goin', Nel, point is, if you're not gonna work, they're not gonna keep their land." The larger dragon's gaze hardened, the warmth of his earlier mirth turning to something colder, something predatory. “And what would yer poor pets do without their land, eh?"

Tail flicking with restrained irritation, Nelneras stood his ground. Valcagor's crude jokes no longer stirred him; he'd learned long ago that engaging with this kind of nonsense only fed into it. There was no need to fall for such clear bait. “If you ask your interns, you'll find that I submitted a request for leave," Nelneras replied, his voice even, every word calculated. “And you stamped it."

For a moment, Valcagor froze, his mouth hanging open in disbelief. "What?!" he snarled, his head jerking back as if the suggestion had physically struck him. “Why the hell would I go and do something stupid like that? It's bullshit!"

Nelneras held steady, his expression sly, the faintest curve of a smirk tugging at the corners of his snout. “It's all right, Valcagor. You must've been so busy, you forgot. I remember commenting on how generous and benevolent you were. Did you get the cake my family made for you?"

Valcagor's eyes narrowed in suspicion, then widened in sudden realization. “That's what that was for?" He grinned, as though the idea pleased him, his ego swelling with each word. “I thought they were just giving me a random gift, on account of my radiant magnificence!"

The black dragon's focus shifted quickly to one of the kobolds, barking an order with the ferocity of a hungry predator. “Get that vacation request, now! And make it snappy, Kobold Number Four!"

“Yes, Valcagor sire!" the kobold squeaked, scurrying off in a flurry of clacking claws.

Nelneras watched the kobold's frantic retreat, a knowing smirk spreading across his snout. He let the moment hang in the air before speaking again, his voice steady but laced with a touch of amusement. "You don't believe me, do you?"

“You're not the first one to try and scam me, Nel," Valcagor grumbled, tail flicking irritably. “Had some fool wantin' to pay for hurtin' himself in the mine! Can you believe that? We've got the safest mines in the countryside!"

Nelneras' expression didn't change. “We're the only excavation business in the countryside."

“That's the point, Nel!" Valcagor barked, his grin returning, sharp as ever. “You remember when that Halfling inspector came around? What did he say?"

“Right, he said we had the safest mines he'd ever seen, even better than the dwarven halls of Kher Thurum in Cliaran."

“Precisely!" Valcagor beamed, puffing his chest with pride. “So—"

“After you paid him five hundred gold coins."

The black dragon froze, narrowing his eyes at Nelneras, who wore a sly smirk. “Oi, what are ya smirking about?" Valcagor growled, but there was no real heat in his voice. “That was the cheapest bribe I've had to pay those Halfling inspectors, so you know it was a good one!"

Nelneras chuckled softly, his gaze lingering on Valcagor for a moment longer. “That's precisely what it means."

Before Valcagor could retort, the kobold scurried back, clutching a leather-bound tome in his shaking hands. He came to a halt in front of the two dragons, his movements hesitant under the weight of their attention.

“There we are, right on time," Valcagor said with a satisfied sigh, his wings fluttering with an air of finality. He raised his head proudly. “Now we can get this matter settled."

The kobold, now under the intense scrutiny of the two dragons, fumbled nervously, flipping through the pages of the tome with unsteady hands. The quiet rustling of paper filled the air as he searched.

“Well?" Valcagor growled, impatience creeping into his voice. The kobold yelped, startled by the sound.

“Oh, there it is." The kobold smiled, his face lighting up with relief before quickly wincing. “You're not going to—"

“Spit it out, or I'll make ya wish you hadn't come back." Valcagor snarled.

The kobold swallowed hard, eyes flicking between the two dragons. With a cautious laugh, he nodded. “Right here, all the paperwork's done." He tapped the page, eyes wide with fear, before adding, “Even bears your wax seal, Valcagor, sire."

In a flurry of curses, Valcagor pulled back, shaking his head with a deep grunt. “Knew it'd bite me in the rump, damn it. Just don't make a habit of it, alright, Nel? Endreross is gonna be riding me hard now. You know how she gets when she's angry."

“Are we finished then?" Nelneras raised a paw, inspecting the onyx sheen of his talons, pretending indifference. “I do have to get a move on."

Though Nelneras had gotten the better of him, Valcagor wasn't about to let it ruin his mood. If anything, it seemed to amuse him even more. “So, what's this about you going to Lumara? What's got ya all hot and bothered about Entis?" Valcagor leaned in, eyes narrowing. “Ya know they have dragon hunters there, right, mate?"

“Not anymore." Nelneras waved a paw dismissively. “I've heard that their queen, Nivra Graysword, banned the practice. They even throw parades for a certain red dragon now, Crimson Sky."

Valcagor snorted with derision. “A parade for a dragon? Bah, that's rich! What's next? A Lund married this dragon?"

Nelneras couldn't help but delight in Valcagor's surprise. “Haven't been keeping up with the gossip, have you?" He chuckled as Valcagor's face shifted from disbelief to something darker. “That's exactly what happened. Arcturus Lund, last of the greatest dragon slayers, married the red dragon he was sent to kill. Isn't that just ever so romantic?"

Valcagor gagged, his face twisting in distaste. “Makes me wanna puke." Then, with a flash of recognition, his eyes widened. “Wait a minute... I see what's goin' on. That's why yer there."

Nelneras hesitated, a sinking feeling growing in his gut. “And what would that be?" He kept his gaze averted, dreading the salacious gleam in Valcagor's eye.

Valcagor's grin stretched wide. “Oh, I get it now, Nel! You're itchin' to shove yer lance into whatever gryphon will have ya!" He laughed uproariously, tossing his head back.

“That wasn't my only reason." Nelneras lied smoothly, hiding his discomfort. He could feel the heat of Valcagor's scrutiny, but he knew better than to try and explain the real purpose of his visit. The elder dragon would never understand; it was easier to let him believe whatever nonsense he wanted.

Valcagor flopped onto his haunches, tail curling with satisfaction. “Ahh, now that's what I'm talkin' about! Shoulda told me sooner, Nel, I woulda followed right along!" He sighed with mock nostalgia, wings stretching wide. “Gryphons, mate—tight tails, best around. You'll tell me all about it when ya get back, right? All the juicy details? I remember my first time with a gryphon—"

Nelneras didn't give him the satisfaction. “Valcagor, that will be all." He stomped his paw firmly, silencing the elder dragon with a glare. “I'd rather not hear about your... sexual exploits."

“Ya sure about that, Nel?" Valcagor's deep, rumbling chuckle echoed like a storm as his bloated form shifted, his eyes glinting with mockery. “They're exceptionally juicy... just like that—"

“Enough!" He bellowed.

The elder dragon merely waved a dismissive paw, the mischievous glint never leaving his eyes. “Ahh, bet you're itching for some fun of your own." He leaned back, settling comfortably, and the familiar hum of the spell flickered and sputtered, signaling the end of their communication. “Just don't forget about little ol' me while you're off gallivanting. Bring back somethin' shiny, will ya? Remember, ya owe me one!"

With a ghostly laugh that made Nelneras' scales bristle, the spell unraveled. Twigs, rocks, and whatever else had been caught in its web fell to the ground with a faint clatter, a reminder of the unpleasant conversation he'd just endured.

The dragon plucked up his harness, tracing every weathered buckle, each one his mother had made all those years ago. When he was still small, yapping at her heels, delight singing through his veins. With a practice grace he slid into its embrace, fashioning it upon his scales.

He turned away, claws digging into the dirt as he muttered curses under his breath. There was still a long journey ahead to Entis, and with it, a hope that something—anything—would change after this.

With a deep, steady breath, Nelneras stretched his wings, testing their strength after the night's rest. He turned, casting one final glance at his campsite. His hand moved instinctively to the central buckle around his chest. The metal was cool, but the names engraved there were familiar, as if they were alive beneath his touch. His father and mother. They were the ones who had found the broken wagon, the one with the small egg inside, helpless and caught in the fury of a violent storm. They had chosen to save it, to keep it, despite all the dangers.

“Don't worry." The words were quiet, almost lost in the stillness of the morning, but they carried with them a weight. He could see their faces, worn with age, yet soft with love. He could feel the weight of their gazes upon him, as it had been when he was younger. Their love, unconditional and unspoken, filled his mind, and for a moment, he let himself believe they were there, watching, waiting for him to fulfill the life they had so carefully raised him to lead.

He imagined nuzzling them, as he once had when he was small, and though the years had passed, the bond still held. “By Bahamut's grace," he whispered with conviction, his voice steady as a vow, “when I'm done, your dreams will come true."

The wind stirred around him, as if the very world itself had acknowledged his promise. He straightened, his heart a little lighter, and moved away from the camp, the weight of his oath settling firmly in his chest. The journey ahead was long, but he would see it through. For them. For his family.

** * * * * * * * * * *

To depart the depths of the forest, Nelneras chose the form of a small red bird he had glimpsed darting through the branches earlier. Certainly, he could have simply strolled out in his natural, draconic splendor, but he savored the experience of adopting different shapes. It was a gift most dragons discovered in their youth, the ability to focus their inner magic and assume the guise of any creature that struck their fancy.

For him, though, nothing compared to the form of a Clydesdale horse. It wasn't the most majestic choice by draconic standards; others of his kind would surely scoff at the idea of taking on such a humble shape, finding it beneath the dignity of a dragon. But to Nelneras, there was something deeply satisfying about the simplicity of it. That powerful, muscular body, built for labor, had once served him well during the planting season, when he'd taken it upon himself to pull the plow across his family's farm.

There was comfort in it—more than nostalgia, it was a connection to a time long past, when he'd worked the fields beside his family. Even now, with those days far behind him, he relished the feeling of sturdy hooves upon rich soil, the strength of broad shoulders under the harness. In his heart, he believed himself to be the finest draft horse to ever grace a field

Nelneras darted through the tangle of branches, his tiny heart racing with exhilaration. Even after countless transformations, the sensation of being small, nimble, and feather-light thrilled him to his very core. Every beat of his wings sent a shiver of delight coursing through him. He flitted up and over the underbrush, looping wildly, more than once coming within a feather's breadth of slamming into a tree trunk. But then—ah—the canopy broke, and he burst into the open sky. A joyful chirp escaped his little yellow beak, a delightful song that floated upon the wind.

In the sunlight, his feathers practically glowed, warmed by the golden rays that bathed the landscape beneath him. He spun and twisted, drinking in the very essence of the sun. For a moment, the urge to cast off his disguise and revert to his true form was almost overpowering. How he longed to unfurl his grand wings, feel the rush of wind beneath them, and soar high above the earth until the world below was but a distant memory. Flight, in its purest form, was an intoxicating mistress who never ceased to whisper sweetly in his ear, promising freedom and boundless skies.

But he knew better, Queen Nivra and her gryphon consort, Voidwing, may have outlawed the hunting of dragons within their borders, yet he was no fool. Even with their protection, the sight of a dragon suddenly appearing in the skies above might be enough to send villagers screaming for the safety of their homes. Or worse still, it might draw them like moths to a flame, all eager to gawk, to crowd around, to treat him like some exotic beast from a far-off land. The mere thought of being pestered by wide-eyed humans, all clamoring to touch his scales, made his feathers twitch with distaste. No, it was better to keep his identity hidden, at least for now.

How could he possibly accomplish anything with half the kingdom gawking at him, begging for favors or demanding explanations? No, it was better to remain a shadow flitting between lives, unseen and unbothered, free to pursue his purpose without the burden of prying eyes.

Instead, his gaze turned toward the distant city of Entis, its towering spires piercing the sky like the teeth of a great beast. It was the heart of this nation, a testament to the ingenuity and determination of its people. The city's imposing walls and flying fortresses hovered above it like ancient guardians, draped in the proud banners of brown and gold, each adorned with the rampant gryphon of their crest. Around those floating citadels drifted airships, languidly making their way to unseen destinations, while gryphons soared in graceful arcs, little more than dots against the azure sky from this distance.

The sight was unexpectedly moving, an emblem of what could be achieved when former enemies laid aside their grievances. Here, humans and gryphons had joined forces, not merely to survive but to thrive, their efforts bound together in a shared vision of progress. Theirs was a unity forged in the fires of old wars, now tempered into something enduring, something beautiful. It filled Nelneras with a cautious hope—perhaps his own kin could one day share such a future, where dragons and non-dragons walked together without fear or suspicion. A future where the sight of scales among the streets was no more remarkable than the passing of a familiar neighbor.

This vision, however, would not come to pass on wishful thinking alone. To turn dream into reality, he would need allies—living examples that what he desired was more than mere fantasy. That was why he sought Arcturus and his Dragon husband; if anyone could embody the harmony he wished to create, it was those two, whose bond had shattered the boundaries between their species. Yes, there were other figures he could approach, like the Drenedarian queen and her dragon consort, but he had no illusions they would abandon their duties for his ambitions. No, Crimson Sky and Arcturus were the key.

Tales of Arcturus and Crimson Sky had grown into legend since their triumph over the undead scourge at Struport over decade ago. Their names had become whispers of inspiration, stories that swept through taverns and court halls alike, igniting the hearts of those who heard them. Courage and loyalty—these were the virtues spoken of whenever their deeds were recounted. Nelneras was certain that his confident charm and silver tongue would effortlessly win over any hesitation the celebrated pair might have. After all, who could resist the allure of an invitation to his home, especially when sweetened by the promise of a perfectly brewed afternoon tea? No one worth knowing, surely.

He could already see it in his mind's eye: himself seated in comfortable quarters with Arcturus, the paladin's armor exchanged for something more relaxed, while Crimson lounged nearby, his crimson scales gleaming like rubies in the firelight. The dragon's sapphire eyes would watch with that ever-present suspicion, but Nelneras was certain he could melt through it with just the right words, the perfect mix of honesty and flattery. After all, it was said that Crimson Sky had a soft spot for stories, especially those involving heroes and daring feats—he would be easy prey for Nelneras' charm.

But just as he indulged in this pleasant daydream, picturing the red dragon huffing with reluctant amusement, an ear-piercing screech shattered his thoughts. The sound cleaved through the air, its intensity jolting him as if struck by a lightning bolt.

From his vantage point high above, Nelneras spotted the scene below along one of the worn forest trails. He glided in a slow circle, observing as a dark-skinned woman in a yellow dress ran a frustrated hand through her black hair. She stood beside a horse-drawn wagon that looked a bit worse for wear—one wheel sunken into the dirt, the whole thing tilting awkwardly to one side. The wagon's wood was gilded and finely carved with gryphons in flight, an elegant touch that clearly marked her as a trader of some wealth or taste.

“Great, what am I going to do now?" she exclaimed, throwing her hands up in frustration. Two guards, one human and one dwarf, stood sheepishly beside her, each looking a bit embarrassed. The human guard, middle-aged, wore an enormous mustache that sprawled across his face, thick enough to hide in. His face flushed under her sharp gaze.

“This is the third time today your ridiculous face-fur has caused us trouble!" she snapped at him, crossing her arms in irritation. “Maybe if you could actually see the road, my wagon wouldn't be halfway in the dirt!"

The mustachioed guard's cheeks reddened, but before he could stammer out a defense, his companion—a stout dwarf with a russet, braided beard—intervened with a bark that echoed through the trees.

“Oi, leave the lad's mustache alone!" the dwarf growled, crossing his arms defensively. “It's a mark of dignity, that is! The finest mustache on this side of the mountains. Man's earned the right to keep it!"

“Dignity?!" The woman's voice rang out, sharp as a dagger, as she whirled around, wagging an accusing finger at the man with the enormous mustache. “It's a liability! We'll be lucky to get anywhere with his… with his hedge flapping all over the place!"

The human guard, flustered, shifted uncomfortably, trying to tuck his mustache out of view. “It... it's not that bad, is it?"

The dwarf's response was a bellow, a slap on the back of the poor human so forceful it nearly sent him tumbling into the mud. “Don't listen to her, lad! Only thing I see here that's broken is the wheel—not yer majestic facial mane." He shot a venomous glare at the woman, his eyes cold as stone. “There's an old dwarven sayin': 'A bare face is a map with no roads.' And you, my friend, you've got a map to treasure, right here!"

A flicker of hope crossed the human's face, his voice rising with a touch of disbelief. “Really?"

“Did I stutter?" the dwarf growled, narrowing his eyes. “You just need a good beard to match that mustache. With a fine chin-forest, lad, you'd be lookin' half a dwarf yourself! Maybe even… respectable."

Throwing her hands into the air the woman groaned. “Great. Now you want to turn him into a topiary?"

“It's not our fault you don't appreciate a wee bit of facial shrubbery lass." Laughed the dwarf, “Besides, don't you have a spare?"

“Everyone packs a spare." Added the human.

Crossing her arms, fire flared in the woman's eyes before tossing her head away, “Well... we'd have a spare, but I, uh, may have... misplaced it." “

“Misplaced?" The dwarf repeated with a raised brow, “Or gambled it away again in another blasted game o' cards?"

“Listen, we all took risks that night! How was I to know he had a royal flush?"

Groaning, the human leaned upon the wagon. “So, what do we do now? March on without a wheel?"

“Could always make use o' that royal flush o' yours, eh?" the dwarf snickered. “Fancy yourself a 'strategist,' after all. Where's yer strategy now, Lady Luck?"

Rolling her eyes the woman sighed. “I didn't think it was going to break now, did I?" She gestured to the wagon, currently leaning to one side like a wounded animal, sure enough, what remained of the wheel was a fragmented mess, splinters and pieces littering the ground around it. “Nor that one of my assistants would sneeze and send us careening into a rock!"

Nelneras circled overhead, his wings slicing through the air in a leisurely rhythm. He had never been one to keep his ear out for mundane concerns, but this... this was a quaint little problem, wasn't it? He chuckled to himself, watching the bickering below. Not bandits, monsters, or any of the usual threats that plagued the roads, but a stray rock—one simple, unassuming stone—had done more damage than any blade or beast could.

“Don't you know how to fix a wheel?" The woman knelt with a sigh. “After all, it was your blasted face shrubbery that caused this mess."

“I…er..no." Sighed the human.

“How about you?"

“Not in my skill set lass." Replied the dwarf, “You want blacksmithing or mining, I be your dwarf, but I've done this dance plenty o times with me fingers, in regards to wood, seem more interested in cutting me than what I want!"

With a swift flick of his wings, Nelneras rose higher into the sky, feeling the familiar stretch of power in his limbs as the wind welcomed him. His thoughts, though, carried a weight that no breeze could disperse. There were more important matters awaiting his attention—duties that pressed against his chest like a stone lodged deep within his ribs. But just as the landscape below began to shrink, a whisper tugged at his mind, quiet but insistent. The voices of his parents, always with him, always teaching him: Help others. Lend aid when you can. Never turn away from those in need.

A sigh left him unbidden, and he cursed under his breath. He rolled his eyes, pivoted sharply in the air, and turned back toward the ground.

It wasn't that he had to do this—he just couldn't stand the notion of leaving them to fend for themselves, not when the chance to act had presented itself. If he was going to help, it would be on his terms, not some grand, ostentatious display of power. No fearsome dragon descending on them like an unstoppable force. Subtlety was the key.

Not wishing to surprise them with a sudden dragon's descent, Nelneras spotted a bale of hay nearby—just enough cover to make the necessary change. A lesser dragon would have had to revert to their true form before shifting again, but Nelneras was no such creature. He had learned long ago that mastery over oneself was the highest form of power, and with that mastery came the ability to wield change like a weapon, swift and precise.

He touched down behind the bale, wings folding gracefully as he took the moment to center himself. A quick, practiced thought was all it took. Lavender smoke rose from his body in a cloud, thickening like mist on a still lake. He felt it wrap around him, felt the tension in his limbs shift as the transformation took hold.

Golden feathers replaced crimson ones; his beak elongated. His lower half became that of a lion as he took his first few steps, adjusting to the four limbs of a gryphon. When he emerged with a chirp, his eyes dazzled in the morning sun, while no longer their draconic shape, but still the mesmerizing turquoise.

With a quick clearing of his throat, a deliberate and refined sound, Nelneras cut through the bickering that had filled the air. The woman's hand shot to her dagger, instinctual fear flickering across her face. The dwarf's brows furrowed in suspicion, while his human compatriot's mouth fell open in shock, his enormous mustache twitching in alarm.

“Good morning, travelers." Nelneras said smoothly, his voice as rich and deliberate as a fine vintage, carrying a thread of dry amusement. He let the words linger in the air before his gaze swept over the damaged wagon and the broken wheel, his expression unreadable. "It seems fate—and a rather inconvenient loss of your wheel—have conspired to grant me the pleasure of your company," he continued, his eyes now narrowing slightly as they settled on the woman. A slow, almost predatory smile tugged at his lips. "I take it this... misfortune wasn't entirely by your design?"

The woman stiffened; her shoulders squared as she stood her ground. “Not intentional," she said, eyes narrowing, “But unless you're offering to help fix it, we'd be fine without the commentary."

Nelneras' brow arched, the faintest shadow of offense crossing his face. “I am no commentator, madam," He stepped closer, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed the broken wheel with quiet disdain. “Though, it seems to me that a spare would be a wiser thing to carry for moments such as these."

Her hand hovered near the hilt of the dagger at her side, fingers twitching as if she might draw it at any moment. “What do you want?" she demanded, her voice tight with suspicion. “We're in no mood for… charity."

Nelneras tilted his head slightly, the glint of his turquoise eyes betraying no hint of unease. “Charity?" he replied in amusement. “Hardly. I have no intention of robbing you madame,' I assure you. I simply couldn't help but notice a certain... need."

“What kind of 'need' do ya think you're seein'?"

“The kind where one might prefer wheels affixed to carts, rather than scattered in pieces across the ground."

She exhaled sharply, still seething with indignation, but the tension in her shoulders loosened just enough for her to give a resigned sigh. “Alright, then. You think you can do something about it?"

Only then did he move, stepping forward with grace, “With your permission, of course." he dipped his head in a respectful bow, his golden feathers catching the sun with a gleam.

“Fine. Knock yourself out. Just—try not to make it worse. Though I don't know what you're gonna do, unless you've got a wheel shoved up your-"

A melodic warble escaped from the gryphon as he strutted toward the wagon's side, “Now, while I may not be an expert in wheel-changing," he mused with a flick of his tail, “I do believe I could mend the cart with ease. A simple enough task, really. You'll see."

Crouching low, his gaze assessing the shattered remains of the wheel with unflinching focus. The large rock that had caused the damage loomed in his sight, and he analyzed it with an almost detached interest. Wood splinters littered the ground, only a few stubborn bits clinging to the axle, as though reluctant to release their hold. “A troublesome rock," Nelneras muttered, rubbing his chin. “One might say it's a rather 'rocky' situation. Reminds me of the tale of Skyrend the Swift, who met his match at Cragmore Heights. If I recall, he didn't fare too well either! Must have been quite the speed to meet such a sturdy foe!"

The woman let out a deep laugh, shaking her head. “It's my own damned fault, really. Don't care for the roads. We were just tryin' to get somewhere fast."

“And why didn't you have a spare?" Nelneras teased, watching with quiet satisfaction as her cheeks flushed a vibrant crimson.

“Don't remind me," she groaned, rubbing her temples. “In my rush to pack, I forgot. Left the bloody thing in a barn. Guess this is what I get, tryin' to save a bit of coin instead of using the Cloud Chaser Couriers."

“Oh, they're quite good," the human guard chimed in, his voice light. “Gryphons have swiftest wings in the west, got a package to my mum real quick."

“Course, I don't think they'd be able to carry all this." The dwarf stroked his chin thoughtfully.

“They'd just hire more than one bird, you twit, carry the whole lot, even the misses."

“Ah, right." The dwarf scratched his head. “Though that's when it starts to get expensive."

“Oi, I didn't care to discuss the finance problem, more about the broken wheel." The woman growled, shutting her hired help up.

Flicking his tail, Nelneras stepped aside, making room for the ritual he would use to fix the broken cart. He motioned for them to keep their distance, his gaze sharp as he focused on the wreckage before him. His wings spread wide, catching the breeze and snapping taut like the sails of a ship. He could feel the eyes of the travelers on him, their confusion palpable, but he paid them no mind. There was work to be done.

Drawing in a deep breath, Nelneras spoke the words of power, his voice low and commanding, the syllables ancient and weighted with authority. Magic thrummed in the air around him, a current both unseen and undeniable. It surged through him, a living thing, flowing into his limbs and igniting the tips of his feathers. It was an energy as old as the world itself, the essence of creation and destruction, and it responded to his will. With the ease of long practice, he traced a rune into the earth beneath his talons, each curve imbued with purpose.

The air crackled as the magic took hold, his feathers trembling with the raw force of it. Nelneras' talon flicked into the air, sending several of his feathers flying. They shot toward the cart at a speed that was almost unnatural, their forms glowing with the intensity of his power.

Shuttering, the cart groaned as the feathers embedded themselves into the wood, their energy weaving together, binding the cart with an invisible force. The cracking of splintering wood echoed for a moment before the cart lifted off the ground, held aloft by the spell, its weight no more than a feather in the hands of the magic.

“Oh, now that's a sight." the human guard exclaimed, his hands clapping.

“Never seen feathers do that." Chuckled the dwarf.

Nelneras couldn't help but smile, his chest swelling with quiet pride. “Oh, calm down, calm down," he chirped with feigned modesty, “It's hardly that impressive."

“Didn't know we were in the presence of a magician," the woman remarked, crossing her arms with a playful smile on her lips. “Lucky ole me, huh?"

“Lucky you indeed!" he replied, batting his eyes at her, his chest swelling with pride.

Continuing onward, runes and symbols emerged within the wheel pieces, placed at intervals to allow the weave of magic to flow seamlessly through.

“That doesn't look like a new wheel," the woman observed, her eyes narrowing as she watched Nelneras place fragments of the broken wheel inside the intricate runic circle.

"Right you are!" he replied with a roll of his eyes and a laugh, clearly enjoying himself. “Why would I waste the time getting you a new wheel? Those have that fresh wheel smell! No, you'll want the original." With a casual flick of his wing, he made a grand sweeping motion, ushering the onlookers back. “Now, stand aside," he continued, assuming a regal stance, wings spread wide. “I'll have this fixed in two shakes of a gryphon's tail!"

A moment of caution flickered in the woman's gaze. “That magic stuff… Now, I'm no expert, but is it going to hurt the goods?"

“By the gods, no!" he assured her, brushing his wingtip gently under her chin. “Your precious goods will be safer than a gryphet guarded by a dragon."

The woman moved back to stand with her guards, her initial fear swept away by Nelneras' effortless charm. He could feel the shift in the air, the change in their posture as they watched him, their eyes wide with awe. An audience—he reveled in it, as he always had. Though old lessons cautioned him against basking in the glow of praise, it was a song that resonated deeply within his draconic heart.

His pulse thudded in his chest as he gathered the words of power, the incantation rolling off his tongue with practiced ease. Energy hummed in the air, a low, gentle vibration, like the pulse of the earth itself. His feathers stood on end as the chant continued, and he welcomed the crisp chill that brushed across his wings. With each word, the world around him seemed to breathe, the air thick with magic, each spark of power flickering like fireflies in the wind.

In his mind, he focused solely on the wheel—whole, strong, and unmarred by the damage that had once rendered it useless. He willed the broken pieces to shift, to obey his command. Slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, the fragments began to tremble, before moving on their own accord. They slid together, rejoining with the force of his will, the wood knitting itself seamlessly, as if it had never been broken. Only the faintest mark remained, a barely visible trace of his magic.

Bolts clicked into place with a finality that echoed through the air, securing the wheel. His feathers, having done their work, retreated and attached themselves back to his wings, completing their task. The cart settled gently, as if the earth itself was cradling it in place.

The woman's face lit up with joy, and she nearly skipped toward him, her eyes sparkling with excitement. Her words stumbled out, barely able to contain her enthusiasm. “You did it! You really did it!"

“Of course I did," Nelneras responded smoothly, his voice warm but filled with a self-assuredness that bordered on smugness. He gave his feathers a slight ruffle, as if to ensure they caught the light just right. “It was a simple matter. Nothing too challenging for a gryphon of my caliber."

Arms shot out as she threw herself into him, hugging him tight in her gratitude. For a fleeting moment, Nelneras considered pulling away. His natural instincts, honed by his draconic blood, reminded him that dragons were not to be touched without invitation. Yet, the woman's uncontainable joy was infectious. Against his better judgment, he allowed the brief contact, his wings rustling as he patted her back. “Yes, yes. Just do try to be a bit more careful next time, would you?"

As she pulled back, the excitement faded slightly, and concern replaced it. “I have to pay you something for this," she insisted, her hands already diving into her bags in search of a token of her gratitude.

“No need, your happiness is its own reward." He raised a wing in protest, but she was already rummaging through her bags, determined to find something.

“How about this?" She turned to him, holding out a handful of coins and a small, glimmering sapphire.

The tiny gem caught the light in a way that made Nelneras' chest tighten. It was small, yes, but it shimmered with such brilliance that it sent a stirring pulse through his veins. His draconic instincts clawed at him, urging him to take it, to hoard it. His breath quickened, and a subtle thrill ran through him. He hadn't realized how badly he'd needed something to call his own, something to claim.

He glanced at the woman, a soft smirk pulling at the edges of his beak. “That will suffice, I suppose," he said, more to himself than her, as he plucked the sapphire from her hand, slipping it into a pouch with a flourish. “It would be rude to refuse such an offering."

The woman, still with a playful gleam in her eye, arched a brow at him. “So, just the gem, then? You don't want anything else?"

Her brow arched playfully. “So just the gem, huh? You really don't want anything else?"

Her tone was teasing, and Nelneras flicked his tail, his pride not entirely immune to her cajoling. “Why waste a perfectly good treasure?" he replied, his voice smooth and even, yet carrying the hint of a sly grin. “You keep your wagon, your dignity, and I get to add another shining gem to my collection. A fair trade for all, don't you think?"

She chuckled at the remark, but there was something mischievous in her gaze. “I still feel like I owe you more." she said, the twinkle in her eyes giving way to a hint of mischief. “How about this: you deserve a bigger reward."

“Greater?" His ears perked, a mix of curiosity and caution blooming within him. Had the gryphon openness rubbed off on these humans? “Madame, you need not—"

“My treat! We'll stop at the tavern in the town up ahead. A friend of mine owes me one. I'll show you the wettest, the hottest—"

“Truly?" he laughed, an edge of nervousness slipping through. He tried to redirect her intentions, his voice faltering just a bit. “I… I had no idea you meant—no, that's not what I—"

“Meal you've ever tasted," she finished, her smile wide and genuine.

Oh, thank the gods! He breathed a sigh of relief, chirping in delight. When she asked again, he felt practically compelled to accept, despite his original plans. How could he ever turn down a free meal? “Alright," he insisted, puffing out his chest with feigned regalness. “But once we're done, I must leave. Important business in Entis awaits me."

As the woman gathered her things, Nelneras stretched his wings, the sunlight glinting off his plumage, feeling his pride return as his form swelled slightly. He was a gryphon of distinction, after all.

“By the way," The woman said, turning to him with an eager smile. “I'm Lira. And you, brave savior, are…?"

“Valaros, Scion of the Hearth and Soil" he replied, adding his draconic title, puffing out his chest and looking the regal part very much. “Gryphon of many talents and, as you've now seen, a master of repairs."