The Journey, Book 2; Chapter 20 - Previous Chapter
Chapter 20; Questions!
Elqiana spotted a tiny orange light swaying side to side in the distance. Curious, she angled her wings and soared toward it, the night air rippling with each graceful beat. As she drew closer, the flickering light revealed itself to be a lantern, held aloft by a stout figure standing atop the rocky outcrop long used by stronghold farmers. A dwarf.
Tarasque hovered in the distance, her eyes narrowed with interest, while Tabby remained curled up, purring lazily atop Elqiana's head, undisturbed by the descent. With a spiraling glide, Elqiana landed gently on the ledge, wings folding in silence. The dwarf, Rorik, stumbled back in astonishment, mouth agape. He had never seen a dragon, let alone one so close.
Meanwhile, elsewhere in the craggy folds of the mountain paths, Vivi and Elvina rode swiftly, their mounts expertly navigating the hidden trail toward a concealed entrance. Blacky, the ever-sleepy were-cat, remained curled in Vivi’s lap, his tail flicking now and then.
As they arrived at the entrance, two young dwarf stable hands emerged from the shadows and took the reins of their steeds without a word. Donal stood waiting, his expression grim. With a nod, he turned and led them into the heart of the mountains, his pace brisk and silent.
Vivi said nothing, but his urgency radiated from every step. He needed to reach Nekonata, currently housed within the Dwarf King’s private quarters.
Elqiana tilted her head, her eyes gleaming with amusement as she looked toward her rider. 'Is he going to catch flies with his mouth like that, or is he just in shock?' she said with a soft, teasing hum that vibrated the air around her.
Tarasque chuckled deep in her chest.. She looked down at the dwarf and echoed in a far louder voice, "She asks if you're hoping to catch flies with your mouth, or if you're simply stunned senseless."
Rorik snapped his jaw shut with an audible clack, cheeks flushing beneath his bushy beard. He blinked twice, then dropped into a deep bow, nearly pressing his forehead to the stony ground.
"A-a thousand apologies, great dragons! Forgive my lack of manners, it's not every day a dwarf finds himself face-to-face with an opal-scaled queen of the skies." He straightened, eyes wide but respectful. Then, realizing something else, he added quickly, "And, I must apologize again, my lady. The corridors inside, well, they weren’t carved with your grandeur in mind. They’re far too narrow for a dragon of your stature."
Elqiana, in lieu of a verbal response, gave an exaggerated sigh and slowly curled herself into a resting coil at the edge of the farmland. Her long tail swept through a patch of cultivated herbs, crushing a row of carefully tended dwarf crops.
Rorik winced.
‘Oops,’ Elqiana said dryly. ‘Guess I’ll add 'crop destroyer' to my titles.’
Tarasque stepped forward, ignoring the twitch in Rorik’s left eye as he eyed the flattened herbs. His tone turned brisk.
"Take me to Nekonata. Quickly."
Rorik straightened again, all business now, though his voice trembled slightly. "Yes, yes, right this way, milady. He's deep within the inner chambers, under the Dwarf King's guard. I'll guide you through the shortest route. Your… companions should already be near the gates."
And with that, Rorik turned, lantern swinging, leading Tarasque into the mouth of the mountain, leaving Elqiana lounging in the ruins of someone's prize mint patch.
Rorik led Tarasque with brisk, purposeful strides through the winding stone corridors of the dwarven stronghold. The passageways were dim but meticulously carved, every wall etched with runes of heritage and iron sconces burning low with enchanted flame. Tarasque moved with graceful ease, her cloak flowing behind her like liquid midnight, boots clicking softly on ancient stone.
As they passed open archways, she glanced in briefly, catching glimpses of dwarven life rarely witnessed by surface folk. One chamber revealed tidy living quarters where families huddled together, steaming mugs in hand. Another revealed a bustling workshop where sparks danced from anvils and the ring of hammers echoed like a heartbeat. The kitchens radiated warmth and spice, with stocky cooks barking orders amid towers of stone-baked bread.
Wherever she passed, silence followed.
Dwarves froze mid-task, mouths agape. Children peeked around doorframes, wide-eyed and clutching toys, their expressions split between awe and curiosity. It wasn’t the presence of an outsider that stunned them, it was the figure herself.
A human, tall and poised, dressed in elegant traveling leathers. Her long red curls bounced as she walked, each step a portrait of grace. They’d heard stories of the surface folk, but none had expected such poise, with such elegance.
Tarasque noticed the stares but said nothing. She merely smiled gently and raised a hand in a small, polite wave to a cluster of children huddled by a doorway. One little girl gasped and nearly dropped the ragdoll in her arms.
Rorik glanced back nervously. “They’ll be talking about this for generations, y’know.”
Meanwhile, Vivi and Elvina stood outside a pair of ornately carved double doors, framed in silver and quartz. Two armored dwarves saluted stiffly and pushed the doors open with a groan of ancient hinges.
Inside, the private quarters of King Althor gleamed like a cavern of treasure, pillars of polished granite, banners woven with gold thread, and a great hearth that filled the chamber with steady warmth. The Dwarf King himself rose from his seat, a broad-shouldered figure with a braided white beard and sharp, intelligent eyes.
He nodded solemnly as the women entered. “Welcome, Vivi. Elvina. I would say it is good to see you—.”
“We need to see Nekonata. Now,” Vivi said, voice tight.
King Althor lifted a heavy hand. “Aye. But first, take a deep breath. You’ll need it.”
Before either could respond, the door behind them opened again with a gust of cool mountain air.
“Have I missed anything?” came a voice, elegant, exasperated, and unmistakably flustered.
Tarasque strode into the chamber, cheeks lightly flushed, a stray lock of red hair falling into her face. She paused just inside the threshold, taking in the trio before her. “I got stopped by half the population on the way here. A lovely people, really, but they stare.”
Vivi turned slightly, a breath of relief escaping his lips. “We were just about to go in.”
“Perfect timing, then,” Tarasque said, straightening her shoulders. “Let’s find out what Nekonata has gotten himself into this time.”
In the heart of the Dwarven King’s private chambers, Amira, a newly hatched dragon no larger than a mountain hound, tumbled across the polished stone floor in a flurry of playful energy. Her vibrant orange scales shimmered with shifting undertones of purple, like firelight dancing across twilight skies. She rolled and flapped her oversized wings awkwardly as she batted at the tails of the wolves, Santaya and Kristolia, who bounced around her in delighted circles, their silvery coats glowing under the chamber’s enchanted lanterns.
Suddenly, Amira froze mid-roll.
Her golden eyes locked on the great doors across the room. Her nostrils flared. Her head tilted.
'There are people outside', she said into Nekonata’s mind, her voice curious and unguarded. 'One glows white. Another red. The last... orange. Like me.'
The wolves padded to the doors, tails wagging, paws tapping the stone with growing excitement.
A moment later, the chamber doors creaked open.
Nekonata didn’t turn to look, he simply stood and said, his voice calm and certain:
“Tarasque. Elvina. Vivi.”
The three of them halted just inside the threshold, stunned into silence.
There, before them, stood the young dragon.
Amira’s slender frame was poised between uncertainty and pride, her wings slightly outstretched, her scales glowing with the color of burning citrus and shadowed dusk. Her golden eyes flecked with purple met theirs without fear, only curiosity.
For a heartbeat, no one spoke.
Tarasque stared in quiet awe. Elvina took a step forward, lips parted. Vivi's breath caught in his throat as his gaze swept over the creature before him.
Nekonata finally turned toward them, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“She hatched seven days ago,” he said. “She chose her name: Amira.”
Amira took a cautious step forward, her violet-tinted eyes narrowing with focused curiosity. She sniffed the air once, then again, slower this time. Her snout twitched as she moved gracefully toward Tarasque, claws clicking softly against the stone floor.
Reaching the woman, Amira paused. She leaned in and sniffed just above Tarasque’s wrist, lingering there for a moment as though scent alone could answer the question forming in her mind.
Then she turned her head back toward Nekonata, eyes wide with realization.
Little one, she said into his mind, her tone tinged with wonder, 'I smell strong energy… It ripples powerfully. I smell… dragon!'
Nekonata smiled knowingly. “That’s because you’re right. Tarasque is a rider, like me. Her dragon’s name is Elqiana.”
Tarasque, calm and composed, slowly pulled back the sleeve of her left arm, revealing the spiraling black mark of her bond. The coiled dragon etched into her skin shimmered faintly, then flared with a sudden pulse of bright white light, resonating at Amira’s presence.
Amira stared in quiet awe, then let out a chirp of delight.
Before anyone else could speak, Vivi moved. He circled Amira with narrowed eyes and measured steps, arms folded behind his back. His expression was studious, borderline clinical.
“Good posture,” he muttered. “Strong frame. Nice curvature of the wings…” He paused, tilting his head. “But I thought she was only orange?”
His gaze flicked to Nekonata, eyebrows raised in question.
Nekonata didn’t hesitate. “She was… at first. But when she hatched, my aura flared at the same moment hers did. The energies… collided. And mixed.”
Vivi’s brows knit together. “Interesting.”
Without warning, he turned and strode toward Nekonata. Quick, precise, then gently but firmly, he took Nekonata’s right wrist in his hand.
Nekonata didn’t flinch.
As Vivi’s fingers touched his skin, the rider’s dragon mark sparked to life. Coiled black lines ignited in twin bursts of color, one brilliant orange, the other deep purple, dancing across the pattern like fire and dusk locked in motion.
Almira watched, her tail curling around her legs as her pupils narrowed with fascination.
Then, just as quickly, the colors faded. The mark settled back into its usual black.
Vivi released Nekonata’s wrist slowly, his voice low. “That’s not a typical bond.”
“No,” Nekonata said, eyes meeting his. “It isn’t.”
“If it’s not a typical bond,” Vivi repeared, eyes still fixed on Amira,
“Then what is it? Has there ever been a dragon with more than one color before?” Neko asked loudly.
The room fell quiet, all attention drifting to where the young dragon was now tumbling across the stone floor, wrestling gleefully with the wolves, Santaya and Kristolia. Her brilliant orange scales shimmered with every movement, but under the shifting light, threads of deep purple flickered like hidden lightning.
Nekonata watched her for a moment before answering aloud.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” he said quietly. “When she hatched, her aura flared... and so did mine. They collided. And something happened. They didn’t just connect. They fused.”
As he spoke, several dwarves entered the chamber, carrying sturdy chairs carved from stone and oak. One by one, they arranged them in a loose circle around the hearth. The soft crackle of fire and the distant sound of Amira’s delighted growls filled the chamber.
King Althor returned, balancing a heavy tray laden with stone mugs and metal cups filled with warm brew, chilled mountain water, and spiced rootwine. A moment later, the queen herself appeared, Genevieve, regal in a modest gown laced with silver threads. She carried a massive iron tray piled high with raw meats, venison, boar, hare, fresh and bloody.
She set it gently on the floor near Amira, who immediately pounced on it with a gleeful chirp.
“We heard she might have an appetite,” the queen said with a smile.
Althor nodded toward his guests. “My wife, Genevieve.”
Genevieve bowed low. “An honor. Please, enjoy yourselves.” With a warm glance at her husband, she turned and exited the room with quiet grace.
Once everyone had settled into the offered seats, Vivi turned back to Nekonata, his brow furrowed.
“I’ll be honest with you,” he said. “I don’t know what this bond means. I’ve only ever seen three dragon marks, Braiden’s, Tarasque’s and now yours. Not much is known about the marks, about how they came to be, that is dragon magic.”
Neko’s eyes narrowed. “But you have an idea.”
Vivi gave a slight nod. “There’s someone who might know. An elf. Tovir.”
At the name, a quiet twitch rippled through the room.
From beneath a nearby chair, a feathery shape stirred.
Loki, Nekonata’s reclusive, raven companion, stretched his wings with a sleepy shudder, blinking slowly. He turned his head toward Vivi, sharp eyes glinting.
Elvina leaned forward. “Did he just react to the name?”
Loki blinked once more, then tucked his beak beneath his wing again, almost too quickly.
Nekonata frowned. “He did.”
The room grew still. Even Amira paused, lifting her head from the meat pile, blood glistening on her snout.
Tarasque broke the silence, her voice low but firm.
“Then it’s decided. We find Tovir.”
For the first time since the others met Amira, Tarasque felt a familiar, gentle hum ripple through her thoughts, warm, melodic, and edged with curiosity.
‘She’s interesting,’ Elqiana’s voice murmured into her rider’s mind. ‘Amira… but why is she…’ A pause followed, delicate and uncertain. ‘...frolicking with the fury-four-legs?’
Tarasque blinked, then let out a soft laugh, covering her mouth with the back of her hand.
“Elqiana wants to know,” she said aloud, her voice touched with amusement, “why Amira is playing with Santi and Kristi.”
Across the room, Amira, mid-tackle with Santaya, rolled backward onto her wings and let out a triumphant chirp. She stood, shook herself from head to tail-tip, and sent a cascade of light dancing through the chamber, each orange-purple scale catching the firelight, scattering fractured colors across the floor, walls, and faces of everyone watching.
Then, without lifting her head, she spoke into Nekonata’s mind with mischievous clarity.
‘Because I was an egg for five hundred years, she said, tail swishing behind her. I’m making the most of it before… what’s the word humans use?’
There was a pause. Then a burst of smug certainty.
‘Before a shitstorm happens.’
Nekonata choked on his drink. Then repeated what she said for everyone to hear.
Vivi blinked. “Did she just—”
“She did,” Nekonata coughed, laughing despite himself. “Amira…”
The young dragon looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes, her expression entirely unapologetic.
'What? That’s the word, isn’t it?'
Tarasque smirked and leaned back in her chair. “She’s going to fit in just fine.”
The whole room rippled with quiet amusement. Even King Althor cracked a rare smile, while Queen Genevieve, watching from the doorway, covered a soft laugh with her hand.
“She’s going to be a handful,” Elvina said dryly.
Vivi, meanwhile, watched Almira with a more analytical gaze. “Five hundred years sealed inside an egg…” he murmured. “That kind of delay, on purpose, means someone was hiding her.”
Nekonata nodded slowly. “Not just hiding her. Protecting her..”
Amira, oblivious to the growing tension, rolled onto her back and let Santaya pounce on her, tail wagging.
Vivi’s tone dropped. “If she’s awake now… that storm she mentioned? It’s already on the horizon.”
Tarasque exhaled. “Then we need answers. Fast.”
Nekonata glanced around the room, his expression steady but edged with urgency. His gaze touched each face in turn before he spoke.
“So… how do we find Tovir?”
A hush settled over the chamber. Vivi looked down, his features shadowed by the firelight. He was silent for a long moment before he finally spoke, voice low and uncertain.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “He hasn’t been seen in a very long time. Not since the incident. There’s a chance Gabija might know where he is… but even that’s not certain. Not after what happened to him all those years ago.”
A pause followed, weighted, uncertain.
Then a faint rustling of feathers echoed through the rafters above.
From one of the high beams, a shape detached itself from the shadows. Loki glided silently down and landed on Nekonata’s shoulder with uncanny grace.
He stared at Vivi, tilting his head slightly, amber eyes glinting with quiet intelligence.
It wasn’t just curiosity in his gaze, it was recognition.
Tarasque raised a brow. “He knows something.”
Nekonata lifted a hand slowly, resting it near Loki’s talons. “Or someone.”
Loki let out a soft croak, as if confirming the thought.
Vivi met the raven’s eyes and murmured, “You were there, weren’t you?”
The raven blinked once, slow and deliberate.
Vivi stared into the raven’s eyes, deep pools of shifting amber, ancient and unreadable. Something stirred there, just out of reach. A memory? A recognition? A thread of something half-familiar and long-buried. He couldn’t say.
But whatever it was, it danced at the edge of his awareness like smoke.
Frowning, Vivi narrowed his focus and let his thoughts open, not fully, just enough to brush the surface, to try and connect.
The reaction was immediate.
Loki let out a sharp, furious screech, wings flaring wide. His talons dug deep into Nekonata’s shoulder, eliciting a sharp hiss of pain. The oversized raven struck once with his beak, not to injure, but to warn, and then launched upward in a flurry of feathers.
“Secrets… mine own!” Loki cawed, his voice echoing with uncanny clarity.
He vanished into the shadows above, perching high on the beam once more, his shape melting into the gloom.
Nekonata winced and reached up, rubbing the spot where Loki’s talons had pierced his cloak. “That’s going to bruise,” he muttered.
The room was silent again, tension crackling faintly in the space Loki had vacated.
Then, quietly, another voice brushed into Nekonata’s mind, soft and curious.
'I have questions for the… Loki,' Amira said.
Nekonata glanced toward her. She was no longer playing. Instead, she sat still and tall, her young golden eyes glowing with a quiet intensity, wings tucked neatly against her sides.
She blinked slowly.
'Lots of questions, she added. But I think… he won’t answer them until he wants to.'
Nekonata gave a slow nod, still massaging his shoulder. “Then we wait. He’ll speak again, when he’s ready.”
Tarasque folded her arms. “And until then?”
Elvina tapped her fingers on the arm of her chair. “We prepare for the worst.”
Vivi, still staring upward toward the shadow where the raven perched, whispered more to himself than anyone else:
“He’s hiding something. Something important.”
Chapter 20; Questions!
Elqiana spotted a tiny orange light swaying side to side in the distance. Curious, she angled her wings and soared toward it, the night air rippling with each graceful beat. As she drew closer, the flickering light revealed itself to be a lantern, held aloft by a stout figure standing atop the rocky outcrop long used by stronghold farmers. A dwarf.
Tarasque hovered in the distance, her eyes narrowed with interest, while Tabby remained curled up, purring lazily atop Elqiana's head, undisturbed by the descent. With a spiraling glide, Elqiana landed gently on the ledge, wings folding in silence. The dwarf, Rorik, stumbled back in astonishment, mouth agape. He had never seen a dragon, let alone one so close.
Meanwhile, elsewhere in the craggy folds of the mountain paths, Vivi and Elvina rode swiftly, their mounts expertly navigating the hidden trail toward a concealed entrance. Blacky, the ever-sleepy were-cat, remained curled in Vivi’s lap, his tail flicking now and then.
As they arrived at the entrance, two young dwarf stable hands emerged from the shadows and took the reins of their steeds without a word. Donal stood waiting, his expression grim. With a nod, he turned and led them into the heart of the mountains, his pace brisk and silent.
Vivi said nothing, but his urgency radiated from every step. He needed to reach Nekonata, currently housed within the Dwarf King’s private quarters.
Elqiana tilted her head, her eyes gleaming with amusement as she looked toward her rider. 'Is he going to catch flies with his mouth like that, or is he just in shock?' she said with a soft, teasing hum that vibrated the air around her.
Tarasque chuckled deep in her chest.. She looked down at the dwarf and echoed in a far louder voice, "She asks if you're hoping to catch flies with your mouth, or if you're simply stunned senseless."
Rorik snapped his jaw shut with an audible clack, cheeks flushing beneath his bushy beard. He blinked twice, then dropped into a deep bow, nearly pressing his forehead to the stony ground.
"A-a thousand apologies, great dragons! Forgive my lack of manners, it's not every day a dwarf finds himself face-to-face with an opal-scaled queen of the skies." He straightened, eyes wide but respectful. Then, realizing something else, he added quickly, "And, I must apologize again, my lady. The corridors inside, well, they weren’t carved with your grandeur in mind. They’re far too narrow for a dragon of your stature."
Elqiana, in lieu of a verbal response, gave an exaggerated sigh and slowly curled herself into a resting coil at the edge of the farmland. Her long tail swept through a patch of cultivated herbs, crushing a row of carefully tended dwarf crops.
Rorik winced.
‘Oops,’ Elqiana said dryly. ‘Guess I’ll add 'crop destroyer' to my titles.’
Tarasque stepped forward, ignoring the twitch in Rorik’s left eye as he eyed the flattened herbs. His tone turned brisk.
"Take me to Nekonata. Quickly."
Rorik straightened again, all business now, though his voice trembled slightly. "Yes, yes, right this way, milady. He's deep within the inner chambers, under the Dwarf King's guard. I'll guide you through the shortest route. Your… companions should already be near the gates."
And with that, Rorik turned, lantern swinging, leading Tarasque into the mouth of the mountain, leaving Elqiana lounging in the ruins of someone's prize mint patch.
Rorik led Tarasque with brisk, purposeful strides through the winding stone corridors of the dwarven stronghold. The passageways were dim but meticulously carved, every wall etched with runes of heritage and iron sconces burning low with enchanted flame. Tarasque moved with graceful ease, her cloak flowing behind her like liquid midnight, boots clicking softly on ancient stone.
As they passed open archways, she glanced in briefly, catching glimpses of dwarven life rarely witnessed by surface folk. One chamber revealed tidy living quarters where families huddled together, steaming mugs in hand. Another revealed a bustling workshop where sparks danced from anvils and the ring of hammers echoed like a heartbeat. The kitchens radiated warmth and spice, with stocky cooks barking orders amid towers of stone-baked bread.
Wherever she passed, silence followed.
Dwarves froze mid-task, mouths agape. Children peeked around doorframes, wide-eyed and clutching toys, their expressions split between awe and curiosity. It wasn’t the presence of an outsider that stunned them, it was the figure herself.
A human, tall and poised, dressed in elegant traveling leathers. Her long red curls bounced as she walked, each step a portrait of grace. They’d heard stories of the surface folk, but none had expected such poise, with such elegance.
Tarasque noticed the stares but said nothing. She merely smiled gently and raised a hand in a small, polite wave to a cluster of children huddled by a doorway. One little girl gasped and nearly dropped the ragdoll in her arms.
Rorik glanced back nervously. “They’ll be talking about this for generations, y’know.”
Meanwhile, Vivi and Elvina stood outside a pair of ornately carved double doors, framed in silver and quartz. Two armored dwarves saluted stiffly and pushed the doors open with a groan of ancient hinges.
Inside, the private quarters of King Althor gleamed like a cavern of treasure, pillars of polished granite, banners woven with gold thread, and a great hearth that filled the chamber with steady warmth. The Dwarf King himself rose from his seat, a broad-shouldered figure with a braided white beard and sharp, intelligent eyes.
He nodded solemnly as the women entered. “Welcome, Vivi. Elvina. I would say it is good to see you—.”
“We need to see Nekonata. Now,” Vivi said, voice tight.
King Althor lifted a heavy hand. “Aye. But first, take a deep breath. You’ll need it.”
Before either could respond, the door behind them opened again with a gust of cool mountain air.
“Have I missed anything?” came a voice, elegant, exasperated, and unmistakably flustered.
Tarasque strode into the chamber, cheeks lightly flushed, a stray lock of red hair falling into her face. She paused just inside the threshold, taking in the trio before her. “I got stopped by half the population on the way here. A lovely people, really, but they stare.”
Vivi turned slightly, a breath of relief escaping his lips. “We were just about to go in.”
“Perfect timing, then,” Tarasque said, straightening her shoulders. “Let’s find out what Nekonata has gotten himself into this time.”
In the heart of the Dwarven King’s private chambers, Amira, a newly hatched dragon no larger than a mountain hound, tumbled across the polished stone floor in a flurry of playful energy. Her vibrant orange scales shimmered with shifting undertones of purple, like firelight dancing across twilight skies. She rolled and flapped her oversized wings awkwardly as she batted at the tails of the wolves, Santaya and Kristolia, who bounced around her in delighted circles, their silvery coats glowing under the chamber’s enchanted lanterns.
Suddenly, Amira froze mid-roll.
Her golden eyes locked on the great doors across the room. Her nostrils flared. Her head tilted.
'There are people outside', she said into Nekonata’s mind, her voice curious and unguarded. 'One glows white. Another red. The last... orange. Like me.'
The wolves padded to the doors, tails wagging, paws tapping the stone with growing excitement.
A moment later, the chamber doors creaked open.
Nekonata didn’t turn to look, he simply stood and said, his voice calm and certain:
“Tarasque. Elvina. Vivi.”
The three of them halted just inside the threshold, stunned into silence.
There, before them, stood the young dragon.
Amira’s slender frame was poised between uncertainty and pride, her wings slightly outstretched, her scales glowing with the color of burning citrus and shadowed dusk. Her golden eyes flecked with purple met theirs without fear, only curiosity.
For a heartbeat, no one spoke.
Tarasque stared in quiet awe. Elvina took a step forward, lips parted. Vivi's breath caught in his throat as his gaze swept over the creature before him.
Nekonata finally turned toward them, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“She hatched seven days ago,” he said. “She chose her name: Amira.”
Amira took a cautious step forward, her violet-tinted eyes narrowing with focused curiosity. She sniffed the air once, then again, slower this time. Her snout twitched as she moved gracefully toward Tarasque, claws clicking softly against the stone floor.
Reaching the woman, Amira paused. She leaned in and sniffed just above Tarasque’s wrist, lingering there for a moment as though scent alone could answer the question forming in her mind.
Then she turned her head back toward Nekonata, eyes wide with realization.
Little one, she said into his mind, her tone tinged with wonder, 'I smell strong energy… It ripples powerfully. I smell… dragon!'
Nekonata smiled knowingly. “That’s because you’re right. Tarasque is a rider, like me. Her dragon’s name is Elqiana.”
Tarasque, calm and composed, slowly pulled back the sleeve of her left arm, revealing the spiraling black mark of her bond. The coiled dragon etched into her skin shimmered faintly, then flared with a sudden pulse of bright white light, resonating at Amira’s presence.
Amira stared in quiet awe, then let out a chirp of delight.
Before anyone else could speak, Vivi moved. He circled Amira with narrowed eyes and measured steps, arms folded behind his back. His expression was studious, borderline clinical.
“Good posture,” he muttered. “Strong frame. Nice curvature of the wings…” He paused, tilting his head. “But I thought she was only orange?”
His gaze flicked to Nekonata, eyebrows raised in question.
Nekonata didn’t hesitate. “She was… at first. But when she hatched, my aura flared at the same moment hers did. The energies… collided. And mixed.”
Vivi’s brows knit together. “Interesting.”
Without warning, he turned and strode toward Nekonata. Quick, precise, then gently but firmly, he took Nekonata’s right wrist in his hand.
Nekonata didn’t flinch.
As Vivi’s fingers touched his skin, the rider’s dragon mark sparked to life. Coiled black lines ignited in twin bursts of color, one brilliant orange, the other deep purple, dancing across the pattern like fire and dusk locked in motion.
Almira watched, her tail curling around her legs as her pupils narrowed with fascination.
Then, just as quickly, the colors faded. The mark settled back into its usual black.
Vivi released Nekonata’s wrist slowly, his voice low. “That’s not a typical bond.”
“No,” Nekonata said, eyes meeting his. “It isn’t.”
“If it’s not a typical bond,” Vivi repeared, eyes still fixed on Amira,
“Then what is it? Has there ever been a dragon with more than one color before?” Neko asked loudly.
The room fell quiet, all attention drifting to where the young dragon was now tumbling across the stone floor, wrestling gleefully with the wolves, Santaya and Kristolia. Her brilliant orange scales shimmered with every movement, but under the shifting light, threads of deep purple flickered like hidden lightning.
Nekonata watched her for a moment before answering aloud.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” he said quietly. “When she hatched, her aura flared... and so did mine. They collided. And something happened. They didn’t just connect. They fused.”
As he spoke, several dwarves entered the chamber, carrying sturdy chairs carved from stone and oak. One by one, they arranged them in a loose circle around the hearth. The soft crackle of fire and the distant sound of Amira’s delighted growls filled the chamber.
King Althor returned, balancing a heavy tray laden with stone mugs and metal cups filled with warm brew, chilled mountain water, and spiced rootwine. A moment later, the queen herself appeared, Genevieve, regal in a modest gown laced with silver threads. She carried a massive iron tray piled high with raw meats, venison, boar, hare, fresh and bloody.
She set it gently on the floor near Amira, who immediately pounced on it with a gleeful chirp.
“We heard she might have an appetite,” the queen said with a smile.
Althor nodded toward his guests. “My wife, Genevieve.”
Genevieve bowed low. “An honor. Please, enjoy yourselves.” With a warm glance at her husband, she turned and exited the room with quiet grace.
Once everyone had settled into the offered seats, Vivi turned back to Nekonata, his brow furrowed.
“I’ll be honest with you,” he said. “I don’t know what this bond means. I’ve only ever seen three dragon marks, Braiden’s, Tarasque’s and now yours. Not much is known about the marks, about how they came to be, that is dragon magic.”
Neko’s eyes narrowed. “But you have an idea.”
Vivi gave a slight nod. “There’s someone who might know. An elf. Tovir.”
At the name, a quiet twitch rippled through the room.
From beneath a nearby chair, a feathery shape stirred.
Loki, Nekonata’s reclusive, raven companion, stretched his wings with a sleepy shudder, blinking slowly. He turned his head toward Vivi, sharp eyes glinting.
Elvina leaned forward. “Did he just react to the name?”
Loki blinked once more, then tucked his beak beneath his wing again, almost too quickly.
Nekonata frowned. “He did.”
The room grew still. Even Amira paused, lifting her head from the meat pile, blood glistening on her snout.
Tarasque broke the silence, her voice low but firm.
“Then it’s decided. We find Tovir.”
For the first time since the others met Amira, Tarasque felt a familiar, gentle hum ripple through her thoughts, warm, melodic, and edged with curiosity.
‘She’s interesting,’ Elqiana’s voice murmured into her rider’s mind. ‘Amira… but why is she…’ A pause followed, delicate and uncertain. ‘...frolicking with the fury-four-legs?’
Tarasque blinked, then let out a soft laugh, covering her mouth with the back of her hand.
“Elqiana wants to know,” she said aloud, her voice touched with amusement, “why Amira is playing with Santi and Kristi.”
Across the room, Amira, mid-tackle with Santaya, rolled backward onto her wings and let out a triumphant chirp. She stood, shook herself from head to tail-tip, and sent a cascade of light dancing through the chamber, each orange-purple scale catching the firelight, scattering fractured colors across the floor, walls, and faces of everyone watching.
Then, without lifting her head, she spoke into Nekonata’s mind with mischievous clarity.
‘Because I was an egg for five hundred years, she said, tail swishing behind her. I’m making the most of it before… what’s the word humans use?’
There was a pause. Then a burst of smug certainty.
‘Before a shitstorm happens.’
Nekonata choked on his drink. Then repeated what she said for everyone to hear.
Vivi blinked. “Did she just—”
“She did,” Nekonata coughed, laughing despite himself. “Amira…”
The young dragon looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes, her expression entirely unapologetic.
'What? That’s the word, isn’t it?'
Tarasque smirked and leaned back in her chair. “She’s going to fit in just fine.”
The whole room rippled with quiet amusement. Even King Althor cracked a rare smile, while Queen Genevieve, watching from the doorway, covered a soft laugh with her hand.
“She’s going to be a handful,” Elvina said dryly.
Vivi, meanwhile, watched Almira with a more analytical gaze. “Five hundred years sealed inside an egg…” he murmured. “That kind of delay, on purpose, means someone was hiding her.”
Nekonata nodded slowly. “Not just hiding her. Protecting her..”
Amira, oblivious to the growing tension, rolled onto her back and let Santaya pounce on her, tail wagging.
Vivi’s tone dropped. “If she’s awake now… that storm she mentioned? It’s already on the horizon.”
Tarasque exhaled. “Then we need answers. Fast.”
Nekonata glanced around the room, his expression steady but edged with urgency. His gaze touched each face in turn before he spoke.
“So… how do we find Tovir?”
A hush settled over the chamber. Vivi looked down, his features shadowed by the firelight. He was silent for a long moment before he finally spoke, voice low and uncertain.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “He hasn’t been seen in a very long time. Not since the incident. There’s a chance Gabija might know where he is… but even that’s not certain. Not after what happened to him all those years ago.”
A pause followed, weighted, uncertain.
Then a faint rustling of feathers echoed through the rafters above.
From one of the high beams, a shape detached itself from the shadows. Loki glided silently down and landed on Nekonata’s shoulder with uncanny grace.
He stared at Vivi, tilting his head slightly, amber eyes glinting with quiet intelligence.
It wasn’t just curiosity in his gaze, it was recognition.
Tarasque raised a brow. “He knows something.”
Nekonata lifted a hand slowly, resting it near Loki’s talons. “Or someone.”
Loki let out a soft croak, as if confirming the thought.
Vivi met the raven’s eyes and murmured, “You were there, weren’t you?”
The raven blinked once, slow and deliberate.
Vivi stared into the raven’s eyes, deep pools of shifting amber, ancient and unreadable. Something stirred there, just out of reach. A memory? A recognition? A thread of something half-familiar and long-buried. He couldn’t say.
But whatever it was, it danced at the edge of his awareness like smoke.
Frowning, Vivi narrowed his focus and let his thoughts open, not fully, just enough to brush the surface, to try and connect.
The reaction was immediate.
Loki let out a sharp, furious screech, wings flaring wide. His talons dug deep into Nekonata’s shoulder, eliciting a sharp hiss of pain. The oversized raven struck once with his beak, not to injure, but to warn, and then launched upward in a flurry of feathers.
“Secrets… mine own!” Loki cawed, his voice echoing with uncanny clarity.
He vanished into the shadows above, perching high on the beam once more, his shape melting into the gloom.
Nekonata winced and reached up, rubbing the spot where Loki’s talons had pierced his cloak. “That’s going to bruise,” he muttered.
The room was silent again, tension crackling faintly in the space Loki had vacated.
Then, quietly, another voice brushed into Nekonata’s mind, soft and curious.
'I have questions for the… Loki,' Amira said.
Nekonata glanced toward her. She was no longer playing. Instead, she sat still and tall, her young golden eyes glowing with a quiet intensity, wings tucked neatly against her sides.
She blinked slowly.
'Lots of questions, she added. But I think… he won’t answer them until he wants to.'
Nekonata gave a slow nod, still massaging his shoulder. “Then we wait. He’ll speak again, when he’s ready.”
Tarasque folded her arms. “And until then?”
Elvina tapped her fingers on the arm of her chair. “We prepare for the worst.”
Vivi, still staring upward toward the shadow where the raven perched, whispered more to himself than anyone else:
“He’s hiding something. Something important.”