The Journey, Book 2: Chapter 38 - Previous Chapter
Chapter 39: Date
The clearing lay tucked between willow trees, their long silver leaves brushing the surface of a narrow stream that gurgled softly over smooth stones. Sunlight dappled through the canopy, painting the grass with shifting patches of gold. A blanket was spread neatly near the water’s edge, with cheese, bread, fruit, and a flask of summer wine carefully arranged, Martheel had done his best to set it up just so.
Nekira sat cross-legged on the blanket, Tara opposite him, her dragon Elqiana curled like a great jewelled hill at the far end of the clearing. Amira, her orange-purple scales shimmering, had taken up a perch closer to the stream, her eyes glinting with mischief.
But privacy was already in peril.
Behind a nearby alder tree, Martheel lurked. His quill and parchment trembled in his hands, his robe snagged on the bark. Every time Tara leaned closer to Nekira, Martheel’s ears went pink and he ducked out of sight, muttering to himself about dutiful observation.
Elqiana cracked open one massive eye, her gaze sliding toward Amira.
‘He’s watching them like a mole peeking from its burrow,’ she rumbled softly.
Amira’s teeth glinted in a sly grin. ‘Then perhaps we ought to flush him out.’
Together, the dragons devised their distraction. Amira swirled her tail in the stream, flicking a spray of water directly onto the alder tree where Martheel crouched. The scribe yelped as the cold splash soaked his parchment, stumbling out into the clearing with wet hair plastered across his face.
“I-I am fine! Perfectly fine!” Martheel squeaked, shaking his dripping quill. “This is… all part of my, uh, observation process!”
Elqiana snorted, the gust of air knocking him backwards onto the soft moss. ‘Observation? You look more like a drowned beetle.’
Tara hid her laugh behind her hand, her shoulders trembling, while Nekira tried to keep a straight face, though his lips quirked at the corners.
Martheel scrambled back to his feet, glaring up at the dragons. “I am here under orders from Queen Gabija herself! Y-you cannot simply—”
‘Then patrol the far side of the stream,’ Amira interrupted, her voice purring with amusement. ‘Keep it safe. For… romantic purposes.’
The word romantic made Martheel’s ears flame bright red. “R-romantic?” he stammered, tripping over his own feet as he backed toward the stream’s edge. His robe snagged on a branch, and he fell with a splash into the shallow water.
As Martheel floundered, sputtering, Elqiana and Amira both looked exceedingly pleased with themselves. Nekira finally leaned toward Tara, smiling more freely now that their chaperone was preoccupied with dripping misery.
The sound of the stream filled the pause between them, wrapping the moment in something far gentler than words.
“How are you, Tara?” Nekira asked quietly, his voice softened by the hush of the stream.
Tara tilted her head, her curls catching the light. “Is it weird knowing Tivor is your father?”
She exaggerated a dramatic roll of her eyes, then burst into a grin. “It’s so weird. He keeps trying to question everything I’m doing, everywhere I’m going…” She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I didn’t even tell him I was meeting you. He tried questioning Elqi, but—” her giggle slipped through as she gestured toward her dragon, “—she pinned him under her claw and growled in his face. You should’ve seen him!”
Nekira shuddered at the mental picture. “That… actually sounds terrifying.”
Tara covered her laugh with her hand, shoulders shaking. A curl tumbled down into her face, catching on her cheek. Nekira hesitated, his fingers twitching, then reached out. Slowly, almost uncertainly, he brushed the lock of red hair behind her ear. For the briefest moment, his hand lingered.
“It is strange,” he said, eyes locking with hers. “Knowing Tivor is your father. But… maybe he’s trying to make up for lost time. Clumsy as it is, it might be the only way he knows how.”
The air between them tightened, the sound of the stream carrying their silence. Tara’s smile softened, her gaze searching his.
And then—
“EeeEEEkk!”
Both of them jumped. Martheel stood a few feet away, parchment and quill in hand, squealing as a long millipede crawled over his boot. He shook his leg furiously, hopping in circles.
Nekira sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. With a mutter, “Farjo,” he flicked his hand. An ember of purple-orange flame leapt from his palm, striking Martheel’s parchment and reducing it to ash in a heartbeat.
Martheel froze mid-hop, staring at the smoking remains in dismay. “M-my notes—”
“If you need something to do,” Nekira interrupted dryly, “Amira’s teeth need cleaning.”
Immediately, Amira’s maw opened wide with a deep hrrrm, showing rows of gleaming fangs the size of swords. Drool glistened on her teeth as she tilted her head toward Martheel in expectation.
Martheel blanched, quill trembling in his hand like a useless dagger. “N-no… teeth…?” His voice squeaked as he stumbled backward, nearly falling into the stream again.
Tara snorted into her palm, eyes sparkling with suppressed laughter. Nekira allowed the corner of his mouth to twitch upward.
For once, Martheel’s humiliation might have been exactly the distraction they needed.
Martheel was still muttering somewhere near the stream, trying in vain to shoo away another insect that had taken a liking to him. His boots sloshed in the shallows as he flailed, but for Nekira and Tara, the world seemed to narrow to just the two of them.
Nekira drew a steadying breath, then slipped his hand into a hidden pocket within his robe. His fingers brushed against soft velvet, and he pulled forth a small bag. He held it for a heartbeat, hesitation flickering in his eyes, before loosening the drawstring and carefully opening it.
“Tara,” he said quietly, his voice low enough that it barely reached above the sound of the stream. He tipped the bag and let a necklace slide into his palm—a white-gold crescent moon pendant, its curve inlaid with tiny opals that caught the light like a scattering of stars.
Her eyes widened, lips parting in surprise as he held it out to her.
“I saw this and thought of you,” Nekira admitted, his gaze flicking from the pendant back to her. His voice softened further, the words almost a whisper. “It reminded me of how you carry light even when things feel dark.”
She took it from him gingerly, her fingertips brushing against his, sending a jolt of warmth between them. The opals shimmered as though alive in her hands.
“I have the other half,” Nekira continued, reaching back into the bag. He drew out a second pendant, its crescent mirrored hers, but studded with deep purple amethysts that glowed faintly when they caught the light. “When they are together…” he gently pressed the edges of the crescents side by side, forming a perfect full moon, “...they make one whole.”
Tara’s breath caught, and she stared at the pendants, then back up at him. Her cheeks flushed, not just from the beauty of the gift but from the intimacy behind it.
Behind them, Martheel yelped again as Amira deliberately nudged him with the tip of her snout, sending him tumbling into the grass. His muffled complaints rose into the air, but neither Nekira nor Tara paid him much mind now.
Tara clutched the opal crescent to her chest, her curls framing her blushing face. “Nekira…” she whispered, her smile trembling but radiant.
The stream burbled gently at their side, Amira and Elqiana sharing a quiet, knowing glance.
Tara lifted the delicate chain, her fingers trembling slightly. She turned her back toward Nekira, gathering her curls into one hand and glancing at him over her shoulder with a small, almost daring smile.
“Would you…?” she asked softly.
Nekira’s throat tightened, but he nodded. He stepped closer, the grass crunching quietly beneath his boots. His hands rose carefully, reverently, taking the chain from her. As he leaned forward, their proximity closed, the warmth of his chest brushing against her back.
His arms circled around her shoulders, and he lowered the chain across the curve of her neck. The opal crescent shimmered against her skin, radiant in the filtered light of the clearing. As he reached for the clasp, his breath ghosted against the nape of her neck.
Tara’s breath hitched. She froze, but not from fear, from the sudden awareness of him, of the closeness, of the weight of the moment. Her fingers loosened in her curls, letting them fall, brushing lightly against his hands as he fumbled, just for a second… with the clasp before fastening it secure.
“There,” Nekira murmured, his voice husky.
Tara turned slowly, her heart racing. As she shifted, her face came inches from his. Their eyes locked, a fragile silence stretching between them. She tilted her head ever so slightly, and her nose brushed against his.
Nekira inhaled sharply at the contact, his eyes softening as though the entire world outside this clearing had ceased to exist.
A soft thump broke the stillness, Martheel had tripped over a root again, grumbling as he scrambled to rescue his dropped quill. Amira muffled a snort of laughter through her nose, deliberately swatting the ground with her tail to distract him further.
Their lips met—soft, hesitant, barely more than a whisper of contact, but enough to set Tara’s heart racing. Nekira froze for half a breath, then leaned into it, but the fragile moment shattered as Martheel’s loud squelching trudges cut through the quiet clearing.
The scribe stormed toward them, face red and flustered, waving his quill like a weapon. “I—I’ve had enough of this incessant mockery!” he squeaked, glaring at the dragons in turn.
Tara startled, pulling away quickly. Her cheeks flushed as she straightened the opal pendant against her collarbone. She cleared her throat and turned back to Nekira, her voice calm and steady though her pulse still raced.
“Thank you,” she said softly, the words laced with more meaning than Martheel would ever catch. “Can I help you with yours?”
Nekira swallowed, nodding once. He reached into his robe and handed her the amethyst-inlaid crescent moon. As she leaned forward, carefully looping the chain around his neck, Nekira’s eyes darted over her shoulder.
Martheel stood stiffly a few feet away, glaring at Amira, his quill trembling in his ink-stained fingers.
“P-please,” the scribe stammered, voice cracking, “tell your dragon to stop her incessant teasing. I—I have a job to do!”
Nekira’s jaw tightened. His eyes narrowed into an angry glare, sharp enough to cut through Martheel’s already shaking confidence. The poor elf visibly quivered but tried to stand his ground, his knees knocking together as he raised his chin stubbornly.
Behind him, Amira stretched languidly, baring all her teeth in a slow, deliberate grin. ‘A job to do, little quill?’ her voice purred into Martheel’s mind. ‘I think you rather like the attention…’
Martheel squeaked and clutched a piece of parchment to his chest like a shield.
Tara’s fingers lingered at the clasp of Nekira’s necklace, careful and deliberate as she fastened it behind his neck. The opal pendant rested against her collarbone, its twin—the amethyst half—now shining against his chest. For a moment she just looked at him, their closeness still heavy in the air.
Then she noticed the tension in his jaw, the sharp, smouldering glare he was pinning on Martheel. The poor scribe was quivering, his parchment clutched so tightly it looked ready to tear, though he stubbornly refused to move.
“Nekira,” Tara whispered softly, her hand brushing his shoulder to draw his focus back to her. “Don’t. He’s harmless.”
Her voice was calm but coaxing, the kind of gentle tone that smoothed edges. Nekira’s eyes flicked to hers, still stormy, but he exhaled slowly under her gaze.
Martheel, oblivious to her intervention, muttered something about “incessant dragons” and “ruined notes” before stumbling back a step when Amira flicked her tail too close for comfort.
Tara stifled a giggle at his fluster, then looked back at Nekira with a small, reassuring smile. “Ignore him,” she murmured. “Stay here with me.”
Nekira tilted his head, eyes locked on Tara’s, voice dropping into a velvet whisper meant for her alone, yet loud enough that Martheel couldn’t possibly ignore it.
“Write this down, Martheel,” he commanded smoothly. “Nekira looks into Tara’s eyes and tells her… that when he kisses her, he will not rush it. He will close the space between them slowly, so close that she feels every breath he takes against her lips before they even touch. He will let the anticipation build until her heart beats louder than the stream beside them. Then—when she can’t stand it any longer—he will claim her mouth with a kiss so deep, so deliberate, it will taste of longing and fire. His hands will cup her face as if she were made of fragile starlight, his lips pressing harder until the world itself falls away, leaving only the two of them, bound in a kiss that lingers, aches, and refuses to end.”
Tara’s lips parted as he spoke, her breath caught in her throat, her skin flushed as though every word was already unfolding between them.
Martheel squeaked in horror, his quill scratching frantically, ink blotting the parchment as his ears turned scarlet.
But Tara wasn’t about to let Nekira be the only one. She swallowed, her eyes shimmering, then said in a voice both trembling and bold, “Then write this, Martheel… Tara would respond by leaning into him, her fingers trembling as they trace his jawline before sliding into his hair, pulling him closer. She would open to his kiss, answering his fire with her own, meeting his every breath with desperate hunger. She would kiss him until her knees gave way, until her chest ached with the need for more, until her entire soul felt pressed into his lips. And when he tried to pull away, she would not let him, holding him there, kissing him again and again, until time itself surrendered.”
Her face burned crimson, and yet she held Nekira’s gaze with such intensity that the air between them felt like it might combust.
Martheel made a strangled sound, dropping his quill entirely as though the words were too blasphemous to touch the page. His hands fluttered helplessly, eyes wide, as though he’d been asked to scribe down the secrets of the gods themselves.
Nekira, smirking, leaned toward Tara with a low chuckle. “Well said,” he murmured. Then, turning back to the trembling scribe: “What’s wrong, Martheel? Surely the Queen will want every detail.”
Martheel’s quill clattered to the ground, his hands flying up as if to ward off the very words Nekira and Tara had spoken. His voice broke into a shrill pitch as he stomped his foot in the grass.
“Sacrilege! Utter sacrilege!” he cried, cheeks blotchy red, hair sticking up from his frantic tugging. “These are not notes for Her Majesty — these are… these are… corruptions of the written word! Blasphemy upon parchment!” He spun in a little circle, waving his arms, muttering about the gods striking him down for merely hearing such things.
Amira, lounging nearby, chuckled so deeply the earth vibrated under her chest. Elqiana even had to hide her face behind a wing, snickering at the scribe’s tantrum.
Meanwhile, Nekira and Tara barely spared him a glance. Their eyes locked, both of them knowing exactly what they wanted — what they had described so vividly only moments before. Slowly, Nekira tilted his head, Tara rising to meet him, and their lips touched.
It wasn’t chaste. It wasn’t hurried. It was exactly as promised.
Tara’s fingers curled into his hair, pulling him closer as she melted into the kiss. Nekira’s hands cupped her cheeks with reverent intensity, his mouth claiming hers with a hunger that had been burning for far too long. Every stolen breath, every trembling brush of lips, was fire and devotion wrapped into one.
Martheel froze mid-rant. His jaw dropped. His eyes grew so wide they looked ready to fall out of his head.
And then, with a strangled little squeak, he fainted dead away into the grass.
The dragons erupted into roaring laughter, their amusement echoing through the trees, while Nekira and Tara — utterly unbothered — remained locked together in the kiss that made the heavens blush.
Nekira and Tara slowly parted, their foreheads resting together, breaths mingling in the quiet of the clearing. The stream nearby whispered over smooth stones, the sun filtering softly through the leaves, scattering dappled light across their faces. The world beyond seemed to fade, leaving only the two of them in that small, perfect moment.
Tara’s hands lingered on Nekira’s shoulders, her fingers tracing the lines of his robes almost absentmindedly. His thumb brushed gently over the side of her face, a soft, grounding touch that made her shiver in the most pleasant way.
“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” Nekira whispered, his voice low, almost reverent, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the delicate bubble they were suspended in.
Tara’s lips curved into a smile that was both shy and full of warmth. “So have I,” she murmured back. Her hand slid into his, fingers intertwining, holding on as if neither wanted to let go.
The faint rustle of papers and tiny curses that had been chasing them moments ago were gone, replaced by the soft, rhythmic sound of snoring. Nekira and Tara glanced down and noticed Martheel, sprawled on a small mound of soft grass where he had collapsed, utterly passed out. Even the dragons, sensing the shift, had grown quiet, their attention elsewhere, giving them a private haven in the midst of the forest.
Nekira leaned in, pressing his forehead against hers. “I could stay here forever,” he said softly. “Just like this. No worries, no dragons, no scribes… just us.”
Tara closed her eyes, letting the words sink in. “I think I’d like that,” she whispered, her voice barely more than the breeze brushing over the stream. “Forever, if it were possible.”
Nekira and Tara lay down together on the soft blanket, the warm sunlight dappling through the leaves above. Tara’s back was pressed firmly against his chest, her rear gently pressed into his groin. Instinctively, she grabbed his arm, wrapping it around her pulling him close to her stomach in a tender, protective embrace. The gentle burble of the stream beside them and their mingled breaths filled the silence, broken only by Martheel’s distant, soft snoring.
Tara giggled softly. “We’re spooning.”
Nekira bit his lip, leaning close to her ear. “Spooning… what’s that?”
Her smile was playful but shy. “It’s when two people lie together like this, close and… cozy,” she explained, nuzzling slightly. “Elvina told me about it once.”
Nekira let out a quiet laugh, nuzzling closer into her warmth, the world shrinking until it was just the two of them, pressed together, lost in the comfort and intimacy of the moment.
Nekira and Tara slept quietly on the blanket, wrapped together in their tender, intimate embrace, the sunlight shifting slowly over the clearing. Out of instinctive protectiveness, Amira and Elqiana had crept a little closer, wings folded, their massive forms casting gentle shadows over the pair. The dragons sensed their riders’ vulnerability, allowing them a few hours of undisturbed rest.
A few hours later, Martheel’s eyelids fluttered open. His eyes, still bleary from sleep, caught two piercing yellow orbs staring directly at him. He froze. Then, with a strangled scream, he bolted upright, hands flailing, sending both Nekira and Tara tumbling awake with a startled jolt.
“Martheel!” Nekira groaned, sitting up, his hair tousled and his ears pink. Tara blinked, rubbing her eyes, her hair falling messily over her face, as the scribe panicked beside them.
"Yellow eyes… Y-… s-staring at m-me!” Martheel stuttered, pointing shakily at a low-hanging tree branch. Nekira tilted his head, following the direction, and saw Snowy, the were-cat, perched silently, her gaze fixed on them.
“Time for your soiree to end, dragon-riders,” she purred, leaping gracefully from the branch to land squarely on Martheel’s chest.
“P-pathetic scribe,” she murmured, before springing off him and sauntering back toward Caa Alora, tail swishing lazily.
Nekira rose and held out a hand, helping Tara back to her feet. Their eyes met, and without a word, they shared a silent, tender kiss before climbing into the saddles of their respective dragons.
“Martheel, pack up, please,” Nekira said lightly, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips. “I assume there’s nothing to report, but worry not — I’ll give her majesty a glowing report on your behalf.”
First, Elqiana took to the skies, wings cutting through the air with majestic grace, followed by Amira. Both dragons spiralled lazily back toward the training grounds of Caa Alora, where Gabija, Vivi, Tivor, Elvina, and even Snowy waited, watching their riders return.
Tivor stepped forward, his gaze hard on his daughter. “Where have you been?”
Tara slid silently down from Elqiana’s saddle, eyes fixed firmly on the ground. Nekira followed suit from Amira’s back, his hand instinctively tightening on the hilt of Tondro. “What’s happening? Why are we all gathered here?”
An awkward silence hung in the air. Vivi placed a calming hand on Tivor’s shoulder and shook his head gently. Reluctantly, Tivor stepped back.
Snowy’s purr cut through the tension. “She has been found… Dorianna.”
The air seemed to shimmer at the mention of her name. Nekira’s grip on Tondro tightened. “The Corrupter… he had her caught in Cartakunthor.”
Vivi and Tivor exchanged worried glances. “She is with Jeremy,” Snowy added, her voice low but steady.
Gabija, arms folded across her chest, interjected with measured authority. “That’s not all. Captain Jason Moore is still alive, as are a fast majority of his soldiers.”
Elvina stepped forward, astonished. “Reports said they were all dead.”
Gabija shook her head, her expression grim. “Those reports were falsified. They are trapped by some kind of barrier magic in the middle of the Delphinian Swamps.”
Nekira’s eyes widened. “The blue-white ghostly figures…? He tried to kill me a while back when I passed through the swamps…”
Vivi frowned. “So all this time… they weren’t dead, just… trapped.”
Snowy’s tail flicked once, sharp and deliberate. “Yes. And escaping it… won’t be simple.”
Nekira broke the heavy silence, his eyes scanning the group. “Can Jeremy get Dorianna to safety?”
Snowy’s tail flicked sharply. “I… don’t know,” she admitted, her tone blunt as ever.
“Does anyone have an idea about the barrier magic?” Nekira pressed.
No one answered. The quiet stretched for a moment until a soft, distant voice filtered through their minds, clear and calm. You can break it, new name. Trust in your mind and in yourself. Then it was gone as suddenly as it had appeared.
Nekira frowned, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Well… that was cryptic.”
Gabija’s gaze drifted absentmindedly across the group. “If Mina believes you are capable, then you are. She is the oldest and wisest of us all.”
Nekira nodded slowly, absorbing the weight of her words. After a pause, he spoke, voice low but steady. “I will travel with Amira to the swamps… but someone needs to meet Dorianna and Jeremy. They might need help.”
Vivi stepped forward, concern etching his face. “I would advise against flying with Amira directly into the swamps. You would be best entering on foot.”
Nekira glanced at Amira. She inclined her massive head subtly, agreeing with Vivi. 'I’m too big and heavy for the swamps; the ground would swallow me,' her thoughts conveyed simply. Though disappointed, Nekira nodded in understanding.
“I will fly out with Elqiana to meet Dorianna and Jeremy,” Tara commented, her voice decisive. “Elqiana is our best bet for a fast getaway should it be needed.”
“I will go with the lady-rider,” Snowy purred bluntly, her tone leaving no room for argument.
“It looks like we have a plan of action,” Tivor interjected, a hint of finality in his voice.
“I’ll go with Tara as Loki,” Tivor added, stepping forward.
“No,” Tara snapped, cutting him off sharply. “You won’t. You’ll take your needs elsewhere—I do not need a babysitter!” She hissed, folding her arms, her fiery gaze locking on him.
The group paused, tension heavy in the clearing, as the plan settled and the final roles were reluctantly accepted.
Nekira’s words hung in the air. “We need to prepare,” he said, almost stating the obvious.
Tara moved to Elqiana, hands already checking the saddle bags, making sure rations, ropes, and other supplies were secured. She carefully checked her sword, White-Wind, sliding her fingers over the hilt and ensuring it was tucked safely into its scabbard.
Vivi approached Nekira, his voice calm but steady. “You can ride Myrtle. She’s strong and sturdy. You’ve ridden her before, I believe.”
Nekira gave a small nod, pulling on his light Elvish-made armor. He strapped Tondro to his waist, slung his bow and arrows over his back, and crouched slightly to open his arms. Santaya and Kristolia, sensing the moment, ran forward, burying their heads in his chest.
“Yes, girls. You can come with me…” he murmured, feeling the comforting weight of their trust. Then, with a glance at Amira, he asked softly, “But what about you?”
The dragon’s scales rippled in response, her voice echoing in his mind. ‘I’ll be right here, waiting for your safe return, little one.’
Curiosity tugged at him, and he turned toward Gabija. “How did you find out about the Captain being trapped?”
Gabija shrugged lightly, a knowing glint in her eye. “Falcon,” she replied simply, her tone carrying the weight of experience and secrets unspoken.
Nekira and Tara hugged tightly for a long moment, their foreheads pressed together as if trying to memorise the warmth and strength of the other. Tara finally broke the embrace and climbed onto Elqiana’s saddle, Snowy leaping agilely up the dragon’s leg and settling comfortably in her lap. The dragon flexed her wings, and with a sudden powerful thrust, they soared into the sky, heading south.
Nekira whistled sharply, and Myrtle’s hooves pounded against the cobblestones as she galloped up to him. He swung himself into the saddle, adjusting his bow and weapons, and guided her through the northern exit of Caa Alora. The forest blurred past as he angled east toward the Delphinian Swamps, his heart racing with anticipation and unease.
‘Stay calm, little one,’ Amira’s voice resonated in his mind, a grounding presence. ‘We are one—in mind, body, and soul.’
Nekira’s lips curved in a small, reassuring smile as he acknowledged her. Santaya and Kristolia ran alongside Myrtle, their paws slapping the soft earth in unison, keeping pace with him. The wind carried the distant sound of the city behind them, but ahead, the swamp’s shadowy.
Chapter 39: Date
The clearing lay tucked between willow trees, their long silver leaves brushing the surface of a narrow stream that gurgled softly over smooth stones. Sunlight dappled through the canopy, painting the grass with shifting patches of gold. A blanket was spread neatly near the water’s edge, with cheese, bread, fruit, and a flask of summer wine carefully arranged, Martheel had done his best to set it up just so.
Nekira sat cross-legged on the blanket, Tara opposite him, her dragon Elqiana curled like a great jewelled hill at the far end of the clearing. Amira, her orange-purple scales shimmering, had taken up a perch closer to the stream, her eyes glinting with mischief.
But privacy was already in peril.
Behind a nearby alder tree, Martheel lurked. His quill and parchment trembled in his hands, his robe snagged on the bark. Every time Tara leaned closer to Nekira, Martheel’s ears went pink and he ducked out of sight, muttering to himself about dutiful observation.
Elqiana cracked open one massive eye, her gaze sliding toward Amira.
‘He’s watching them like a mole peeking from its burrow,’ she rumbled softly.
Amira’s teeth glinted in a sly grin. ‘Then perhaps we ought to flush him out.’
Together, the dragons devised their distraction. Amira swirled her tail in the stream, flicking a spray of water directly onto the alder tree where Martheel crouched. The scribe yelped as the cold splash soaked his parchment, stumbling out into the clearing with wet hair plastered across his face.
“I-I am fine! Perfectly fine!” Martheel squeaked, shaking his dripping quill. “This is… all part of my, uh, observation process!”
Elqiana snorted, the gust of air knocking him backwards onto the soft moss. ‘Observation? You look more like a drowned beetle.’
Tara hid her laugh behind her hand, her shoulders trembling, while Nekira tried to keep a straight face, though his lips quirked at the corners.
Martheel scrambled back to his feet, glaring up at the dragons. “I am here under orders from Queen Gabija herself! Y-you cannot simply—”
‘Then patrol the far side of the stream,’ Amira interrupted, her voice purring with amusement. ‘Keep it safe. For… romantic purposes.’
The word romantic made Martheel’s ears flame bright red. “R-romantic?” he stammered, tripping over his own feet as he backed toward the stream’s edge. His robe snagged on a branch, and he fell with a splash into the shallow water.
As Martheel floundered, sputtering, Elqiana and Amira both looked exceedingly pleased with themselves. Nekira finally leaned toward Tara, smiling more freely now that their chaperone was preoccupied with dripping misery.
The sound of the stream filled the pause between them, wrapping the moment in something far gentler than words.
“How are you, Tara?” Nekira asked quietly, his voice softened by the hush of the stream.
Tara tilted her head, her curls catching the light. “Is it weird knowing Tivor is your father?”
She exaggerated a dramatic roll of her eyes, then burst into a grin. “It’s so weird. He keeps trying to question everything I’m doing, everywhere I’m going…” She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I didn’t even tell him I was meeting you. He tried questioning Elqi, but—” her giggle slipped through as she gestured toward her dragon, “—she pinned him under her claw and growled in his face. You should’ve seen him!”
Nekira shuddered at the mental picture. “That… actually sounds terrifying.”
Tara covered her laugh with her hand, shoulders shaking. A curl tumbled down into her face, catching on her cheek. Nekira hesitated, his fingers twitching, then reached out. Slowly, almost uncertainly, he brushed the lock of red hair behind her ear. For the briefest moment, his hand lingered.
“It is strange,” he said, eyes locking with hers. “Knowing Tivor is your father. But… maybe he’s trying to make up for lost time. Clumsy as it is, it might be the only way he knows how.”
The air between them tightened, the sound of the stream carrying their silence. Tara’s smile softened, her gaze searching his.
And then—
“EeeEEEkk!”
Both of them jumped. Martheel stood a few feet away, parchment and quill in hand, squealing as a long millipede crawled over his boot. He shook his leg furiously, hopping in circles.
Nekira sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. With a mutter, “Farjo,” he flicked his hand. An ember of purple-orange flame leapt from his palm, striking Martheel’s parchment and reducing it to ash in a heartbeat.
Martheel froze mid-hop, staring at the smoking remains in dismay. “M-my notes—”
“If you need something to do,” Nekira interrupted dryly, “Amira’s teeth need cleaning.”
Immediately, Amira’s maw opened wide with a deep hrrrm, showing rows of gleaming fangs the size of swords. Drool glistened on her teeth as she tilted her head toward Martheel in expectation.
Martheel blanched, quill trembling in his hand like a useless dagger. “N-no… teeth…?” His voice squeaked as he stumbled backward, nearly falling into the stream again.
Tara snorted into her palm, eyes sparkling with suppressed laughter. Nekira allowed the corner of his mouth to twitch upward.
For once, Martheel’s humiliation might have been exactly the distraction they needed.
Martheel was still muttering somewhere near the stream, trying in vain to shoo away another insect that had taken a liking to him. His boots sloshed in the shallows as he flailed, but for Nekira and Tara, the world seemed to narrow to just the two of them.
Nekira drew a steadying breath, then slipped his hand into a hidden pocket within his robe. His fingers brushed against soft velvet, and he pulled forth a small bag. He held it for a heartbeat, hesitation flickering in his eyes, before loosening the drawstring and carefully opening it.
“Tara,” he said quietly, his voice low enough that it barely reached above the sound of the stream. He tipped the bag and let a necklace slide into his palm—a white-gold crescent moon pendant, its curve inlaid with tiny opals that caught the light like a scattering of stars.
Her eyes widened, lips parting in surprise as he held it out to her.
“I saw this and thought of you,” Nekira admitted, his gaze flicking from the pendant back to her. His voice softened further, the words almost a whisper. “It reminded me of how you carry light even when things feel dark.”
She took it from him gingerly, her fingertips brushing against his, sending a jolt of warmth between them. The opals shimmered as though alive in her hands.
“I have the other half,” Nekira continued, reaching back into the bag. He drew out a second pendant, its crescent mirrored hers, but studded with deep purple amethysts that glowed faintly when they caught the light. “When they are together…” he gently pressed the edges of the crescents side by side, forming a perfect full moon, “...they make one whole.”
Tara’s breath caught, and she stared at the pendants, then back up at him. Her cheeks flushed, not just from the beauty of the gift but from the intimacy behind it.
Behind them, Martheel yelped again as Amira deliberately nudged him with the tip of her snout, sending him tumbling into the grass. His muffled complaints rose into the air, but neither Nekira nor Tara paid him much mind now.
Tara clutched the opal crescent to her chest, her curls framing her blushing face. “Nekira…” she whispered, her smile trembling but radiant.
The stream burbled gently at their side, Amira and Elqiana sharing a quiet, knowing glance.
Tara lifted the delicate chain, her fingers trembling slightly. She turned her back toward Nekira, gathering her curls into one hand and glancing at him over her shoulder with a small, almost daring smile.
“Would you…?” she asked softly.
Nekira’s throat tightened, but he nodded. He stepped closer, the grass crunching quietly beneath his boots. His hands rose carefully, reverently, taking the chain from her. As he leaned forward, their proximity closed, the warmth of his chest brushing against her back.
His arms circled around her shoulders, and he lowered the chain across the curve of her neck. The opal crescent shimmered against her skin, radiant in the filtered light of the clearing. As he reached for the clasp, his breath ghosted against the nape of her neck.
Tara’s breath hitched. She froze, but not from fear, from the sudden awareness of him, of the closeness, of the weight of the moment. Her fingers loosened in her curls, letting them fall, brushing lightly against his hands as he fumbled, just for a second… with the clasp before fastening it secure.
“There,” Nekira murmured, his voice husky.
Tara turned slowly, her heart racing. As she shifted, her face came inches from his. Their eyes locked, a fragile silence stretching between them. She tilted her head ever so slightly, and her nose brushed against his.
Nekira inhaled sharply at the contact, his eyes softening as though the entire world outside this clearing had ceased to exist.
A soft thump broke the stillness, Martheel had tripped over a root again, grumbling as he scrambled to rescue his dropped quill. Amira muffled a snort of laughter through her nose, deliberately swatting the ground with her tail to distract him further.
Their lips met—soft, hesitant, barely more than a whisper of contact, but enough to set Tara’s heart racing. Nekira froze for half a breath, then leaned into it, but the fragile moment shattered as Martheel’s loud squelching trudges cut through the quiet clearing.
The scribe stormed toward them, face red and flustered, waving his quill like a weapon. “I—I’ve had enough of this incessant mockery!” he squeaked, glaring at the dragons in turn.
Tara startled, pulling away quickly. Her cheeks flushed as she straightened the opal pendant against her collarbone. She cleared her throat and turned back to Nekira, her voice calm and steady though her pulse still raced.
“Thank you,” she said softly, the words laced with more meaning than Martheel would ever catch. “Can I help you with yours?”
Nekira swallowed, nodding once. He reached into his robe and handed her the amethyst-inlaid crescent moon. As she leaned forward, carefully looping the chain around his neck, Nekira’s eyes darted over her shoulder.
Martheel stood stiffly a few feet away, glaring at Amira, his quill trembling in his ink-stained fingers.
“P-please,” the scribe stammered, voice cracking, “tell your dragon to stop her incessant teasing. I—I have a job to do!”
Nekira’s jaw tightened. His eyes narrowed into an angry glare, sharp enough to cut through Martheel’s already shaking confidence. The poor elf visibly quivered but tried to stand his ground, his knees knocking together as he raised his chin stubbornly.
Behind him, Amira stretched languidly, baring all her teeth in a slow, deliberate grin. ‘A job to do, little quill?’ her voice purred into Martheel’s mind. ‘I think you rather like the attention…’
Martheel squeaked and clutched a piece of parchment to his chest like a shield.
Tara’s fingers lingered at the clasp of Nekira’s necklace, careful and deliberate as she fastened it behind his neck. The opal pendant rested against her collarbone, its twin—the amethyst half—now shining against his chest. For a moment she just looked at him, their closeness still heavy in the air.
Then she noticed the tension in his jaw, the sharp, smouldering glare he was pinning on Martheel. The poor scribe was quivering, his parchment clutched so tightly it looked ready to tear, though he stubbornly refused to move.
“Nekira,” Tara whispered softly, her hand brushing his shoulder to draw his focus back to her. “Don’t. He’s harmless.”
Her voice was calm but coaxing, the kind of gentle tone that smoothed edges. Nekira’s eyes flicked to hers, still stormy, but he exhaled slowly under her gaze.
Martheel, oblivious to her intervention, muttered something about “incessant dragons” and “ruined notes” before stumbling back a step when Amira flicked her tail too close for comfort.
Tara stifled a giggle at his fluster, then looked back at Nekira with a small, reassuring smile. “Ignore him,” she murmured. “Stay here with me.”
Nekira tilted his head, eyes locked on Tara’s, voice dropping into a velvet whisper meant for her alone, yet loud enough that Martheel couldn’t possibly ignore it.
“Write this down, Martheel,” he commanded smoothly. “Nekira looks into Tara’s eyes and tells her… that when he kisses her, he will not rush it. He will close the space between them slowly, so close that she feels every breath he takes against her lips before they even touch. He will let the anticipation build until her heart beats louder than the stream beside them. Then—when she can’t stand it any longer—he will claim her mouth with a kiss so deep, so deliberate, it will taste of longing and fire. His hands will cup her face as if she were made of fragile starlight, his lips pressing harder until the world itself falls away, leaving only the two of them, bound in a kiss that lingers, aches, and refuses to end.”
Tara’s lips parted as he spoke, her breath caught in her throat, her skin flushed as though every word was already unfolding between them.
Martheel squeaked in horror, his quill scratching frantically, ink blotting the parchment as his ears turned scarlet.
But Tara wasn’t about to let Nekira be the only one. She swallowed, her eyes shimmering, then said in a voice both trembling and bold, “Then write this, Martheel… Tara would respond by leaning into him, her fingers trembling as they trace his jawline before sliding into his hair, pulling him closer. She would open to his kiss, answering his fire with her own, meeting his every breath with desperate hunger. She would kiss him until her knees gave way, until her chest ached with the need for more, until her entire soul felt pressed into his lips. And when he tried to pull away, she would not let him, holding him there, kissing him again and again, until time itself surrendered.”
Her face burned crimson, and yet she held Nekira’s gaze with such intensity that the air between them felt like it might combust.
Martheel made a strangled sound, dropping his quill entirely as though the words were too blasphemous to touch the page. His hands fluttered helplessly, eyes wide, as though he’d been asked to scribe down the secrets of the gods themselves.
Nekira, smirking, leaned toward Tara with a low chuckle. “Well said,” he murmured. Then, turning back to the trembling scribe: “What’s wrong, Martheel? Surely the Queen will want every detail.”
Martheel’s quill clattered to the ground, his hands flying up as if to ward off the very words Nekira and Tara had spoken. His voice broke into a shrill pitch as he stomped his foot in the grass.
“Sacrilege! Utter sacrilege!” he cried, cheeks blotchy red, hair sticking up from his frantic tugging. “These are not notes for Her Majesty — these are… these are… corruptions of the written word! Blasphemy upon parchment!” He spun in a little circle, waving his arms, muttering about the gods striking him down for merely hearing such things.
Amira, lounging nearby, chuckled so deeply the earth vibrated under her chest. Elqiana even had to hide her face behind a wing, snickering at the scribe’s tantrum.
Meanwhile, Nekira and Tara barely spared him a glance. Their eyes locked, both of them knowing exactly what they wanted — what they had described so vividly only moments before. Slowly, Nekira tilted his head, Tara rising to meet him, and their lips touched.
It wasn’t chaste. It wasn’t hurried. It was exactly as promised.
Tara’s fingers curled into his hair, pulling him closer as she melted into the kiss. Nekira’s hands cupped her cheeks with reverent intensity, his mouth claiming hers with a hunger that had been burning for far too long. Every stolen breath, every trembling brush of lips, was fire and devotion wrapped into one.
Martheel froze mid-rant. His jaw dropped. His eyes grew so wide they looked ready to fall out of his head.
And then, with a strangled little squeak, he fainted dead away into the grass.
The dragons erupted into roaring laughter, their amusement echoing through the trees, while Nekira and Tara — utterly unbothered — remained locked together in the kiss that made the heavens blush.
Nekira and Tara slowly parted, their foreheads resting together, breaths mingling in the quiet of the clearing. The stream nearby whispered over smooth stones, the sun filtering softly through the leaves, scattering dappled light across their faces. The world beyond seemed to fade, leaving only the two of them in that small, perfect moment.
Tara’s hands lingered on Nekira’s shoulders, her fingers tracing the lines of his robes almost absentmindedly. His thumb brushed gently over the side of her face, a soft, grounding touch that made her shiver in the most pleasant way.
“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” Nekira whispered, his voice low, almost reverent, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the delicate bubble they were suspended in.
Tara’s lips curved into a smile that was both shy and full of warmth. “So have I,” she murmured back. Her hand slid into his, fingers intertwining, holding on as if neither wanted to let go.
The faint rustle of papers and tiny curses that had been chasing them moments ago were gone, replaced by the soft, rhythmic sound of snoring. Nekira and Tara glanced down and noticed Martheel, sprawled on a small mound of soft grass where he had collapsed, utterly passed out. Even the dragons, sensing the shift, had grown quiet, their attention elsewhere, giving them a private haven in the midst of the forest.
Nekira leaned in, pressing his forehead against hers. “I could stay here forever,” he said softly. “Just like this. No worries, no dragons, no scribes… just us.”
Tara closed her eyes, letting the words sink in. “I think I’d like that,” she whispered, her voice barely more than the breeze brushing over the stream. “Forever, if it were possible.”
Nekira and Tara lay down together on the soft blanket, the warm sunlight dappling through the leaves above. Tara’s back was pressed firmly against his chest, her rear gently pressed into his groin. Instinctively, she grabbed his arm, wrapping it around her pulling him close to her stomach in a tender, protective embrace. The gentle burble of the stream beside them and their mingled breaths filled the silence, broken only by Martheel’s distant, soft snoring.
Tara giggled softly. “We’re spooning.”
Nekira bit his lip, leaning close to her ear. “Spooning… what’s that?”
Her smile was playful but shy. “It’s when two people lie together like this, close and… cozy,” she explained, nuzzling slightly. “Elvina told me about it once.”
Nekira let out a quiet laugh, nuzzling closer into her warmth, the world shrinking until it was just the two of them, pressed together, lost in the comfort and intimacy of the moment.
Nekira and Tara slept quietly on the blanket, wrapped together in their tender, intimate embrace, the sunlight shifting slowly over the clearing. Out of instinctive protectiveness, Amira and Elqiana had crept a little closer, wings folded, their massive forms casting gentle shadows over the pair. The dragons sensed their riders’ vulnerability, allowing them a few hours of undisturbed rest.
A few hours later, Martheel’s eyelids fluttered open. His eyes, still bleary from sleep, caught two piercing yellow orbs staring directly at him. He froze. Then, with a strangled scream, he bolted upright, hands flailing, sending both Nekira and Tara tumbling awake with a startled jolt.
“Martheel!” Nekira groaned, sitting up, his hair tousled and his ears pink. Tara blinked, rubbing her eyes, her hair falling messily over her face, as the scribe panicked beside them.
"Yellow eyes… Y-… s-staring at m-me!” Martheel stuttered, pointing shakily at a low-hanging tree branch. Nekira tilted his head, following the direction, and saw Snowy, the were-cat, perched silently, her gaze fixed on them.
“Time for your soiree to end, dragon-riders,” she purred, leaping gracefully from the branch to land squarely on Martheel’s chest.
“P-pathetic scribe,” she murmured, before springing off him and sauntering back toward Caa Alora, tail swishing lazily.
Nekira rose and held out a hand, helping Tara back to her feet. Their eyes met, and without a word, they shared a silent, tender kiss before climbing into the saddles of their respective dragons.
“Martheel, pack up, please,” Nekira said lightly, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips. “I assume there’s nothing to report, but worry not — I’ll give her majesty a glowing report on your behalf.”
First, Elqiana took to the skies, wings cutting through the air with majestic grace, followed by Amira. Both dragons spiralled lazily back toward the training grounds of Caa Alora, where Gabija, Vivi, Tivor, Elvina, and even Snowy waited, watching their riders return.
Tivor stepped forward, his gaze hard on his daughter. “Where have you been?”
Tara slid silently down from Elqiana’s saddle, eyes fixed firmly on the ground. Nekira followed suit from Amira’s back, his hand instinctively tightening on the hilt of Tondro. “What’s happening? Why are we all gathered here?”
An awkward silence hung in the air. Vivi placed a calming hand on Tivor’s shoulder and shook his head gently. Reluctantly, Tivor stepped back.
Snowy’s purr cut through the tension. “She has been found… Dorianna.”
The air seemed to shimmer at the mention of her name. Nekira’s grip on Tondro tightened. “The Corrupter… he had her caught in Cartakunthor.”
Vivi and Tivor exchanged worried glances. “She is with Jeremy,” Snowy added, her voice low but steady.
Gabija, arms folded across her chest, interjected with measured authority. “That’s not all. Captain Jason Moore is still alive, as are a fast majority of his soldiers.”
Elvina stepped forward, astonished. “Reports said they were all dead.”
Gabija shook her head, her expression grim. “Those reports were falsified. They are trapped by some kind of barrier magic in the middle of the Delphinian Swamps.”
Nekira’s eyes widened. “The blue-white ghostly figures…? He tried to kill me a while back when I passed through the swamps…”
Vivi frowned. “So all this time… they weren’t dead, just… trapped.”
Snowy’s tail flicked once, sharp and deliberate. “Yes. And escaping it… won’t be simple.”
Nekira broke the heavy silence, his eyes scanning the group. “Can Jeremy get Dorianna to safety?”
Snowy’s tail flicked sharply. “I… don’t know,” she admitted, her tone blunt as ever.
“Does anyone have an idea about the barrier magic?” Nekira pressed.
No one answered. The quiet stretched for a moment until a soft, distant voice filtered through their minds, clear and calm. You can break it, new name. Trust in your mind and in yourself. Then it was gone as suddenly as it had appeared.
Nekira frowned, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Well… that was cryptic.”
Gabija’s gaze drifted absentmindedly across the group. “If Mina believes you are capable, then you are. She is the oldest and wisest of us all.”
Nekira nodded slowly, absorbing the weight of her words. After a pause, he spoke, voice low but steady. “I will travel with Amira to the swamps… but someone needs to meet Dorianna and Jeremy. They might need help.”
Vivi stepped forward, concern etching his face. “I would advise against flying with Amira directly into the swamps. You would be best entering on foot.”
Nekira glanced at Amira. She inclined her massive head subtly, agreeing with Vivi. 'I’m too big and heavy for the swamps; the ground would swallow me,' her thoughts conveyed simply. Though disappointed, Nekira nodded in understanding.
“I will fly out with Elqiana to meet Dorianna and Jeremy,” Tara commented, her voice decisive. “Elqiana is our best bet for a fast getaway should it be needed.”
“I will go with the lady-rider,” Snowy purred bluntly, her tone leaving no room for argument.
“It looks like we have a plan of action,” Tivor interjected, a hint of finality in his voice.
“I’ll go with Tara as Loki,” Tivor added, stepping forward.
“No,” Tara snapped, cutting him off sharply. “You won’t. You’ll take your needs elsewhere—I do not need a babysitter!” She hissed, folding her arms, her fiery gaze locking on him.
The group paused, tension heavy in the clearing, as the plan settled and the final roles were reluctantly accepted.
Nekira’s words hung in the air. “We need to prepare,” he said, almost stating the obvious.
Tara moved to Elqiana, hands already checking the saddle bags, making sure rations, ropes, and other supplies were secured. She carefully checked her sword, White-Wind, sliding her fingers over the hilt and ensuring it was tucked safely into its scabbard.
Vivi approached Nekira, his voice calm but steady. “You can ride Myrtle. She’s strong and sturdy. You’ve ridden her before, I believe.”
Nekira gave a small nod, pulling on his light Elvish-made armor. He strapped Tondro to his waist, slung his bow and arrows over his back, and crouched slightly to open his arms. Santaya and Kristolia, sensing the moment, ran forward, burying their heads in his chest.
“Yes, girls. You can come with me…” he murmured, feeling the comforting weight of their trust. Then, with a glance at Amira, he asked softly, “But what about you?”
The dragon’s scales rippled in response, her voice echoing in his mind. ‘I’ll be right here, waiting for your safe return, little one.’
Curiosity tugged at him, and he turned toward Gabija. “How did you find out about the Captain being trapped?”
Gabija shrugged lightly, a knowing glint in her eye. “Falcon,” she replied simply, her tone carrying the weight of experience and secrets unspoken.
Nekira and Tara hugged tightly for a long moment, their foreheads pressed together as if trying to memorise the warmth and strength of the other. Tara finally broke the embrace and climbed onto Elqiana’s saddle, Snowy leaping agilely up the dragon’s leg and settling comfortably in her lap. The dragon flexed her wings, and with a sudden powerful thrust, they soared into the sky, heading south.
Nekira whistled sharply, and Myrtle’s hooves pounded against the cobblestones as she galloped up to him. He swung himself into the saddle, adjusting his bow and weapons, and guided her through the northern exit of Caa Alora. The forest blurred past as he angled east toward the Delphinian Swamps, his heart racing with anticipation and unease.
‘Stay calm, little one,’ Amira’s voice resonated in his mind, a grounding presence. ‘We are one—in mind, body, and soul.’
Nekira’s lips curved in a small, reassuring smile as he acknowledged her. Santaya and Kristolia ran alongside Myrtle, their paws slapping the soft earth in unison, keeping pace with him. The wind carried the distant sound of the city behind them, but ahead, the swamp’s shadowy.
The Journey, Book 2: Chapter 40
Chapter 40: Smelly Nekira had ridden his chestnut bay mare, Myrtle, for over a week. His old companions, Santaya and Kristolia, followed close behind, their steady presence a comfort on the long road. The bond with Amira still lingered faintly in his mind, though the distance had thinned it to...
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