FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Chapter 1

"Not Alone"

The vast Kingdom of Lurwelk stood proudly above a sporadic mass of residential abodes. Castles stood tall, supporting regal indigo steeples, each connected to rows of buttresses underneath. The complex maze of architecture stretched tall, but never enough to reach the highest treetop of Rethelia; The Kingdom's neighboring forest. Huddled warmly inside a neatly stacked cabin, a young adult of nineteen Years sat peacefully on his porch, guarded on all sides with redwood rails. He'd lived alone for months, barely within the Kingdom's outskirts, basking in the silence of a lush and healthy forest. With golden hair, and a pair of yellowish sienna eyes, his height stood at six feet tall. He was one of few people scattered among the kingdom's rural outskirts. Towering greenery blocked the citified horizon with a scape of stout redwoods.

Lucky for him, nobody else knew of this specific wooded region, surprisingly not even the Beast-Folk. With how excessively those bipedal beasts traveled and migrated, he could've assumed they were the first to explore every square inch of their world. Wallace didn't understand their mentality, however. Why would any creature wander so ceaselessly? He was content where he was. Seemingly so. Not once had he ever considered muddying his socks for the sake of pointless adventuring. In his humble opinion, such nomadic behavior bordered on insanity, knowing they'd traverse chaotic boreal snowscapes through blizzards and even hellish volcanic landscapes, all for the sake of who-knows-what. And it was always the fuzzy two-leggers, with maybe a few humans in the mix. Even those humans would eventually have to stay behind, exhausted by the towering endurance of their fuzzy counterparts.

Wallace simply wasn't that type. As his hands gripped a fully loaded shotgun, he rocked back and forth, calmly soothing himself in a wooden chair. To anyone who knew him personally, they'd remember his Grandad sitting in that same rocker. Over the Years, his outward demeanor had grown similar to the man who raised him since he was four. He rocked, teetering steadily in his seat no different than the old man just months ago. Not so far away, a fancy stone stuck out of the grass. There were already a few specks of moss spangling the exterior. An intricately carved frame bordered an engraved text across the surface. '1642 - 1717, Rest In Peace, Wallace Burgundy. A passionate Father, and the strongest Grandad we've ever known.' His Father named him after that man, but hadn't been around since being drafted to a meaningless war.

Their kingdom had a nasty habit of targeting Fathers with Wives and infants to take care of. And their King's excuse? Some detestable horseshit about resources being taken away from the humans. Whatever that was supposed to mean. In times of deep thought, just remembering their king's obscure explanations made his blood boil. During these trying times, his mother had been missing for years. One day, she was rocking him in her arms. The next, she was nowhere to be seen again. Not even a note, or a warning, which only further shrouded the issue in mystery. Wallace flashed back to the words of previous neighbors, rumoring that she'd been killed by the church. Yet, much to his uncertainty, nobody ever explained 'how' or 'why' to him growing up. He remembered still sucking on pacifiers the night she disappeared, being roughly two to three years young.

Those days, nobody questioned it, until his grandfather realized she hadn't returned in over fifty hours. To his misfortune, Wallace accumulated a wretched cesspool of memories from the foster care system as a result. That crooked little pseudo-cult evaded his grandfather for years, under the ignorant assumption that he was too elderly to raise a child, despite his experience. 'How long has it been since then?' He thought, squeezing his fists. Foster care was all such a blur; a living nightmare he never desired to remember. Ever since his twelfth birthday, any hope for his mother's 'return' had died. Grievances of the past pinched teasingly at his mind, like a sadistic little demon. With Grandpa Wallace's recent passing, he laid there in his room without purpose. There wasn't any family left to comfort him within the undisturbed glade. Not even on the loneliest of weeks. No parents, no half-siblings left, and no distant relatives settled conveniently nearby. The luxury of receiving visits from loved ones any day was for the lucky. The feeling finally sank in for Wallace; ever since his grandfather's death, it hit him that he was completely and utterly alone.

Wallace's departure into the woods followed soon after his grandfather's death, eventually leading to the reestablishment of his current house. There had been a putrid flood months ago, flowing from the noble's sewers near the lavish upper district. Even so, that wasn't his primary reason for relocating. Mainly, he wouldn't allow himself to be forcibly drafted by those father-killing warmongers people called the military. Plus, not having to pay taxes was a nice bonus, especially since their king was more a royal fool than a monarch. That damn king . . . Surprisingly, despite claiming what the Gods wanted to entire religious communities, those same believers immediately saw through the monarch's pretentious façade. This didn't sit well afterwards. After hearing how the public called him out in protest, all the king's monkey-brain could do was improvise on how to regain control. As if futilely pounding his chest in attempts to regain the public's favor, he increased the legal salaries in every district; just another pathetic, less than halfhearted attempt at appeasing them.

It all seemed pretty innocuous at first, except to any vaguely educated citizen who knew what it meant for their economy. So of course it was met with some protest. Anyone who refused to show subservience to this new law was either met with their tongues cut out, or their hands sawed off. Because that's how you regain the public's favor, apparently. No way was Wallace witnessing any of that again, dumping it all to the darkest recesses of his mind. He'd simply lost his sanity along the way, submerged underneath all of the blood, tears and dread. Nothing could bring back his family, and the world was still on fire, as always. So after everything he went through, including the loss of his Family... there was only the slow rocking of his chair, weapon ready, as he guarded everything he had left. At this point, that was all Wallace could do.

Despite his boundless misery, it was a bright, beautiful sunny Day, full of chirping finches and wandering silver-tailed deer. Slides of sunlight beamed through the rustling leaves, with dancing circles of light swaying through the wooded atmosphere. Wallace might've been more grateful for nature's gifts, if it hadn't been for life's unreasonable beatings. Crime was growing rampant, despite the King pushing death penalties on theft, or even minor misdemeanors. So Wallace wasn't entirely irrational in keeping himself armed against potential bandits. Anyone could've evacuated the city in hopes of escaping that hell-hole. That didn't mean their intentions were pure, however. According to his grandfather's words from times past, humans forced into survival should never be underestimated, no less trusted anywhere near the city's outskirts.

The sound of rocking gradually began to slow. Wallace's eyes were hypnotized by the swaying golden rays of sunlight. Bright slides shimmered down between every waving leaf, inconspicuously weighing on his eyelids with every breath of wind. Stubbornly on guard, Wallace grew frustrated against the beckoning call of slumber. His head hung, sluggishly tilting down, repeatedly jolting back to life in reluctance of losing consciousness. “Damn . . weather . . That's . . . not helping." He muttered drowsily, his voice fading. Wallace's eyes closed for a split-second.

'Crunch-crunch-crunch-crunch-crunch-crunch-crunch-crunch!'

Twigs and dried leaves cracked under rapid footsteps. Wallace jerked awake one final time, startled by the brisk traveling feet. He realized his gun had slid to the side, tilting underneath the chair's arm, which had the barrel pointed directly at his jaw. His finger was curled near the trigger, likely as a reflex gone wrong in his sleep. If he'd drifted off just a second longer, gravity would've done the rest. What could've been a gruesome death, was prevented, thanks to some random, unseen creature lurking near his property. Wallace figured he'd leave whatever it was alone. Even if it didn't mean to save his life, maybe this was a sign; a type of warning meant to stop this viscous grieving process. The thought hadn't occurred in a while, and it made him think long and hard about the situation, folding his arms as he stared into the forest. Maybe instead of letting depression snuff out his life within the confines of his home, he should go out for a walk, and enjoy a nice Spring day for once.

Wallace sighed, deeply exhaling as the wind's soft chorus blew throughout the treetops. “Alright. Fine." He muttered breathily, turning towards the door. “Just once." He added, sleepily stumbling through the threshold. His mind slowly woke up as he rummaged for usable equipment. Storing a small backpack he fetched from his closet, Wallace shoved in some shotgun rounds, a canteen of water, a loaf of nut-bread, and a collection of painted stones to track his steps. The precaution was necessary. These woods were vast, and seemingly endless when venturing deep enough. Getting lost among the identical giant trees was no commendable feat, not even for an idiot.

It was already Noon. Wallace strapped on his boots and garbed himself in a thick beige jacket. The touch of uneven ground felt oddly pleasant. He stepped off his porch, taking in a breath of immaculate fresh air, legitimately going outside for the first time in months. As his footsteps crunched over twigs and fresh leaves, the graceful view of nature's bounty quietly presented itself, towering above and beyond him. The vague white sound of subtle wind hummed in the background. Nature's sensations put an unwitting smile on his face. In the back of his mind however, an eerie feeling tickled his nerves. It felt like he'd discovered another world among his own. The altered differences of his environment went unnoticed, since he hadn't been out there in over a month. For an hour of venturing, he hadn't noticed anything peculiar, being too busy placing each colored rock along the way. Boredom began to settle in, making him question the encompassing silence. When his mind caught up with the phenomenon, Wallace felt his stomach drop halfway before catching it with his breath. Although it took a while for that sensation to truly register.

Just how didn't he notice it before? The birds . . . every one of them had stopped chirping, leaving the trees in peircing silence. Additionally, these woods, which were often teeming with rabbits, squirrels, foxes and cervines, had grown suddenly vacant of mammalian life. Wallace felt a descending shadow of fear creep over his mind. He complained to himself cautiously, dreading the stupid idea of venturing outdoors. If he'd been attentive, he would've recalled when everything froze in place, or for what duration this silence lingered. Come to think of it . . . after his mishap with the gun, was there even a peep from that point on? . . . Oh no.

That's when his stomach sank the rest of the way, plummeting to his feet. Wallace wasn't much for denial when it came to instinct. He accepted hard truths for most of his life, so when the obvious nuances of the situation hit him, there was nothing else to believe. Something was stalking him. He remembered the unseen mystery creature. There was a good chance it saw him as he headed out of his cabin, most likely following after deciding he was an easy kill. Wallace considered it could be the same sprint he heard near his porch. He remembered the noise's patterns in each leafy crunch, recalling the lengthy strides in comparison to most woodland creatures. Wolves weren't as quick, and mountain leopards never stalked for this long without attacking. He'd seen and heard them all before. . . except this one. Oddly yet, whatever was lurking stealthily through the shadows wasn't making any additional noises, not like last time. What could this mean for a predator? Was there a deliberate goal to drive him out of his house? And better-yet . . . was it working?

'No. No, no, that's stupid.' He thought. A predator couldn't be this elaborate, no-less that manipulative. Must've been a coincidence. It had to be, lest the creature proved smarter than any animal he knew. Then again, that begged the question, as to why he was still shaking, as if reacting to the spine-tingling gaze of something huge closing in on him. Trying to ignore that sensation would be like shrugging off a venomous snakebite. A deep, sinking pressure weighed on his senses. Denial couldn't be fenced around the sensation, causing his legs to quiver in a display of heightened instinct. Wallace almost made the fool's choice, barely deciding to dart off in a rush to get the Hell out of there. Despite this urge, he kept a calm demeanor, keeping each step to a steady saunter. This was a wiser decision than he realized. 'Never look behind you.' His conscience echoed. The forest seemed vaguely darker with the transition of thicker leafage above. Scanning forward, Wallace finally saw something as his eyes settled.

Peaking, just seven yards away from behind a thick redwood, was the yellow-eyed face of a silver wolf. Silence instilled harder than ever, aside from his booming heart. His body urged him to jump like a cat, but was forcibly stopped with every bit of willpower he had. It physically hurt his chest keeping that involuntary reaction so stubbornly bottled up, like a mouse playing it calmly in front of a lion. Frozen in place, Wallace began to sweat. An icy cold stare, with a calmness that trumped his own. That's when the canine advanced, along with it, another hunter emerging from his peripheral blind-spot, and one more creeping from his left. 'This isn't happening!' He thought. Wolves didn't normally use this hunting tactic during the day. This abnormal behavior didn't make much sense. Two diverse choices tugged at either side of his brain: Backing away, which was like ringing the wildlife dinner bell, and shooing them off, which was just asking for it.

Wallace was so stricken with fear, he forgot the 12 gauge boom-stick currently hanging off his back. Surprising what a shock of fear could do to a man's logic. Sweat gathered along his forehead, leading tiny clear beads into clumps of blond hair. The loaded weapon remained untouched, screaming to be weld. Either way, any sudden arm movements would've alerted the entire pack at once, compelling them to charge. Wallace became a statue, hoping to make himself seem less like prey. The wolves closed in regardless, ignoring his feeble attempts. His teeth and fists clenched, refusing to accept his fate as they snarled viciously. Having nobody around in his life didn't mean he wanted to die. His life flashed before his eyes, filled with so much loneliness. At that moment, he gained a fiery motivation, something burning, urging him to stay alive. There was no shame in desiring a family of his own someday. That's what he desired, and he knew he'd fight for that, or die trying. Wallace's knuckles tightened, anticipating the first assault, ready to pull a punch against the first lunging wolf.

Wallace wasn't a weak man. Even so, no surprise came with the weak connection between his knuckles and the soft mane of fur lining the father-wolf's neck. He opted to turn around and deal another blow as the beast almost immediately recovered, springing towards Wallace's right arm. A snap of skin was ripped clean off, making a grotesque sound he'd never heard before. Screaming in a flash of pain, Wallace tensed up as he tried to regain his composure. Taking advantage of his recoil, a smaller wolf on the opposite side lunged for his neck in a blur of silver, disabling his reach for the shotgun. Each attacker blared with an abrupt snarl, effectively scaring Wallace out of every chance he had to retaliate. Fangs crunched into his arms and shoulders, giving him no choice but to curl up. Fifty razor-sharp daggers tore through layers of exposed flesh, leaving the bloodied boy with one last-ditch effort.

He screamed at the top of his lungs, calling for help, hopefully to anyone who might've wandered nearby . . . but nobody had been there in years. Through all the chaos, this dawned on him, draining every last bit of hope of ever living a decent life someday. He forced himself to make his last thoughts about his family, trying not to think about the one he could've had himself someday. Life had been a terrible bastard to him. Why would death be so different? The whole damned Universe probably just hated him. Interrupting his petty last thoughts, a sudden explosion blared out of the blue. Quaking decibels seemed to shake the very fabric of reality itself, as though the voice of an Eldritch being had cried against reality's demented little game. A pang of demonic sound jabbed into his eardrums, making the poor youth scream in pain.

As the timely blast would settle down a pitch or two, he could see the papery fallen leaves quivering against each other through the lasting roar. Trees shook, Wallace's bones vibrated, and every aspect of plant debris rattled along the vegetated dirt. Whatever this cry belonged to had the vocal cords of a God. Needless to say, the wolves jolted off, tripping over one another in a frantic scuttle to escape the entity lurking among them. One of them uttered a shrill cry as they scurried out into the distance. None dared look back . . . and neither did Wallace. Agonizing stings of sloughing red flesh lingered over his arms and shoulders. It was nothing short of a miracle that he'd survived with just a few bites. But now he had another situation to deal with. Whatever that roar belonged to, it was clearly no wolf, or any animal he'd ever heard before.

So as he stumbled to his feet, Wallace nervously pondered to himself about every 'do' and 'don't', carefully picking his next decision. 'What happens if I turn around?' He thought, picturing an apex predator from the 'dinosaur times' snapping his head off in one fell bite. Or could he ever be so lucky? Without thinking, Wallace jerked around, flinching in expectance of something awful. Suppressed with apprehension, Wallace's eyes reluctantly twitched open, taking in the mossy exterior of another redwood. The tree was barely the width of a sizable storage shed, yet it towered taller than any other within its surroundings. 'The Hell? How long was this standing here?' He wondered in a fading haze. It's weird where a person's thoughts go when crawling at the reaper's doorstep.

Wallace's head tilted back, wincing painfully as his blood-sharpened hair poked the gashes on his shoulders. Looking up and scanning the calm leafage above, he could see nothing but quietly swaying leaves. Unlike the other trees, not a single leaf fell from this colossus. Stumbling and checking behind the wooden tower also proved useless, making him question reality. He knew there had been something. Whatever it was, the noise it produced was proof enough. If not that, then considering the fact his ears were nearly bleeding. The otherworldly tremors stinging his wounds were still fresh in his mind. No way was it all fake! All he needed now was some validation. 'What could've possibly made that sound?' He wondered, stumbling in a daze. Still shaken up, Wallace's breaths puffed in and out, as dark streaks of maroon cascaded down his arm. His body grew increasingly sluggish, lagging across fallen twigs as he slumped over.

Tall trunks began to blur left and right, fading out of view in his forcibly widening eyes. Knowing he shouldn't faint, Wallace willed himself to push on. Exerting, pushing, and muscling his way through, he didn't stop until he looked down, seeing the profusion of blood he'd left behind. Just as his knees gave out, he felt something brush underneath his torso. Dwindling on the verge of unconsciousness, Wallace tried to stay awake. Whatever broke his fall felt strangely smooth, fuzzy and serpentine, like a colossal snake slithering beneath him. Had it been waiting for him to faint? That would've been wise for a forest predator. There'd be no struggle that way, and Wallace wouldn't have to suffer needlessly anymore. With that in mind, he allowed himself to drift into that eternal blackness. He couldn't remember much from that point on, as if no time had gone by at all.

Not even a second passed, as Wallace felt a cold breeze tickle his feet. His mind was a bit fuzzy, though coherent enough to wonder where he was. It was too dark to see, but the rest of his body from neck to ankles was surprisingly warm. As he got up, a shock of pain seized his entire body. He let out a yelp. “Mmph! Ffffuck!" He cursed aloud, hands clinging to his chest and shoulder. There, he felt a series of almost wiry strands of something jutting from his flesh. There wasn't a trace left of his gashes . . . but that could change for the worst if he kept moving. Despite the agony he felt, Wallace decided to keep squirming under what felt like covers, foolishly shuffling around until he could comfortably sit up. A faint gust of air whiffled along his cheeks again. This time, the gentle breeze was considerably warm, coming the opposite direction, as opposed to before.

He wanted to stand up, but something strong pushed him back, using a noticeable amount of control to guide his body back down. Whoever brought him in felt inhuman, that much he could tell… especially by what felt like a thick, serpentine appendage coiling over each limb to gently level his body along the ground. The sound of leaves and other soft plants cushioned his gingerly descent. A slithering mass coiled and slid underneath his neck and shoulder, unfurling back towards its owner as he felt a trail of oddly quiet footsteps vibrate the ground underneath him.

“Such energy for a young hermit." Said a feminine voice. The tone was casual, but her decibels filled out the darkness like a giant. Wallace's heart raced into a thrum, realizing that voice didn't sound like a human's, nor any type of anthropoid beast he'd ever known about. At first he suspected some kind of large talking snake, but that didn't make sense on account of the footsteps. “Wh-who are you? Where am I?" He questioned, wracking his brain on everything that'd happened. Wallace recalled the pack of wolves, whimpering and darting away from a mysterious demonic roar. Was it all a bad dream, or did someone else rescue him? “Did you . . . save me?" He asked nervously, unable to locate her position within the pitch-black darkness. As he scanned the void without a pinprick of light, he heard a response. “I did." The voice confirmed. “My name is Rana. You were attacked by wolves and would've died if left unattended, so I took you into my cave. I stitched and medicated your wounds to avoid hemorrhaging." She bluntly informed.

Her voice was clear, eloquent and steady, as if she'd spent lifetimes perfecting her speech. Wallace made an effort to focus on where she was pacing, despite the darkness shielding his vision. “Rana?" He repeated. 'Our Planet's name?' he mutely questioned. Then again, it didn't matter what her name was. He was alive because of her. “Well, thank you, Rana. You have my gratitude." He said, nodding in the darkness. A bellowing snicker echoed off the cavern walls. “You're quite welcome, human. However, next time you're dancing with death, I'll expect some compensation." She said, sounding vaguely shady. Wallace paused at that statement, pondering the various implications that presented themselves. He scratched his head in confusion. Was there a reason she casually called him 'human' . . . as if to imply she wasn't one herself? He considered the possibility first and foremost, and clearly he didn't take these questions for granted.

Normally, he'd be able to see, but that was usually during midnight hours under the starlight. His ignorance had him thinking. . . who, or what exactly was this creature? The extent of his imagination brewed depraved creatures; unholy cryptids, malignant entities and deceptive monsters. Reason gave credence, that if she desired, he'd be dead or eaten by now. If she meant harm, there'd be no reason to nurse him back to health. Realizing the absurdity of his assumptions, he was reluctant to ask the next question. “That's fine, I'll pay next time if I have to. But… may I ask, what exactly are y-“ A sudden burst of sound shook the ground, as if something long and winding were slammed into the crags.

“Also!" She exclaimed, interrupting him. “If you so much as tear another inch of your wounds again, I'll charge you for the extra patchwork too!" Wallace winced back, surprised by her sudden irritation. “Foolish humans . . . always with the needless injuries." She muttered. He could hear a large shape leaning inwards, toes popping rocks just a few feet in front of him. A scentless puff of the same warmth from earlier blanketed his face once more. “Tonight you'll stay still, and rest your weary little head to sleep. Understood?" She commanded. Terrified, Wallace agreed with zero reluctance. “Y-yes, ma'am!" He replied, eyes wide in the dark. “Good. I'll bring back some food. It'll take a few minutes to an hour at most, so keep still." She ordered. An earthy 'crack' was heard ahead of him. Looking directly between his feet, he could see a stone panel opening in the walls. Only a faint blanket of light leaked through, vaguely coating the cavernous forefront in a silver tint of moonlight. Her attitude had him wondering if he moved too much in his sleep, causing major frustration during the stitching process. He was a squirmer, after all.

On the nights he was left alone, Wallace had too much time to think. Weeks had passed, crawling over every minute slower than molasses. His entire first month out of several wrapped up in that cave became painfully uneventful. Watching this creature's obscured form amble in and out every night became an ongoing routine. Yet, he never saw her entire figure. Every so often, he'd feel large digits shuffling through his herbal leaf-bed, either taking away or replacing old medicine. The herbal aroma began to seep into his skin over time, somehow revitalizing him. Unfortunately, gaining extra energy didn't help with the endless monotony. With nothing to do, and a restless body, Wallace was left with no option but to drift to sleep. As his overactive imagination kicked into overdrive, the world of dreams became especially vivid.

He dreamt of his deceased grandfather, sitting in his favorite chair again, as if the last few months had never occurred. Thank the Gods, Grandpa Wallace was still alive. At first, it wasn't clear to him that he was dreaming, but it soon became apparent as Wallace stopped and wondered how Gramps could have possibly been sitting right in front of him. As a child, he stared up at Granpa Wally, who was reading his favorite fiction book, titled 'The Umbral Watch'. Wallace wracked his brain. A dropping sensation snuck through his chest, growing tantamount with the aspects of reality that pulled his heart towards the pit of his soul. In the blink of an eye, the chair was vacant, with the elderly figure having vanished. As reality pulled the curtains and unhinged it's jaws, realization finally set in. Grandpa Wallace was dead. Nobody sat in that empty seat, no matter how hard he wished against it. A harsh heaviness weighed on the grieving boy, as he felt his body being pulled towards the creaking wood. As if tethered by invisible shackles, there was no stopping the gravity which pulled him into that lone rocking chair. Wallace struggled fruitlessly as his person was rotated in midair, then careened backwards until his back felt a cold wooden touch. That's when he felt the array of frigid hands shooting up and clasping his waist.

Leaning into a gasp, Wallace scrambled up frantically without so much as a thought. Caught in a cold sweat, sucking in breaths as he tried to make sense of his surroundings. Heart booming, he saw nothing but a black slate, encompassing the volume around him like an omnipresent shadow. Everything was dark. Unable to tell if he was awake or asleep, he pinched himself. Wallace felt dumb, accidentally squeezing one of his stitches, making him jolt against the pain. His startled yelp echoed throughout what sounded like a spacious cave. The bouncing echoes hinted at a place with more ambience than expected. A polite voice reacquainted itself as he turned around. It was the same ground-quaking female voice, yet somehow soothing and placid, despite her intimidating size. “G'Morning, Wallace. I've cooked Breakfast." Said the creature. By now, Wallace was vaguely aware this was no human, which honestly stirred some mixed emotions.

Turning around to face the mysterious figure, something other than blackness flooded halfway throughout the cave, illuminating the walls with orange flickers of light. A bundle of flames towered from piles of wood and animal bones, dancing nearby at roughly eight feet tall. The gentle winds blew from an unknown source, just as before, and his eyes could finally adjust to certain aspects of the cave. Now able to see, he gradually focused on the figure standing opposite from the massive bonfire. Crackles of embers popped as large shifting noises sounded with every movement. A much longer neck than his craned down, covered in a banded mix of beige and brown fur. Over the top of the neck, a pair of gleaming viridescent irises blinked, piercing a green light through the dancing shadows. Somehow, those eyes ignited a series of vague and fragmented memories, his recollections sporadically flashing to different months of the year. They were so familiar . . . He'd seen those eyes, time after time, usually on critters roaming the periphery of his home. Raccoons, water chameleons, gliding cats, and even unseasonal birds would catch his attention. Each one he saw always had those eyes . . . but there was always just one at a time. He'd always dismissed it as a special trait, unique to the woodland creatures inhabiting the area. He'd never thought too hard on it, always dismissing it somehow. A pair of slightly curved symmetrical horns emerged from the darkness, entering into the coalescing orange and green lights. Behind her, a great and widthy span of wings beat against the cavernous air, delicately fanning the flames below her.

Wallace was shocked, breath catching in his throat as his mind tried to absorb the impossible sight. “No way . . ." He gasped, his eyes becoming saucers. "I'm definitely dreaming." He said, disarmed and fearful. Despite his typical skepticism, his denial was already fading. The scent of smoke and herb-roasted meat gave it away, that this was indeed, reality. “What did I tell you before? Lay back down, or you'll reopen your wounds." She ordered stolidly, ignoring his shock. Wallace looked down to realize he was already standing on his own two feet. Fiery illumination revealed the strewn white blanket which covered his torso moments ago. His smell and touch recognized every plant beneath his toes. They were typically used as healing herbs, each freshly picked and conveniently stuffed underneath his bedding space. He'd never seen anything like it; how professionally they'd been weaved together, as though an exotic doctor tended to his condition.

Suddenly an abrupt shout roused him from his stupor. “I said lay down!! I won't tell you again!!" She snapped. An angered huff punctuated her complaints. “Damnit human, just stay in place." She growled. Her commanding tone forced him back down faster than he got up. As a young adult, he laid there in fear, shaking like a traumatized tween. “Breakfast is almost ready. Your body will need the energy to heal." She added casually, her demeanor returning to normal. Her tail wrapped around a turning handle, rotating a series of spiced deer haunches and thick mushrooms over a spit. The fire sent a potent aroma into Wallace's nostrils, immediately making his stomach rumble. Even though he was starving, there was no ignoring the elephant in the room… or more accurately, the Dragon. Wallace wasn't sure what to ask, or if he should say anything at all. There were so many times he felt like someone or something was watching him, and this was that final suspicion. He remembered strange noises occurring outside during the night, and occasionally the screams of terrified men.

Those random midnights, he thought they were just hallucinations, each illusion dreamt up by his half-asleep mind. Now he was starting to piece it together, realizing there was no normal explanation for what went bump in the night. Brimming with fear and curiosity, Wallace had to force himself to ask the most obvious question. “Oh my Gods . . . how is this possible?" He asked, grabbing her attention. Those emerald eyes focused on him as he continued. “D-dragons are just . . . myths! How am I laying here, talking to a Dragon?" He inquired, doubting the eyeful of mossy horns, brown stripes over beige fur, and the green bioluminescence shimmering from her eyes. The Dragoness' sigh boomed through the air. “Mind your disbelief, human. I am no myth. Again, my name is Rana. I was raised alongside the first human civilizations, and have witnessed humanity's progression since ancient times. I've been real throughout every era of humanity." She explained, poising her neck up.

Wallace gawked, his face raw with stupefaction as he eyed the mythical creature's face. Through the sheer shock, it was difficult listening to what she said, aside from the name he already knew. She moved with steady grace, even for a motion as simple as plopping slabs of cooked meat over a stone dish. A serving of fragrant mushrooms came after, adding to that tantalizing aroma. The stone plate was chiseled articulately, as if designed by an artist. Firelight revealed an array of runic symbols surrounding the plate's circumference. Wallace shrunk back, intimidated by her approach as Rana gently placed the food on his lap. With the way she strayed from the orange light, it appeared as though a pair of cosmic glowing emeralds were levitating through the darkness, each punctured by large black pupils. The vibrant orbs held a close proximity, blinking silently for a moment, as if waiting for a response. Acting on instinct, Wallace almost took a bite, so hungry, he almost completely dropped his questions. Before he could stuff his mouth full, Wallace heard a brief grunt that shook the crags beneath him.

The impatient sound she made was clearly meant to grab his attention. Pondering on what she wanted, he wasn't in any state to make an educated guess. The Dragoness spoke with an abruptness. “What do you say, boy?" She said, eyes narrowing. Just visualizing such an imposing figure looming over him like that, his words automatically flowed with nervous energy. “Oh!" He exclaimed in realization, eyes widening. “Thank you! Thank you so much for saving… a-and feeding me!" His tone denoted more fear than gratefulness, but it was better than nothing. Rana's outline faded slightly into view with the adjustment of Wallace's vision. Her eyes slowly bobbed up and down in a nod of acceptance. “Of course..." She replied cynically. Her tone came off a bit sardonic, as if offended. Reluctantly tearing into his meat, Wallace looked up, already feeling like he'd done something wrong. She headed back towards the roasted deer, picking off what was left with her claws.

A relaxed sigh blew from what sounded like nostrils, shaking the world around him. Her rumble slowly subsided, a quiet pause making room for every fiery pop. Rana deliberately broke the awkward silence. “Taking care of a human is frustrating, but still nostalgic, I must admit." She said in reminiscence. With how exquisite her cooking was, Wallace felt marginally confident about making smalltalk. As if appeased by the flavor, he couldn't help but engage. “Not that I'm complaining, but . . . why rescue me?" He asked, cheeks stuffed full of meat. Rana barely understood what he said, having to listen through his poor table manners. “So you wouldn't get eaten by wolves, obviously." She replied. Her explanation felt too forthright, enough to make Wallace's brow raise. “Really? You look like an apex predator. Thought you were snatching me up to eat." He replied, arms shaking behind a calm façade.

Wallace wasn't used to a Dragon's face, so it was difficult to discern her expression with minimal lighting. Despite this, he could still somehow feel a faint wave of irritation as she stared down at him. “Weren't you listening? I said I was raised among humans. Even hunted and ate alongside them."

“I'm sorry… I have a lot on my mind right now, with being held in a cave with a D-Dragon and all. It's somewhat . . . startling." He explained, forcing a hard swallow of meat. Once he fully got it down, his face tensed with inquisition. “Wait. Did you say your name was Rana? Like our Planet's name?" He asked, staring thoughtfully in wonderment.

Her calm visage nodded briefly, obscured by flickering shadow and light. “That I did." She affirmed.

Wallace rummaged in his brain for a response, trying to ease the tension with smalltalk. “It's a popular name. I mean, for humans. Were the ancient humans the ones who named you?" He asked. His shoulders began to relax, immersed with fascination. Her soothing voice distracted him from the pain of his injuries, which made him all the more engaged. “Yes, like I said before, I was raised among the first humans to ever touch this world." She cooperatively informed. “Wow. O-okay." He scratched the back of his head, unsure of what to say to that. Better-yet, if he even believed her. “So . . . does that mean you're the very first person to be named after our planet?" He inquired, focusing eagerly as he tilted his head in fascination.

“I wasn't named after the planet. Think bigger." She hinted impassively. Wallace stared, confused while thinking hard enough to squint. “Did something else have the same name?" He inquired, scratching his chin as the other hand ground through leaves below. “No. Just me." She hinted patiently. Then it clicked. Even with the marvel standing right in front of him, he still had trouble believing he was speaking to a mythical beast. Now that impossible reality was pancaked on top of another inconceivable topic. “Hold on. How old are you?" He asked, eyes narrowing. Her head turned, facing him soberly. “Careful there. Asking a lady that question could have repercussions." She joked, giving a playful grin. Wallace didn't take it humorously, however. This was a Dragon. He was in unknown territory, both literally and metaphorically. He paused, heeding what he perceived as a potential warning. Rana sensed his apprehension with mild guilt, deciding to answer anyways.

“Six-million years, give or take." She answered. His neck stretched, almost enough to lean up. “Six-million!? Is Rana named after you!? How did this happen!? Tell me everything!" He insisted, marveling on the details as he looked up at her. “Calm down. You're still under intensive care." She ordered strictly, pointing down to him. “Yes, I'll admit, it does serve as a decent bragging-right. I forgot how big of a deal this was to humans." She said, groaning under her breath. “But ehough about me. What about you? What's your name?" She asked, giving a jaunty smile. “Spare no details." She added, tail readily fwipping behind her.

From what this imposing beast explained about her history, it made him feel comparably humble about stating his name. “Um, Wallace." He muttered meekly. To his embarrassment, there wasn't much else to share. He was a normal being, only desiring basic necessities, and downright lucky to have four walls built around him. That was it. There would've been tension, if it weren't for Rana's patiently waiting eyes. Rana's demeanor radiated an ancient maturity. Just from looking, Wallace could sense a boundless wellspring of wisdom and experience, each accompanying a vast acceptance of all things. She was ready to hear anything, no matter how rude, bland or outrageous. Somehow, this kindled an abnormal warmth in his face.

“I guess that's it, though . . . After the sewage flood in Lurwelk, I had to take apart my grandfather's house and rebuild it in Rethelia. Gathering and cleaning the materials was a nightmare." His tone carried a tinge of revulsion, even starting to smell the putrescence by memory alone. “I'm guessing the flood belonged to the nobles." She said, rolling her eyes. “Did anyone help?" Wallace's curiosity resonated with Rana's comment, wondering mid-talk how much she knew about modern day society. “No, just me. I spent most of my money renting a carriage, so even if I intended to pay taxes . . ." He trailed off, baring an inquisitive look in his eyes. Intrigue grew on his expression as Rana listened. “I don't suppose Dragons socialize with citified humans very often, considering nobody knows you exist. How'd you know the nobles were responsible?" He asked.

She simpered in a ladylike fashion. “Even I paid taxes once. I understand the ordeal. But you do realize tax money circulates back into society, right?" Her expression didn't waver in confidence. Wallace looked confused, almost next to frowning. “You're making even less sense now. There's no way you paid taxes." He said doubtfully. Rana responded by rising up on all fours, turning around to rummage through something he could barely see. It sounded like claws flipping through papers. Occasionally, the light tapping of claws sounded against a thin wooden container. “Hold on, just one moment." She said.

While wondering what she was doing, Wallace literally couldn't discern heads or tails of her position, with scarce lighting obscuring his perspective. Even so, her figure moved with a lion's regality, crossed between a snake's skillful, fluid motions. Only a split-second before it was over, did Wallace realize what he'd been staring at above him. She approximated the size of five full-grown warhorses amassed into one. It wasn't clear wether he was seeing her underside, or a densely darkened view of other musculatures. He tried not to think about it as she turned back around, with him pretending that brief moment didn't exist. “Here we are. Found it." Her claws pinched a paper square, handing it to him. Wallace, still recovering from a deep blush, squinted again for the umpteenth time, trying to read in the flame's dim twilight. “Thanks for your cooperation, Rana Liambold . . . Age 25? Tax record ID 3297-AQ. Compensated Amount: 29 goldwelks, 82 silverwelks, and . . . 7 pearl?"

Reading his tone, Rana could tell which parts he questioned. Wallace looked back at her, then at the paper again with inquiry. “This breeds more questions than answers." He replied, eyes glued to certain details. There was difficulty in his expression, mostly trying to understand what he was looking at. “First off, I understand you have seniority over well, most civilizations, but . . . Lurwelk stopped using pearl as a currency in 1581. Also, what's this about being twenty-five?" He asked, puzzled.

“Oh, they stopped using pearl?" Rana inquired, blatantly skipping the question. Wallace's brow flexed suspiciously. He was no fool. He knew she was dodging the question, but hadn't yet gained enough confidence to get pushy with a dragon. So he casually humored her with a relevant answer. “For almost a hundred and thirty years now. Fishermen started finding large lakes with literally tons of them. A year after everyone salvaged them, the value of pearl became worthless." He informed. Rana casually nodded. “Sad to hear. On the bright side, it's been Centuries since a human educated ME. Your words brings back warm, ancient memories." She extolled, beaming a bright smile. A luster of genuinity laced her eyes, as if she'd been reacquainted with a dearest, long-lost friend. Her entire head occasionally gave a reminiscent look at times. The convalescing boy below her reciprocated a soft, pitying smile.

Wether it be human, animal or mythical beast, Wallace knew that expression all too well. That same feeling hit him like a lance every time he opened the door to his empty, static cabin. His look of concern melded with a rebounding expression of curiosity again. Wallace's mind couldn't help but bounce back, questioning how the Hell a dragon owned a tax form. “Damnit." He muttered, pierced by curiosity. “To be honest, I wasn't going to ask, because you're very intimidating, but it's really nagging at me. How'd you get your own tax record if you're a Dragon?" He asked, somewhat bravely. Her smile ebbed vaguely into a nervous smirk. “You shouldn't feel daunted by me, but let's call it a secret for now. You're still recuperating, and I don't want to excite you too much. How about we talk about it later?" She offered laxly. Her eloquent tone brimmed with persuasion, making it nearly impossible to pry any further.

“My point is, you should pay your taxes. Kingdoms need that monetary circulation. Not all goldwelks are used to encrust a Noble's toilet seat." She bargained. Unfortunately, despite being faced with an imposing beast, Wallace was slightly set off. His expression twisted with rage as he made a bitter retort. “I'll throw myself back at the wolves before I trust those idiots with my gold again! They're all fools and tyrants alike." He barked, folding his arms. Rana's head winced back, startled by his biting words. “Some are tyrants. Not all of them are. Personally, I don't care who's side you're on, but what concerns me is how they'll search your humble little cabin." Wallace's eyes jolted out of an angry tint, redirected by a sense of reflectivity. Not only did she know where he lived, but she was right. The frightened screams he heard at night could've very well been tax collectors, probably spooked by a monstrous, green-eyed figure looming over them in the darkness.

Maybe that's what he'd been hearing at late hours. “Remember, these are tax collectors. You know they're stubborn." She pointed out. He gave pause, still ruminating on her words a bit. Then his face fell. “Okay, fine." He said with a sigh. “But I'll never go back to that hellhole again." He added, shoulders relaxing into the herbal bed. Rana leaned over, exchanging a thick blanket from her arching tail to her forearms. Her eyes radiated a gentle glow over his forehead as she covered him with the warm pelt. “That's fine . . . As a matter a fact, how about I pay them for you?" She offered plainly. Wallace's head turned abruptly, his brain giving a double-take. He chuckled a bit, caught off guard by the suggestion as his brow arched. “Gee, my brain's acting funny. At first, I thought you said 'pay them for me', but I couldn't have heard that, right?" He asked mirthfully, his face half-smiling, half-bewildered. Her grin continued, this time more smugly as she patted him on the head. “You're in no condition to file them now, so I can pay them while you rest here." She claimed, before squaring on all fours and heading towards the exit.

Wallace's laughter became more anxious, subsiding into nervous breaths. “Wait . . . are you serious?" He called out as she left. A stone contraption activated a large slab, sliding down as Rana walked towards an incline heading up. Sunlight shone in abundance, signaling the call of morning. Too bad Wallace had to stay in and sleep, looking past the threshold and spotting an array of towering redwood trees. Rays of sunshine flooded over her coat as she looked back at him, revealing a fuzzy pattern of brown stripes arching over beige fur. He stared for a moment, transfixed by her body's intricately beautiful designs. “This will be the last day you spend here. Tomorrow morning, I'll make sure you're safely returned home." She promised. Somehow, a slab of stone raked within the wall, sealing him inside, despite no volitive force pushing it shut. With Wallace's structured and architectural mind, he had to wonder how it worked.

But even more perplexing . . . how was a dragon -of all creatures- going to file his taxes? Did she really just say that? How could a man sleep with his thoughts racing like this? The answer became apparent as Wallace's eyes grew drowsy. Hours later, the bonfire settled into charred silence. Animal bones and wood collapsed into smoldering red matter, crackling as loudly as Wallace's snores. He dreamt of sailing on a vast ship, floorboards swaying with the waves beneath him. From the deck, he saw a pair of colossal wooden wings unfold, protruding gracefully from the hull. It was the simplest dream he'd ever had, just scaling the skies for several minutes. There was some time to ponder about life, enjoying the view of cottony clouds as he mulled over every aspect. Before he could wonder wether he was asleep or dead, Wallace awoke to the sound of his windows rattling, shaking from the onslaught of an abrupt outside force. “What the Hell?" He blurted, jolting up.

There was no delay in his movements. He felt rejuvenated, stepping off his bed effortlessly rather than groggily. Without even needing to rub the sleep out of his eyes, Wallace stepped out of the cabin on bare feet, listening to the early song of birds. Dazed for a moment, he looked towards his boots, which were aligned next to the door, just as always, with his gear unpacked and placed in there proper spots. The bloodied bandages he'd worn however, were replaced by an article of blue pajamas unknown to his wardrobe. While invigorated for some reason, he still hadn't noticed his nightclothing yet. Dumbfounded, his golden eyes gazed between each towering redwood, looking past his shotgun, which was perched barrel-down, leaning sidelong against the rocking chair. Everything was where it belonged. Too much so. He was always a little disorganized, with a few things always out of place. So the sudden tidiness presented as an overt discrepancy.

“My Gods . . . was it all real?" He whispered. Now noticing his brand new pajamas, Wallace couldn't quite wrap his head around it all. The more he thought about it, the dumber it seemed. A Dragon saved his life, and was now headed to Lurwelk, to file his taxes? Clearly, it was an extremely long, albeit lucid fever-dream. It made no sense to begin with. Wouldn't a Dragon entering civilization incite screams among the masses? Then again, he knew someone had saved his life . . . but was it really a giant talking lizard? Two sides in his mind argued tediously, each trying to throw the other. Time crunched away every hour with its gnashing jaws, and nothing could be more irritating than uncertainty. The whole day, Wallace thought hard, pondering from dawn to dusk. The second day went by normally, frequenting it's typical routines. All was boring and dull, but peaceful. This 'Rana' character was still fresh in his mind, making him question reality and sanity alike.

On the third Day, he laid in his rocking chair, still pondering. Learning from past errors, he currently held his shotgun, it's barrel facing downwards. He hadn't noticed a distinct difference about the atmosphere until now. Specifically, the lack of a gut-feeling. Some people don't notice an ongoing white noise until it stops . . . In the same way, Wallace now realized there was no longer any feeling of being watched, staring into the darkest shades of Rethelia's trees, only to sense nothing. Drawing this conclusion should've at least unsettled him. Instead, his chest experienced a frightening absence. 'Would it be weird to want it back?' He thought. Could it be that months of loneliness were eating away at his mind, causing him to go insane this whole time? There was only one way to find out.

Wallace reached for his boots, and opened his wardrobe, fitting into a proper change of attire. Outdoorsy in appearance, his boots were crafted for fishing, but sturdy nonetheless. The only thick beige jacket he had was gone, hinting as evidence of the wolf attack. But that wasn't Wallace's angle of investigating. He opted to explore; to travel and see if the colossal tree was still standing where he'd been saved. He had a hunch -albeit a strange one- that it was no mere tree. Just as Wallace's hand turned the brass doorknob, he jumped back at the sound of knocking. His heart thrummed like a terrified jackalope. Living in the middle of unknown woodland territory didn't make it any better. The knock's speed and patterns were relatively polite, hinting at no sign of hostility. That made it even worse.

To stick the paranoid cherry on top of the disquieting cake, he remembered that his shotgun was still perched outside. 'Fffuck!' He thought, his face wrought with tension. Ducked and hiding just around the doorframe, Wallace tried to remain silent. That's when he heard a peculiar voice. “Hello? Is everything okay in there?" Asked a lady's voice. A look of bothered stupefaction grew on his face as he crouched. He immediately regretted responding, knowing the risks out in nowhere-places like these. “I don't have anything of value! Please, go away!" He demanded, dismissing her as a ploy. One could never be too careful when it came to bandits. Not to mention, women could be just as nasty and depraved as men. In his mind, the situation hadn't changed a bit. While 'don't talk to strangers' had to be the most obvious rule, he still kept at it. “You're not welcome here! I have another shotgun right here!" He yelled, cuffing his voice towards the door.

“I'm afraid that wouldn't work on me, Wallace." She said politely. In any other tone, her remark would've been regarded as threatening. However, there was a stark amount of . . . eloquence, to her speech. Flashbacks of what he thought to be fever-dreams rushed through his mind, remembering Rana's eccentric personality. The Dragon who saved him, cooked for him, clothed and healed him . . . It was that same voice, now talking at a higher pitch. There was a residual feeling of gratitude hidden deep down, enough to override his instincts. His heart began to beat faster, but not out of fear. “R-Rana?" He called out. Nobody else could've known his name, unless they were former coworkers, or the King's tax collectors. Without thinking, he swung open the door. To his grave disappointment, there was a lone human lady, standing there idly. A toxic expression sunk over his face, matching a reclusive tone. “The Hell are you?" He asked, glowering.

The woman's confident demeanor didn't waver, dressed up in a casual, beige Summer dress, paired with a matching sunhat. She smiled at him, exuding an oddly familiar energy. “Didn't you just say my name a moment ago?" She questioned pleasantly. Wallace groaned under his breath, not in any mood for games. “Look, lady, I don't know why you're here, but this is private property. I don't take kindly to visitors." He explained in annoyance. She took a step forward, making Wallace's eyes shift towards the resting shotgun. Tilting her hat upwards, she deliberately made room for eye contact. Glimpsing nervously into her green irises, his grumpy expression began to waver. Giving him a chance to survey her features, the mystery woman waited patiently, until Wallace's eyes widened. His deadpanning face lit up with surprise. “You . . . No. That can't be." He narrowed into a squint, staring stupefied into her luminescent green eyes. They were the very same he'd seen in Rana's cave. “What do you think?" She asked, tugging her dress' collar. “I know it's Spring Season, but a Summer getup just feels nice."

He just stared, unable to truly grasp if he was completely losing his mind. “Rana??" He addressed again, haywire with uncertainty. She gave an assuring nod. “The very same Dragon." She replied, making sure to include she was indeed, a Dragon. Wallace grabbed his temples, expecting the room to spin. She'd essentially snatched the line that divided reality from madness, and broke it over her knee. “How exactly are you a Dragon? I mean, a human? . . . Damnit, what are you!?" He exclaimed. Without meaning to remember, he automatically frisked his body for scars. Suppressed flashbacks of snarling beasts raced through his mind, tearing his mental armor down like the bites themselves. It took him three days to erect such a weak barrier, half-convincing himself he'd gone mad. He felt something smooth studded along his arm. It was faint, almost entirely inconspicuous, but vaguely resembling a scar.

“Looking for my patchwork?" She asked stolidly. Wallace couldn't answer, contemplating various topics at once. Questions of his own bounced through his mind. He stuttered and scrambled mentally for his first question, before capitulating to just one simple request. “I need explanations." He demanded wearily, fingers rubbing along his forehead. Rana shrugged nonchalantly. “Ask away." She said, causally waltzing past him. It didn't even register that she'd ambled into his home, not until she sat down on his bed. His head followed her until she gazed back. “Umm…" He uttered awkwardly, watching her get comfy. She smirked innocently towards him, patting the bedsheets. “C'mon. Let's talk." She called, draping one leg over the other. That tiny gesture was enough to turn his face cherry-red, both with ire, and something else. His reluctance to sit next to the form of an attractive lady made him step back shyly. “I . . . think I'm fine standing up." He replied, straining a worried smile.

“Don't worry, it's just a bed. You're not losing your virginity today, I promise." She jested playfully. At this point, Wallace's face could make a cherry jealous. His mouth cracked open, jaw hanging lightly. Of all the things he'd heard her say before, he couldn't believe she said that specifically. Rana rolled her eyes, refusing to wait any longer. “Just sit down!" She ordered, regaining his attention. His hands went up defensively. “Okay, fine." He replied, hesitantly stepping forward. That unreal blush slowly dissipated as he sank into the mattress, sheepishly averting eye-contact. Though, to be fair, Rana's eyes hadn't changed since her Dragon form, making it significantly difficult not to glance at them. Like nebulas of ivy, lime and olive vaporized together, they created a wondrous mix that even the most bashful types couldn't ignore.

Rana reached into her pocket, pulling out a piece of paper. Wallace chose to sit at least four feet away, sternly eying the paper as he accepted it from her. “What's this?" He asked, scanning down the document. She remained silent, letting Wallace read for himself. No less than a minute passed as his eyes doubled-checked the entire paper, incapable of believing what'd been typed. His hands trembled as he lowered the parchment, his eyes widening. “No way. I can't believe it . . ." He said in a hush, pulling the paper closer. "Ten . . . THOUSAND four-hundred goldwelks!? I had trouble believing I'd met a Dragon, but… this is just ridiculous! This isn't possible!" He denied, almost seeming troubled. There was a blockage of mistrust he couldn't hurdle. To him, it was like traversing a desert and being told a mirage was an oasis. “Are you sure this shouldn't be a minus?" He asked, pointing to the total. Rana chuckled, pitying the pessimistic boy.

“No. The Collection Center explained everything to me. Your Grandfather's woodworking company made furniture for the royals." She stated, keeping him nonplused. “W-what's that mean for me?" He asked cynically, still trying hard to accept this was reality. Rana pointed to each statistic as she went over them, as if teaching a student. “You see, Lurwelk deducts how much taxpayers offer up by what they do for the Kingdom's Royal Family. Call it favoritism. Your Grandfather was refused pay for months, but they still owed him money." Her long white nails tapped the flimsy paper. “This document was sitting in a file drawer for five months, just weeks away from expiring." She informed. Wallace's jaw slowly dropped. There were three indisputable fates in this backwater world: Death, misery and taxes. Again, Wallace could hardly believe he'd dodged all three in just a few weeks… all thanks to a certain Dragon. The lesser issue was, he'd never experienced this level of gratitude for anyone. A layer of moisture gathered in his eyes, sniffling as he covered his mouth in post-shock.

The world had turned upside-down a long time ago. In contrast with events, such as being left alone without a family, or losing his house in a sewage flood, his astonishment felt exactly opposite from the tribulations he'd faced. His sniffles grew louder as hot tears welled into beads, finally weighing enough to roll down his cheeks. There was a significant release that came with this moment, each one an embodiment of every heinous deed Lurwelk committed against him. Rage and anger were at least temporarily quelled by a washing sea of gratitude. “Thank you!" He exclaimed, closing the distance between them with a hug. Rana flinched in surprise, not expecting him to become so direct, but settled to return his embrace with two arms over his shoulders. She gave a light pat, relishing in the embrace of a human once more. A soft smile crossed her lips, though with a tinge of guilt. Patting him on the back, she gently pulled away, giving him a look of sorrow. Wallace's eyes studied her expression, confused.

His fears re-emerged for a second, wondering if there was a catch. Considering his ill streak of fortune in the past, it wouldn't be surprising. “I'm afraid I can't accept your thanks." She said solemnly. He glanced at her, narrowing a troubled expression. Features of anxiety started to pull on his face as she spoke. “Why not? Did something go wrong?" He asked assumingly. Her head shook. “No, not for you. I'm afraid I might've played a hand in this . . . delay". She confessed. Wallace's worry thankfully faded, but into slight irritation. “So? Who cares!? I'm filthy rich, Rana! I have the money my family was owed! Even before that, you saved my life!" He exclaimed with jubilation.

“No, Wallace," She deflected, giving them both pause. “There's more: I invaded your privacy . . . I secretly watched you without permission, under the guise of protecting you from invaders." She said guiltily. Wallace stammered, looking her straight in the eyes. There was no knowledge of this for certain, despite him always knowing on some deep level. “W-what? How long have you been watching me?" He asked, face twisted in puzzlement. She gave an embarrassed glance, realizing just how uncouth it all sounded. “Every day after you rebuilt this house." She answered, her shoulders tightening. Wallace looked absolutely creeped out, understandably. This answered the question as to why he always had that nagging feeling of eyes peering into him for months. Rana still opted to continue, forcing herself to spill even less pleasant information. “Any interlopers I'd fended off weren't even thieves, either. I'd misjudged the situation . . . As I found out just today, they were just members of the Collection Service, looking to pay you back what they owed your grandfather. I sent them screaming, Wallace. Because of me, back at their headquarters, they all think your house is cursed."

The face gazing up at her was overwhelmed with stupefaction. Unexpectedly, the awkward glare was broken by the crack of a smile. Rana wasn't ready for his reaction. A brief chuckle broke out into a poorly concealed snort, eventually escalating into a hysterical laugh. His stomach practically waved, making Rana think he'd gone mental. As his cackles blared, Wallace struggled to regain composure.

“Those overprivileged idiots think my house is cursed!?" He exclaimed, almost falling backwards into a heaving uproar. While most wouldn't think this was hilarious, Wallace hadn't talked to another person in seven months. So the mere thought of those pompous fops running away and screaming for mommy had him rolling with laughter. He held his gut, smiling in the shape of a continued chuckle. He'd ran out of breath too soon, allowing Rana to put in a word. “I suppose that's pretty funny. But you're not mad?" She asked concernedly.

“About you scaring away those rich bean-counters? Not one bit!" He quipped back happily, his finger wiping away a tear of relief and laughter.

Rana gave another reserved expression, allayed by relief. “Hey. I should inform you, I used to be an accountant."

Wallace suddenly went quiet, glancing up at her with skepticism. “Yeah, about that human stuff you keep mentioning…" He brought up, looking rather itched. “How are you human . . . and Dragon? You said you'd explain that to me."

Subtle apprehension crossed her face.“You're right. Since we're getting everything out of the way right now, don't hold back. Ask me anything." She encouraged, leaning in readily. Wallace thought on it for a moment, getting his words together. “Okay. I want to know how you did this." He gestured towards her, hands descending head to toe. “Oh, this?" She pinched her dress, displaying it flauntingly. “Well, I thought I'd make something a bit more plain. No patterns or anything too conspicuous, you know?" She said merrily. Wallace's eye twitched, teeth gritting together. “No, stop! I meant, how are you a human now, instead of a Dragon!?" He asked frustratedly. She nodded, officially surrendering an answer. “Right, sorry. The answer is, I'm a shapeshifter." His confused reply came tonelessly, brow raising in question. “A what-now?"

Rana placed a hand on her chest. “I can change shape. Into anything, or anyone." She claimed, watching his skepticism grow tenfold. Receptive to his disbelief, Rana's arms fell to her lap. “Think! How else would I have retrieved your back-payment?" She pointed out. Wallace shook his head in disbelief. “No." He denied, his tone wavering. “Yes." She threw back. The weight of uncertainty kept him in obscurity, forcing his brow to lift. “I'm not sure I believe you. Are you saying you turned into me? Show me." He demanded. Judging by his tone, this human wasn't the type to believe anything unless he saw it with his own two eyes. Those types were always a bother to her. Luckily, she had amusing ways of dealing with stubborn skeptics like him. “If you say so." Rana shrugged, leaping off the bed. She bent down, hands curling underneath the bottom of her dress and pulling up. Only when the article stretched above her head, did he actually register what Rana was doing.

Pulling the rest of her dress off, Rana continued to strip down, leaving herself half-naked. Wallace's eyes went wide, face searing red as he shielded his vision. At first, it was difficult to catch the words racing in his mind, only spitting out a panicked sentence as she revealed articles of transparent undergarments. “What in the name of everything holy are you doing!?" He jolted around, averting his eyes. “Relax, I have to go bare. I just made these clothes. It would be a waste to destroy them mid-transformation." She said placidly, catching her bra before it fell too far. Wallace's one arm gestured frantically, his other occupied in shielding his vision. “How would they rip if I'm shorter than you!?" He combated, flinging his arm up in disbelief. Rana gave a playful smirk, with a tone to match. “What, so you'd rather see yourself in a dress, instead of a naked lady?" She joked wittily, taking a step closer.

Wallace stammered nervously, clearly shaken. “Wha- no! Please, just put your clothes back on!" He argued. Despite his protests, there was admittedly a stray intrusive thought in the back of his mind, tempting him to peak between his fingers. “Nope. Actually, I'll need some of yours." She refused casually, flinging open and peaking into his redwood wardrobe. She scanned the closet, looking past the blue pajamas she left him, and looking towards some other garments. “A pair of shorts and a fur-coat? I guess that'll have to do." She gave a ladylike shrug. Wallace leaned forward into the corner, moreso facepalming than covering his eyes now. “I can't believe this is happening." He said in monotone. Wallace could sense Rana's fixated gaze as she spoke directly towards him, her hand perched on her hip. “Why is a lonely hermit refusing to look at a woman's body? If you're gay, just tell me. I won't judge or tell anybody."

His brows ramped. “I- what? I'm not gay!" Wallace objected, suddenly turning around to face her, finally uncovering his eyes. But that boldness fled just as quickly, his voice catching in his throat as he witnessed a pillar of green fire towering over him. “Woah!!" He screamed at the explosion, jumping back a few feet. Wallace didn't notice just how catlike his reflexes were, having landed squarely on his bed. The spire of flame narrowed into a searing lime-green center. The hottest central point began to contort, shaping itself to fit his exact height. “Oh my Gods, my house! Put it out! Put it out!!" He exclaimed in a panic. Features of a face formed within the green-tinted white center. It retracted and waved high, like weightless bundles of formless seaweed. A less brightened viridescence languidly danced above, as if alive, contrasting against the lighter hues beneath its ivy color.

As if a douter descended over the threat, her flames rounded out, smoothing into an illuminant emerald texture. It's amorphous faculties began to carve into details of flesh, limbs and hair. When everything flickered away, the ebbing flames began to shed away, leaving an exact clone of Wallace, staring back with a mirrored expression. Residual green embers flickered off the lookalike's flesh. He released his breath, forgetting that he'd held it . . . observing an exact, flawless duplicate of himself. His doppelgänger stared for a split second, curving a smug grin. There weren't enough words, not even to swear, as he stuttered for a clear sentence. It'd all happened so swiftly in real time, yet descending to a slow crawl when he watched her transformation unfold. His aimless babbles of nonsense struggled to become coherent, until Rana cut in. “Your house is fine. You, on the other hand, seem to be losing your head." She said sassily.

Shaking free of his stare, Wallace protested in bewilderment. “You lit yourself on FIRE!" He argued shakily. While a bit flustered, he couldn't take his eyes off the anomaly. Rana was currently fitting herself into his shorts, just briefly revealing his unmentionables. Any further complaints were drowned by a flood of intrigue, causing him to climb off the bed. Heading over for a closer look, his steps circled Rana, observing himself from all angles. “By the Gods," He said in a hush, looking himself up and down. After a moment of taking in his replica, he stared himself in the eyes. Every retracting golden facet of the iris was so elaborate, he flinched in response to thinking his reflection had moved. “It's so exact, it's scary." Came his remark. Rana was happy to hear this, a look of joy alighting on 'her' face. “You think so? I worked hard to portray it accurately." She said proudly, like he'd complimented an artist on a sculpture.

“You had me worried for my life, but still . . . it's amazing!" He said, shaking his nervousness away. Rana noticed his tension waning, giving a sympathetic look. “You'll do well to know the fire you saw doesn't burn hot. There wasn't any danger." She assured. At this point, Wallace's disbelief and skepticism were running dry. Rana had already protected his house, saved him, served him fine venison, nursed him back to health, returned him home, made him rich, and one way or another, the strange things she'd claimed had turned out true. On what grounds could he refuse to believe anything else she told him? After all, she was walking proof that fiction wasn't always fiction. “Okay? So did that flame come out of your body, or was it just part of it?" He asked, still gawking widely with intrigue at his copy. Wallace's knuckles pinched at the imposter's face, exhibiting a monkey-like curiosity.

Rana didn't seem to mind, casually answering his question without a hint of annoyance. “Yes to both." She nodded, trying not to snicker at his curious hands. He tilted his head in observation, eyes glued closely on his copy. “So you're made of fire?" He asked, getting an eyeful of every precise inch. “Actually, it's not fire. For certain types of Dragons, it's an energy that surrounds us. When we concentrate it, we utilize its power to change shape." She informed, wincing away from his finger which'd drawn too close to her eye. “I'm not sure how much of that I understood, but it sounds . . . otherworldly." He remarked, drawing back for a comparative look. Doing so revealed a subtle detail he hadn't detected earlier. Wallace noticed the glossy way her imitation of his golden eyes reflected light, always partially revealing a lens of green when observed at just the right angle. He studied the phenomenon curiously as she replied.

“Hopefully in time, you'll understand. I think it's fair to say we're friends now, so you can expect to hear a lot of unspoken truths from me." She said cordially, beginning to glow with viridescence. Wallace watched her ignite again, casting a green light against his cabin walls. Intrigue displaced what'd previously been anxiety, allowing him to calmly watch her. While her mouth had basically turned into green fire, spreading out and encasing her body, Rana's voice still resonated from the glowing torrents of energy. Her tone didn't exactly match the dramatic display though. “In the meantime, what do you say we do some shopping?" She asked, flames gathering in a frenzy. Each ember converged again, forming into a humanoid mass. As she turned back into 'Lady Rana', Wallace noticed a subtle discrepancy poking out of her hair: A lone mossy horn jutted from her left side, inconspicuously enough to dismiss as a mere hairpin.

He was too mesmerized by her flashy charms to point it out, while also focusing on her question. “I said I wouldn't stop by Lurwelk ever again, but . . . that does beat the point of having money." He admitted, glancing briefly at the paper on his bed. Rana's human toes barely revealed a row of claws shrouded in green light, gradually retracting back inside her feet. She sported his coat and fishing shorts a bit awkwardly. Her wardrobe malfunction wasn't the worst he'd seen, but that's when he recalled one odd detail . . . “Hey, hold on!" His eyes narrowed, almost glaring. “You said clothes get destroyed when you transform!" He pointed with scrutiny. Rana's posture stiffened still as a board, abruptly remembering. The eloquent tone she'd always seemed to exude stammered for a half-moment. “W-well, I was, just being cautious. They're very delicate fabrics." She said evasively. Her half-formed claws snagged the beige dress off his bed, adeptly discarding her previous clothes and fitting herself back into it. Wallace's brow rose by itself, silently deadpanning.

“So, what about it? Are we going to Lurwelk or not?" She asked, picking up the salary record. “You've convalesced in a dank cave for weeks. Maybe socializing with other humans might be useful." Rana added. Her breath began to steady itself as his inquisitive expression gradually faded. He nodded reluctantly. “Yeah, I guess. Are you . . . coming along?" He asked, dubious as to wether he was bashful or worried. “Tomorrow, possibly. If not, what about the day after? I haven't bought any jewelry in a while." She reached under her dress' neckline, pulling out several golden Lurwelks. A series of black and golden circular stripes glimmered as she juggled them dexterously with three fingers. Wallace blinked thrice at her. “Wait, you have money? How is . . . “ He cut himself off, waving his hand in a change of tone. “No, nevermind. At this point, I probably shouldn't be surprised." He said, eyes following the spinning golden pieces.

“C'mon! Tomorrow, or the next day?" She prompted eagerly. He surrendered to the question, actually excited about going out into Lurwelk for once. “Tomorrow, but I'll need another pair of clothes. The other ones got . . . shredded by wildlife." He said, face falling. “Don't worry!" She exclaimed, as if seizing the moment. “I weaved you some new garbs. They're back at the cave, so I can drop them off when I get here tomorrow." She said helpfully. There was a hidden excitement in her tone, gone barely noticed. “You made me new clothes?" He asked, lifting his head up. A redeeming smile spread over his face. “If we weren't friends a couple days ago, we're definitely friends now." He extolled, smiling. It didn't fully matter what type of clothes they were either. Clothing of any kind was especially expensive, especially when Lurwelk was the only place for miles when it came to desperate vendees.

With crime on the rise and economic inflation springing high, wheat, eggs, wagons, weapons and especially thread became a major scarcity. That's why Rana might as well just offered him a gold bar. She grinned back, enjoying his gratitude in faux modesty. “Oh, it's nothing. It only took me five minutes. Back when I lived in the first human generation, I was the village clothier.“ She boasted. A look of peculiarity stuck over his face. “Wait, so . . . are you saying you made caveman clothes?" He asked. “No, not caveman clothes." She corrected mirthfully. “Better than that. You'll see." She assured, smiling proudly. Wallace gave a nervous smile, uncertain of her expression. “Did you make me an ancient-style garb?" He asked, partially amused.

“Yes, but the rest is a surprise." She said, getting up and patting his shoulder. Wallace felt a sliver of unrestrained strength escape her arm, rocking his entire body where he sat, causing him to dig his hands into the mattress to steady himself. Wallace remained seated, still looking up at her as he studiously cocked his head. “No offense, but I still can't get over how you're an ancient Dragon, who . . . changes bodies?" He said honestly.

“-Shapeshift" She corrected. "Though we're also called 'Star-Drakes', since our power comes from the flames of an enchanted star." She stated factually. This only made the young man's face twist with perplexity. Rana's basic wisdom may as well have fallen on deaf ears, watching the boy's head tilt slightly as his brow rose. She'd forgotten how ignorant humanity had become in this Era of progression. “Alright, now, that couldn't be true! If stars are made of fire, then why are they all white?" He asked, looking certain of himself. Rana sighed, lingering on the verge of impatience. She had to admit, it was a good question though. “Because, Wallace, the various different spectrums of starlight blend together while traveling to our Planet, making them appear white from an extremely far distance." She worded, knowing full-well he wasn't going to understand.

Confusion crossed his face for the umpteenth time, narrowly staring up at her, as if trying to solve a difficult puzzle. “I'm . . . sorry, I didn't understand a word of that." He said expectedly. Despite being six feet away, Wallace felt a pat on his head. “I forgive you. It's a mystifying concept for humans these days." She said tolerantly. As she finished her sentence, an extending tail began to oscillate, snaking in the air past his peripheral vision. He hadn't even seen her generate the massive appendage, not fully in view until she'd reached the door. A flicker of brighter green alighted in her eyes as she deftly controlled both human and Dragon faculties. “Wait for me tomorrow. I'll be here once the sun reaches peak height." She said casually, gracing him with a gorgeous humanoid smile. Moss-tinted Horns began to grow, arching over her auburn hair. Rana's transformation was elaborate, more subtle and far less flashy than before.

However, something else in mind was making him blush, knowing as she transformed without fire, seeing that she truly didn't need to strip down a few minutes ago. There was only minimal fire this time as she exited mid-transformation, dropping to the grass on all fours once she'd stepped off the porch. Given, the flashiness she'd displayed before was breathtaking, he couldn't help but ponder on her deliberate efforts. It made sense that she'd want to make a good impression, but that contradicted the act of teasing and messing with him. 'What exactly was she trying to do?' He wondered.

Somehow, her dress had been folded neatly, as if on its own, left without a single wrinkle on the rocking chair, sunhat perched on top. Wallace gawked, mesmerized at seeing her jawbones elongate, feet stretching and her spine extending. Her shoulder blades sprouted a fuzzy pair of beige, batlike wings, the same fur spreading over her quadrupedal figure, like fire sweeping across a dry field of wheat. Her burnt-sienna stripes saturated into the same places they'd been before, decorating her like an exotic tiger. What used to be a scrawny human, now grew before him, bulking into muscles and curvaceous draconic features. Despite hearing her original voice before, he was still surprised to feel how booming it was. “You make me smile, Wallace." She said mirthfully. “You're a good, handsome man, and I look forward to our next meeting." She said in a warm, affectionate tone, speaking two yards away as her eyes gazed into his.

Those two simple complements made him feel strangely comfortably, to such a degree that an entire sentence was able to slip off his tongue. “Thanks, and you'd be a lovely girlfriend." Wallace blurted suddenly. An abrupt weight fell on his heart. His hands slapped over his mouth, face searing with a fierce blush. He'd reddened riper than a tomato, almost wondering if he'd really just said that. Rana's eyes widened for a moment . . . Then her stupefaction gradually waned into a brazen, coquettish smile. Her accepting grin did nothing to cool the redness in his cheeks. Before anything else was said between them, her wings bellowed a gust that rattled his windows and flung his door wide open. Her regal form pierced the air with such speed, she'd become a mere dot in seconds. Then everything was quiet again. Somehow, with that silent, unresponsive smirk still fresh in his mind, he felt deep down, there couldn't have been a better answer.

Strangely enough, for the rest of that Day as the shadows of trees drifted and waned, Wallace knew she hadn't really left. Even as morning transitioned past noon and descended into nightfall, he knew she was still watching him. In most contexts, this would've felt or appeared creepy. However, the sensation had already grown on him long ago. Knowing her nature, it almost felt like having his very own guardian angel. He didn't dare say anything to her, despite knowing exactly when her eyes were upon him. She could've been a mere leaf, an owl, or maybe a bat using sonar in the night. As the hours drifted by, Wallace tossed and turned in his bed. He couldn't sleep, the overactive events of his day pressing down on his boggled mind. Things had been so lazy since the day he'd moved into Rethelia. Now everything seemed different, but in a good way. Eventually, after hours of deep pondering, his eyelids fell at midnight.

At this time, the sound of a unique species of arachnids chirped pleasantly in a musical chorus outside. Wallace enjoyed their symphony, letting it lull him to sleep. Another hour later, and dreams began to flood his mind with their aesthetic charm. Wallace found himself wandering through a random royal palace, built together over marble pillars, enjoining a series of embossed golden scrollwork lining the archways, which presented an upstretched row of translucent crystal windows. For Wallace, when the subject of dreams turned up, they tended to disconnect from any topic of life or it's current events. Maybe it was a subconscious means of escaping reality, or merely just his brain's nature, plain and simple. But as he aimlessly traversed the scape of his dreams, this time around, there was a subtle difference about everything. All objects and matter in his path had become just slightly more vivid. To the point he could slide his fingers across the cold marble, Wallace lucidly felt the sensation of touch in his dreams for the first time.

Not a single trauma or nightmare harassed him that night. For once, Wallace was aware enough in his dreams to think an audible thought as he sauntered the endless architectural hallways. He couldn't wait to wake up, not because the dream was distasteful in any way, but because tonight, he actually looked forward to tomorrow. Someone new, cordial and fascinating just entered his life, which made his heart palpitate joyously. This went on for seemingly ten minutes as the boy wandered his dreams, until finally . . . he woke up. Dawn had broken, leaking the first slides of golden sunlight through his window. While barely having slept, Wallace felt renewed and fresh. He took a long stretch, getting a feel for his fingers. His feet caught a pair of slippers as he stepped towards his wardrobe, opening it up to glimpse inside the door's mirror.

Adjusting his hair, Wallace grabbed a brush off the nightstand, snagging multiple frivolous knots as it glided across his scalp. He didn't need to force a smile this time. Not like before, whereas he'd flex his face, just to be sure it wouldn't sag from a lack of activity when he hit forty someday. It was the equivalent of 6 o'clock AM, but not many were awake at this hour. Wallace realized he'd have to wait seven more hours until noon, which left him wracking his brain on what to do. Rana would show up eventually, gracing him with her presence. Fortunately, her upcoming arrival inspired some prodigal ideas. Today, he'd be heading into Lurwelk to withdraw a hefty back-payment from the bank. This meant he could spend time going all out in repaying Rana's kindness. There wasn't much else to do in the middle of Rethelia's Woods anyways.

Hours of free time could fly in minutes, so Wallace made a move-on, heading outside in his pajamas. He inhaled a breath of healthy fresh air, leisurely ambling about where nobody could ever see him. Even though this was basically his living situation in a nutshell, he still preferred the extra solace, just in case. His eyes fell on an area a couple trees away from his cabin, where a likably large rock took up some width of a small clearing. The half-buried boulder had a thin blanket of moss sprinkled over the top, which gave him a clever idea. Deciding this was where he would conduct his work, Wallace went back to retrieve some tools he'd forgotten to bring. What used to belong to his Grandfather, a wooden container held a chisel and hammer kit, with various other elaborate tools. An array of differently sized rasps stuck out from the smaller compartments, arranged and ready for sanding.

Of course, first and foremost, Wallace would have to mark where he wanted to start. The project took well over five hours, but in the end, he'd done a proud job. His goal was to carve out her horns, using the moss as a green tint. Any amount that overgrew, he could sand off later. Thankfully, nothing had grown quiet. While packing his tools, Wallace could hear the inconspicuous flapping of wings pushing a gentle breeze between the leaves and foliage. Darting off, he sprinted with his things, rushing towards his house to pack everything back inside the attic. Squaring his tools away, he swiftly climbed down the ladder surreptitiously, as if hiding a murder weapon. Just as a knock rapped at the door, he pushed the ladder back up in time, before sliding the panel below it. Wallace patted himself off, swiping all the dust away while reaching for the doorknob.

“It's me." Boomed a feminine voice. Wallace was unaware of his beaming smile, only focused on taking off with his new friend. The call of making extravagant purchases for once in his life added comparably little to the overall excitement of getting to see Rana again. Her face almost filled the entire threshold as he opened the door, revealing a pair of cosmic green eyes. She spoke with a plain, yet curious face. “I saw you running pretty fast. Is everything alright?" She asked, neck stretching in as she shifted her gaze inside. Wallace gave a humbled smile. “I was just hurrying back." He replied. Rana's tail curled inward, joining next to her head as the appendage held a sizable coin purse. “I brought extra goldwelks for the bank, since they might charge you first." She mentioned, dropping the sum in his hands. He eyed the bag emotionlessly, but seemed to slowly liven up each time they made eye contact.

In all honesty, he didn't care if he was poor as dirt, or living in a gold-plated mansion. It was now, that Wallace realized just how much Rana's presence brought him a tranquil sense of safety, just from being around her. Nothing felt better than unquestionable security, assuming that's all he was feeling. She cocked her head to the side, studiously making a face. “Wallace? You're staring." She imparted bluntly, making him stupidly snap back to reality. “Sorry. I was just thinking about . . . buying stuff." He fibbed, evoking an inquisitive look. “Let's get going then." She offered waggishly. Rana glanced at him, her smirk exuding a tint of playfulness. “Unfortunately, I can't fly you there, so we'll have to walk. We can't have other humans pointing towards the clouds, screaming 'sky-devil' all Day." She joked.

Wallace's face grew stern at the concept. Rana, a devil? He didn't think it was funny. “At first glance, I never thought you were a 'devil'. Maybe humans should keep their mouths shut." He said critically. Rana's expression leveled out, becoming plain once more. “It was only a joke." She said, concerned. A flush of pink toned vaguely over his cheeks, making him scratch the back of his neck. “Yeah, I know! I was also kidding." He said, slightly nervous. A sassy grin curved over Rana's muzzle. “Whatever you say . . . Rox'uff yit drelek'a." She replied. Wallace shot a mixed stare, both curious and perplexed. The sudden dialect she'd used sounded so advanced, yet spoken so well by her fluent tongue. “What was that?" He asked, mildly glaring with stupefaction. There was a bugging scratch of intuition telling him she'd said something witty and embarrassing, only evident by the teasing smirk on her face. His eyes narrowed, silently interrogating. “I've never heard that language before. What'd you say?"

A muffled laugh vibrated the floorboards. “I'll tell you, but only if you learn fifty words a Month." She said evasively. Wallace looked a little irritated, shrugging sardonically. “So, basically never? That definitely wasn't Lurwelkian." He deduced complaintively.

Rana's demeanor bordered between her mature tone and a mischievous smirk. “You're right, it wasn't. Guess that means you'll have to find out, won't you?" She teased. A brazen grin filled halfway up her jaws, making him nervous. Wallace wasn't sure how to respond, simply looking up at her as if she'd robbed a beggar.

She continued speaking casually, ignoring Wallace's disappointed frown. “On another note, here's that surprise I promised you."

The boy's expression beamed. “Really!? Where is it?"

“In your wardrobe." She pointed nonchalantly. Wallace followed her claw, turning to look behind himself. Eyes springing agog, he was astonished to see a neatly folded assembly of clothes hanging inside, gleaming with tinctures of precious metals threaded within. Right underneath those were a pair of shoes with a sleek, gray sheen. His eyes were lying to him, that much he assumed, his disbelief wavering as he drew close enough to study the designs.

Eyes exchanging between Rana and the wardrobe, Wallace stammered in confusion. “What the . . . How did you . . ?"

Rana cut him off in a singsong tone. “I'll never tell~." She replied,

“You scare me, but . . . wow!" He extolled, feeling around the fleecy, warm garment. Wallace was dazzled by the intricate, labyrinthian black patterns sewn across the metallic silk. This was unlike anything he'd ever seen in Lurwelk!

“It's so . . . grand. People might think I'm a noble!" A genuine look of joy spread across his face, sparking a light in Rana's spirit.

“Is that so?" Rana's tail unwittingly swayed behind her, raking through the grass on repeat. “I'm glad you like it." She said in a calm façade, smiling pleasantly.

“Like it? I love it! Are these seamed with arcalt? I thought arcalt got exhausted years ago!" He said, alighted with joy. It wasn't her intention to make it so grandiose, but apparently this was a gift fit for a royal. Rana laughed inside her mind, eyes shifting to and fro, as her head lowered into a whisper of faux furtiveness. “Remember the cave where I patched your wounds?" She asked in a hush.

Wallace gave an inquiring look. “Yeah? Is that where you got it?" He asked. His mind flashed back to childhood, remembering when Lurwelk's criminals worked away their lives in that cave. To think he was sleeping in THAT same cavern the whole time. Looking to his first memory of that place, he'd been five Years old, forced to learn a bitter truth about the governing laws of his Kingdom: In Lurwelk, “lawful" punishment scarcely matched the crime. This was evident by what he'd seen one dreary afternoon while hiking with his Grandfather, flashing back to the deep bloody marks lashed across the bare backs of laboring prisoners. A warden screamed at the top of his lungs, taking chunks off their skin with every lunge of a steel-tipped whip. His Grandad tried to catch up with him, desperate to shield the young lad's eyes. But he was too late. Young Wallace had already seen the inhumanity, leading him to ask questions later. This led his young mind to prematurely ponder the laws their kingdom had so stubbornly clung to.

Rana nodded, chuffing proudly in a reply that shook him awake. “Let's just say the King's prisoners 'missed' a few ores buried in large 'deposits'. " She said the latter word in quotes, posturing herself.

“I'll admit, it feels good knowing the King didn't get his fat, grubby hands on this!" He exclaimed, solemnly trying to regain his glee. “From what I've heard, they say this metal wards off pestilence." He added bittersweetly, his smirk fading from the savage memories of his youth. A latent trauma hid underneath his expression, visible to Rana's concerned eyes. Being a protector for countless humans before him, she knew when something was amiss. Acknowledging his personality type, she decided to say nothing. It would be better to ask after they'd had a long day of good fun.

Later on, Wallace briefly retreated to the privacy of his cabin, deciding to get changed as Rana laxly laid outside. He excitedly, yet carefully fit himself into his new attire. The cloth's exotic texture was smoother than silk, as if crafted by a high-class designer. Wallace's eyes stared in bewilderment as every piece seemed to fit perfectly. At first, he was unnerved to realize Rana had designed them in his exact sizes . . . for everything, including his socks, shoes and underwear. But his worries were easily brushed off, dismissing it for two viable reasons. Firstly, as he'd witnessed firsthand, Rana was masterful in the practice of intensive care. Maybe she knew his body's measurements from the time she wrapped him in bandages. Or maybe she was supernaturally wise, merely guessing from millenia's of experience as a clothier. Either way, he couldn't complain, especially with how much he owed her.

Rana nearly laid her head down in boredom, only to hear the door creak open. Wallace stepped out confidently, sporting his attire with a mild spring in his step. “Not bad at all." Came her reply, beating him to it. She stood on all fours, scanning him up and down. Rana created the fabrics with an additional hidden feature, allowing the wearer to turn them inside-out for a more rugged, less costly appearance. Even the bottoms glimmered iridescently, contrasting against its beige counterpart when turned outwards. Wallace seemed to understand the intent behind such a design, taking full advantage of it. Lurwelk's lower districts were finely constructed, but were still practically ghettos for the commoners. If anyone saw him flaunting fine clothing like that, he'd be stabbed and mugged before even crossing the city's threshold. Thankfully, Rana would be there to keep an eye out, so they could freely enter the Collection Center without issue.

“You're really something else, coming up with this idea. I was wondering how we'd get in without my shotgun." He said, promptly adjusting his pants. While Rana did enjoy his flattery, the Dragoness impatiently ambled off, calling out to him. “C'mon, let's go to the City! My favorite merchant's opening up soon!" She urged, excitedly quickening her gait. Wallace's new shoes crunched through brownish gray dirt, accelerating his steps as he caught up. They made him feel noticeably more nimble, causing him to stumble lightly as he slowed beside her. She remained in her quadrupedal form, making him wonder how long she intended to keep it that way before they reached civilization. The curve of her back leveled above him by roughly a foot, though he could've sworn she was larger before. “Hey, did you . . . get smaller?" He questioned, looking puzzled. Rana snickered a bit, facing him as they strolled past countless trees.

“The benefits of shapeshifting." She replied, her tail extending towards his back. This roused a jolt from the young man, as if reacting to a fuzzy serpent's touch. Her languid appendage coiled and retracted upwards, snaking over his shoulders. A muffled laugh reverberated in her throat. “Which reminds me . . . I wanted to try something I haven't done in a while." Wallace didn't have the chance to question what she meant, being abruptly squeezed by her gently slithering tail. A silly shriek sounded from his throat as Rana hoisted him into the air. “Ack! What're you doing!?" He exclaimed, wriggling his body like a ferret. Before uttering further protest, his body was angled upright. A gingerly descent set him atop her back. The squirming stopped once his fingers met the downy mix of fur and feathers between her wings. He ruffled it with his hands, instantly mesmerized by its texture.

“Woah, hey, that's really soft." He muttered, caught off guard for a moment. Then his attention ripped away from the otherworldly touch of her coat. “You know you could've just asked, right?" A bothered line pinched between his brows. Rana's head turned to the side, aiming an amused grin. “And miss your reaction? . . . Pass." She quipped. Her legs sauntered faster with each step, until they reached a consistent speed-walk. Their distance to Lurwelk was five miles away, mostly with no beaten path. Just wild overgrown shrubbery, towering redwoods, and enough foliage to fill a canyon. At the pace they were going, it would take roughly forty-five minutes. Then again, once approaching the road, Rana would have to transform into something less brisk in order to hide her true form . . . which meant this could take well-over an hour.

For a third of the hike, they engaged in idle chitchat, which later transitioned into deep philosophical conversation. It started with something about Lurwelk's economic downfall, and how everyone was sick of the King's blithering idiocy. This was idle chitchat, somehow evolving towards the topic of nature's serenity, then inexplicably ricocheting into more existential concepts. Wallace kept in a position leaning forward, elbow propping off above Rana's shoulder-blades to keep his head up. Reflecting on prior conversations, he began to wonder about life. About humanity, their world, corruption, love . . . Everything. And on top of that, having a Dragon suddenly show up, claiming to have personally known the first human civilizations . . . it made him infinitely more curious, and just as desperate to pick her mind.

A long, silent pause settled between them, save for the sound of songbirds warbling in the background. “Hey, so . . . “ He trailed off, cracking the silence. “You've been around since ancient times, right?“

Rana's expression grew apprehensive, fixed forward as she strolled. “This is true. What of it?" She said plainly.

“Here's a billion-goldwelk question: How did humanity screw everything up so badly?" He asked sardonically. She blew a quick sigh, as if this weren't the first or last time humans had asked her this question. “If you're asking when everything went downhill, then that's not exactly the right question, Wallace." She corrected.

“Okay, then what's the right question?" He badgered, yet receiving a quick answer. “It's more a matter of how you look at things. Humans have always been chaotic, but that's how they've progressed throughout the ages." She defended, only to receive an immediate comeback.“Doesn't that just mean humans are born unstable?" He asked critically.

She gave her best approximation of a shrug. “So, what if they are? Everyone is imperfect. That's a fact of life." She said humbly.

Wallace felt a little less than humble, bubbling with anger at the thought of how humanity treated him. “Even Beast-Folk have their own flaws, like thinking bear-traps are metal teeth. But it's nothing compared to humans." He held his hand out, counting his fingers. "They steal everything they own, they treat their women like shit, and their soldiers too. If anyone or anything happens to be making a life for themselves, but living on something humans like, they desecrate it, and while they're at it, probably kill their families too." He retorted angrily.

Rana nodded in disapproval. “That's not true in all cases. Everyone has a different upbringing. It's just a matter of perspective." She said, her eyes slightly narrowing. Wallace's arms swung up, gesturing emphatically. “A matter of perspective? Surely you've lived long enough to witness our societies, Rana. If you ask me, humanity's a crooked race, fated to destroy themselves." Rana's expression fell grave and somber. “Don't say that." She scolded softly. Wallace couldn't see her face, ignorantly continuing his rant. “Why not? It's just a logical observation. Clearly humans are headed on their way to an early self-destruction." He contradicted. Rana's tone grew rougher and louder. “That's not true. You're making foolish assumptions without any empirical evidence." She protested, holding back a tinge of annoyance.

“Haven't you seen everything? The poverty and starvation effecting hundreds of millions of families, and with crime going rampant . . . Every bit of it is because humans are naturally born as greedy, corruptive psychopaths. Tell me I'm wrong!" He exclaimed. Stress grew on her face, silently taken aback by Wallace's views. The irrefutable facts weren't what put her in a crappy mood, instead being his attitude towards humanity. The same humanity she'd loved for millenia's. “You ARE wrong. I know why humans do what they do, and it isn't because they're born evil." She combated. A confused and frustrated look crossed Wallace's face. “Then why is it like this every time in history? Hasn't humanity had a trillion chances to improve themselves? If humans ever go extinct, you'd better call it natural selection."

The last straw had finally been pulled. Rana's voice became sharp, cutting away at his pessimistic tones. “That's NEVER going to happen!" She yelled, ceasing her strides. Wallace flinched at her blaring protests, surprised by the sudden explosion. He trembled a bit, realizing she didn't take kindly to his words. They stood still for a moment, hearing the white noise of wind continue as the birds stopped. Wallace dwindled on the verge of outright quivering, sensing tension in the air, even as Rana's legs forced themselves to continue walking. Having a bear roar in one's face would've been less daunting . . . which was why he trembled even more as a growl rumbled through her jaws, traveling down her back and rattling up his spine. “Watch your mouth." She added, slowly but surely simmering down. “My very first memories were of hatching from my egg and gazing into the eyes of my human guardians. I will NOT permit you to speak bigotries of humanity. They are my family."

Absorbing the impact of Rana's words, a wave of silent shock stupefied him. “Rana, I . . . I really don't know what to say. I had no idea humans meant that much to you." He said regretfully, his face falling solemnly. An abrasive puff blew out her nose. “My whole life has revolved around humans. They mean everything to me." She said bluntly. Wallace's face fell, reflecting on his own words. He tried to picture how many deceased human friends she must've had in addition to his harsh comments. “I'm sorry. If that's truly how you feel, then I shouldn't have said that." He admitted, falling into shame. “It's fine." She said, coming across more forgiving than he'd expected. "Just no more talk about human extinction. Are we clear?" She asked sternly, but calmly. “I understand," He replied, pausing silently. "But . . . we're still going spending, right?" His question came with notable timidity.

“Yes, we are. I'm not mad anymore, so don't worry. I was taught better than to hold a grudge." She said, vaguely proud. Wallace still felt a faint remainder of guilt, his eyes shifting around in search of a subject to change to. “If you don't mind my asking, did you ever know your Dragon parents?" He asked expectantly. She didn't answer at first, as if thinking. After moments of ambling in silence, leaving him in suspense, she spoke. “It's against my oaths to specify sensitive information, so ask no further in those regards, but . . . the ones who lead our armies rule over many kingdoms in other worlds. Dragons rarely die when faced with any foe, so my mother came back from war five years after I hatched. But my father, he never got briefed because, well . . ." There came a pause, as if contemplating wether or not she should continue. “You probably wouldn't believe me if I told you." She said, spontaneously dropping the topic.

Wallace's head rattled in annoyance. “You're joking, right?" He scoffed. "I'm riding a six-million year old, shapeshifting Dragon. If you tell me the world's made of cheese, I'll probably believe you." He said exaggeratively. “Probably?" She quoted, thinking through the facets of what she should mention. Then her face loosened, coming up with an idea. "Okay, fine . . . but it'll be cryptic." She said, much to Wallace's disgruntlement. “Okay? I don't see why that's a condition, but alright. Tell me." He demanded, accepting her terms. Rana postured her neck upright as she walked. "Alright . . . here it comes." She held her tone, enforcing an aura of anticipation. “You've met him." She replied finally, making him inch back with surprise. “What . . . really?“ He asked, his eyes agog with disbelief. “Is he a shapeshifter too?" Rana nodded merrily. “That he is." She confirmed. His body froze up, dawning with the concept of meeting another Dragon.

“When did I meet him? Was he a human, an animal . . . plant, maybe?" He guessed. Rana flicked her tail-tip, pantomiming a wagging finger. “Answering any of those questions would give it away." She said in refusal. “I see . . . so then the answer's more obvious?" He said aloud, pondering. “That's the only second hint you're getting." She warned. Wallace mulled over the finer details, repeating them to himself. When he and this shapeshifter had met, it must've been in the form of something alive. Most importantly, this had to be something he'd never believe. “You're not . . . your own father, or a stupid twist like that, are you?" He asked jokingly.

“No." She denied.

“Okay, good. Is he related to me?"

-“No."

“Friend of the Burgundy Family?" He pressed hopefully.

-“No. Also, I'm giving you three more guesses." She notified.

“What!? That's not fair!"

“Thirty seconds." She added teasingly.

“Hey, there's a time limit now!? Damnit . . . Is he anything I wear?"

“No, but you're right to assume Dragons can become objects."

“Oh, come on! You could've told me that earlier!"

“Seventeen seconds."

“My house?"

“Getting warmer."

“Fuck! Is it me!?" He asked, giving up.

“Cute, but no." She said mirthfully.

“Whatever, I give up anyways!" He said, settling down into a sigh.

“Fine. Since I'm having fun, I'll give you one last guess. No time limits." She said, throwing him a bone. His face lit up a bit. This time, he'd put in his best effort. “Okay, let me think . . ." The gears in his head cranked there hardest. This could take a while. As he thought on it, the act of pondering in itself bred an idea. His face lit up smugly. “What if I thought about it in my spare time? Like while we're traveling to the City? I want to guess on our way back . . . you know, with there being no time limit and all." He replied wittily. Rana snickered, cracking a crafty smirk. “I see nothing wrong with that. Just use your thinking-time wisely." She advised.

“I plan to. Though I'm not sure why you suddenly want to be so mysterious." He scowled innocuously. “I have my reasons.“ She said nonchalantly, keeping a secretive demeanor. He leaned upwards, pointing accusingly. “So you ARE keeping secrets! I'll bet I'm probably never gonna guess it eith- Wait . . ." Wallace cut himself off, looking ahead as he remembered this particular section of trees. “Hold on a second. You'll want to go around this area. There's bear traps. Y'know, if that's even something you worry about." He forewarned. Her brow lifted carelessly. “Bear traps?" She repeated, unfazed. "Nevermind them, they're not dangerous to me. When I catch one, my ankles bend the metal. When people find their traps again, they start thinking there's monsters in the woods." She explained comically. “That's weird. I wouldn't expect that from someone so soft." He said, pinching a mound of her fur.

“You're not the first to say that. I've even sold my fur in pillowcases before. Strangely, humans love it so much, they'll pay a hefty sum, even though I don't want their money." She chuckled.

Brought to the cusp of mirth, he almost laughed. “Sooo, why not just give them away for free?" He asked, his brow arching.

“Because then, instead of being a merchant, I'm just a strange lady handing out pillowcases full of fur."

Wallace laughed agreeably. “That weirdly makes sense." He replied mirthfully. He bunched a handful together for close observation. “It feels like fur and down-feathers . . . kind of like they're fused together into one." He mentioned, thoroughly mesmerized by the texture. “An acute observation. That's exactly what it is." She commented, unbothered by his light tugging. “I want some." He bluntly requested, earning a snicker from the Dragon. “That was quick. But you know what would be better?" She smirked, playfully batting her wings.

“What?" He asked, glancing up.

“We could always nuzzle asleep together at your place."

In no less than eight seconds, nothing but the vague, white hum of distant wind could be heard, along with the faint chirping of birds. Which was why Rana couldn't help but feel a growing pool of regret at those words. Thankfully, Wallace's voice broke the awkwardness between them. “I . . . suppose we could, in a purely platonic way." He answered nervously, his hand rubbing along his neck.

“You do understand I'm a Dragon, right? I'm not inviting you to have sex."

Wallace's palms slapped his forehead, beginning to caress it. He chuckled nervously, his mirthful tone bordering on embarrassment. “Gods, you really don't beat around the bush, do you Rana?" He chuckled lightly, somewhat embarrassed.

Her membraneous wings gave there best approximation of a shrug. “You're one of many humans who's shown interest in my fur, and you won't be the last." She stated. Wallace sighed, curving a half-smile. “I guess I do have an entire fluffy Dragon with me." He admitted. A regaled grin spread across her face. “Yes, that's it, human. Surrender to my sultry charms." She said, a humorous look spreading over her. And just like that, it'd gone silent again. Wallace knew she was just poking fun, but a warmth still seared through his cheeks. Maybe it was how she said it, possibly with his subconscious mind misreading the context. Whatever the case, his brain grew tired as they traveled along the pathless route. All this talk of cozy fur and pillows heavied his eyelids as they roamed the serene forest. Rubbing his eyes, he could feel the descent of a creeping slumber. “Hey, speaking of 'cozy', would it bother you if I took a nap on your back? I didn't get much sleep last Night."

Rana wasn't fazed by his request, laxly sauntering with a leisurely gait. “Not at all. Just expect to be woken up when we get there." She forewarned.

“Thanks, Rana." He said gratefully, leaning forward to nestle his head between her fluffy wings. Cotton clouds had nothing on her coat, making him grab handfuls, as if kneading. Precise timing as it was, they'd drawn closer to a cobblestone path as slumber immersed him. Approaching the road ahead, this was Rana's cue to morph into a less conspicuous form. Transforming quickly caused her emerald flames to flare out, though never harming the boy as green embers faded off against her new body. Clopping gracefully down the beaten path, a statuesque mare glowed against the slides of sunlight hitting her white coat. Her fur was still as soft as before, yet just a few inches shorter. The only discrepancy was a vaguely luminous pair of green eyes, which would've only been cause for alarm during dusk.

Rana had frequented these paths before. She was experienced at precisely timing her transformations, and into what she needed most in any given situation. This time she caught a familiar scent up ahead, relaxing as she realized what it belonged to. A pair of foxy ears turned up over a slight incline, then a feline's. Coming in last, the scaly head of an iridescent blue reptile sped forward to catch up with them. All three belonged to the bipedal species famed as Beast-Folk, likely heading back the way they came. As usual, they'd gotten kicked out of a human domain. Presumably, at least. Either that, or they weren't allowed entry. The male fox was beige, almost on par with Rana's original fur color. The feline was a cream-colored female, with a black pantherine stripe painted across her muzzle. Surely she hailed from the snowy mountainous regions of Northern Rethelia, while the reptile hailed from the forested beaches.

It was obvious to say where the fox was from, maybe even living close to Wallace. They strolled leisurely enough for a smile to grace their faces, despite recently being expelled from another domain. The fox gave a curious look at Rana as they crossed paths, progressing closer with every step. They scarcely wore any clothing, the female sporting a ragged brown cloth over her chest, with another hanging generously around her waist, save for a miniature sleeve channeling her pure white tail. The other two sported equally modest loincloths, which were connected to a strapped leather satchel hanging over each of their shoulders. As they stopped to study Rana, she couldn't help but feel slightly . . . nervous. Pairs of bright-yellow feline and canid eyes shot her a suspicious expression. However, the reptile's turquoise orbs eluded her, his gaze fixed sternly onward. The others stood still, looking at Rana with intrigue.

The blue-scaled creature had already walked ahead of them, sighing in annoyance as he stopped. “What has your attention now?" He inquired impatiently, turning to glare at them. The pair began to stare suspiciously. “This mare . . . She's strange." Said the feline, puzzled as her nose magnetized towards the shapeshifter's side. Rana's eyes tried not to widen as she realized she'd forgotten to replicate a mare's scent. Not as skittish as most foxes, the cat's friend approached Rana from the front, openly offering a sugar cube from his bag, and gently petting her. As Rana admittedly enjoyed the flavor, they each looked up at Wallace, noticing he owned no saddle. “Excuse me sir, I hate to bother you, but . . . oh." The fox finally noticed his eyes, placidly shut as he laid belly-down on the mare's back. “What an odd pair." The cat commented. An agreeable nod gestured from the fox. “A mare without the scent of a mare . . . carrying a slumbering boy with no saddle." He paused, smelling one more thing.

His nose pulled towards Wallace, receiving the scent of an oddly familiar type. “What's even stranger . . . he smells like your kind, Kedra." He added, a look of confusion filling out his face. They exchanged similar glances, then faced their waiting companion. “Come here, Arlin! You have to see this!" Called the cat, hushed enough to ensure the rider didn't awaken. Their friend didn't seem amused. “I'll meet you at camp." Said the reptile, impatiently dismissing them, and continuing to walk ahead. The cat's face gained a sour expression. “Gods, what a grump." She muttered, returning her attention back to Wallace. The fox caressed Rana's head in soothing, affectionate motions. “Such a gentle beauty. Look at these rare, intelligent eyes." He said, enviously staring into her vivid greens. “What a lucky human . . . Well, mostly human, I guess." He said uncertainly. The cat glanced at him curiously. “Are you sure?" She asked, eyes shifting towards the dreaming boy. The fox nodded in affirmation. “I think so. He smells of your kind. The scent is faint though." He speculated.

Rana's ears twitched, listening to their conversation with peaked interest. “Either way, we should probably catch up with Arlin. Wouldn't want to bother anymore humans." She suggested anxiously, fearful of being denigrated any further, like back at the City. “Right. Probably safer." Replied the fox. He embraced Rana's equine head with a sunny smile, giving her a genuine hug, then headed off, waving an affectionate goodbye. “Hope to see you again, beautiful." He said, looking back with a bright smile as they sauntered along the beaten path. “What the hell are they?" The catress asked him, whispering while glancing back, though unaware of Rana's listening ears. Her partner shrugged in contemplation. “I can't tell. But he takes wonderful care of his horse. If her rider wasn't asleep, I would've offered a generous bag of goldwelks." He said this aloud, hoping Wallace was faking. When no response was given, they officially departed into the distance. In time, their figures gradually waned into dots, leaving Rana with her thoughts, and a sleeping Wallace.

Rana's breath released, a bit frustrated, but flattered by the fox's kind words. 'Somebody's getting an anonymous gift later.' She thought, smiling. As she continued towards their destination, her thoughts revolved around what those Beast-Folk had said earlier. There was speculation that Wallace might've shared traces of blood between their races. 'Could it be true?' She wondered, words running through her mind as she sauntered the beaten path. 'It would certainly explain the yellowish eyes.' Her conscience responded. Surmising carefully, Rana knew genetics dictated that humans couldn't have yellow eyes, unless they'd mutated accordingly with extremely specific environments, or had a lack of certain distributions of melanin. Then-again, he could've just been a hybrid, plain and simple. Rana's speculations wracked her brain the whole trip.

In under an hour, she'd arrived at their destination; a practically bare region, save for a wide, raging river, with scarcely any trees. The terrain stretched beyond the grassy horizon, presenting the gates of a vast regal castle, standing a moderate distance away. Far below that stood an arching gate crosshatched with black iron bars. Looking past the metal squares of Lurwelk's open entrance revealed rows of humble abodes, each built from stone, metal and gray bricks, minus any wood. Smoggy remnants of dissipated smoke hung over the lower class district, which outlined the inner diameter of a massive grayish-blue wall. A duo of guards stood their posts, each clad in teal armor, and armed with swordlike spears. Unbelievably, the boy was still asleep, despite the general bustle of citizens passing through, each traveling by foot, horse or carriage. Wallace laid limp, immersed in an absurdly deep sleep. There was an irrational shadow of fear telling Rana to check his pulse. As her tail elongated, the appendage burst at the end in a frenzied green flame, discreetly generating one of her hands.

Still in equine form, she placed the makeshift hand's index digit on his neck. Rana listened carefully as a series of healthy thrums made her roll her eyes at herself. Now she just felt silly. However, there was an entirely separate sound that made Rana's ears perk up. Her eyes widened in disbelief, comically questioning the noise. Surely the Universe was messing with her. It couldn't have been more coincidental, hearing what she first thought were snores. A firm rumble reverberated from a region between Wallace's throat and chin. She entered a deadpan glare, deciding to gallop towards a less populated area. According to a stone sign ahead, the running inflow of water was known as 'Titania River'. This freshwater route overpowered all lesser noise, surrounded by a myriad of thickly twisted trees, each cut shorter than the redwoods they knew. The comparably diminutive forest cloaked Rana's presence . . . After all, she wanted to test something.

She stared daggers of concern into Wallace as he slept peacefully on her back. Rana grew unnerved, despite witnessing life signs earlier. “Alright, sweet prince, that's enough slumber." She urged sassily. Green fire engulfed her body, searing away her equine faculties, and reforming back into her draconic form. Rana's tail coiled around his torso. Of all things, lifting him up was what did the trick. Wallace's dreams were popped by his middle ear, waking up in a storm of frantic motions. “Where am I!? W-what's that!?" He shouted deliriously, believing for a moment that he was still at home.

“Calm down and wake up. We'll be in public soon." She scolded. Wallace felt his legs dangling down as he was hoisted with ease towards her face. Her serious glare betrayed the mood of what she had in store next. “On the count of five, I'm going to throw you thirty feet into the air." She warned. Wallace couldn't register her words quickly enough, his expression seized with confusion as he watched her keep a stern face. “What?" Was all he could say, while being steadily positioned at an angle. Blinking thrice in a daze, he could feel her muscles flexing and releasing against his own as she retracted her tail, gaining just enough buildup for a proper throw. As full coherence returned, a visage of fear contorted on his face. He began to cry out, pleading. “Wait! Whatever I did, I swear on my Grandpa's Soul, I wasn't awake!" He begged in a panic.

“One . . . Two . . ."

“-I'm just testing something out-“ She added in assurance, trying to ease his worries.

“Testing what!? I just woke up! I don't consent to this!" He protested, repeatedly slapping her coiled tail, only to be ignored.

“. . . Three . . ."

Wallace had to stop her. An extremely irrational fear of heights wouldn't let him simmer down. “I swear to the Gods, if you injure me forever, I'm dragging my crippled body into the woods, and jumping off a cliff!" He screamed, actually giving her brief pause. Rana's head turned towards his, shooting a scathing look. She had him staring back, almost embarrassed at that outburst. “You'll be fine, I promise." She said, rolling her eyes as the countdown continued.

“. . . Four . . ."

“Why are you doing this!? You're crazy!! Somebody, please help me!!" He screamed loudly, kicking and shouting eratically.

“FIVE!" Rana shouted. A shriek blared along the flinging vector of her tail, uncoiling and propelling his wiggling body like an awkward fish. His screams went quiet as he reached pivotal height, then descended in the most peculiar way. Rana observed with fascination, paying keen attention to the way Wallace's reflexes positioned his descent. He'd unknowingly twisted his body around in midair, flexibly extending his limbs towards the ground. To Rana's amusement, she didn't have to catch him. Wallace landed squarely on all four limbs, somehow bending his knees and fingers just in time with the touch of dirt. There were no 'cracks' or slaps. Only a soundless, graceful landing. She ran over to him excitedly, beating her wings once. “I knew it!" Rana exclaimed, stepping closer as she leveled her head with his. “You're part Beast-Folk, aren't you?" She inquired, letting him scramble to his feet. Wallace took a moment to collect himself, swiping at his dirtied fingertips. A troubled gawk appeared over his face, as if stunned.

“Is that why you THREW me thirty feet into the air!? . . . Are you mental!?" He retorted angrily. His face suffused from white, to pink, to almost red. He was a perfect concoction of humiliation and anger, fists tightening as Rana stepped back a yard. “Believe me, I wouldn't risk your well-being if there was any chance of harming you." She defended, fighting a nervous smile. Wallace's short temper was quick to withdraw, his face cooling down. There was some credence to her claim, knowing how dexterous she was. “Just don't do outlandish things without permission first. Gods, do you have issues with just asking?" He mithered coldly. Rana stonewalled his question, staying rascally silent. “And yes, I have SOME cat in me! My great, great grandfather was half Beast-Folk." He admitted, shamefully tensing up. “You don't seem like you're very pleased with your ancestry." Rana pointed out, cocking her head.

Wallace strained to keep his teeth from grinding, replying with vicious anxiety. “It's a very . . . sensitive topic.“ He said, releasing his breath at the end.

She got lucky, seeing his eyes divert, studying their current location. “Wait . . . Is this Titania River?" He asked dubiously. She gave a cordial smile, relieved he was no longer focused on her misdemeanor. “It is." She confirmed, tail oscillating.

His expression snapped from a waning deadpan look, to one of blatant elation. “So we're here? Why didn't you just tell me!? C'mon, I wanna throw money at frivolities!" He half-joked, sprinting towards the towering Kingdom of Lurwelk. Rana snickered, not expecting to hear such a quip. He'd dropped everything upon realizing where they were. In a flash of green, she followed suit, assuming her white mare form once again. She reminded herself this time to apply a matching mare scent, before merging next to him. His legs were powered by pure energy. In a distance of a hundred and ten meters, he'd already arrived at the front gates in roughly fifteen seconds. While Rana had no trouble keeping up, it was astounding to witness nonetheless, like seeing a bird lift twice it's weight. He really was part Beast-Folk. As they slowed between a stream of entering citygoers, Wallace beheld every change that had occurred in his eight months of absence.

The sternly planted guards weren't there before, and he'd never seen such imposing blades. Rana whispered, looking back as he hopped on. “Just look ahead and don't stare. Understood?" She instructed, clopping forward and ambling past the stationed pair. They'd given Wallace a suspicious glance, yet he did as told, plainly looking ahead. He knew why they were focused on him, and it was the same reason he didn't make eye contact with most people. As they crossed the threshold, Wallace's breath released. “Gods, that was unpleasant." He said, dismounting. Rana's hooves took her around the corner between two residential buildings, where no windows were present. “I'm going to transform. Stay on watch for people." She said discreetly. What could've been viewed as a mysterious green light emanated from the dankly bricked alleyway. Wallace kept watch, ensuring nobody stumbled upon them.

A beauty with auburn hair and a beige dress stepped out of the alleyway, holding a decorative pouch he didn't notice before. She nodded to him, smiling readily. “Let's get going." She said merrily. It took twenty minutes to make their way up towards the Middle District, basically where middle-class citizens and businesses resided. They'd reached a symmetrically rounded Town Square, adorned with stoney stairs on either side ahead, ramping up into cobblestone paths, each leading across the District where a myriad of merchants were open for business. A mix of the rich and poor entered diversely in and out of every shop. In the middle of Town Square, the purposefully established and infamously feared Collection Center stood tall and wide, regally built with four marble pillars supporting a matching portico. Wallace and Rana rushed up the steps, eager to fill their pockets with gleaming gold.

A crinkling paper rested within his back pocket, stating records he'd show to the receptionist. There was yet another guard patrolling the entryway as they entered. He paid Wallace no mind, but his eyes seemed to catch a bit on Rana, dragging along briefly as they walked. Never had she flaunted promiscuous attire in any form, as that would sully her efforts in remaining covert. However, that didn't mean she wouldn't attract an ogle or a gaze every now and then. Her stunning countenance aided to distract the guard for a moment, allowing no attention to be directed at Wallace's yellow eyes. Being no fool, Rana was aware of humanity's ignorant discriminations and biases. Her last visit here required her to transform into an almost different version of him. At first, she thought humans merely disliked abnormal eye colors. But ever since today's eavesdrop with the Beast-Folk, their sudden fearful approach on humanity told her why.

Due to the Collection Center's insufferable bureaucracy, there was a three Day waiting period before citizens could actually withdraw their back-payments after receiving records thereof. This was why the occasional riot never came as a shock to anybody. Today however, was quiet, and the flipping pages of ledgers were heard echoing throughout the spacious building. Rana politely let Wallace walk ahead of her, though it made little difference, seeing as the crone in front of them took eons to understand how basic record-keeping worked. Leaving everyone within a ten yard radius disgruntled and impatient, she finally waddled off. Thank the Gods for that woman. Because of her, the receptionist was far too brain-fried to even look Wallace in the eyes. Otherwise, it would've been extra paperwork in stacks.

Having endured a fraction of society's soul-crushing, pedantic nonsense, they finally crawled out of that evil tomb known as the Collection Center, jangling stuffed bags, each fat with Goldwelks. Despite merely standing around for an hour, Wallace seemed exhausted, as though the building itself sapped his spirits dry. Regardless, they exchanged puckish smiles, overjoyed to officially start their outing. “I'm buying a double-barrel shotgun today." Wallace said randomly. Rana gave a critical look. “Don't you have one already?" She asked, her left brow furrowing. A grin spread across his face. “Not a double-barrel." He included. “Let's go to The Humble Herb first. They're closer." She requested, pointing ahead as she snatched his hand. Wallace's cheeks reddened at her touch as Rana pulled him along the Upper District. Soon, mediocre homes gradually morphed into sumptuous manors, adorned with exuberant cultivars and floral overhangs.

With Lurwelk's diversity of classes, it felt like running straight into another world. Her strength was overwhelming enough to drag him temporarily, his shoes inching into the air repeatedly as he struggled to remain on foot. Even so, her cordial smile exuded a warmth he hadn't remembered since innocence, leaving any frustration to melt away. Realizing time had begun to slow to a crawl, he shook his head in a panic, staving off this vaguely remembered feeling. Somehow, he could practically feel her ancient excitement buzzing through his wrists. They stopped at a shop with wrought-iron bars boxed underneath the window sills, holding up an exotic growth of hybrid flowers. The sweet, aromatic scent of the area began to register, a potent mix of herbs and citrus drifting through his nostrils. A hanging sign woven from colored hemp-threads read 'The Humble Herb'. As they entered, he was encased in a heavy floral fume.

A friendly old woman with round specs and a faded brown ponytail waved at them, smiling innocently as she stood alongside her equally long-maned husband. Unlike her, he had a real flow of cascading gray hair. They were an odd, but familiar sort. Wallace remembered their names, flashing back to his childhood. His Grandfather would negotiate prices with Mister and Misses Grayshade, always settling on a reasonable price. Gramps used to be a profound bargainer, which was why Wallace was eager to test out the bartering tactics he'd learned from him in that age. They apparently changed the name of their shop, which had previously been called “Grayshade Alchemist". The spry couple could hardly believe their eyes as they squinted, thinking Wallace was his Grandad from decades ago. “There's no way that's Wally. It's his grandson, I think." Whispered the man, reverting to natural volume as their customers approached the counter.

“Wallace! Why, how nice it is to see you!" The lady brightly extolled, offering her hand out. Mrs. Grayshade's bubbly disposition made it difficult to resist her handshake. Wallace briefly dropped his misanthropy, surrendering his hand. Forgetting just how robust her grip was, he felt his knuckles pop a bit. “Haven't seen you in a while, boy. Is your Grandpa still . . . y'know?" She made a look of concern.

Wallace gave a deadpanned look. “No . . . he's dead." He said irritably. Everything sunny seemed to darken upon mentioning the subject.

“Oh, I am so sorry for your loss! He was always such a clever man. I'll tell you what, how about I give you some free herb batches before you go? For what it's worth in making life just a little better."

“That's fine, I guess." He said drearily. Rana's elbow discreetly nudged into him as she casually cleared her throat.

“I mean, thank you, Mrs. Grayshade." He corrected himself, deadlifting his frown into a feeble smile.

Mrs. Grayshade's arm gestured around the shop. “Go on and take your pick. You can either have one each, or five batches of three different ones." She offered happily.

“That's very generous of you, thanks." Rana accepted.

The husband walked over, carrying a rectangular glass bin with fifteen square dividers. He placed it over the counter, glancing between them. “Make it count. Summa this stuff we bartered from the Beast-Folk, so y'know it's good." He said matter-a-factly. Wallace's nose was enticed by a variety of aromatic fragrances, wafting from leaves and exotic blooms. Many displayed an array of vivid colors imbued with multiple patterns, coupled together with naturally intricate symmetry. He gladly picked a few, letting the scent strike a mild euphoria through his head. Mrs Grayshade knew Wallace wasn't the social type, yet she flashed a smile anyways. “These are the higher quality selections we bought from those adorable . . . oh, what were they called, dear?" She glanced towards her Husband, who promptly answered.

“Cervine-Folk." He said punctually. “Right, of course." She chuckled lightly. “Those deers have such a nose for herbs. They help us harvest every time we go out picking, the sweethearts."

Her husband scoffed lightly. “Sure, the females do. Them males are awkward though, always starin' knives at us." He complained.

“Oh, I wouldn't take it personally, dear. They're just guarding their loved ones." She said, flicking her hand carelessly.

“Anyways, is there anything else you'd like?" She offered again.

“Just something for sleep would be nice." Wallace answered, reaching into his satchel. “Whatever knocks me out would be great." He clinked some goldwelks over the counter. "Of course, dear. We have this new remedy called 'Chelgrace'. We combine the essential oils of graceflowers and Chel-seeds, mixing those with a few strong sleeping herbs. This'll knock anyone out for hours, day or night." She assured.

Rana's mind was somewhere else as they made the exchange. Her memory flashed back to the fox she'd seen earlier, and the pleasant compliments he gave her. While there was no romantic interest involved, flattery was still her weak point. “I'll buy one of your highest quality imported herbs." She requested, laying out a row of five goldwelks across the counter. The old merchants were suddenly aware of the vivid green in Rana's eyes as she grinned confidently, somewhat dazzling the couple. “Sure." Mrs Grayshade gladly replied, a mix of wonder and curiosity lacing her gaze. "Here's some right here." She said, clearing the counter as she signaled her hubby. He displaced the container with a much fancier, more exhunerant box, with labels displaying the name and origin of every herb. Rana immediately knew which one to pick, grabbing a black and purple flower with thirty thin petals. 'Placibloom' and 'Ember Dynasty' were embroided above it in golden calligraphy. The pair gave a strange glance, roughly raising their brows in unison. “Y'know that flower has only two purposes, right?" He asked suspiciously. Rana nodded nonchalantly, assuring them she knew what it was.

Mr Grayshade failed to quell the mirth in his voice. “Alright then. Dunno what that'll be for, but good luck!" He jested, trying not to laugh. After moments of humorous tittering among the couple, Wallace and Rana exited the shop. He glanced slightly up at her, seeing a look of satisfaction, as opposed to the visage of regret on his face. Being reminded of his grandfather still made him feel a little depressed. "So . . . you know placiblooms are for Beast-Folk, right?" Wallace inquired. He kept a plain expression as she smiled back and chuckled. "Female Beast-Folk. And yes, I know. It's for a friendly Fox-Folk we met on the road here. He told me I had 'intelligent and beautiful' eyes."

"But if he's a male fox, then what's the point in . . ." Wallace stopped mid-sentence, trailing off as he pondered momentarily. Then his face lit up in realization. "Oh . . . I see. Whoever he is, he'll definitely appreciate that." He said, picturing how a Fox-Folk might react.

"He certainly will. Vixens love placibloom, probably a little too much. Plus, it's very rare in this country." She said, popping open a flat, circular container. The white box was 40 millimeters wide in diameter, providing just enough room for the flower. After carefully placing it inside, they resumed their trip around Lurwelk's lavish Upper Districts. Together, they tried things that only came with the upcoming industrial revolution of their current Era. Though the economy wasn't looking perfect, a boundless wellspring of new inventions and magic were sneaking there way into markets. For whatever reason, Rana was ecstatic to see a sign that said 'Cream-Fused Ice', for lack of a better word. Wallace's brows scrunched critically. He wasn't a fan of the awkward name. As expected, it was ludicrously expensive. And as he remembered, the restaurant was threatened by liquidation a few months back, but now business was booming, due to a myriad of customers forming a line that breeched the entrance.

Wallace didn't care to try anything new when he had to wait that long. The only reason he humored the idea was because of a poorly concealed flicker of elation in Rana's eyes. To his surprise, she was bouncing like a child, giddier than he'd ever seen her. After being seated outside and finally receiving their desserts, they sat under the patio umbrella with large bowls of 'cream-fused ice' lined up in a variety of flavors. Her smile was contagious, slowly spreading to his. "I can't believe humans finally brought it back!" She exclaimed, using a thin spoon to take tiny bites at maximum speed. Satisfaction spread across her face. "Oh, ice cream . . . how I've missed you." She said longingly. Wallace gave a glimmer of curiosity. "Ice cream?" He muttered back in question. "You mean this isn't the first time humans made this?" His gaze locked onto the dessert. Due to a lack of food-coloring, it appeared exactly as it was supposed to: a cream color.

"Oh Wallace, you have no idea!" She said deboucherously.

"The only reason I cook so well is because humans taught me everything I know. You can travel the farthest stretches of the cosmos, but you'll never find anything quite as unique as human food. Humans have no idea how lucky they are." She hummed, throughly enjoying the taste.

Trying to ignore words he didn't understand, such as 'cosmos' and 'lucky', Wallace could only respond ignorantly. "Yeah, but that's probably because it's unhealthy and addictive. Wouldn't expect anything else from humans." He replied, eyeing the ice cream with distrust. Rana said nothing through a deadpan look as she prepared a second spoon, scooping a serving twice as large as the utensil's face. "Try it." She insisted, looking him dead in the eyes. There was a stern glare on her face, almost as serious as when she'd lectured him about humanity five hours ago. He wanted to say no, but for the life of him, he couldn't defy the serious stare lasering into him. "Come on, Wallace. Live a little. Don't be such a grump." She urged, prodding his lips with the spoon. "Hey, quit that, I'm not five." He retorted, weighing it down with his hand. Rana's blank expression narrowed into a judging look. "Oh, give me a damn break! Just eat the damn ice cream!" She said combatively. Crowds sitting around them overheard their unusual discussion, beginning to join a myriad of stares.

Wallace shrunk down in embarrassment, lowering his head. He spoke back in an angry hush. "Alright, fine!" He barked, eyes bashfully shifting to and fro. Grabbing the spoon, he sent the lump of icy sugar past his lips. There was a slight change in his expression, upon sensing the chilled mintiness of herbs, honey and frost, all fused into one bite. Wallace's eyes slowly began to widen as his jaw moved up and down. Only then did he consider the other silver bowls lined up near Rana's side of the table. "Gods damnit . . . It's really good." He said regretfully. Rana's cheeky grin exuded a vibe of smartassery. "Don't know until you try it, right? What is that, something you learn when you're five?" She chided, supporting her face with her palm. Wallace struggled against a humorous smirk, trying his best to keep an offended scowl. Expecting a retort, Rana was pleased to instead, hear a request. "Could I . . . take a bite of those, too?" He asked, swallowing his pride with the ice cream.

Later, after trying a multitude of flavors, they walked the streets with plentiful bellies filled with honey, dairy and frost. This time, as they ambled past international trade centers, exotic shops and humble merchant booths, Wallace was the one urging Rana to hurry up. They were heading downhill, approaching an area squeezed between buildings, which discreetly concealed the placement of a local smithy. A metal sign reading 'Darm's Gun & Bladesmith' hung from two chains attached to a stone post. The sanded brown paint mimicked the texture of wood, emanating a rustic air. The established building had no doors, instead missing an entire wall where the entrance would've been, exposing it's interior to the wind and elements alike, letting them flow through a smoothly cemented foundation. Deeper within were the more walled off sections, with stone staircases leading into basements, and adorned hallways connecting to fanciful watchtowers.

Darm's shop seemed humble enough at first glance, until gradually transitioning into a potential museum of high class and sophistication. Rana hadn't seen the inside yet, but Wallace remembered when his Grandad took him there to have his first shotgun forged. The best material gift he'd ever received; it was made here. He remembered Darm as a large, mentally incapacitated meathead. Though he always showed a flare of robust enthusiasm in every object he forged. However, that last visit was eight Years ago. Pings and clanks clamored from the forge near the entrance, bursting from the mighty arm of a slightly disheveled man. While it was unmistakably Darm in the flesh, unlike last time, he had a very short, dark brown beard, speckled with dots of silver. His facial hair looked like a permanent five'o'clock shadow. It was a different fit for his slightly warped visage. A pair of round specs magnified his brown eyes, which to be honest, mildly disappointed Wallace's expectations. For however much nostalgia was left, at least he was still a musclehead.

Rana strolled next to Wallace, each of them continuing to slink around the corner. They felt a mutual sense of warmth as Darm's eyes instantly locked onto them. He remained seated on his workbench, ceasing his labors long enough to give an enthusiastic welcome. "Hey, customers!" He exclaimed, waving his hand emphatically. "Come in! Darm make you weapon! You here for weapon?" He asked, blinking unevenly. His voice was gruff and booming, yet welcoming in tone. His innocent demeanor made Rana smile brightly. 'How ever did I miss this one?' She thought. She took a few steps closer, putting her hand out. "Hello Darm, I'm Rana. This is my good friend, Wallace." She introduced.

"Rana?" He questioned, narrowing his eyes. "But . . . you not Planet!" He corrected, reaching around and scratching his head.

Realizing Darm had a different mind, Rana patiently replied through a nod. "True . . . but me and the Planet share the same name. Rana's very special to me." She said softly.

A look of realization swept over Darm's face. "Oh! Darm understands now! People name Planet after you?"

Rana shared a surreptitious glance with Wallace, each of them mildly worried. "I'm afraid you're mistaken, Darm. That would make me millions of years old. I'm merely twenty-six." She lied. Rana masked her anxiety under cordial pretense, feeling a nagging sensation in her stomach.

"Ah, Darm see what you mean. Parents name you after Planet?"

Rana's eyes struggled to keep down a widened stare. She replied with caution in her voice, as if addressing a seer. "Precisely. And this is my best friend, Wallace. He's here to request a special weapon." She mentioned, instinctively guiding Wallace in front of herself. He felt her gentle arms lead him over, but noticed some urgency in her movements. Rana stayed behind him in a silent, yet finicky manner, her eyes suspiciously fixed on Darm.

"Darm make any weapon! Type not matter!" His face grew serious, locking eyes with Wallace. "Any . . . weapon." He emphasized, pointing with his hammer.

Wallace gave a light chuckle. "Alright! Then in that case, I want a double-barrel shotgun." He said amusedly.

Nodding vigorously, Darm's excitement started to show. "Darm make shotgun for you! Double-barrel, uh . . . forty-five goldwelks!"

"Actually, I owe you fifty because of the extra barrel." He corrected, jangling a bagful of gold onto the counter.

Rana stood behind him, rolling her eyes playfully. "You didn't have to tell him that, mister humility." She joked.

Darm slapped his temple. "Ah, girlfriend right! Wally honest man. Remind Darm of assistant, Damius."

Wallace shot an inquisitive look, ignoring Darm's misnomer of their relationship. If Wallace's childhood memories served him right, Darm had been in desperate need of assistance in his workplace. Crooked vendees and corrupt merchants alike made an effort to con Darm out of good money. There were even a few scumbags who'd convinced him they'd found a legendary sword, all in attempts to sell him an obvious fake. "Assistant? How'd you manage that?" He asked, intrigued.

"Customers visit shop one Night. Buyed good weapons from Darm. Darm very happy with coin . . . but customers not actually customers! No. Instead, customers bad people. They hurt Darm, lock him in basement right there." His finger guided them towards a metal hatch.

"O-oh. I'm sorry to hear that." Wallace said, somewhat shocked. "But . . . what does that have to do with your assistant?"

Darm gave a mild glower. "You not let Darm tell whole story! He get there!" He chided. After a long enough pause, and a silent chuckle from Rana, he continued. "Darm chew rag off mouth, he scream for help! Never expect steel hatch break! Very loud, angry yelling heard up here, before Damius walk in. After climb staircase, he beat more bandits asleep!" His eyes widened emphatically as he finished his sentence.

"I assume you hired him afterwards?"

The smithy nodded. "Right! Darm make Damius assistant -like that!" He said, snapping his fingers with the later word. "Moment Damius take job, Darm double pay! Good reward."

Rana was taken aback by his story, her eyes widening slightly. "Wow, Darm. You must be grateful to have such a wonderful assistant. Damius sounds like a great . . ." She trailed off, pondering for a moment. Her brows narrowed in suspicion, as if clicking two together. ". . . man." She finished saying, steadying an aimless glare. From her experience with countless humans, it was easy -if not effortless- to tell when someone was lying. And Darm was no liar. A solemn look of deep thought grew on her face, viewable to both men. This 'Damius' was super fast, obviously strong, and assuming 'asleep' meant 'knocked unconscious', he apparently didn't condone killing humans either.

"Hey, Rana. Everything okay?" Wallace asked, checking her unblinking eyes with a wave. "You look like you're in deep thought." He said, concerned.

"Oh, deep thought?" She replied, snapping out of a trance. She reached into her purse, pulling out a folded telescope. "I'm just thinking of ideas for your gun. You should try using this for a steel alloy." She suggested, handing over the broken-lensed scope.

Effectively distracted, Wallace felt the cold exterior touch his palms. Despite the object's size, it barely weighed much in his hands. It was like lifting a hollow stick. "Woah, what the Hell?" He said, bewildered. His commentary caught Darm's attention.

"What wrong with metal?" Darm asked, locking onto the item. His curiosity might've came off a bit rude, especially as he ripped it away with stark interest. His perfervid expression immediately went soft upon noticing the otherworldly texture. "What odd . . . metal. Density awesome, but weight . . . light." He said, mesmerized. Darm's face snapped towards Rana. "Metal not normal! Where find this!?" He exclaimed eagerly.

"I'm sorry. My seller refused to tell me. I've tried to ask where she gets her shipments, but she always says 'good merchants never reveal their secrets', and leaves."

"Ever try follow?" He asked persistently.

"She's too quick, and also too adept at hearing. She's a Beast-Folk." Rana replied.

"Ah, Darm understand. You tell lie, but Darm know truth. He see it, like hawk." He pointed to his own eyes, watching Rana grow more nervous.

"But . . . that was the truth . . . I swear." She said with a straight face.

Darm nodded once more in disagreement. "Save breath, no waste time. Rana tell truth, hide another." He said dismissively, as if shrugging off a child's claims. "Darm disabled, not dumb." He added, tapping his scalp. Wallace's stifled laughter became a muffled snort. Rana glared at him half-humorously. "Anyways, Darm need steel. Damius deliver ingots soon." He said casually, setting the scope aside. They'd have to wait a while to get started if Wallace wanted to finalize his transaction.

Later in that hour, further exchanges took place, such as home addresses, full names and business histories. For the better part of twenty-eight minutes, Wallace, Rana and Darm made conversation as they waited for his assistant to return, sitting down around an iron table. They started out by making further specifications on how Wallace wanted his new shotgun. Rana had some suspicion about Darm's intuition, but she didn't let that hinder a good talk, or especially a few silly jokes. Almost half an hour in, a spark of merriment turned into mirthful conversation. They'd already finished bartering and customizing the weapon's details in advance, resulting in an elaborate blueprint. Darm's presence in Wallace's childhood made it easier to socialize like a group of friends. Each of them sipped from a tangy refreshment contained in a heavy glass mug. As they waited for his assistant, boredom turned into tomfoolery. Darm grinned humorously, finishing a funny impression as they sat around on marble chairs. "Look, I King Lurus Welk!" The blacksmith mocked, wrapping a cloth around his head, squishing his face together into a fat, solemn glare. "Pay tax, or Lurus throw shit!" He cracked. None of the three could hold it in, suddenly bursting into laughter. Darm's mimicry was spot-on, made even funnier by his uneven eyes and broken speech.

"Sounds just like him!" Wallace joked back, rekindling another wave of laughter.

Rana's humor didn't exactly resonate with their's, but it made her happy seeing humans having such a good time. Their laughter was contagious, continuing until Darm stopped in the middle of it all. Wondering where he was looking, they followed his eyes to a figure standing under the threshold.

A glint of blue shone from a pair of sapphire orbs staring back. He was a 6'8", short-bearded man, seemingly in his early thirties, garbed in a dirty gray trenchcoat. Despite his dusty attire, his brown hair was well-kempt, shortest on the sides. He held a bulkishly strained burlap sack over his shoulder with one arm, never appearing to tire. Realizing he'd been spotted, he approached, giving a light chuckle. "Sorry to eavesdrop, boss. Had to see your impression first, before we started working again." He said mirthfully.

"You late! Customers wait too long! Least have materials?" Darm pestered.

"Yessir. Enough to drown in!" He proudly confirmed, holding the sack like a trophy.

As he stepped closer, Rana shot up from her seat, flashing a look of shock. Damius froze as she called out. "You!?" She questioned, her green eyes widening. "Are you kidding me . . . ? You're working here?" She fussed.

The two men sitting beside her shot a puzzled look, shifting between her and Damius. Despite Rana's obvious disdain, the assistant moved with a calm gait as he approached. "Rana . . ?" He inquired, taken aback by a familiar face. Damius put his arms out, as if readying a friendly embrace. "Gods, I don't believe my eyes!" He said confidently, giving a flirtatious smirk. "What are you doing in Lurwelk's Upper District?" He asked. His approach was somewhat bold, always seeming to subtly flaunt a handsome smile.

Rana dodged his hug, giving an aunamused look as she ducked and pushed against his elbow. "Nothing with you . . . 'Damius'." She said, critically quoting his name.

The assistant seemed a tad confused. "Hey, easy there. I'm not here to harass you." He said, putting his hands up.

Rana rolled her eyes. "Sure, not yet. To think someone would have to say 'I'm not here to harass you' as a formality." She complained.

Wallace was having trouble pinpointing the problem, exchanging a perplexed look between them. "You two know each other?" He asked, his head tilting curiously.

Rana's hand stressfully rubbed at her temples. "Yes . . . Unfortunately."

Darm wore an aggressive face. Nobody was clear on who it was for, until he spoke. "Assistant bother Rana?" Darm asked. He had his hammer ready, repeatedly fitting it into the palm of his hand.

Rana gave an anxious smile. "Umm . . . it's alright, I can handle it." She said nervously. All three of them seemed to stare anxiously at Darm, freezing still.

Darm postured himself proudly. "If Damius trouble you, tell Darm. Darm help new customers." He insisted, facing both Rana and Wallace.

"Thank you, Darm, I appreciate that." She said gladly. "Just don't hit Damius with that hammer though, please." She smiled nervously. Darm set his hammer down abruptly. "Course, just intimidation. Darm no harm assistant." He assured casually. Damius' haughty posture accentuated an air of humor. "Oh no, go right ahead, boss." He replied sassily. "I'll gladly get hammered." His eyes shifted towards Rana, flashing a coquettish look. "But only with you." He quipped, stupidly smirking at her. Rana's palm calmly buried her face. "Well, this has been great! Time to try and never meet again!" She said, springing out of her seat. As Rana walked away, Damius gave a frown of disappointment. Suddenly more self-aware, he cringed at his own flirting attempts, realizing just how bad the quip was. Darm gave him the death-glare, so much that it burned, before promptly punching him in the shoulder. "Why say dumb thing?" He asked, critically squinting his eyes.

Damius frowned at the question. His boss packed a punch strong enough to crack pure granite, though it didn't faze his assistant . . . at least not physically. In a state of mild penitence, Damius' head hung with his slouching shoulders. "My silver tongue must've rusted over the years." He shamefully retorted, letting out a long sigh.

As Rana stormed out, Wallace followed suit with concern. The general white noise of flames and metal contraptions faded out as they moved further away from the building. He could hear a faint groan under her breath as she slowed to a waltz outside the smithy, following back up the cobblestone path. Wallace caught up behind her with a fretful look, his voice meek with caution. "Are you okay? . . . What was that?" He asked, watching her turn solemnly. She aimed a tired look. For a moment, her fleshy human expression made him forget she was an ancient beast. "It's as you heard. Damius has a long history of philandry and harassment. I've had enough of his presence for a few centuries." She griped, weighed down by tired eyes. Infuriated at the idea of someone coming onto her unprovoked, Wallace strained to keep a calm expression. "A few centuries? Did I hear that correctly?" He asked, tilting his head. A look of realization seized her face. "Oh! Yes, you did . . . I shouldn't have said that." She said regrettably.

Wallace's eyes went agog. "Don't tell me. That guy's not human, is he?" He asked, eagerly awaiting her answer.

"Correct. Damius is a Dragon. Just not like me, though. It's hard to explain. How about we talk about this on our way back home?" She proposed, leading him along. Wallace wasn't subtle in his reaction. "Are you serious? How many more of your kind are out there!?" He asked, taken aback pretty far. He thought about Darm's assistant, who couldn't be more normal by human male standards. "Damius didn't exactly give me that feeling." He pointed out, thinking back. Rana bore a serious look, reminiscing on the cleverness of Dragons. "Many of us are masterful actors. But Damius' foolish lust for me is genuine." She said distatefully.

Wallace nodded, as if unsurprised. "I guess I can understand why he'd fall for you." He replied, musing on everything she said. What was first a look of surprise, became an inquisitive smirk on Rana's lips. "Is that so? Pray-tell." She said in singsong. Wallace's eyes widened, snapping himself out of deep thought. His contemplative expression waned, displaced by a heavy sinking feeling. "Shit! That's not what I meant!" He defended, watching her smile grow. "Me neither. It appears we're both slipping up a bit. Still though. Don't withhold any details on my account." She said. The way she carried her tone exuded a pursuasive insistence, eager to know.

Whether she was a Dragon or otherwise, it was difficult to say no. Her raw, fluid eloquence put hypnotists to shame. But it wasn't just that. Besides being a typically attractive woman, he could feel her towering presence in the air, radiating a grand power, and such a strong personality. The thought of that cosmic beast hiding behind the fleshy exterior in front of him had a way of weakening his voice. He already knew how he felt, but the realization was overwhelming. His mind had horrendous timing, randomly breaking an emotional barrier he hadn't noticed before. His heart crashed into his chest repeatedly, a relentless reminder of the minor control he had over his emotions. "I-I... Well, you have a very strong sense of self," he said, forcing the words to flow out. Rana's attention drew instantly on him, clearly surprised.

By now, Wallace couldn't maintain eye contact. His face was red-hot, and he could barely believe what he was saying. "You're kinder than anyone I've ever met, and I've only known you for a few Months. You're great to talk to, you're heroic, mysterious, amazingly talented, caring . . ." he continued meekly, listing more traits about the hero who saved him. Rana's face softened with surprise as he spoke, feeling a heavy wave of fondness. "You've been an incredible friend to me, Rana, and I've never been this happy before," he added anxiously. Though he bashfully turned his head away, his eyes were attentive, carefully monitoring any change in her expression. As she listened, the grin on her face fully softened. A more fervent smile began to crack, and in Wallace's mind, all he could see was the majestic Dragon with fiery green eyes looking down at him. Despite her human appearance, he didn't feel the presence of a lady in front of him. Yet, he couldn't stave off a nagging feeling growing in his chest.

"You didn't just save my life, Rana. You improved it. You didn't have to help me like you did, not with my money, or by going out to town with me," he listed. His head tilted down, keeping only their legs in his line of sight. "Thank you," he said genuinely as a glint crossed his eyes. Inopportune as it was, this was how he felt. The warm smile on Rana's face lingered as she stepped closer. His legs started to tremble, growing weak at the knees, as she placed a palm on his neck. He half-expected a turndown, or perhaps a witty shrug-off. As her eyes gained a glint of joy, what he heard her say was entirely different. "I enjoyed every moment," she assured, softly curling her fingers into his nape. Nobody was watching, but he didn't know if he could withstand whatever was about to happen. Her lips leaned towards him, carrying the allure of a wise and beautiful woman. Fortunately, it was merely a heartfelt kiss on the cheek. His brow arched for a moment, though not disappointed. While this didn't change his heart rate at all, he felt overjoyed for reasons he couldn't explain. It was like being a giddy little kid again. Rana's warm arms wrapped around his shoulders, embracing him with a soft hug. "Let's go back to your cabin. I want to show you something," she said wholeheartedly, keeping her hands on his shoulders.

A fierce blush charged through his face. She hadn't kissed him anywhere except his forehead, so the nuances behind her suggestion weren't exactly clear. Even so, simply the implication they'd be truly alone together again sent a pleasant aching sensation through his chest. "I don't think I'm . . ." He stopped, catching himself in error. He'd almost said he wasn't ready for anything too physical. That was true. But what if saying that ruined everything? What about their friendship, or whatever else this could've been? Could he really deny her suggestions, or would that be-

Rana's voice cut through his worries like a dagger through butter. "It's okay. I'll be visiting you each day. Don't worry about anything, except being yourself." She said, rubbing her palm along his shoulders. There was such intuition to her words, as if she'd read his mind. But that was likely coming from millenias of social experience. Taking her assurances to heart, Wallace felt his body become twice as light, as if a heavy weight were lifted off his body. If Rana were like any ordinary human girl, it would've been impossible to believe what she said. "Maybe I'll come visit you instead. Recovering in your cave for so long made me wonder what it looks like." He said eagerly. While he knew there'd likely be an endless surplus of rocks, crags and darkness, there was a nagging curiosity for what the rest of her abode really looked like under the glow of a torchlight.

A brief delay impeded her speech. Her eyes stretched wide for a subtle fraction of a second. This small detail could've been dismissed if it weren't for the arresting mix of vibrant greens in her eyes drawing his attention. "I'm not sure that's wise. My cave is full of natural pitfalls and sharp crystals. I wouldn't want you getting impaled." She warned.

"Oh . . . well shit," He said, taking a moment to think about it. His expression turned fearful just picturing it. "That sounds terrifying. Let's just forget what I said." He replied. A sudden drop in pitch-black darkness came to mind. Thinking back, maybe that's why she was so aggressive about him laying still. No way was he risking a dark plunge into the cavernous abyss, even if she was lying somehow.

Rana's eyes shifted in front of him, glancing at someone retreating around the smithy's corner. The eavesdropper evaded her gaze just outside her periphery. She sighed, mentally tired, but eager to get back to Rethelia. "C'mon, let's go. I don't want Damius following us." She complained, clenching Wallace's wrist as they stormed off. She hadn't appeared this anxious before, which made him worry. After traveling a distance, they'd merged with the bustling citizens of Lurwelk. Splitting rivers of people flowed against them. On top of that, Rana's overt strength created a spectacle for passerbys, each of them watching with their brows arched. Wallace noticed a multitude of strange glances among the masses, each aimed at them directly. About half were older men giving sympathetic smiles, thinking he'd gotten into trouble with his lady. Less of them -yet still some- seemed jealous upon spotting a man with such a powerful, albeit stunning woman. Rana was determined, eyes fixed forward and focused on exiting the kingdom.

Wallace started to feel uncomfortable. His hand reddened, blood vessels strangled by Rana's herculean grip. It grew tighter every minute, but never enough to hurt him. Even so, it bothered him. "Hey, Rana . . . Could you calm down?" He pleaded. Confused by her conduct, he narrowed a judging look. She wasn't answering, continuing to look ahead as she navigated the maze of people. "Rana, what gives? You're dragging me like a ragdoll!" He complained, frowning. "Are you feeling alright?" He questioned, blinking at her with perplexity. Rana gradually slowed down, until they came to a steady pace. After taking a cursory glance in all directions, she stared back at him with worry in her eyes. Rana's shoulders fell as she blew a recuperating sigh. "Sorry. I needed to keep you away from Damius. I'm fairly certain he heard what you said back there." She said, barely whispering.

Because of his genes, Wallace wasn't much for sweating. But the thought of a jealous Dragon tailing them put a single bead of moisture on his palm. "Is . . . that so?" He asked nervously, shrinking a bit. "Is he violent?" He followed up.

She shook her head. "No, he's not the sort. But he might play mind games, so be careful." She said grimly.

"Mind games? What do you mean?" He asked, nonplussed.

"There are dragons who've lived longer than any known number humanity has ever created. Because of our experience and skill, we can be unparalleled in our persuasion and cunning," Her brows lifted softly with concern, holding a finger in front of his face. "So be careful." She said, booping him fondly on the nose.

Wallace nodded, giving an endearing, yet fretful smile. As they continued on their path, he sensed they were headed towards the city gates. They'd later transitioned into the poorer district below everything else. Crowds grew thicker with the lower class populations, and Wallace could barely see the exit. With how far they were, glancing ahead towards the arched gates was like looking into the eye of a needle. He enjoyed every moment of time they'd spent together, but his patience was running thin as Lurwelk's crowded populace grew tighter around him. Rana didn't seem to mind, not until someone's shoulder clashed with his. The impact was almost aggressive, colliding with a hooded man who seemed to be in a hurry. Wallace wanted to gripe at him, but didn't get the chance, noticing he'd already vanished.

It took over five minutes before they finally reached the gate. The guards couldn't be happier to let him out, crassly glaring at his abnormal eye color. For once, the feeling was almost mutual. As Wallace prepared to pay his exiting fees, he rummaged around his pockets. His eyes widened silently, experiencing a sharp sinking feeling. Rana began to notice what was amiss, seeing the color drain from his face.

"Where is it? Oh Gods, no! Where's my gold!?" He exclaimed, looking towards Rana in a panic. Pure dread flooded his chest. Rana's expression was sympathetic, but started to narrow as she thought back on the man who bumped him. Wallace's mind would've gone to the same place, if not for her quick thinking. "You stay here at the gates. I thought I remembered you leaving it at Darm's." She lied, rubbing his back. "I'll be back soon." She assured. Rana's sunny smile soothed his dread. Although uncertain, Wallace found himself placing a healthy dose of trust in her.

Then she was off, leisurely ambling through the throngs of lower class citizens. The moment she'd completely gone out of his site, Rana's speed picked up. She maneuvered expertly between every commoner, integrating a wellspring of stealth, dexterity and agility into her movements. She'd sensed where the man had gone. Not by scent, but by memory and intricate calculation. In addition, she knew a special area where pickpockets liked to recuperate. Nothing stopped her as she speedily approached a series of abandoned houses. Each bricked house was riddled with dusty boards, hammered across grimy windows and doors, barricading against the outside world. One such door was found within an alleyway, but the nails looked fresher, and were jutting the opposite way. Someone had just recently nailed the planks up, doing so from the inside.

Taking a cautious glance back and forth, Rana made sure the coast was clear before igniting into a green glow. Her flames collapsed, flaring outwards like a mini supernova, then concentrating into a single point. As the embers cooled, Rana's diminutive form squeezed through a tiny crack. She had to admit, becoming an explorative mouse in a massive world was always fun . . . but this time, she'd gotten a little more serious. Not much rested behind those bricks. Only dirt, garbage and a significant lack of floorboards, most of which were either stolen, or used to barricade against other thieves. Rana's tiny legs carried her quickly around every corner, as if scanning the vacant rooms. Eventually, she stopped at a bathroom, where a hooded man laid behind the curtain of an antique tub. She heard the distinct 'plinks' belonging specifically to a heavy bag of gold. The noise was unmistakable.

An intentional amount of green flared from her transformation, flooding the walls, curtains and bathtub with a viridescent light. The man gasped, spooked by the inexplicable brightness. Then, slowly peeking behind the curtain, he saw her. Dressed in a beige dress, with auburn hair and green eyes, was the lady he'd seen walking next to his latest steal. It was difficult to forget a fair face like her's. The man shot up, slapping the curtain to the side. "Fucking Gods!" He shouted, now trembling in a state of fear. His hand covered his heart. "How'd you get in here!?" He blared, mouth and eyes slightly widening. His greasy, scraggly hair was difficult to discern between black or brown. A pair of beady, gray eyes awaited her answer.

Taking a step forward, Rana built the suspense with a moment of silence. The lowlife grew nervous, unable to think of what to say in this situation. "I believe my fiancé dropped his money bag," She replied, putting her hand out. "One which you so selflessly decided to pick up for us." She added. The man froze, but didn't quite know why. Rana stared green daggers into his eyes, keeping him still. Not an ounce of magic was used. No mystical techniques, or even any of Rana's vast skills. The only thing keeping him still, was the squatter's sheer instincts. His flight response practically screamed in his ears, but wouldn't work on account of Rana's peculiar normalcy. There was something off about this woman, he thought. He didn't feel inclined to fight back, acknowledging the strange presence swirling around her. This woman could've had a knife, or maybe a small gun. And he'd hidden his shiv underneath the floorboards in another room.

"You've had time to roost in your shoddy little nest here. Now use the rest of that time to return our goldwelks." She ordered. Judging by the man's glowering face, he didn't like that suggestion. The thief scanned her attire, realizing she had no pockets large enough to conceal a weapon. His mind appeared to be made up by then. "Suuure, like you can tell me what to do!" He spat back callously, shooting a nasty scowl.

Rana nodded in solemn disappointment. "That's fine," She said, carelessly stepping forward. "Just let me know when you want to do this the easy way." Came her reply. She walked towards him, as if creeping on prey. As she drew closer, the theif's face contorted into a scathing snarl. "Lady, I don't know what you've been smoking, but I'll be stealing that too!" He yelled, before promptly lunging into a tackle. It seemed assaulting a lady wasn't beneath him. As his shoulder rammed into her stomach, Rana's feet dragged back in faux vulnerability. Obviously, the onslaught wasn't worth an ant's bite, but she still favored the pretense. With her date's stolen bag in hand, the criminal darted for a boarded door in another room. Taking his chance, he began tearing off each plank with ravenous desperation, his movements charged with adrenaline. As he scrambled to rip each board from its place, Rana's voice came just in time with the last one. "Amber . . . What a beautiful name. Is this your daughter?" He heard her ask. The man's eyes shot wide upon absorbing her question, turning around and frantically patting himself. Rummaging through his empty pockets, he anxiously sprinted back towards the bathroom.

Rana casually waltzed out from the threshold, dangling a golden-chained locket necklace from her fingers. Inside was an elaborately drawn picture of a young brunette. Rana tilted a puzzled look, glancing critically at the man. "Gods, I didn't take you for the fatherly type." She said tauntingly. Suddenly, there was a crazed look in his eyes, and a creeping tone to match. "Miss, I'm only going to warn you once . . . you will hand that back to me, or I will m-"

"No." Rana interjected. The man shot a surprised sneer. Gritting his teeth, he didn't plan on merely pushing her this time. Without much thought, his feet immediately pushed onwards, charging into a fierce punch. The impact connected with Rana's face, resounding a fresh 'crack' throughout the building. Falling to the floor and recoiling in agony, the man found himself rolling on the ground. His screams were only a few decibels away from an outright bloodcurdling screech. Rana's visage remained unscathed, looking down at the lowlife with empathetic eyes. "Mister, please . . . I don't have all day. Can we just move this along?" She asked, speaking in monotone.

The man shuffled back on the floor, wincing in pain. Fighting through his agony, he stretched a look of bewilderment. "What the Hell!? Lady, what the fuck are you!?" He shouted angrily. Steadfastly focused on his locket, he easily shook off Rana's unnatural resistance to the assault. "Give it back!!" He demanded visciously. Rana wagged her finger as she nodded in disapproval. "You stole somebody's livelihood, and now I have yours." She said, dangling the picture in front of him. "I think it's fair to say a trade is in order." She proposed, looking him dead in the eyes. The scraggly man turned red in the face, furiously clenching the stolen money bag. He sprung up once more, lunging towards Rana for the locket a final time. "Not an option." Rana scolded, speedily snatching him by the wrist. Her hand's sheer strength alone left him stunned, his bloodflow abruptly cut off by rows of vice-gripping fingers. "Gaahh! Damnit!" He yelped painfully, descending to his knees once more. Rana sighed impatiently. She snatched the moneybag, while deftly coiling the locket chains into his palms by force.

"There, now that wasn't so hard, was it?" She asked. Her tone didn't give a single hint of hate or anger, yet it still served to enrage him even more. The thief's hot tears rolled down his face, eyes watered with rage. She hadn't broken or dislocated anything, but Rana's herculean grip was still enough to notably hurt. "I assume Amber wouldn't enjoy seeing her father steal," She chided. "Explain to me what type of guardian sets this kind example for their children!" She questioned sternly, narrowing a fierce glare. As if broken from an angry trance, the man seemed to tear up. There was a look of horror on his face, like he couldn't believe this was happening. He unexpectedly began to break down, slowly but surely. A clear transition from lividity, to utter despair took form over his face. To Rana's surprise, he curled up, as if the energy were sapped from him, leaving nothing but misery. First his tears soaked the floor. Then, a quiet sob muffled below the sad husk of a man. Rana was thrown off, but only for a moment.

Just like that, she'd become more aware of this man's situation, realizing this was more than just a lowlife theif scurrying about the streets. "Oh . . . I see, then." Rana said softly, aiming a pitiful frown at the thief. A tinge of guilt hung over her head, watching him sulk there pathetically. She'd witnessed her share of situations like these, so much in fact, she kicked herself for not seeing it sooner. This was the sound of mourning.

She bent down, placing a hand on the stranger's shoulder. Her eyes were filled with compassion. "Listen, I have to go soon. But if you ever need anything, go to the abandoned shrine in Rethelia. Write a note of what you need, and leave it there. Whatever you write or sketch, as long as it's within reason, I'll bring it to you." Her words served to mitigate his misery, but never fully quelling it. He said nothing more, left silent to his own devices as another green flash occurred just outside his periphery. Then she was gone. The moneybag had dispersed along with her, dematerializing into flames. He'd been left to ponder on what had happened, and wether he'd approach the aforementioned shrine or not. Finally exiting the gloomy abode, Rana buzzed into the air, presently in the form of a tiny nat. She looked back with concern, hoping the man would later seek out the shrine. She tucked the thought in the back of her mind for later, but only after she swiftly flew towards the city gates, finding a series of horse stalls nearby. As soon as she left everyone's field of vision, her flames assumed an equine form.

This time Rana's fur was a bit grayer than before, and as she clopped outside, her vibrant green eyes would be enough to catch Wallace's attention. She ambled calmly towards the gate, sneaking up on Wallace from behind. His golden eyes stared off into the distance, unsuspecting as she nudged him with her equine snout. He turned around, mildly irritated. "Hey buddy, watch your horse, I'm trying to w-" Wallace went silent, realizing there was no rider, and promptly recognizing the multiple hues of green in her eyes. "Rana!" He exclaimed, coming off a bit more excited than intended. Wallace practically jolted towards her, climbing over her back. "You found it?" He asked, leaning forward in anticipation. "Yes, about that . . ." She frowned, looking back at him. He reciprocated a similar expression, now assuming the worse. "I'm afraid I . . ." Rana trailed off, delaying her answer with feigned tension. Wallace looked concerned. "Rana? Was it not at Darm's? Oh Gods, no." He fretted. His fingers went up to stroke his forehead in a state of anxiety. Then she continued her sentence. "-might've gotten it a little dirty." She finished, smirking cleverly.

A swirl of green embers materialized out of thin air, coalescing into a mass of stuffed fabric. The sealed moneybag dropped in front of him, jangling between his legs. "Woah! What in the- How'd you do that?" He asked praisingly.

Rana's eyes darted around, making sure nobody could hear her talking. "You know. Lots of running, flying, and some stray clouds of dust." She joked.

"No, not the dirt!" He barked. "That . . . 'fire' thing you did with the money! How'd you do that?"

Rana snickered. "I'm afraid that could take days to explain." She advised. Wallace shook his head in understanding. "Maybe I can learn about it." He replied. She gave a friendly smile. "That would take time." She answered patiently. The conversation halted as they approached the guardsmen several feet away. Wallace paid his exiting fees, handing over two silverwelks. The teal guards uncrossed their gleaming sword-spears, allowing them passage. The left guard shot a scornful scowl at Wallace as they exited Lurwelk. As soon as they were far away, the guard's compatriot muttered something under his breath. "I'll bet it fucks everything it rides." He said covertly, as they watched the horse amble away. The other grinned scornfully. "Only if the mare doesn't kick 'em dead first." He retorted. Both guards cackled nearly in unison.

There were several reasons Wallace lived out in the woods of Rethelia. One such reason, being that he could hear almost everything. Citygoing shenanigans and abusive comments from officials kept him up at night, each in their own lousy ways. Needless to say, Rana's ears were even more adept, catching every word. Their venomous remarks steeped her in irritation. She glanced back, frowning as her hooves carried on. Wallace sighed sullenly. "This is why I like the woods." He said, hanging his head morosely. An irk of rage sparked in Rana's chest. Her demeanor suddenly changed, eyes glowing an angry ivy. In that same moment, their wicked laughs gave pause. One of them began tugging awkwardly at the hilt of his blade. Something felt off about the weight of their weapons, as if off-center. One guardsman pulled at his spear, causing the other to stumble.

They turned towards each other, confused. "Did you do that?"

"Do what?" Asked the second guard.

"Don't play dumb. You pulled on my spear!" The left one griped.

"What are you talking about?" He barked back.

"Last week you said you wouldn't do that again, remember?"

"First time was the cavalry's fault. I just apologized to shut you up." The other sneered.

"Don't give me that horseshit! I know it was you, so just stop!"

"It's a two-handed weapon, you retard! If I wanted to screw with yours, I'd have to let go of my own!" He fired back.

An aggressive shove heaved them both forwards. Originally, it was meant as an arrogant arm gesture, but ultimately ended in slamming them to the ground. The cityfolk watched, perplexed as the guards scrambled for their weapons. After taking a closer look at their blades, they shortly realized the necks of their weapons were somehow melded together. Each spear's combined weight caused them to lose balance and fall simultaneously. Wallace glanced back, incidentally seeing them struggle to pull their spears apart. Like everyone else, he remained clueless of the situation. Regardless, he couldn't help but chuckle at the two nagging bullies. "Who did this!? I want answers!!" One of them shouted. Wallace and Rana escalated into full-on laughter, strolling away as he wondered who could've pulled such a clever prank. It was an excellent way to end their day, having the last laugh as they exited Lurwelk's boundaries.

Minutes later, silence took over most of their trip back home. Rana was extra careful, knowing bandits and vagrants alike sought to scavenge beaten paths. She wouldn't want anyone hearing a horse talk. Decades ago, she'd dealt with a situation involving hoards of priests, each convinced an animal had been possessed. She'd taken the form of a woodland bear at the time, accidentally forgetting to transform into a human before speaking. Mistakes happened . . . and when they did, she had to pay the price. Just not today. Once she was certain nobody was around them, Rana finally spoke. "Alright, I think we're clear now. Want to talk?" She asked casually.

"About what?" He replied.

"Anything. For example, how I stuck those guard's spears together." She said, glancing back playfully.

"Ah, I knew that was you!" He said mirthfully. He tilted his head in bewilderment though. "It's just one surprise after another with you, Rana. You're really something else!" He extolled, patting her back. Rana strained to keep down a proud smile, but impulsely blurted a prideful retort. "It's a natural, pyrokinetic technique . . . which few of my kind have mastered, including my father." She said casually. Wallace stumbled on his thoughts, unable to understand a specific word. "Pie, row . . . what?" He repeated, raising his brow.

Rana gave a patient, mild smile. "Pyrokinesis. It's the ability to control heat with one's mind or soul."

Wallace's eyes shifted in bewilderment as he pondered the anomalous concept. Fire-breath was already unnerving enough, but there was something outright scary about believing she could instantly ignite an entire forest without batting an eye. "That's . . . incredible. How much fire can you make?" He asked nervously. Sensing the caution in his tone, Rana sighed. "Don't worry your cute, flammable head, Wallace. My flames aren't able to harm anything besides there target. It's magic, from my father's side." She said, giving her assurance. Wallace's mind strained, picturing viridescent flames consuming her enemies, as woodland creatures and allies alike remained unscathed, gawking in horror. Trying best to shake these thoughts, his face suddenly lit up upon recalling her father. His eyes shot wide. "Wait, that's it! I figured it out!" He exclaimed. Rana's head and neck turned back with a glance, giving an inquisitive look. "Did you now?" She asked, her face sprouting with interest.

She knew exactly what he was on about, fixated on his answer. Wallace smirked, putting on a confident façade. "You're in for a surprise, Rana. I finally know who your father is!" He boasted playfully. Her brow rose in question. "Well, don't leave me waiting. What or who do you think he is?" She inquired laxly. Wallace was barely able to give an answer, but held his breath just a moment longer. He did some thinking while waiting at the gate, and was almost certain of his conclusion now. The conundrum was how bizarre it sounded. However, it's likelihood stood above any other possibility he could imagine. "Your green fire!" If you can shapeshift with fire, then your father could inhabit you as a flame! I'm guessing he's your flames!"

Rana grinned, imbuing a sense of excitement in him. With a cordial tone, she mirthfully replied. "Sorry, but that's the wrong answer. That was creative, but now I can't answer anymore questions." She said with a pitying grin. A pang of disappointment plummeted inside his chest, his face weighing down. "You're kidding! I was so sure! You really aren't going to answer anything else?" He asked, putting on a mild pout. Rana nodded horizontally. "Not for the rest of this year." She said. Feeling somewhat blindsided, Wallace arched an eyebrow. "Not this year? You sure love adding last-minute rules." He complained. His only assurance was knowing he could possibly try again next year, if that's even what she meant. "What can I say? I like keeping the mystery. Here, let me take a shortcut. We'll call it my halfhearted apology." She said, cracking her umpteenth smirk.

Wallace watched the scenery flood with green as they crossed the treeline, disappearing into a vast thicket. This gave rise to some questions, making him ponder. "Wait, hold on . . . You knew there was a shortcut this whole time?" He questioned. Leaves brushed past his face as he felt the muscles tense and release beneath him. In a viridescent flash, he once again laid eyes on her Dragon form, sauntering smoothly across the woodlands with precision in her steps. Her wings outstretched on either side of him, neatly folding inwards. Rana gave a light chuckle, glancing back at him warmly. Her half-lidded eyes locked with his. "Yes, I knew." She said restfully. It didn't take long for him to understand, feeling a pleasant warmth climb up his belly and chest. If there were any hints before, he certainly realized them now.

"I've grown very fond of our little walk-and-talks, but I wanted to show you something special on our way back." She offered, gazing back affectionately. An eager warmth radiated from her face. He could practically feel the fondness seeping into him from a single sidelong glance. Wallace blushed coyly through a half-smile, feeling a wave of heat climb past his cheeks. "Yeah, go ahead. What do you want to show me?" He asked, beating his shyness back down into the darker recesses of his mind. Silence flattened the air, but only for a moment as they ventured further. She didn't respond, or at least prolonged a reply to leave him in suspense. Not long after, Rana's feet stopped. Confused, Wallace scanned about, seeing nothing but the same species of trees shading them as before. The only difference was a small clearing surrounded by dense thickets and dark ivy, all barely wavering in a soft breeze.

They stood at the center, absorbing the serenity in a near-meditative state. Rana remained silent, eventually causing Wallace's eyes to shift back and forth. "Um . . . Rana?" He called out. Instead of her voice, he felt himself ramping upwards, taken down by gravity as she sat on her haunches. He stifled a gasp, expecting to feel the impact of grassy soil pounding the wind out of him. Thankfully, Rana's serpentine appendage caught him midway, slithering down the curves of his back with maximal precision. She slid him down carefully, locking an illuminant green iris on his descent. Her majestic brown wings outstretched in his view, symmetrically patterned with stripes of beige. Rana's natural colors blended elegantly with the woods, putting on a display as she smiled adoringly at him from the arch of her bending neck.

"Before now, this spot has never been touched by human hands. However . . ." She trailed off, turning around to gaze down at him. An emerald glow lit up the contours of her fur, shedding an array of flaring embers. "That's not what I wanted to show you." She finished saying, her body slowly setting alight. As the fiery flecks waned, her body inconspicuously shrank down. The difference became noticeable, but only as she leveled to Wallace's height, tail winding around his hips and shoulders with affectionate ardour. His chest thrummed into a hot gallop, watching her slender bulk square along on all fours. Unlike her human or equine forms, she now exuded the mystical grandeur of a true Dragoness. Rana's tailtip caressed the back of his neck, pushing inwards, exerting just enough pressure to lean him forwards. Wallace was no fool, aptly receiving her cues and placing his hands on her jawline.

There, they locked lips in a passionate embrace. A thousand thoughts -both anxious and blissful- stormed through Wallace's mind. Their heads twisted and turned slightly with eager concentration. His heart was ready to explode. It felt like a dream, treating his body to her warm touch, sending the stroke of her fuzzy claws down his shoulders. As their heads steadily turned, interlocking in silence, all was perfect and right in the world. However, just one subtlety was off. Wallace's placid expression started with a contented smile. But as his thoughts swirled faster, his expression began to drop. Despite being enthralled in the moment, Rana sensed something was amiss through the tension in his muscles. Her jaws instinctively retreated for a better look, leaving an inch of space as she scanned over his demeanor. What had been a union of adoration was subtly descending into a sullen frown.

Wallace's expression deepened, his topaz eyes peering down in deep thought. Then came a reply she hadn't expected. His musing face lifted back up to speak, at first swelling the air with silence. "I . . . I don't get it." He said calmly, his brows lowering. Rana's head tilted, caught between confusion and amusement. "'Get it?'" She repeated, stifling a chuckle. "I'm not exactly throwing hints this time." She said mirthfully. Rana had to wonder if he was feeling guilt. Humans and human-hybrids were always a biased sort. They hadn't just crossed a line tonight, no . . . more like tore through a barrier; an adamant wall that nobody even dared crack. But the question was, who'd ever established those barriers to begin with? Nobody else knew about the existence of Dragons. What taboo was there to break, especially when Wallace wasn't fully human himself?

His mind kicked up a torrent of these contemplations, able to easily dismiss the arbitrary norms of society, but always circulating back to one topic nonetheless: worthiness. "I'm sorry, Wallace. I hope I didn't confuse you." She rubbed her arms over his shoulders, appearing almost embarrassed. "We aren't the same species, after all. I should've asked if you felt the same." She said worriedly. Wallace took a deep breath, eyes slowly panning off to the side. "No, that's not it." He denied, laying his hand on her fuzzy wrist. His fingers ruffled through her fur, pointing a ruminating gaze into nothingness. For the first time in decades, finally, here was a human she couldn't quite predict. There was something nearly mystical about it, somewhat of an anomaly which drew Rana's watchful eyes for months without his knowledge. So many topics worthy of concern came to mind, and she couldn't guess which question he'd ask first.

"How could you possibly feel this way? For me, of all people?" He asked sullenly. Rana's observant gaze spotted a tinge of shame and disgust weighing on his face. As if on the brink of collapse, he couldn't bare connecting eyes with someone so much greater. Those vivid gracfeul eyes, like a cosmic summertime forest, filled him with warmth in such a way, that it felt . . . undeserved. "You do realize I'm completely useless . . . right?" He asked, lowering his head, much to Rana's displeasure. A heartbroken look spread over her face. "Wallace, you're a lot of things, but 'useless' isn't even close." She said dissentingly. A fretful frown took over her face. She brought the tip of her tail under his chin, tilting it up to meet her eyes again. "We met longer ago than you think, Wallace. You didn't see me watching, but I've seen the way you take care of the woodland creatures. How you so lovingly nursed them back to health . . . Your nurturing touch warmed my heart." She said empathetically, smiling with a glint in her eyes.

A red blush formed over Wallace's face. Rana's tail and arms soothingly slid along his back, offering a sort of comfort he seldom felt. He knew she'd been watching him for months before they met. However, to realize the extent of her surveillance was as comforting as it was unnerving. Regardless, he accepted her embrace, thankfully wrapping her in a hug. It felt strangely satisfying to wrap a full circle around her, feeling under the crease of her wings with rapt curiosity. She didn't seem bothered in the least, coquettishly reciprocating by raking her claws gently through his hair. "By the way . . . I may or may not've been at least one of those injured creatures." She said with deliberation. Wallace nuzzled into Rana's delicate fur, eyes closed as he relished in her gentle embrace, either unwilling or unable to worry about her uncanny implications.

He released a mild chuckle, snuggling into the fuzzy paradise of her coat. "Not this time, Rana. You've made me immune. Nothing can surprise me anymore." He said laxly. Her sophisticated smirk waned as she silently mused. Wallace felt the difference of her breath beginning to slow, yet reverting to normal just as quickly. It was a subtle change, which if sensed by the average human, would've gone unnoticed. For a moment, she mused on his words in deep thought, returning her focus just in time with Wallace's rising gaze. Once more, she allowed herself to feel that unrivaled joy, aiming back a loving smile below her starry green eyes. "It's a strange feeling, knowing how different we are. I know you'll ponder about this. To tell you the truth, Wallace, I've never felt this way about anything or anyone before." She claimed solemnly.

Her digits caressed under his chin, looking endearingly into his eyes. "I want to make sure you feel comfortable with . . . us. If 'us' doesn't trouble you, then I'm willing to give it a try." She said, watching him rub his face against her palms. There was no-doubt a semblance of catlike behavior leaking through his human façade. Rana couldn't hear it, but instead, she felt a faint vibration humming through her draconic fingers. A barely noticeable scent drifted from the curve of his smile. Rana remembered that smell. Cat Beast-folk would release it from their glands when experiencing immense joy, involuntarily marking any object of their affection with an aromatic chemical. Humans often rumored it as an aphrodisiac, despite their claims backing no empirical evidence. "I can't believe . . . you're making me purr." He said bittersweetly, showing a mix of infatuation and shame.

"Please, don't feel guilty. I'm glad you're happy." A silent chuckle settled over her, making him blush hard. There was such charm to her emotions, pulling him in, like a magnet to iron. His awareness tore away for a split-second, scanning the forest's dimming horizon. "How late is it?" He asked, voice muffled by her pelt. It appeared to be getting dark, even by woodland standards. "It's about time we get back." She answered. Her body readily emanated a green light, reverting back to size in seconds. In mere moments, Wallace was surrounded by warmth, watching the dancing ivy flames scatter in all directions. "As much as I like keeping you here, we should return to your cabin." Her body twisted and turned, flinging one last vestige of flames as she squared herself on all fours. Her face looked back at him brazenly. "Mount me, lover-boy. Let's head back." She said humorously.

"Wow, Rana. You're so subtle, that almost flew right past me." He joked, aptly mounting the arch of her back. She turned to face him, simpering lightly. "Take me by the nape, and don't fall off." She wisecracked. He gave a nervous chuckle, but gradually settled on a heartfelt gaze. "I guess that's better?" He said humorously, leaning forward over her back, and embracing her neck. A brilliant and fiery radiance emanated from her eyes, serving to calm his nerves the more she gathered his focus. As he stared bewildered, Wallace wondered if hypnosis had any play in this, but all-in-all, it was as simple as her raw beauty and vivacious charm. He wanted to kiss her again, but wasn't sure how to take the reigns as she had done it. Pondering solemnly on her back, Wallace realized too late, piecing together why she wanted to take him to that clearing. 'Aww, no. Wallace, you dumb, drooling idiot!' He thought to himself, flattening a hand over his face. Nothing felt awkward, not with Rana around, but he couldn't help feeling outright silly for lacking the guts to push further. 'Will there ever be another chance?' He wondered.

His dull claws curled into the nape between her wings. Wingeing at his own stupidity, his affection swelled the air around him. Three unrequited words that should've been obvious by now, bashed against his mind like a hive of angry hornets. Aches of emotion grew silently within him, unknowingly cultivating a nausea in his belly. Rana felt the distinct clench of his anxious fingers. She cracked a worried smile as she looked ahead, intuitively aware of his inhibitions to some degree. They'd ventured off moments ago, and they were halfway there. An array of towering trees densely shadowed their path, magnifying the appearance of dusk. Of course it wasn't close to dusk yet, but with the overcast skies joining the densely shaded woods, there was hardly any difference. Slivers of fading twilight illuminated well enough towards their destination.

Eventually, Rana's feet had stopped, her wings beating the air in efforts to awaken the slumbering boy. A pair of gusts swirled the leaves on either side of her, but to no avail. He was out cold, legs dangling limply off her back. With no reaction taking place, she looked back, confused. A rumble of muffled laughter almost escaped her. 'That's quite the catnap.' She thought, her brows rising endearingly. Her neck flexed and bent as she scanned over the boy's catlike slumber. This wasn't the first time she'd lulled a hybrid to sleep atop her back. In ancient times, many travelers had ridden her for the sake of convenience. It felt refreshing to have a rider again after so long, but alas, they'd arrived at their destination. Her tail curled beneath his belly, lifting him up to recieve no response. She was ready to let go, but clenched again as she noticed he wasn't rousing awake. Just like last time, she felt a heartbeat, but, like any illogical fear, it still worried her.

Rana sighed. "So you're THAT type of sleeper?" She complained, flopping his limbs around with every motion. Carefully striding, she carried Wallace to his cabin door, twisting the knob with two claws. As the door creaked open, she felt a certain dreariness upon glimpsing into the tidy dark room. Her tail still wouldn't let go, overcome by a feeling she knew quite well; one she'd never be able to fully describe. Truly, it was amusing, the way he dangled limply like a dead fish. However, an emptiness filled her chest upon knowing this was their day's end. That sensation grew as she waited with reluctance. Moments passed into minutes before she gave in, now trying to jostle him awake. "Wallace, would you wake up!?" She growled, surprisingly sending a jolt through his body. It was enough energy to barely lift his eyelids, eyes drifting as he attempted to concentrate. "I'm . . . awake." He muttered sluggishly.

Rana chuckled under her breath. "Barely," She said mirthfully. "I wanted to end the day on good terms. Dropping you off without a proper 'goodnight' doesn't feel right." She offered. Rana's tail unfurled, gently setting him down. He stumbled towards the door, exiting his drowsy stupor as he entered his abode. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes helped, but nothing could've prepared him for the true awakening. "Wallace," She called, turning his attention. He focused on her, listening to her besotted tone. "I love you."

The fog of sleep dispersed, billowed away by the gusts of three genuine words. Night's quiet hum was deafening as Wallace's reply came momentarily. "I love you too, Rana." He forced out, eager to reciprocate.

"I've been wanting to say that, but I was just kind of, well . . . y'know, unsure if you truly felt the exact same way." He said through a blush, only to draw a befuddled look from the Dragoness. She cocked her head, looking down at him with her brow raised. "Wallace, we kissed in that clearing twenty minutes ago. There's nothing between the lines."

Wallace returned an awkward look, his eyes panning down, then back up. "Oh." He said in realization. "I guess I'm . . . very new to this." His lips cracked a bashful smile, spreading it to Rana. She moved forward, placing a single claw over his whole upper back, and pulling him in. "What are you d-?" Without warning, Rana abruptly nuzzled into his face and chest. Her approach was surprisingly catlike, subtly displaying a feline body language. Wallace hugged back, speaking mirthfully. "What in the world are you doing?" He asked, stifling a laugh. Her cosmic green eyes illuminated their embrace, basking their faces in a viridescent light. Night was starting to fall. She ignored his question, relishing in the intimacy, until his confusion waned. "I'll see you tomorrow, I hope." Wallace remarked, his hands caressing the fur of her face. "You will," She replied, still nuzzling. "But I'll be running some errands first." She informed.

Wallace tilted his head in inquisition, wanting to ask away. However, he was exhausted, unable to channel his curiosity. The corners of his mouth quirked drowsily. "I'll see you tomorrow then," He said hopefully. "Goodnight Rana." He smiled, gradually disappearing behind the door of his cabin, reluctantly stepping back. She nodded, her tail pantomiming a wave as their eyes connected. "Goodnight Wallace." She replied calmly. He watched as her figure faded out through the threshold of night's moonlit shadows. The towering trees were left to rattle there leaves in the soft, windswept breeze. A deafening silence pressured the nighttime air, unveiling the faint whistles of wind, and the occasional harmless critter rustling within the nearby thickets. Wallace was a man of many phobias, most of them reasonable. However, tonight he sensed the growing abyss of a new and illogical fear.

A feeling that ironically hadn't left him alone for most of his life. This fear, contradictory by nature, pooled within his chest as he let the darkness seep in. At the very least, it was dubious as to wether Rana had actually vacated or not. She could've still been there. Strangely, this provided a mild comfort, though never enough to soothe his nerves completely. So he stared out the window, watching a plethora of shooting stars streak across the black and silver skyscape. There wasn't much sky to see beyond the silhouetted veil of trees. Regardless, it was enough to eventually heavy his eyelids. The day had sapped his energy, and he could vaguely hear the distant voices of half-tact memories whispering their tenebrous lullabies.

The hours ticked by unceremoniously, as if the little hand were skipping numbers. Twisting uncomfortably in his sheets, Wallace dwindled over the sharp-pointed fence between slumber and conciousness. The ethereal voice of dreams spoke clearly into his mind, baring vile tones of prejudice.

'How could anyone love you?' Those words echoed deep within a dreamless void, stirring dread and anger in unknown corners of Wallace's mind, in places he didn't know he had corners. Obscured memories of a dark and unforgiving childhood, of adults sneering at him on the streets, blurred faces muttering false gossips as they passed him by. His bodiless person plunged into the memetic abyss, sudden flashes revealing the figure of a cowering boy, timidly recoiling into a household corner. A crimson stripe smeared across the floorboards, leading to a young and peculiar humanoid. His foster mother, of whom he vaguely remembered, held a long, bloody catlike tail in her left hand . . . and a red-stained knife in the other. All he remembered from that day were the words spewing from her mouth. "Who do they think they are, giving me a hybrid!?" She scowled violently, flicking spatters of blood off her blade. "What kind of freak would love something like you? Just the sight of you sickens me! Those pompous effetes think they can dupe me with this!?" She clenched the tail with trembling hands, searing a hateful look into the young lad's skull.

Stifling his sobs, the small boy curled up, wincing in pain. He tried to keep quiet, in hopes of avoiding any further abuse. If he made a single sound, it could mean death. He knew she might kill him this time.

Young Wallace desperately took cover, in hopes that the knife might cut his arms instead. Even then, with abated breaths, he prepared for the worst. A dictionary of curses and slurs filled the family abode, heralding the oncoming threat, until . . . her shrill screams came to an abrupt halt. In the blink of an eye, Wallace's mind shifted. The house's lighting altered, hinting at what resided beyond the window. Barely able to shake the dread, his chest and stomach were left in knots. Despite holding his head in suspense, he could sense something amiss outside the house; a feeling dwelling beyond the threshold of despairing dreams. His eyes peeled open. In an instant, he couldn't help but feel a distinct change in his surroundings. Everything was quiet compared to the previous chaos. No more knife, and his abhorrent foster mother was nowhere to be seen.

Rousing hazily from a deep sleep, Wallace felt a tepid breeze brush through his disheveled hair. 'Thank the gods, it was all a dream.' He thought, starting to wake at a snail's pace. He felt the presence of a warm, yet unknown aura growing all around him. The legs of tiny pond arachnids played their chirping songs from a distance, likely from a stagnant body of water hidden out of plain sight. He rolled over sluggishly, his half-lidded eyes staring into the sunny woods of an unfamiliar forest. A green and rainbow-speckled caterpillar traveled past his nose, wriggling over his bed. The critter crept across his bedsheets for a good minute, allowing him a quiet moment to register the scenery. It all came down on his sleepy brain like a rock to the face. Wallace's eyes shot open, shocked at what he saw.

With eyes agog, he silently scanned across an inexplicable utopia of greenery and dazzling flora, holding his sheets in both hands as yellow sunlight illuminated each colossal trunk, resonating off those wooden towers while warming his face. Scanning upwards, Wallace spotted a bizarre formation of branches stretching towards the treetops, appearing to stick out straight instead of winding or uneven. While it appeared as though he'd been brought straight into a child's fantasy book, he knew this couldn't be real. And if it were, who's to say the inhabitants weren't equally or more ravenous than the world prior? It all came down to one crucial trait: Instinct . . . which Wallace had plenty to spare, wether or not this was a dream. There were only the man-made constructs of his wooden floorboards and bed, contrasted bizarrely against the strange new world. Each tree resembled a birch, except wider and taller than a King's royal tower.

After carefully descending from his mattress, he wordlessly wandered off, stepping beyond the limits of his unwalled house. After some time of cautious examination, he found himself roaming towards a vast space between the titanic trees. Spores and fireflies floated in all available zones, lazily drifting along the horizon. There was no rational purpose of heading out into the spacious clearing, setting survival aside long enough to enjoy the scenery of a thousand pink, blue and yellow flowers scattered across every inch of its terrain. Roughly ten petals blossomed around every flower, each of undefined origin, yet appearing partially tropical. There gentle textures swayed from a sudden breeze, drawing Wallace's attention to a moving figure ahead.

It wasn't a natural wind, instead being propelled by a distinctly sentient force. That's when he saw a pair of branches unlike any others, each slowly descending down. He stared awhile, unable to discern what it was . . . that is, until it began to move with intelligent motions. Wallace let out a ghastly shout, glancing up towards a fuzzy four-legged creature. For a split-second, he assumed Rana could've relocated him, wether it be for reasonable or comical purposes. However, upon a more reasonable inspection, he quickly realized the creature wasn't his dear friend. The beast's size was twice as large, clinging to the side of a tree near its top, facing diagonally downward. As this spectacle flexed it's body, Wallace could see it's neck bending to aim in his direction. His heart boomed ferociously as it's vivid green eyes stared at him, peering directly into his soul. That surreal sight of anatomical muscle climbed its way down, outstretching a massive pair of mossy-brown wings as it bulleted towards the ground. Twigs and branches alike snapped in a cacophony of falling sticks. Wallace covered his neck, expecting an explosive impact of dirt and rubble. Instead, the creature executed its descent in fluent, delicate motions, gracefully sticking the landing.

Raising his head, Wallace slid his hands off his neck, carefully watching the beast's every move. A closer look allowed him to define its traits clearly, seeing a creature designed much like Rana herself, with similar stripes and colors, but with large antlers, and a swaying white mane reminiscent of a deer's growing all the way around its fuzzy neck. He breathed heavily, heart pounding in his chest as he witnessed its serpentine tail languidly oscillating to and fro. A layer of fur held just enough mass to sway with gravity as the Dragon connected eyes with him once more. “Wallace." A thunderous voice addressed him, echoing in all directions. “Approach me, now. You are in no danger. I only wish to talk." He said, his coercive tone pulling Wallace's trembling legs a few steps closer. Rana had been intimidating enough in her Dragon form, but this dragon was on another level entirely! Struggling to keep his composure, Wallace could barely breathe without shaking.

“You . . . w-want to talk?" He asked timidly, his knees bent slightly, preparing to dart at the drop of a hat.

“My apologies for frightening you. I should have greeted you in a less daunting form. Will this work, nonetheless?" He asked civilly, exuding a wave of calm in his tone. Wallace forced himself to respond, but not as fearfully as expected. There was something about this drake that felt peaceable . . . maybe even more than Rana herself. “Yes. That's fine." His words pushed out, luckily less impeded. As he examined the giant, Wallace sensed what might've been a skittish, doglike streak to this creature, especially as it's tail began to swing from side to side, moving faster and faster. “I'm glad. I don't like scaring the humans. They are my only company these days." He explained, before dropping thunderously on his belly. In light of his sheer size, it made communication a bit more feasible.

Enough courage welled in Wallace's chest to ask a question. “It's nice to meet you too, but . . . where am I?" He inquired, scanning about the enchanted woods with awe. The drake uttered a playful grunt, sending vibrations up Wallace's legs. “Rethelia's Dreamscape. You are asleep." He answered, his head drawing closer. 'Asleep?' He wondered. Wallace ruminated for a moment, until he was rendered thoughtless, staring into a deeper and greener pair of eyes than the ones he'd befriended before. “I'm . . . asleep? That's hard to believe." Wallace objected, observing his hands as he curled his fingers together. That's when an idea hatched in his mind. He raised his arms towards the Dragon, reaching up to pinch his own forearm with his fingers. “See, look! I can FEEL this!" He remarked, working in his nails until a red blemish appeared. The beast looked perturbed by this, eyes joining in a worried frown. “Don't do that! You'll get a bruise!" The drake protested, winding its tail around to push Wallace's hand down.

“Nevermind your speculations, boy. I brought you here to talk about my daughter." He said, scarcely blinking. "Your . . . daughter?" Wallace parroted back, entering a silent pause. Then his face lit up in shock. “Your daughter!?" He repeated, eyes shooting agog. The behemoth spoke with a placid rumble. “Yes, but just in case you're still in the dark, I am speaking of Rana." He assured, nodding. Wallace shot a pessimistic look, his brows rising. “Wait, but didn't you say I was dreaming? If that's the case, then how could you possibly be Rana's father?" He questioned skeptically. The massive drake presented a jolly smile. “A reasonable question. Allow me to sate your curiosity." He offered. The drake straightened his poise, posturing proudly while announcing his name. “My name is Liambold. I am the Dragon renowned across the cosmos, eulogized as the Oracle of Stars." He said, regally puffing out his chest.

"You may mention my name to Rana, so she can give further information, if you wish." He said boastfully. However, his proud mannerisms came off slightly forced, especially after reverting back to that pair of innocent green eyes. Wallace wasn't sure what to say, caught between the Dragon's strange behavior, and the lack of knowledge regarding why he was there. Luckily, Liambold had a knack for timing, adeptly tending to his confusion. “The reason you're here, dwelling in this Dreamscape, is because I have a favor to ask of you." The entirety of his dragon head craned down, staring intently at him. Wallace was awestruck by a mix of dying fear and growing fascination, his eyes stuck gawking up at the great woodland Dragon. “What do you want from me?" He inquired, gazing with a spellbound gawk. His eyes brimmed with curiosity, awaiting the Dragon's reply.

His answer had a sense of finality, dropping a single word as his head drew ridiculously close, officially breaking the thick glass of solemnity. “Grandchildren." The drake said.

Wallace's face fell, letting waves of discomfort dump all of his awe into a puzzled frown. “I'm sorry, what?" He asked, beginning to tremble nervously. “I'm not deaf, Wallace." His expression morphed into a bold look. "My ears and eyes reside within the spirit of these woods. I heard what you said to Rana. And what you said was true. You really do love her, don't you?" He asked, quirking a righteous smile with the turn of his head. Wallace's eyes rapidly shifted, only making contact at random. “Wow, I . . . don't think I have the words at the top of my head, I . . . I'm not sure I can commit to a relationship right away." He explained, reasonably taken aback. Liambold nodded agreeably. “Even better." He concurred. “I'd prefer it take years, or even decades. 'Slowly but surely' is better than 'quickly but fickly', wouldn't you agree?" He asked, keeping a serious, unwavering face. Wallace put his hands up defensively. “Hold on! I didn't mean it that way!" He interjected. The Dragon shot a look of skepticism. “Oh? What about when you told her 'You'd make a wonderful girlfriend?' or 'I love you too.' Did I mishear those words as well?"

Wallace stammered, unable to answer for a myriad of reasons. He was still caught between wether this was real or not, plus wondering if the name 'Liambold' would even mean anything to Rana at all if he mentioned it to her. That's when the denial decided to click: The mystical forest, him waking up here, and the dragon resembling Rana. Weren't these clearly the nuances of dreams? “Y-you're not real! This has to be some kind of lucid dream!" He accused hastily. Much to Wallace's surprise, Liambold gave a nod of agreement. “Yes, I already told you this was a dream; The Dreamscape of Rethelia. You're asleep, and I'm the spirit of this forest." He restated. The boy's eyes darted about frantically. He clenched his head in a worried state, scanning to and fro in denial. Everything was placed naturally, every leaf and flower billowing as one should, under the duality of shadow and light. Subtle trickles of wind caressed his hair and face with intricate complexity.

His head swung back to Liambold, beholding the same Dragon once more, with every detail unchanged. With little left to deny, he threw his hands up. “Okay, fine!" He shouted, causing Liambold to inch back. "It's real!" He admitted, hands dropping to his sides. "I've never seen anything so vivid, but . . ." He trailed off, looking to the side. "I feel like I need a break from all this." He sighed, his eyes growing visibly heavy. Liambold blew a persistent huff from his nose. “Then 'take a break' with my daughter." He offered insistantly. "Buy a cozy little cabin by the nearest lakeshore, and let her be your lover. You'd both have my blessings, and you'd both be under the forest's protection; MY protection." His powerful voice echoed with promise in every syllable, rattling Wallace's ribcage. The boy looked down, face buried in his palm. “My Gods, you are really adamant about this." He said in monotone.

“Your 'Gods' would not disapprove, seeing as they don't exist." The Dragon corrected. Wallace ignored that witty remark. Claiming the Gods were imaginary was like saying dirt tasted earthy. So no comment there. So many intricate details swayed with the wind. On the off-chance that this was really happening, he had to at least try and make a logical argument for himself. “Look, you have to listen to me! If this is actually real, then you're making a horrific mistake!" He whined insistently, putting his arms out. "I'm a territorial, antisocial virgin, with no redeeming qualities, whatsoever! I don't even deserve to live on natural selection's terms! I almost died sleeping with a shotgun, then I got myself torn to shreds by wolves on the same day! Your daughter deserves a Dragon, or an equally intelligent creature! Not a man who's living on borrowed luck!" He confessed, stressfully mulling over the facts. "I mean, for God's sake, Rana offered to pay my taxes while she took care of my injuries, and she returned with a huge back-payment instead! Even if I were interested, there's no way in Hell I deserve her!"

Liambold stood notably surprised, unsure of wether to feel bad, or to roll his eyes. Wallace's lungs recuperated, taking fuller breaths as he regained his voice. Liambold, the Dragon twice Rana's size, narrowed his expression in grave disappointment, as he drew uncomfortably close to Wallace's face. His voice was overtly brooding, his pointed deerlike ears ramping down. “It doesn't have to be you." He said, carefully laying out every syllable. "I don't care how I get my grandchildren, as long as you find a mate for my daughter!" He scolded, a growl rumbling in his throat. Despite desiring a family someday, Wallace's heart palpitated at the thought of romantic relationships, especially with a Dragoness . . . assuming conception was even possible. That was a whole different field altogether. Liambold began with an innocent smile, trying to hold it back. “Your thoughts and emotions are clear to me in this place. You're hoping it's possible for humans and Dragons to conceive . . . isn't that true?" He asked, curving a faint grin. Something about that smug expression reminded him of Rana.

The resemblance was uncanny. Wallace's eyes practically rounded out, his face warming up. “That's an intrusive thought!" He said, his finger shooting out. Nevermind how his blushes had turned him a crisp apple-red. In the face of undeniable facts, he steadfastly declined to acknowledge the situation's veracity. “You would deny your own thoughts? How irritating . . . Is this how you treat those who save your life?" He asked loudly. Fuzzy muscles flexed taut over Liambold's face, exuding an expression of ridicule. Wallace momentarily dropped every thought, blinking thrice in a perplexed state. “What do you mean?" He questioned, suddenly going silent. “You heard me, boy. Did you think you were alone when that gun went off? I was the one lurking near your property that Day, before you almost scattered your brains. Ask my daughter, and she will vouch for me.“ Wallace tried to speak, but couldn't on account of being cut off. “And it doesn't end there . . . The only reason those wolves haven't buried your shins, is because they were repelled by MY warning." He said in protest. Wallace's golden eyes shifted nervously in thought, then in realization, flashing back to his experience with the otherworldly roar. “Are you saying that roar wasn't Rana's?" He asked, brows arched in disbelief. "If that's true, then why didn't I see you in that cave with her? If she's your Daughter, wouldn't she at least give you credit?"

The drake gave a sidelong nod. “We Dragons cannot disclose the existence of one another to denizens of this world without permission first, so she will take this dream as admittance if you describe it to her. Ask my daughter, and she will explain the broader details. The truth goes as this: She saved you from bleeding out after the wolf attack. I saved you from two other fatalities: the wolves, and your little shotgun mishap."

Wallace's memory flashed back again to the bloody mess, remembering the ear-splitting roar which scared off those ravenous wolves. “Gods, this has been a bizarre Month." He said, shaking his head in an overwhelmed state. A fleck of gratitude expanded in his heart, blooming into heartfelt thanks. "If what you're saying is true, then . . . thank you." He commended.

A jolly laugh vibrated the ground. “You're quite welcome, strange little demi-beast." He said welcomely.

Wallace have a quizzical smile, his head hanging in an overwhelmed facepalm. “Dragons, of all things . . . Just . . . why?" He asked, feeling the absurdity tug at his mind. Liambold's smile fell into one of empathy, responding with a certain gentleness. "All planets are strange. We Dragons are from many worlds." He stated wisely. "I am from a utopia of love and peace. Other drakes may hail from . . . juxtaposed worlds." He said, carefully choosing his words.

Wallace's head tilted slightly, barely understanding. To begin with, he had trouble wrapping his head around just one extra globe, if such a thing could ever exist. When faced with ruminating on Liambold's suggestion, his head strained to the point of stretching. Despite the intricacy of each individual petal and leaf billowing in the wind in front of him, it was inconceivable.

"Other worlds?" He questioned, coming micrometers from scoffing. "There's only one world in the world." He said simply. Terms such as "Universe" or "Galaxy", or anything beyond them was utter nonsense, if not entirely unheard of.

The Dragon looked back critically. "Then what do you call this place?" He asked, his head gesturing along the scenic woods. Wallace tried to respond as a silver butterfly incidentally fluttered past them. He veered, stumbling over his words. "Well, it's . . . uh," He paused to think on a logical response, entering a mystified stare. Wallace's expression tightened, spinning around in his own mind. Everyone knew there was only one world. Beyond those limits were nothing more than barren moons and lifeless celestial bodies. All of Planet Rana's greatest, most renowned astronomers had proven this. "You do realize, this is straight from the Dragon's mouth, so-to-speak?" Liambold interjected. Wallace nodded acceptingly. Rationally enough, he had to admit, Liambold posed a fair point. Listening to the words of the otherworldly creature, Wallace's mind sifted through the teachings of life itself, reevaluating every lesson he'd ever learned. Other lands from separate fabrics therin, and entire globes unlike the one he knew. This idea had never crossed his mind before, not even during the most profound moments of his life. What if existence as a whole wasn't what he'd grown to know . . ? Had the brilliant astronomers of their time been blind fools all along? Unfortunately, there wasn't as much time to ponder as he would've liked. Suddenly, his arms began to blurr in and out. Moments passed, and he only began to worry once the blurring crept down his arms, eventually obscuring his fingertips.

“What the Hell . . ?" He muttered, observantly rotating his wrists. "My hands!" He shouted in a panic, watching his faculties fizz away.

Liambold's tail curled over Wallace's shoulder, redirecting his attention. “Don't worry. It is only your sixth sense losing cognizance. You're waking up." He informed, giving him a tug. "Maybe we'll speak another time." He said, smiling politely. "Until then, remember my name." His face immediately grew stern, quickly changing the topic. "Just promise me you'll find Rana a proper mate." His eyes locked with his, serious as can be. It felt as though the air itself were frozen in time, making Wallace's eyes widen nervously in silence. "It's been six-billion years, and none of my daughters have laid eggs! And none of my sons have impregnated a female! It is an insult!" He complained restlessly. A mix of stark irritation and disappointment marked along his face. It appeared to be a grievance dating back thousands of millenias, likely older than Rethelia itself.

Despite his faded state, Wallace's mouth hung open with peaked interest. “Wait . . . 'daughters and sons?' How many Dragons are out there!?" He questioned, speaking over his fading descent out of the Dreamscape. As Wallace witnessed his fingers blurring together, he felt his body being pulled from the back. Liambold's answer came just in time before he hurled backwards. “Many." He said officially, watching the boy fade out, sinking backwards as if falling into a deep pit. When darkness curtained his vision, Wallace noticed he hadn't taken a single breath during his visit to the dreamland. At first, it sounded like another man's breathing, but as he came to, he realized it was his own. His hands stressfully gripped the sheets, then his chest, jolting up in a spastic awakening. Reality set in, revealing itself in the form of sunlit wooden walls. He was back in his own cabin again, this time without the open expanse of a spectral forest.

He scratched his head, taking a deep breath, eyes widened and shifting across the quiet abode. “Gods, what a dream . . ." He whispered, softly muttering to nobody. Leaning up, he got a proper view of the unanswering room. His fuzzy blue slippers slapped the floorboards as he took a deep breath. “Gods, should I really tell her about this? Rana's gonna think I'm so weird." He said aloud, mulling over how he could possibly explain the uncomfortable topics Liambold mentioned . . . assuming he hadn't merely spoken with the mirages of his own mind. At the very least, it would make an enchanting story. Yes, awkward, but entertaining. Only Rana could provide the first and final stamp of authenticity now. Only time could tell how this would go, if he'd even bother mentioning it later.