The Journey, Book 2; Chapter 26 - Previous Chapter
Chapter 27: Embraced
The dwarven farmlands clung like a secret halfway up the mountain, hidden terraces carved into the stone and stitched together with low, winding walls of granite. The air was thin here, sharpened by the crisp scent of pine and the faint tang of iron from the mountain’s veins.
Neko stepped into the clearing, the grass a softer green than the rugged slopes below. He shrugged off his tunic, the fabric whispering as it slid from his shoulders. The mountain breeze cooled his skin, but the tension in his chest refused to ease. His jaw tightened as he rolled his shoulders, stretching until tendons strained and joints popped, a release that never seemed enough.
Beneath the shade of an old mountain oak, Amira rested, her wings folded neatly, the wolves Santi and Kristi pressed against her sides. Their slow breathing was calm, content, almost mocking in its peace compared to the restless churn in his own thoughts.
His fingers closed around Tondro’s hilt. The familiar weight grounded him, but even its hum, normally a comfort, sounded sharper, more demanding today. When the blade cleared its sheath, the purple edge flashed like a warning.
Stepping into the clearing’s centre, he planted his feet. The first stroke came slow and precise, but the tension in his arms was unmistakable. He pivoted, stepped back, parried, each motion a touch too forceful, his breath pushing hard through his nose. His rhythm built faster than it should have, his blade’s low thrum cutting the air with an edge of impatience.
The imagined enemies came faster in his mind, and so did his answers, blocking, ducking, weaving, each move sharper, less about grace and more about driving the thought away. His sword blurred, his body and steel a single storm, until each strike became an unspoken shout, each step a demand for control he didn’t quite have.
Up the path, Tarasque appeared, her quiet presence folding into the shade beside Amira. Santi and Kristi rested their heads in her lap, her fingers absently stroking their fur. She said nothing, but her eyes lingered on Neko, perhaps noticing the harshness in his form.
A gust stirred the clearing. The faint rustle of wings reached his ears as Amira stood, her wings unfurling with a whisper like silk. She leapt into the air toward Elqiana, leaving the earth behind. Neko’s jaw clenched tighter at the sound, another reminder of how easily others could rise when he felt weighted down.
He slowed, sweat dampening his brow, and spotted a barrel of water. Crossing to it, he plunged his head inside. The cold bit at his skin, but it couldn’t wash the heaviness from his thoughts. Straightening, he snapped his head back, droplets scattering like shards of glass.
“Akvo,” he muttered, his voice lower, harder than usual.
The droplets froze midair, their crystalline shimmer tinged with an unnatural sharpness. His magic responded to his mood; the sphere he shaped was less a smooth globe than a taut, restless thing, colours swirling in turbulent motion. Square. Triangle. Shapes snapped into place rather than flowed. He released it over the barrel; the splash was loud in the quiet, almost jarring.
Back in the clearing, Tondro slid into his right hand with a familiar, urgent weight. In his left, heat flared, not the steady, controlled warmth of focus, but the sharp, consuming kind that threatened to spill over. The purple-orange fireball spun above his palm, flickering erratically as his thoughts fed it.
He dropped into a stance, sword raised, fire poised. His back straight, his forward lean almost aggressive. Right leg bent, left braced, his body coiled like a spring pulled too tight.
Then, without warning, he exploded into motion. Sword and flame crashed together in a storm of heat and colour. Embers spat from each turn of his wrist; fire hissed as it split the air. His movements were fast, precise, but threaded with something raw, each strike and spell less a display of skill than a demand, a plea, a fight against something unseen.
He didn’t stop until his breath burned in his chest and his arms felt leaden, until the frustration dulled, if only slightly, under the weight of exhaustion.
From her seat beneath the oak, Tarasque watched the dance of blade and flame. At first, she saw only skill, the precision of a warrior in his element, but it didn’t take long for her eyes to catch the cracks. The way his shoulders tightened just before each strike. The sharpness in his pivots, as if he were cutting at something far closer than any imagined foe.
Santi and Kristi’s steady breathing warmed her lap, but she felt no such calm. The air around Neko shimmered not only from heat, but from strain, a tension that clung to him like smoke. Magic was supposed to flow; his came in surges, snapping like a bowstring drawn too far.
She did not speak. Words would have broken the rhythm he needed to burn through whatever haunted him. But in the flicker of his firelight, she thought she saw it plain, the difference between a man training for battle, and a man trying to keep his demons from winning.
Neko stopped, chest rising and falling hard, the last flickers of magic fading from the air. Sweat clung to his skin, and every muscle hummed from the strain of training. Above, Amira and Elqiana moved in perfect, sweeping arcs, but his eyes never left the ground in front of him.
A soft rhythm of footsteps reached him. Tarasque emerged from the shade, the sunlight catching in her long red curls, each coil bouncing with a subtle, hypnotic sway. Her approach felt deliberate, almost slow, as if the space between them needed to be closed with care.
When she stopped before him, she didn’t speak, only held his gaze. Her eyes searched his, quiet and unyielding, until the air between them seemed to thicken. Then, with a single step forward, she closed the gap and wrapped her arms around him.
The shift in his body was immediate. Heat radiated from her, her form fitting against his as if she’d always belonged there. Her scent, wildflowers tangled with the damp, grounding scent of mountain rain, filled his lungs and seemed to lodge there, impossible to exhale. Her heartbeat tapped a steady rhythm against his chest, drawing his own into unspoken sync.
“Everything will be alright, Neko,” she murmured into his ear, her voice warm enough to seep into him like sunlight on cold skin.
His arms slid around her waist, but not loosely, his grip tightened, drawing her that last inch closer. His palms rested there, feeling the subtle shift of her breathing beneath his hands. He noticed the fine texture of her tunic, the warmth beneath it, the quiet strength in the way she held him back.
Every detail sharpened. The curve of her shoulder beneath his cheek. The way a strand of her hair tickled his jaw. The faint scent of wind still clinging to her from the climb. It all gathered in his mind like threads pulling tighter and tighter.
It’s happening again, Amira’s voice brushed through his thoughts, teasing and knowing all at once.
What’s happening again? he asked, though his focus never left the way Tarasque’s breath warmed the side of his neck.
You’re holding her like you don’t want to remember how to let go, Amira replied softly.
And she was right. His grip didn’t loosen; if anything, it deepened. Tarasque’s heartbeat, her scent, her warmth, every bit of her anchored him in a way he hadn’t realised he’d been craving. For now, there was no fight, no magic, no mountain, just the quiet, unshakeable truth of her in his arms.
Tarasque felt it the moment his arms settled around her, the way his hold tightened, not out of desperation, but out of a deep, unspoken need. He was warm, the kind of warmth that seeped past her skin and into her chest. His breath brushed against her temple, uneven at first, then slowly falling into rhythm with hers.
She became sharply aware of the details, the faint salt of sweat on his skin, the way his heart seemed to steady under her touch, the almost imperceptible shift of his fingers at her waist as if he were memorising the feel of her there. Every movement told her more than his words ever could.
He smelled faintly of steel and smoke, but beneath it was something subtler, something entirely his, wild, untamed, like the mountains they stood upon. It wrapped around her senses, difficult to ignore.
Part of her knew she should speak, break the moment before it sank too deep, but she didn’t. Instead, she allowed her own arms to tighten, pressing him closer. She felt the change in his breathing, the quiet surrender in it, and wondered just how long he’d been holding all of this in.
When she had told him everything would be alright, it had been meant as comfort. But now, with his heartbeat syncing with hers and the weight of him resting against her, she realized the truth, she needed the embrace just as much as he did.
For a moment, she closed her eyes, letting the world outside their arms fade, and thought, if this is wrong, I don’t want to be right.
High above, Amira soared beside Elqiana, their wings cutting through the cool mountain air in effortless harmony. From this vantage, the hidden farmland below looked like a quiet breath against the rugged stone, still and intimate.
Amira’s sharp eyes caught the figures standing close in the clearing. She saw the way Tarasque’s arms tightened around Neko, how his body leaned in, hesitating for a heartbeat before closing the gap entirely.
Then, without warning, their faces met, lips pressing together with a sudden, fierce urgency that rippled through the stillness of the valley. The kiss was raw and unguarded, a release of all the tension that had wound tight between them.
Elqiana glanced at Amira, a silent question in her gaze. Amira only nodded softly, a faint smile curving her lips.
The kiss felt like fire and water all at once, electric and soothing, fierce and tender. They melted into it, losing themselves in a long stretch of bliss that seemed to slow time itself. The world around them dimmed, narrowed until nothing existed but the softness of lips and the quiet, steady beat of two hearts finally speaking the truth.
Then, footsteps, rough and purposeful, echoed from the far side of the clearing. A small group of Dwarves appeared, their baskets heavy with ripe crops, bustling to harvest before the sun climbed higher.
Suddenly aware of the onlookers, Neko and Tarasque stepped apart, faces flaming crimson.
“I… umm… yeah…” Neko stammered, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.
Tarasque tugged nervously at the hem of her tunic, eyes darting away.
“I… I need to practice meditating,” Neko said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.
“I need to find Elvina,” Tarasque replied, biting her lip as she glanced toward the mountain path.
They turned to go their separate ways, the space between them growing instantly cold and unfamiliar.
But then, quick as a heartbeat, Neko’s hand reached out, gently grasping Tarasque’s wrist. With a smooth spin, he pulled her back into his arms.
He pressed a soft kiss to her lips, lingering just long enough to send a quiet message of gratitude and something deeper, unspoken.
“Thank you, Tara,” he murmured, voice low and earnest.
Her eyes closed, savoring the tenderness of the moment. When she opened them again, a small, knowing smile curved her lips, one that said everything words could not.
Without another word, she stepped back, then turned and walked away, the sway of her figure framed by the rising sun and the shadows of the mountain.
Neko watched her go, then turned his gaze to the rugged mountainside. For the first time in a long while, his mind felt clear, sharpened, lighter, ready.
Neko’s gaze drifted toward the jagged mountain face, an unspoken decision settling over him like a quiet flame. Without hesitation, he started climbing, his hands finding cracks in the stone, his boots digging into loose gravel. He needed to find somewhere high, somewhere wide enough to sit without distraction.
Above him, Amira circled, wings slicing through the cool air. Her voice echoed softly in his mind, light but curious. 'What are you doing, little one?'
'I want to climb to find a ledge big enough to sit on so I can practice meditating,' Neko answered, voice steady but tinged with an edge of frustration.
Amira dipped and banked, her sharp eyes scanning the craggy heights. Then, with a flick of her wings, she sent him a mental image, a wide, flat ledge, just a little higher up, bathed in sunlight and sheltered from the biting wind.
'Thank you, Amira,' Neko whispered in his mind.
He pushed himself upward, muscles straining against the rough stone, until finally he reached the ledge. It was perfect, spacious enough for him to sit cross-legged, shielded by overhanging rocks. He settled down, folding his legs and setting his back straight. His hands rested gently on his knees, eyes closing against the world.
He took slow, deep breaths, the cool mountain air filling his lungs and steadying his heartbeat. Slowly, he reached out with his subconscious, feeling Amira’s warm presence circling nearby, the faint bustle of the Dwarves tending their crops far below.
But then, a flash, sharp and unwelcome, Tara’s rear pressed insistently against his mind’s eye, vivid and distracting. The image bloomed without permission, pulling his focus like a magnet.
Amira landed beside him, claws digging into the rocky ledge to steady herself against the wind. Her voice was sharp, teasing but firm. 'That’s not meditating. That’s staring.'
Neko’s eyes snapped open, cheeks flushing as he shook off the distraction. 'No, you’re right,' he muttered, exhaling a heavy sigh.
He closed his eyes again, breathing deeper, harder, forcing his mind to still. Slowly, carefully, he reached out again with his subconscious, this time determined to find the quiet center he needed.
Neko kept his legs folded, eyes closed, but the stillness he sought remained elusive. Minutes stretched into what felt like hours, though he hadn’t realized how long he’d been sitting there, his subconscious gently probing the air around him, searching for something just beyond reach.
Suddenly, a sharp mental tug startled him, an unmistakable, familiar reach. His eyes snapped open, and a quiet curse slipped from his lips. 'Neko, where in the ancient language are you?'
He glanced down below, spotting a flicker of orange, a warm, pulsing aura that could be nothing but Vivi’s.
'Turn around and look up… higher up...' he sent through the mind-link.
Vivi obeyed immediately, turning, then craning his neck higher still, until his eyes caught a faint shimmer of orange-purple. And there, basking in the dying light of day, was Amira, her scales catching the sun’s last rays like liquid fire.
'Now how the hell are you going to get down from there?' Vivi’s voice teased in Neko’s mind, Amira isn’t big enough to fly on yet.
Neko said nothing. He simply began the slow, careful descent, fingers gripping the rough stone, feet finding every foothold until, at last, he touched the ground again.
Amira’s sudden landing startled some of the nearby Dwarves, who paused their work to watch the shimmering creature settle beside Neko.
“Sorry,” Neko whispered softly to the farmers, eyes downcast.
Vivi stepped forward, concern etched in his features. “Is everything okay?”
Neko nodded, but his gaze stayed fixed on the dirt beneath his feet.
With a flick of his staff, Vivi snatched Neko’s tunic from a nearby branch and tossed it back at him. Neko caught it easily, pulling it over his shoulder.
“We’ve been looking for you for hours,” Vivi said, eyebrows raised. “What were you doing?”
Neko hesitated, then glanced up, voice barely above a whisper. “I was trying to practice meditating.”
“Why?” Vivi’s curiosity was clear.
Neko’s eyes dropped once more. “To see if I could find your mother.”
Vivi’s hand found Neko’s shoulder, squeezing gently, a silent acknowledgment of the boy’s good intentions, though he chose not to speak.
Santaya and Kristolia bounded up to Neko, their paws padding softly against the earth, tails wagging as they circled around him with eager affection. Vivi smiled at the sight and motioned for them to follow as he led the group back toward the stronghold.
They threaded through winding tunnels, the cool stone walls closing in around them like a protective embrace. The faint echo of their footsteps and the soft padding of paws filled the air. Vivi’s voice dropped to a quiet, steady tone as they walked.
“Meditating is a good idea,” he said softly, “and I appreciate you trying. But it’s difficult, almost impossible, without knowing roughly which direction she’s in, or without any way for us to connect to her... or scent her, so to speak.”
Neko absorbed the words, the weight of the truth settling into his mind. He looked up, voice gentle with a hint of hope. “Are you not able to... connect or scent her yourself?”
Vivi shook his head slowly. “If elves don’t want to be found, they can mask their scent using the ancient language.”
After a while, the tunnels opened into the stronghold’s bustling kitchen, warm with the scent of baking bread and simmering stews. The room was crowded with familiar faces, yet one presence was notably missing.
“Where’s Elvina?” Neko asked, eyes searching the room.
Gabija, helping Mirabella by tending a bubbling pot by the hearth, glanced up and answered without hesitation, “She’s gone to the neighbouring settlements with Rorik and Donal, hoping for some answers.”
The air seemed to shift, a mixture of hope and unease threading through the room as the weight of Elvina’s absence settled over them all.
Neko settled beside Tarasque at the long wooden table, his hand brushing discreetly past hers beneath the rough-hewn surface. The faint warmth from her fingers sent a quiet spark through him, and for a moment, he let himself linger in the small comfort of the connection.
Mirabella, bustling nearby with a wooden spoon in one hand, caught the movement out of the corner of her eye. She turned sharply, hands landing firmly on her hips.
“Now, young man,” she said, voice half amused and half stern, “you’ll leave my kitchen and put that tunic on properly.”
Neko’s cheeks flushed crimson as he realized he’d forgotten to wear his tunic, having slung it carelessly over one shoulder. He quickly rose, mumbling a soft apology, and disappeared through the door to don it correctly.
A few moments later, he returned, pulling the tunic straight over his head and settling back down beside Tarasque. This time, her hand found his under the table, their fingers weaving together in a quiet promise.
“Much better,” Mirabella declared matter-of-factly, placing a steaming plate piled high with hot meat and roasted potatoes in front of him.
Neko took a bite, then asked loudly, “Why are we all here?”
Gabija’s voice carried over the low murmur of the room. “We’ve heard Thomaz has Rubian scouring for answers about ancestry. We think it’s time we did the same.” She paused, eyes steady. “So we’re planning to go to Caa Alora, to look through Elven records in the great library.”
The weight of their purpose settled over the table, threading their quiet meal with a sharp edge of resolve.
From the darkest corner of the kitchen, Tivor’s voice cut through the low chatter, calm but resolute.
“Myself and Vivi might be able to find something that links to our mother, in our former home, the Elven Capital.”
Vivi nodded in agreement, his eyes thoughtful.
Neko let go of Tarasque’s hand beneath the table and stood, energy flickering behind his gaze.
“So, when do we leave? Also, when will Amira and I be able to fly together?”
Vivi smiled, a mix of amusement and pride in his expression.
“We leave in a few days. As for flying,” He paused, eyes glinting with warmth. “I admire how keen you two are, but Amira needs to be much bigger first. You could ride her like a horse when she’s large enough, but that would be hugely disrespectful to her kind.”
Neko’s eyes widened in shock at the thought. “I’d never ask Amira to do that. Never.”
Amira lifted her head slightly, scales shimmering in the flickering firelight, and her voice echoed gently in Neko’s mind.
‘Dragons never stop growing, ever. It won’t be for a few months yet before we can fly together, little one.’
“How far is Caa Alora from here?” Neko asked, curiosity sharpening his tone.
Vivi glanced at Gabija, who gave a slight nod in his direction.
“About two months on horseback,” Vivi replied, “but since there’s a group of us, it might take a little longer.”
He added with a hint of concern, “We’re still waiting on news from the were-cats. Convel left earlier with Auburn and Jesser to head back to Termini Cliffs.”
Just then, a familiar, lazing, purring voice cut through the room. “Ah, Timmy, there you are, old chap.”
The sudden sound startled everyone. Timtur spun around to see Jeremy sauntering into the kitchen, a slow, mischievous grin tugging at his lips.
The room erupted in amused chuckles.
“It’s Timmy now, is it?” Vivi teased, eyebrows raised.
“No, it is not!” Timtur snapped, nearly spitting out his drink in protest.
“I think it’s cute, Timmy,” Tarasque quipped with a sly smile.
“No, don’t you dare!” Timtur shot her a sharp look that had everyone laughing harder.
Jeremy raised a paw, extended his claws just slightly, and let out a feisty low growl aimed straight at Timtur. The challenge in his eyes was unmistakable.
Then, turning smoothly to Mirabella, he adopted a theatrical tone. “Might one have some fresh milk, o’ fair lady?”
Mirabella’s cheeks flushed a deep rose, caught off guard by the unexpected compliment. “Oooh, it’s not often one gets such a kind compliment!” she said with a soft laugh, quickly setting down a shallow bowl of milk on the floor for him.
Before Jeremy could settle in, the kitchen door burst open and a panting Dwarven guard appeared, eyes wide and breath ragged.
“Has anyone seen a black cat with a red crown?” he gasped.
Jeremy’s ears twitched with a smirk. “It’s a ginger crown, I’ll have you know.”
The guard’s jaw dropped in shock. “Since when, in the Old Bloody Mountains, do cats talk?!”
The kitchen erupted into laughter, the tension momentarily broken by the unexpected magic of the moment.
Althor stepped forward, dismissing the guard with a calm hand. “Everything is fine. No need for alarm.”
Jeremy, with a loud, unapologetic slurp, drank the milk from the bowl. Then, in a fluid motion, he shifted form, changing to the height of a small boy but keeping several feline traits: pointed ears, sharp eyes, and a flick of a tail. He wore nothing but a simple loincloth and a small shoulder bag resting at his hip.
Climbing up onto a sturdy chair, he pulled out a folded cloth from his bag. Slowly, he unfolded it to reveal a delicate silver necklace, studded with tiny blue sapphires and shimmering white opals.
A collective gasp echoed around the room.
Ophelia’s eyes widened as she reached out, fingertips trembling slightly as they brushed the gems.
“Calinthia’s necklace...” Timtur whispered. “But you said Rubian had it. How did you get it?”
Jeremy stretched lazily, reaching across the table to grab a chicken leg, munching as he answered casually, “I watched him try to destroy the necklace, for weeks. Every method failed. Then one day, he left it on a table in his tent.”
He grinned mischievously. “I snuck in and stole it. For good measure, I shredded all his paperwork and reports into tiny pieces.”
A few chuckles rippled through the group.
Jeremy leaned back, licking sauce from his fingers. “I was a few miles away when I heard his furious screams ring out.”
Chapter 27: Embraced
The dwarven farmlands clung like a secret halfway up the mountain, hidden terraces carved into the stone and stitched together with low, winding walls of granite. The air was thin here, sharpened by the crisp scent of pine and the faint tang of iron from the mountain’s veins.
Neko stepped into the clearing, the grass a softer green than the rugged slopes below. He shrugged off his tunic, the fabric whispering as it slid from his shoulders. The mountain breeze cooled his skin, but the tension in his chest refused to ease. His jaw tightened as he rolled his shoulders, stretching until tendons strained and joints popped, a release that never seemed enough.
Beneath the shade of an old mountain oak, Amira rested, her wings folded neatly, the wolves Santi and Kristi pressed against her sides. Their slow breathing was calm, content, almost mocking in its peace compared to the restless churn in his own thoughts.
His fingers closed around Tondro’s hilt. The familiar weight grounded him, but even its hum, normally a comfort, sounded sharper, more demanding today. When the blade cleared its sheath, the purple edge flashed like a warning.
Stepping into the clearing’s centre, he planted his feet. The first stroke came slow and precise, but the tension in his arms was unmistakable. He pivoted, stepped back, parried, each motion a touch too forceful, his breath pushing hard through his nose. His rhythm built faster than it should have, his blade’s low thrum cutting the air with an edge of impatience.
The imagined enemies came faster in his mind, and so did his answers, blocking, ducking, weaving, each move sharper, less about grace and more about driving the thought away. His sword blurred, his body and steel a single storm, until each strike became an unspoken shout, each step a demand for control he didn’t quite have.
Up the path, Tarasque appeared, her quiet presence folding into the shade beside Amira. Santi and Kristi rested their heads in her lap, her fingers absently stroking their fur. She said nothing, but her eyes lingered on Neko, perhaps noticing the harshness in his form.
A gust stirred the clearing. The faint rustle of wings reached his ears as Amira stood, her wings unfurling with a whisper like silk. She leapt into the air toward Elqiana, leaving the earth behind. Neko’s jaw clenched tighter at the sound, another reminder of how easily others could rise when he felt weighted down.
He slowed, sweat dampening his brow, and spotted a barrel of water. Crossing to it, he plunged his head inside. The cold bit at his skin, but it couldn’t wash the heaviness from his thoughts. Straightening, he snapped his head back, droplets scattering like shards of glass.
“Akvo,” he muttered, his voice lower, harder than usual.
The droplets froze midair, their crystalline shimmer tinged with an unnatural sharpness. His magic responded to his mood; the sphere he shaped was less a smooth globe than a taut, restless thing, colours swirling in turbulent motion. Square. Triangle. Shapes snapped into place rather than flowed. He released it over the barrel; the splash was loud in the quiet, almost jarring.
Back in the clearing, Tondro slid into his right hand with a familiar, urgent weight. In his left, heat flared, not the steady, controlled warmth of focus, but the sharp, consuming kind that threatened to spill over. The purple-orange fireball spun above his palm, flickering erratically as his thoughts fed it.
He dropped into a stance, sword raised, fire poised. His back straight, his forward lean almost aggressive. Right leg bent, left braced, his body coiled like a spring pulled too tight.
Then, without warning, he exploded into motion. Sword and flame crashed together in a storm of heat and colour. Embers spat from each turn of his wrist; fire hissed as it split the air. His movements were fast, precise, but threaded with something raw, each strike and spell less a display of skill than a demand, a plea, a fight against something unseen.
He didn’t stop until his breath burned in his chest and his arms felt leaden, until the frustration dulled, if only slightly, under the weight of exhaustion.
From her seat beneath the oak, Tarasque watched the dance of blade and flame. At first, she saw only skill, the precision of a warrior in his element, but it didn’t take long for her eyes to catch the cracks. The way his shoulders tightened just before each strike. The sharpness in his pivots, as if he were cutting at something far closer than any imagined foe.
Santi and Kristi’s steady breathing warmed her lap, but she felt no such calm. The air around Neko shimmered not only from heat, but from strain, a tension that clung to him like smoke. Magic was supposed to flow; his came in surges, snapping like a bowstring drawn too far.
She did not speak. Words would have broken the rhythm he needed to burn through whatever haunted him. But in the flicker of his firelight, she thought she saw it plain, the difference between a man training for battle, and a man trying to keep his demons from winning.
Neko stopped, chest rising and falling hard, the last flickers of magic fading from the air. Sweat clung to his skin, and every muscle hummed from the strain of training. Above, Amira and Elqiana moved in perfect, sweeping arcs, but his eyes never left the ground in front of him.
A soft rhythm of footsteps reached him. Tarasque emerged from the shade, the sunlight catching in her long red curls, each coil bouncing with a subtle, hypnotic sway. Her approach felt deliberate, almost slow, as if the space between them needed to be closed with care.
When she stopped before him, she didn’t speak, only held his gaze. Her eyes searched his, quiet and unyielding, until the air between them seemed to thicken. Then, with a single step forward, she closed the gap and wrapped her arms around him.
The shift in his body was immediate. Heat radiated from her, her form fitting against his as if she’d always belonged there. Her scent, wildflowers tangled with the damp, grounding scent of mountain rain, filled his lungs and seemed to lodge there, impossible to exhale. Her heartbeat tapped a steady rhythm against his chest, drawing his own into unspoken sync.
“Everything will be alright, Neko,” she murmured into his ear, her voice warm enough to seep into him like sunlight on cold skin.
His arms slid around her waist, but not loosely, his grip tightened, drawing her that last inch closer. His palms rested there, feeling the subtle shift of her breathing beneath his hands. He noticed the fine texture of her tunic, the warmth beneath it, the quiet strength in the way she held him back.
Every detail sharpened. The curve of her shoulder beneath his cheek. The way a strand of her hair tickled his jaw. The faint scent of wind still clinging to her from the climb. It all gathered in his mind like threads pulling tighter and tighter.
It’s happening again, Amira’s voice brushed through his thoughts, teasing and knowing all at once.
What’s happening again? he asked, though his focus never left the way Tarasque’s breath warmed the side of his neck.
You’re holding her like you don’t want to remember how to let go, Amira replied softly.
And she was right. His grip didn’t loosen; if anything, it deepened. Tarasque’s heartbeat, her scent, her warmth, every bit of her anchored him in a way he hadn’t realised he’d been craving. For now, there was no fight, no magic, no mountain, just the quiet, unshakeable truth of her in his arms.
Tarasque felt it the moment his arms settled around her, the way his hold tightened, not out of desperation, but out of a deep, unspoken need. He was warm, the kind of warmth that seeped past her skin and into her chest. His breath brushed against her temple, uneven at first, then slowly falling into rhythm with hers.
She became sharply aware of the details, the faint salt of sweat on his skin, the way his heart seemed to steady under her touch, the almost imperceptible shift of his fingers at her waist as if he were memorising the feel of her there. Every movement told her more than his words ever could.
He smelled faintly of steel and smoke, but beneath it was something subtler, something entirely his, wild, untamed, like the mountains they stood upon. It wrapped around her senses, difficult to ignore.
Part of her knew she should speak, break the moment before it sank too deep, but she didn’t. Instead, she allowed her own arms to tighten, pressing him closer. She felt the change in his breathing, the quiet surrender in it, and wondered just how long he’d been holding all of this in.
When she had told him everything would be alright, it had been meant as comfort. But now, with his heartbeat syncing with hers and the weight of him resting against her, she realized the truth, she needed the embrace just as much as he did.
For a moment, she closed her eyes, letting the world outside their arms fade, and thought, if this is wrong, I don’t want to be right.
High above, Amira soared beside Elqiana, their wings cutting through the cool mountain air in effortless harmony. From this vantage, the hidden farmland below looked like a quiet breath against the rugged stone, still and intimate.
Amira’s sharp eyes caught the figures standing close in the clearing. She saw the way Tarasque’s arms tightened around Neko, how his body leaned in, hesitating for a heartbeat before closing the gap entirely.
Then, without warning, their faces met, lips pressing together with a sudden, fierce urgency that rippled through the stillness of the valley. The kiss was raw and unguarded, a release of all the tension that had wound tight between them.
Elqiana glanced at Amira, a silent question in her gaze. Amira only nodded softly, a faint smile curving her lips.
The kiss felt like fire and water all at once, electric and soothing, fierce and tender. They melted into it, losing themselves in a long stretch of bliss that seemed to slow time itself. The world around them dimmed, narrowed until nothing existed but the softness of lips and the quiet, steady beat of two hearts finally speaking the truth.
Then, footsteps, rough and purposeful, echoed from the far side of the clearing. A small group of Dwarves appeared, their baskets heavy with ripe crops, bustling to harvest before the sun climbed higher.
Suddenly aware of the onlookers, Neko and Tarasque stepped apart, faces flaming crimson.
“I… umm… yeah…” Neko stammered, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.
Tarasque tugged nervously at the hem of her tunic, eyes darting away.
“I… I need to practice meditating,” Neko said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.
“I need to find Elvina,” Tarasque replied, biting her lip as she glanced toward the mountain path.
They turned to go their separate ways, the space between them growing instantly cold and unfamiliar.
But then, quick as a heartbeat, Neko’s hand reached out, gently grasping Tarasque’s wrist. With a smooth spin, he pulled her back into his arms.
He pressed a soft kiss to her lips, lingering just long enough to send a quiet message of gratitude and something deeper, unspoken.
“Thank you, Tara,” he murmured, voice low and earnest.
Her eyes closed, savoring the tenderness of the moment. When she opened them again, a small, knowing smile curved her lips, one that said everything words could not.
Without another word, she stepped back, then turned and walked away, the sway of her figure framed by the rising sun and the shadows of the mountain.
Neko watched her go, then turned his gaze to the rugged mountainside. For the first time in a long while, his mind felt clear, sharpened, lighter, ready.
Neko’s gaze drifted toward the jagged mountain face, an unspoken decision settling over him like a quiet flame. Without hesitation, he started climbing, his hands finding cracks in the stone, his boots digging into loose gravel. He needed to find somewhere high, somewhere wide enough to sit without distraction.
Above him, Amira circled, wings slicing through the cool air. Her voice echoed softly in his mind, light but curious. 'What are you doing, little one?'
'I want to climb to find a ledge big enough to sit on so I can practice meditating,' Neko answered, voice steady but tinged with an edge of frustration.
Amira dipped and banked, her sharp eyes scanning the craggy heights. Then, with a flick of her wings, she sent him a mental image, a wide, flat ledge, just a little higher up, bathed in sunlight and sheltered from the biting wind.
'Thank you, Amira,' Neko whispered in his mind.
He pushed himself upward, muscles straining against the rough stone, until finally he reached the ledge. It was perfect, spacious enough for him to sit cross-legged, shielded by overhanging rocks. He settled down, folding his legs and setting his back straight. His hands rested gently on his knees, eyes closing against the world.
He took slow, deep breaths, the cool mountain air filling his lungs and steadying his heartbeat. Slowly, he reached out with his subconscious, feeling Amira’s warm presence circling nearby, the faint bustle of the Dwarves tending their crops far below.
But then, a flash, sharp and unwelcome, Tara’s rear pressed insistently against his mind’s eye, vivid and distracting. The image bloomed without permission, pulling his focus like a magnet.
Amira landed beside him, claws digging into the rocky ledge to steady herself against the wind. Her voice was sharp, teasing but firm. 'That’s not meditating. That’s staring.'
Neko’s eyes snapped open, cheeks flushing as he shook off the distraction. 'No, you’re right,' he muttered, exhaling a heavy sigh.
He closed his eyes again, breathing deeper, harder, forcing his mind to still. Slowly, carefully, he reached out again with his subconscious, this time determined to find the quiet center he needed.
Neko kept his legs folded, eyes closed, but the stillness he sought remained elusive. Minutes stretched into what felt like hours, though he hadn’t realized how long he’d been sitting there, his subconscious gently probing the air around him, searching for something just beyond reach.
Suddenly, a sharp mental tug startled him, an unmistakable, familiar reach. His eyes snapped open, and a quiet curse slipped from his lips. 'Neko, where in the ancient language are you?'
He glanced down below, spotting a flicker of orange, a warm, pulsing aura that could be nothing but Vivi’s.
'Turn around and look up… higher up...' he sent through the mind-link.
Vivi obeyed immediately, turning, then craning his neck higher still, until his eyes caught a faint shimmer of orange-purple. And there, basking in the dying light of day, was Amira, her scales catching the sun’s last rays like liquid fire.
'Now how the hell are you going to get down from there?' Vivi’s voice teased in Neko’s mind, Amira isn’t big enough to fly on yet.
Neko said nothing. He simply began the slow, careful descent, fingers gripping the rough stone, feet finding every foothold until, at last, he touched the ground again.
Amira’s sudden landing startled some of the nearby Dwarves, who paused their work to watch the shimmering creature settle beside Neko.
“Sorry,” Neko whispered softly to the farmers, eyes downcast.
Vivi stepped forward, concern etched in his features. “Is everything okay?”
Neko nodded, but his gaze stayed fixed on the dirt beneath his feet.
With a flick of his staff, Vivi snatched Neko’s tunic from a nearby branch and tossed it back at him. Neko caught it easily, pulling it over his shoulder.
“We’ve been looking for you for hours,” Vivi said, eyebrows raised. “What were you doing?”
Neko hesitated, then glanced up, voice barely above a whisper. “I was trying to practice meditating.”
“Why?” Vivi’s curiosity was clear.
Neko’s eyes dropped once more. “To see if I could find your mother.”
Vivi’s hand found Neko’s shoulder, squeezing gently, a silent acknowledgment of the boy’s good intentions, though he chose not to speak.
Santaya and Kristolia bounded up to Neko, their paws padding softly against the earth, tails wagging as they circled around him with eager affection. Vivi smiled at the sight and motioned for them to follow as he led the group back toward the stronghold.
They threaded through winding tunnels, the cool stone walls closing in around them like a protective embrace. The faint echo of their footsteps and the soft padding of paws filled the air. Vivi’s voice dropped to a quiet, steady tone as they walked.
“Meditating is a good idea,” he said softly, “and I appreciate you trying. But it’s difficult, almost impossible, without knowing roughly which direction she’s in, or without any way for us to connect to her... or scent her, so to speak.”
Neko absorbed the words, the weight of the truth settling into his mind. He looked up, voice gentle with a hint of hope. “Are you not able to... connect or scent her yourself?”
Vivi shook his head slowly. “If elves don’t want to be found, they can mask their scent using the ancient language.”
After a while, the tunnels opened into the stronghold’s bustling kitchen, warm with the scent of baking bread and simmering stews. The room was crowded with familiar faces, yet one presence was notably missing.
“Where’s Elvina?” Neko asked, eyes searching the room.
Gabija, helping Mirabella by tending a bubbling pot by the hearth, glanced up and answered without hesitation, “She’s gone to the neighbouring settlements with Rorik and Donal, hoping for some answers.”
The air seemed to shift, a mixture of hope and unease threading through the room as the weight of Elvina’s absence settled over them all.
Neko settled beside Tarasque at the long wooden table, his hand brushing discreetly past hers beneath the rough-hewn surface. The faint warmth from her fingers sent a quiet spark through him, and for a moment, he let himself linger in the small comfort of the connection.
Mirabella, bustling nearby with a wooden spoon in one hand, caught the movement out of the corner of her eye. She turned sharply, hands landing firmly on her hips.
“Now, young man,” she said, voice half amused and half stern, “you’ll leave my kitchen and put that tunic on properly.”
Neko’s cheeks flushed crimson as he realized he’d forgotten to wear his tunic, having slung it carelessly over one shoulder. He quickly rose, mumbling a soft apology, and disappeared through the door to don it correctly.
A few moments later, he returned, pulling the tunic straight over his head and settling back down beside Tarasque. This time, her hand found his under the table, their fingers weaving together in a quiet promise.
“Much better,” Mirabella declared matter-of-factly, placing a steaming plate piled high with hot meat and roasted potatoes in front of him.
Neko took a bite, then asked loudly, “Why are we all here?”
Gabija’s voice carried over the low murmur of the room. “We’ve heard Thomaz has Rubian scouring for answers about ancestry. We think it’s time we did the same.” She paused, eyes steady. “So we’re planning to go to Caa Alora, to look through Elven records in the great library.”
The weight of their purpose settled over the table, threading their quiet meal with a sharp edge of resolve.
From the darkest corner of the kitchen, Tivor’s voice cut through the low chatter, calm but resolute.
“Myself and Vivi might be able to find something that links to our mother, in our former home, the Elven Capital.”
Vivi nodded in agreement, his eyes thoughtful.
Neko let go of Tarasque’s hand beneath the table and stood, energy flickering behind his gaze.
“So, when do we leave? Also, when will Amira and I be able to fly together?”
Vivi smiled, a mix of amusement and pride in his expression.
“We leave in a few days. As for flying,” He paused, eyes glinting with warmth. “I admire how keen you two are, but Amira needs to be much bigger first. You could ride her like a horse when she’s large enough, but that would be hugely disrespectful to her kind.”
Neko’s eyes widened in shock at the thought. “I’d never ask Amira to do that. Never.”
Amira lifted her head slightly, scales shimmering in the flickering firelight, and her voice echoed gently in Neko’s mind.
‘Dragons never stop growing, ever. It won’t be for a few months yet before we can fly together, little one.’
“How far is Caa Alora from here?” Neko asked, curiosity sharpening his tone.
Vivi glanced at Gabija, who gave a slight nod in his direction.
“About two months on horseback,” Vivi replied, “but since there’s a group of us, it might take a little longer.”
He added with a hint of concern, “We’re still waiting on news from the were-cats. Convel left earlier with Auburn and Jesser to head back to Termini Cliffs.”
Just then, a familiar, lazing, purring voice cut through the room. “Ah, Timmy, there you are, old chap.”
The sudden sound startled everyone. Timtur spun around to see Jeremy sauntering into the kitchen, a slow, mischievous grin tugging at his lips.
The room erupted in amused chuckles.
“It’s Timmy now, is it?” Vivi teased, eyebrows raised.
“No, it is not!” Timtur snapped, nearly spitting out his drink in protest.
“I think it’s cute, Timmy,” Tarasque quipped with a sly smile.
“No, don’t you dare!” Timtur shot her a sharp look that had everyone laughing harder.
Jeremy raised a paw, extended his claws just slightly, and let out a feisty low growl aimed straight at Timtur. The challenge in his eyes was unmistakable.
Then, turning smoothly to Mirabella, he adopted a theatrical tone. “Might one have some fresh milk, o’ fair lady?”
Mirabella’s cheeks flushed a deep rose, caught off guard by the unexpected compliment. “Oooh, it’s not often one gets such a kind compliment!” she said with a soft laugh, quickly setting down a shallow bowl of milk on the floor for him.
Before Jeremy could settle in, the kitchen door burst open and a panting Dwarven guard appeared, eyes wide and breath ragged.
“Has anyone seen a black cat with a red crown?” he gasped.
Jeremy’s ears twitched with a smirk. “It’s a ginger crown, I’ll have you know.”
The guard’s jaw dropped in shock. “Since when, in the Old Bloody Mountains, do cats talk?!”
The kitchen erupted into laughter, the tension momentarily broken by the unexpected magic of the moment.
Althor stepped forward, dismissing the guard with a calm hand. “Everything is fine. No need for alarm.”
Jeremy, with a loud, unapologetic slurp, drank the milk from the bowl. Then, in a fluid motion, he shifted form, changing to the height of a small boy but keeping several feline traits: pointed ears, sharp eyes, and a flick of a tail. He wore nothing but a simple loincloth and a small shoulder bag resting at his hip.
Climbing up onto a sturdy chair, he pulled out a folded cloth from his bag. Slowly, he unfolded it to reveal a delicate silver necklace, studded with tiny blue sapphires and shimmering white opals.
A collective gasp echoed around the room.
Ophelia’s eyes widened as she reached out, fingertips trembling slightly as they brushed the gems.
“Calinthia’s necklace...” Timtur whispered. “But you said Rubian had it. How did you get it?”
Jeremy stretched lazily, reaching across the table to grab a chicken leg, munching as he answered casually, “I watched him try to destroy the necklace, for weeks. Every method failed. Then one day, he left it on a table in his tent.”
He grinned mischievously. “I snuck in and stole it. For good measure, I shredded all his paperwork and reports into tiny pieces.”
A few chuckles rippled through the group.
Jeremy leaned back, licking sauce from his fingers. “I was a few miles away when I heard his furious screams ring out.”
