The Journey, Book 2; Chapter 21 - Previous Chapter
Chapter 22; Dance
As the music pulsed and laughter echoed through the grand hall, Nekonata moved through the gathered crowd with quiet determination. His gaze was fixed on Gabija, who stood near a towering stone pillar, watching the celebrations with a thoughtful stillness. The light from the chandeliers danced across her ceremonial robes, her arms folded, her expression unreadable.
When he reached her, Nekonata offered the traditional Elvish greeting of respect: two fingers drawn in a small arc to his chin, followed by another arc from chin to chest.
“I owe you an apology,” he said with calm sincerity. “For not telling you about Amira sooner. I felt it was necessary to keep her hidden, until now.”
Gabija regarded him for a long moment, then gave a single nod. “You did what you believed was right. Secrets are not always betrayals.”
“May I introduce you properly?” he asked.
Gabija’s posture softened slightly. “I would be honored.”
Across the great hall, nestled beneath the tall stained-glass windows, Amira lay in a comfortable coil, her brilliant orange-purple scales shimmering beneath the torchlight. A ring of dwarven children sat around her, whispering and giggling, their small hands tentatively brushing along her tail or wings.
Nekonata sent a soft mental nudge.
‘Amira, could I trouble you for a moment? I’d like you to meet someone important.’
Amira shifted her head slowly and blinked once, then responded only in his mind:
‘If it is important to you, then yes.’
Nekonata smiled faintly, used to the dragon’s preference for privacy. He cleared his throat gently, and the children scattered with bows and hushed awe.
“This is Gabija, Chief of Clan Panther,” he said aloud.
Gabija stepped forward and made an elegant, flowing gesture with her hand, a gesture Nekonata had never seen before. It was graceful and deliberate.
“This,” she explained quietly, “is a greeting we reserve for those we believe are more worthy than ourselves.”
Amira’s eyes narrowed slightly as she examined the elf. After a brief moment, her voice filled Nekonata’s mind again, calm, curious, and unwavering.
‘She is not only Chief of Clan Panther. She is also the Queen of the Woods Folk.’
Nekonata blinked hard and nearly choked on his drink.
"She just told me…" He hesitated, then repeated aloud, "She says… you are the Queen of the Woods Folk?"
Gabija raised a brow, then let out a soft laugh and inclined her head toward Amira.
“She is observant, and correct.”
Nekonata instinctively began to bow, but Gabija stepped forward and laid a hand gently on his shoulder, stopping him.
“There’s no need for that,” she said with a smirk. “Only those who needed to know ever knew. You understand, we Elves are private, a little vain, and quite good at keeping our crowns tucked away.”
She gave him a playful wink.
‘She respects you,’ Amira’s voice whispered through Nekonata’s mind again. ‘And now, I respect her too.’
Nekonata exhaled slowly, glancing between the two most enigmatic beings he knew, his dragon and a hidden queen.
The music played on, and the celebration danced in golden lights and laughter.
The music of the celebration faded into a soft hum behind them as Nekonata and Gabija remained in quiet conversation near one of the massive stone columns of the hall. The warm glow of the chandeliers bathed them in golden light, and Amira’s coiled form shimmered quietly in the corner, still resting but attentive.
Nekonata spoke in a low voice, recounting everything.
“How she called out to me, in his mind softly at first like a faint whisper, and then more stronger… the closer I got to her.I followed her voice to the cavern under the abandoned mining tunnels, waiting.” His expression grew distant for a moment. “She chose to hatch for me. The moment she hatched our auras… they twisted together. Hers suffused mine. Mine... coloured hers. That’s why her scales are orange and violet. That’s why my aura changed too.”
Gabija listened, her sharp eyes never leaving his face. Her brow furrowed as she folded her arms, lips drawn in thoughtful concern.
“Show me,” she said suddenly. “Summon fire.”
Nekonata blinked. “Here?”
“Here,” she said firmly, but quietly.
He hesitated only a moment before raising his hand slightly. He muttered under his breath, “Fajro.”
A flicker of purple flame sparked to life in his palm, brief, unstable, and then it faded.
He frowned and repeated, louder this time, voice laced with intent.
“Fajro.”
This time the fire burst into a steady ball of energy. It glowed with rich violet hues, but at its centre, a bright orange core pulsed like a heartbeat.
Gabija gasped.
“Dual auras…” she whispered.
She stepped closer, her fingers reaching toward the fire, but stopping just short. She studied it, eyes wide with awe and something bordering on fear.
She stepped back slowly. “I’ve lived a long time, Nekonata. I’ve seen many auras of many colours. I’ve seen bonded dragons. But this?” She shook her head. “This is ancient. Older than any bonded magic I’ve encountered. There is only one who might know what this means.”
Nekonata tilted his head. “Tivor,” he said softly.
Gabija’s eyes narrowed with recognition. “Yes… how do you know his name?”
“Vivi. He told me you might know of his whereabouts. After the king’s party, I plan to find him.”
Gabija’s gaze lingered on the flickering flame still hovering in his palm. Then she looked to Amira, who had quietly raised her head, her luminous eyes watching them both. Though no words were spoken aloud, Nekonata heard her clearly in his mind:
‘You are not meant to walk an ordinary path. Neither am I. But Tivor… if he holds answers, we must find him.’
Gabija nodded, seemingly sensing the unspoken exchange.
“I will tell you what I know,” she said. “But be warned, Tivor isn’t like he used to be, since the… accident, has been different, quite solitary. But if I know him well, and I’d like to think I do, he’s closer than you think” Gabija said slowly looking around the great hall
Nekonata let the fire dissolve slowly into the air, and placed his hand gently against his chest, where he felt the dual rhythm of his aura and Amira’s mingling like a heartbeat.
The warm glow of the chandeliers overhead flickered gently as the slow melody of the dwarven musicians filled the great hall. The laughter and chatter of the guests softened, replaced by the graceful hush of music and movement.
Nekonata sat still for a moment, lost in thought, the memory of the flickering dual-flame still fading from his palm, when Tarasque approached him.
Her steps were hesitant, her cheeks flushed a soft rose as she paused just in front of him.
“Hey, umm… Neko…” she said, her voice barely above the hum of the room. “Will you… will you dance with me?”
Nekonata blinked, startled, eyes flicking up to meet hers, only to find himself very aware that her emerald green dress, with its scandalous neckline, had placed her very generously in his direct line of sight. His breath hitched, chest rising sharply as he tried, and failed, not to stare.
Gabija, still beside him, gave his arm a firm but playful nudge.
He jolted, eyes wide. “Oh, yeah! I… um… s-sure. Let’s dance.”
He stood quickly, maybe a bit too quickly, and offered Tarasque his arm with a stiff formality. She grinned and took it, giggling softly at his sudden awkwardness.
As they walked toward the open floor, Nekonata looked back at Gabija, desperation etched into his expression. He mouthed: I don’t know how to dance.
Gabija simply smirked and raised an elegant eyebrow. You’ll figure it out, her look seemed to say.
The musicians shifted into a new tune, slow, melodic, gentle, and other couples began to sway, moving together with practiced grace.
Nekonata swallowed hard, glancing nervously around for clues. Then, slowly, he took Tarasque’s right hand in his left, and placed his other hand cautiously on her hip.
Tarasque smiled softly, her eyes warm and bright as she placed her free hand lightly on his shoulder.
Then, together, they began to sway, slow, unsure at first, but gradually finding a rhythm.
She stepped closer, and he followed her lead as best he could. His heart thudded awkwardly in his chest, and her perfume, jasmine and firewood, wrapped around him like smoke.
“You’re doing fine,” she whispered, her voice low and teasing.
“Am I?” he muttered under his breath. “Because I feel like a deer trying to waltz.”
She laughed again, and the sound made something flutter inside him. They moved a little more fluidly now, her hips guiding them gently in rhythm with the music.
Somewhere nearby, Elvina leaned against a pillar, watching with an amused smirk. Santaya and Kristolia sat patiently at the edge of the dance floor, tails sweeping idly across the stone.
And from the corner, Amira’s voice echoed in Nekonata’s mind, warm and teasing:
‘You move like you’ve never used your legs before.’
‘Not helping.’
‘You should smile. You look like you’re being hunted.’
‘Because I am. And she’s wearing green.’
Amira’s laughter echoed gently in his mind as Tarasque’s hand gave a small, reassuring squeeze.
The melody deepened, soft strings weaving through the warm air of the great hall as Nekonata and Tarasque continued to dance. The buzz of conversation faded into a gentle blur around them. In that moment, it felt like the rest of the world had stepped back, giving them space to breathe, to feel.
Tarasque smiled gently and stepped in closer. Her arms wound around him, and she rested her head on his shoulder. The motion was smooth, casual, and yet deeply intentional.
Nekonata froze for a second, startled by the sudden warmth of her pressed so firmly against him. Her soft curves moulded into him, and the weight of her resting comfortably on his chest sent his heart thudding. He stiffened slightly, eyes darting around the room, but forced himself to stay composed.
“Stay calm,” he told himself. ‘It’s just a dance.”
But then, Amira’s voice echoed smoothly in his mind, curious and teasing.
‘Why do I feel a… tingling, hard-like sensation coming from your lower body?’
He went bright red.
‘Amira! Don’t go there,’ he groaned silently, face burning. ‘Not now—please.’
“But I feel what you feel, Neko,” she replied, feigning innocence. “It’s distracting. And weird.”
He swallowed hard, trying to force his body, and his mind, into stillness. But Tarasque shifted slightly, her lips now near his ear.
Her breath was warm as she whispered, just barely audible over the music:
“I was being serious about taking you to my room earlier, by the way…”
A jolt of heat raced down his spine, and he blinked rapidly, very much aware that his situation was becoming visibly awkward.
And then, perfectly timed like the flick of a dagger—
Elvina strolled into view, her expression unreadable, her presence cool and composed.
She stopped beside them with a pleasant smile.
“Tarasque,” she said sweetly, “come to the ladies’ room with me, please.”
There was something in her tone, gentle but firm. A velvet glove over iron.
Tarasque blinked, but nodded. “Of course.”
Before stepping away, she gave Nekonata a slow look, a smirk playing on her lips. “Save me the next dance, will you?”
He nodded dumbly, still trying to collect his thoughts.
As the two women walked off, Amira’s voice filtered back into his mind:
'That was… intense.'
'Tell me about it.'
'You’re in so much trouble.'
He didn’t respond.
Nekonata made his way back to the great table, trying to slow his breathing and cool the heat still lingering on his cheeks. He slid into the seat on King Althor’s right, shoulders stiff, mind racing.
Althor leaned slightly toward him, his deep voice low, meant only for Nekonata's ears.
“That was some dance you had with Tarasque,” he said, a note of amusement under his beard.
Nekonata rubbed the back of his neck, his voice just as quiet.
“Yes… and I have no idea how to handle it. At all.”
Althor gave a soft chuckle, the sound rich and knowing.
“You like her, that much is clear.” He raised an eyebrow, pausing to sip his mead. “And it’s obvious she likes you. So why not see where it takes you?”
Before Nekonata could answer, Vivi leaned forward from across the table, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly.
“Falling in love is inevitable,” He said, voice smooth, yet edged with warning.
“But there’s a time and place for it, and this isn't it.”
Nekonata glanced between the two, Althor’s warmth, Vivi’s caution, and found himself stuck in the middle, as usual.
Before he could speak, a sudden whoosh of wings interrupted the moment.
Loki, the great raven, dropped from the shadowed beams above and landed with precision on the table, claws clicking against the polished wood. He stared at Nekonata with one beady eye.
“Waste of time, love is,” the bird squawked, with theatrical disdain. He grabbed a piece of roasted meat off a plate, flapped his wings, and soared back up to the beams.
A few heads turned at the interruption, but most just laughed quietly and resumed their chatter.
Nekonata shook his head, muttering under his breath.
“Even the birds here have opinions...”
King Althor laughed, thumping the table with one broad hand.
“Aye, and sometimes the birds are wiser than they seem.”
Vivi smirked, swirling his goblet of mead.
“And sometimes they’re just birds with too much attitude.”
Nekonata leaned back in his chair, gazing across the room. His eyes briefly found Tarasque, now rejoining the crowd, her eyes catching his for just a moment before she looked away with a smile.
Amira’s voice echoed softly in his mind, calm now, a mirror of his own feelings.
‘She makes your heart quicken. But also your mind scatter.’
‘Yeah…’ Nekonata replied silently, ‘She’s a storm. But I don't mind standing in the rain.’
The great oak doors of the Great Hall suddenly swung open with a low, echoing groan.
All conversation ceased.
Three direwolves padded forward, their eyes gleaming under the golden light of the hall’s chandeliers. Their sheer size made the dwarves scatter, drinks and plates clattering to the stone floor in alarm. The trio moved with slow, deliberate grace, their presence commanding.
Convel, his silvery-white fur streaked with pale gray, led the pack, flanked by a slender auburn-coated female and a younger wolf with bright, amber eyes.
Nekonata leaned forward, voice hushed but urgent.
“That’s Convel… and the other one—”
His eyes narrowed. “That’s Auburn. I met her a while ago, she was pregnant, and struggling, I helped her.”
Vivi nodded slowly, eyes fixed on the wolves.
“And the young one?”
Nekonata glanced again. “Jesser, we met her and Convel at the battle outside Edena” he whispered.
Althor nodded as he remembered their vicious aid that helped turn the tide of the battle.
As if on cue, Santaya and Kristolia stepped forward from behind Nekonata’s chair. They stood at attention and gave a subtle but respectful bow of their heads.
King Althor stood, lifting his tankard in a sign of welcome.
“Well met, Convel, Chief of the Direwolves,” he said, voice loud and clear, silencing the remaining murmurs in the room.
Convel came to a halt before the great table and bowed his massive head.
“Well met, Dwarf King Althor.”
His voice was deep and rumbling, more felt in the chest than heard.
“May I present to you my mate, Auburn, and our daughter, Jesser.”
The hall, still and silent, absorbed the words with reverence. A few elves and dwarves exchanged glances. It was rare, unheard of, even, for direwolves to bring their kin into the halls of dwarves.
Before any response could be made, a ripple of color shimmered across the stone floor.
Amira, resplendent and glowing in her orange-purple hues, stepped forward from her corner. Her scales cast dancing light across the walls and floors. The room held its breath.
Convel instinctively stepped back, his ears flicking forward in alarm, protective of his mate and daughter. His muscles tensed, but he did not bare teeth, only watched.
Amira didn’t speak aloud. She circled the trio slowly, her tail gliding across the floor with a whispering sound, her head tilted slightly in curiosity. She passed between Jesser and Auburn, her eyes narrowed ever so slightly.
Then, as suddenly as she came, she turned and padded back toward her corner, where dwarven children still huddled behind a pillar, wide-eyed.
In Nekonata’s mind, her soft, crystalline voice hummed with certainty.
‘The young one is pregnant. She is carrying four.’
Nekonata blinked, his thoughts briefly scattering.
‘Are you sure?’ he asked silently.
‘Yes. Her aura pulses with life. Small, faint, but there. Four heartbeats.’
He exhaled, trying to keep his expression neutral as he looked toward the direwolves again.
Auburn’s tail swayed ever so slightly.
Jesser, youthful but composed, looked between the dwarves and elves, unaware that her secret had already been sensed.
Nekonata leaned slightly toward King Althor, voice low again.
“We may have even more guests arriving in the near future…”
Althor glanced sideways.
“You mean the pups?”
Nekonata nodded, eyes still on the direwolves.
Vivi raised a brow but said nothing. He simply sipped his mead and watched with her usual calculating calm.
Convel’s eyes narrowed with curiosity as he turned his massive head toward Nekonata.
"What did the mighty dragon sense?" he asked, voice gruff but not unkind—more intrigued than demanding.
The room fell quiet again.
Nekonata stood slowly, his chair sliding back with a soft scrape. His tone was composed, respectful.
"That would make for a private conversation at another time, Chief Convel," he replied, bowing his head slightly.
"It's wonderful to see you again, Chief Convel, Auburn... and Jesser."
He inclined his head toward each of them in turn.
Jesser gave a brief, almost shy nod, but her eyes flicked to Amira with a mixture of awe and wonder. Auburn stood tall, calm and regal, as if she’d expected nothing less from the dragon than to see through her.
Convel stepped forward, his fur rippling with his movements as he addressed King Althor directly.
"We heard it is your 300th birthday, Dwarf King. We came to give our good wishes, and to honour your long, continuing, prosperous life."
A few gasps could be heard among the elves and younger dwarves. Even Nekonata’s eyebrows shot up slightly.
"Three hundred...?"
He glanced at King Althor, whose eyes sparkled with mischief.
With a slight curl of his lip, Althor turned to Nekonata and gave him a slow, knowing wink.
“Aye, lad. Been around a while, haven’t I?”
Then he lifted his tankard toward Convel.
“Thank you, Chief Convel, my friend. Your presence is a great honour. Please, welcome to my feast. Make yourselves at home.”
The dwarves, now recovered from the initial shock of the direwolves’ presence, began to cautiously return to their seats, though they gave the three direwolves a wide berth. Plates were hastily rearranged to make space, and cups of mead and platters of roast meat were placed in front of where the wolves might rest.
Amira, from her quiet corner, rumbled approvingly in Nekonata’s mind.
‘Convel has honour. He walks the world like a true leader.’
Nekonata nodded subtly in response, then gave a quick glance around the table.
Vivi looked amused, sipping his drink without comment.
Elvina, always composed, was watching Auburn with sharp interest, no doubt already working to analyze the social and political implications of a pregnant direwolf appearing at a royal celebration.
Tarasque had returned, now sitting quietly beside Elvina, her green eyes occasionally flicking toward Nekonata with an unreadable expression.
The music resumed, softer this time, and the energy in the hall shifted from surprise to wonder.
Chapter 22; Dance
As the music pulsed and laughter echoed through the grand hall, Nekonata moved through the gathered crowd with quiet determination. His gaze was fixed on Gabija, who stood near a towering stone pillar, watching the celebrations with a thoughtful stillness. The light from the chandeliers danced across her ceremonial robes, her arms folded, her expression unreadable.
When he reached her, Nekonata offered the traditional Elvish greeting of respect: two fingers drawn in a small arc to his chin, followed by another arc from chin to chest.
“I owe you an apology,” he said with calm sincerity. “For not telling you about Amira sooner. I felt it was necessary to keep her hidden, until now.”
Gabija regarded him for a long moment, then gave a single nod. “You did what you believed was right. Secrets are not always betrayals.”
“May I introduce you properly?” he asked.
Gabija’s posture softened slightly. “I would be honored.”
Across the great hall, nestled beneath the tall stained-glass windows, Amira lay in a comfortable coil, her brilliant orange-purple scales shimmering beneath the torchlight. A ring of dwarven children sat around her, whispering and giggling, their small hands tentatively brushing along her tail or wings.
Nekonata sent a soft mental nudge.
‘Amira, could I trouble you for a moment? I’d like you to meet someone important.’
Amira shifted her head slowly and blinked once, then responded only in his mind:
‘If it is important to you, then yes.’
Nekonata smiled faintly, used to the dragon’s preference for privacy. He cleared his throat gently, and the children scattered with bows and hushed awe.
“This is Gabija, Chief of Clan Panther,” he said aloud.
Gabija stepped forward and made an elegant, flowing gesture with her hand, a gesture Nekonata had never seen before. It was graceful and deliberate.
“This,” she explained quietly, “is a greeting we reserve for those we believe are more worthy than ourselves.”
Amira’s eyes narrowed slightly as she examined the elf. After a brief moment, her voice filled Nekonata’s mind again, calm, curious, and unwavering.
‘She is not only Chief of Clan Panther. She is also the Queen of the Woods Folk.’
Nekonata blinked hard and nearly choked on his drink.
"She just told me…" He hesitated, then repeated aloud, "She says… you are the Queen of the Woods Folk?"
Gabija raised a brow, then let out a soft laugh and inclined her head toward Amira.
“She is observant, and correct.”
Nekonata instinctively began to bow, but Gabija stepped forward and laid a hand gently on his shoulder, stopping him.
“There’s no need for that,” she said with a smirk. “Only those who needed to know ever knew. You understand, we Elves are private, a little vain, and quite good at keeping our crowns tucked away.”
She gave him a playful wink.
‘She respects you,’ Amira’s voice whispered through Nekonata’s mind again. ‘And now, I respect her too.’
Nekonata exhaled slowly, glancing between the two most enigmatic beings he knew, his dragon and a hidden queen.
The music played on, and the celebration danced in golden lights and laughter.
The music of the celebration faded into a soft hum behind them as Nekonata and Gabija remained in quiet conversation near one of the massive stone columns of the hall. The warm glow of the chandeliers bathed them in golden light, and Amira’s coiled form shimmered quietly in the corner, still resting but attentive.
Nekonata spoke in a low voice, recounting everything.
“How she called out to me, in his mind softly at first like a faint whisper, and then more stronger… the closer I got to her.I followed her voice to the cavern under the abandoned mining tunnels, waiting.” His expression grew distant for a moment. “She chose to hatch for me. The moment she hatched our auras… they twisted together. Hers suffused mine. Mine... coloured hers. That’s why her scales are orange and violet. That’s why my aura changed too.”
Gabija listened, her sharp eyes never leaving his face. Her brow furrowed as she folded her arms, lips drawn in thoughtful concern.
“Show me,” she said suddenly. “Summon fire.”
Nekonata blinked. “Here?”
“Here,” she said firmly, but quietly.
He hesitated only a moment before raising his hand slightly. He muttered under his breath, “Fajro.”
A flicker of purple flame sparked to life in his palm, brief, unstable, and then it faded.
He frowned and repeated, louder this time, voice laced with intent.
“Fajro.”
This time the fire burst into a steady ball of energy. It glowed with rich violet hues, but at its centre, a bright orange core pulsed like a heartbeat.
Gabija gasped.
“Dual auras…” she whispered.
She stepped closer, her fingers reaching toward the fire, but stopping just short. She studied it, eyes wide with awe and something bordering on fear.
She stepped back slowly. “I’ve lived a long time, Nekonata. I’ve seen many auras of many colours. I’ve seen bonded dragons. But this?” She shook her head. “This is ancient. Older than any bonded magic I’ve encountered. There is only one who might know what this means.”
Nekonata tilted his head. “Tivor,” he said softly.
Gabija’s eyes narrowed with recognition. “Yes… how do you know his name?”
“Vivi. He told me you might know of his whereabouts. After the king’s party, I plan to find him.”
Gabija’s gaze lingered on the flickering flame still hovering in his palm. Then she looked to Amira, who had quietly raised her head, her luminous eyes watching them both. Though no words were spoken aloud, Nekonata heard her clearly in his mind:
‘You are not meant to walk an ordinary path. Neither am I. But Tivor… if he holds answers, we must find him.’
Gabija nodded, seemingly sensing the unspoken exchange.
“I will tell you what I know,” she said. “But be warned, Tivor isn’t like he used to be, since the… accident, has been different, quite solitary. But if I know him well, and I’d like to think I do, he’s closer than you think” Gabija said slowly looking around the great hall
Nekonata let the fire dissolve slowly into the air, and placed his hand gently against his chest, where he felt the dual rhythm of his aura and Amira’s mingling like a heartbeat.
The warm glow of the chandeliers overhead flickered gently as the slow melody of the dwarven musicians filled the great hall. The laughter and chatter of the guests softened, replaced by the graceful hush of music and movement.
Nekonata sat still for a moment, lost in thought, the memory of the flickering dual-flame still fading from his palm, when Tarasque approached him.
Her steps were hesitant, her cheeks flushed a soft rose as she paused just in front of him.
“Hey, umm… Neko…” she said, her voice barely above the hum of the room. “Will you… will you dance with me?”
Nekonata blinked, startled, eyes flicking up to meet hers, only to find himself very aware that her emerald green dress, with its scandalous neckline, had placed her very generously in his direct line of sight. His breath hitched, chest rising sharply as he tried, and failed, not to stare.
Gabija, still beside him, gave his arm a firm but playful nudge.
He jolted, eyes wide. “Oh, yeah! I… um… s-sure. Let’s dance.”
He stood quickly, maybe a bit too quickly, and offered Tarasque his arm with a stiff formality. She grinned and took it, giggling softly at his sudden awkwardness.
As they walked toward the open floor, Nekonata looked back at Gabija, desperation etched into his expression. He mouthed: I don’t know how to dance.
Gabija simply smirked and raised an elegant eyebrow. You’ll figure it out, her look seemed to say.
The musicians shifted into a new tune, slow, melodic, gentle, and other couples began to sway, moving together with practiced grace.
Nekonata swallowed hard, glancing nervously around for clues. Then, slowly, he took Tarasque’s right hand in his left, and placed his other hand cautiously on her hip.
Tarasque smiled softly, her eyes warm and bright as she placed her free hand lightly on his shoulder.
Then, together, they began to sway, slow, unsure at first, but gradually finding a rhythm.
She stepped closer, and he followed her lead as best he could. His heart thudded awkwardly in his chest, and her perfume, jasmine and firewood, wrapped around him like smoke.
“You’re doing fine,” she whispered, her voice low and teasing.
“Am I?” he muttered under his breath. “Because I feel like a deer trying to waltz.”
She laughed again, and the sound made something flutter inside him. They moved a little more fluidly now, her hips guiding them gently in rhythm with the music.
Somewhere nearby, Elvina leaned against a pillar, watching with an amused smirk. Santaya and Kristolia sat patiently at the edge of the dance floor, tails sweeping idly across the stone.
And from the corner, Amira’s voice echoed in Nekonata’s mind, warm and teasing:
‘You move like you’ve never used your legs before.’
‘Not helping.’
‘You should smile. You look like you’re being hunted.’
‘Because I am. And she’s wearing green.’
Amira’s laughter echoed gently in his mind as Tarasque’s hand gave a small, reassuring squeeze.
The melody deepened, soft strings weaving through the warm air of the great hall as Nekonata and Tarasque continued to dance. The buzz of conversation faded into a gentle blur around them. In that moment, it felt like the rest of the world had stepped back, giving them space to breathe, to feel.
Tarasque smiled gently and stepped in closer. Her arms wound around him, and she rested her head on his shoulder. The motion was smooth, casual, and yet deeply intentional.
Nekonata froze for a second, startled by the sudden warmth of her pressed so firmly against him. Her soft curves moulded into him, and the weight of her resting comfortably on his chest sent his heart thudding. He stiffened slightly, eyes darting around the room, but forced himself to stay composed.
“Stay calm,” he told himself. ‘It’s just a dance.”
But then, Amira’s voice echoed smoothly in his mind, curious and teasing.
‘Why do I feel a… tingling, hard-like sensation coming from your lower body?’
He went bright red.
‘Amira! Don’t go there,’ he groaned silently, face burning. ‘Not now—please.’
“But I feel what you feel, Neko,” she replied, feigning innocence. “It’s distracting. And weird.”
He swallowed hard, trying to force his body, and his mind, into stillness. But Tarasque shifted slightly, her lips now near his ear.
Her breath was warm as she whispered, just barely audible over the music:
“I was being serious about taking you to my room earlier, by the way…”
A jolt of heat raced down his spine, and he blinked rapidly, very much aware that his situation was becoming visibly awkward.
And then, perfectly timed like the flick of a dagger—
Elvina strolled into view, her expression unreadable, her presence cool and composed.
She stopped beside them with a pleasant smile.
“Tarasque,” she said sweetly, “come to the ladies’ room with me, please.”
There was something in her tone, gentle but firm. A velvet glove over iron.
Tarasque blinked, but nodded. “Of course.”
Before stepping away, she gave Nekonata a slow look, a smirk playing on her lips. “Save me the next dance, will you?”
He nodded dumbly, still trying to collect his thoughts.
As the two women walked off, Amira’s voice filtered back into his mind:
'That was… intense.'
'Tell me about it.'
'You’re in so much trouble.'
He didn’t respond.
Nekonata made his way back to the great table, trying to slow his breathing and cool the heat still lingering on his cheeks. He slid into the seat on King Althor’s right, shoulders stiff, mind racing.
Althor leaned slightly toward him, his deep voice low, meant only for Nekonata's ears.
“That was some dance you had with Tarasque,” he said, a note of amusement under his beard.
Nekonata rubbed the back of his neck, his voice just as quiet.
“Yes… and I have no idea how to handle it. At all.”
Althor gave a soft chuckle, the sound rich and knowing.
“You like her, that much is clear.” He raised an eyebrow, pausing to sip his mead. “And it’s obvious she likes you. So why not see where it takes you?”
Before Nekonata could answer, Vivi leaned forward from across the table, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly.
“Falling in love is inevitable,” He said, voice smooth, yet edged with warning.
“But there’s a time and place for it, and this isn't it.”
Nekonata glanced between the two, Althor’s warmth, Vivi’s caution, and found himself stuck in the middle, as usual.
Before he could speak, a sudden whoosh of wings interrupted the moment.
Loki, the great raven, dropped from the shadowed beams above and landed with precision on the table, claws clicking against the polished wood. He stared at Nekonata with one beady eye.
“Waste of time, love is,” the bird squawked, with theatrical disdain. He grabbed a piece of roasted meat off a plate, flapped his wings, and soared back up to the beams.
A few heads turned at the interruption, but most just laughed quietly and resumed their chatter.
Nekonata shook his head, muttering under his breath.
“Even the birds here have opinions...”
King Althor laughed, thumping the table with one broad hand.
“Aye, and sometimes the birds are wiser than they seem.”
Vivi smirked, swirling his goblet of mead.
“And sometimes they’re just birds with too much attitude.”
Nekonata leaned back in his chair, gazing across the room. His eyes briefly found Tarasque, now rejoining the crowd, her eyes catching his for just a moment before she looked away with a smile.
Amira’s voice echoed softly in his mind, calm now, a mirror of his own feelings.
‘She makes your heart quicken. But also your mind scatter.’
‘Yeah…’ Nekonata replied silently, ‘She’s a storm. But I don't mind standing in the rain.’
The great oak doors of the Great Hall suddenly swung open with a low, echoing groan.
All conversation ceased.
Three direwolves padded forward, their eyes gleaming under the golden light of the hall’s chandeliers. Their sheer size made the dwarves scatter, drinks and plates clattering to the stone floor in alarm. The trio moved with slow, deliberate grace, their presence commanding.
Convel, his silvery-white fur streaked with pale gray, led the pack, flanked by a slender auburn-coated female and a younger wolf with bright, amber eyes.
Nekonata leaned forward, voice hushed but urgent.
“That’s Convel… and the other one—”
His eyes narrowed. “That’s Auburn. I met her a while ago, she was pregnant, and struggling, I helped her.”
Vivi nodded slowly, eyes fixed on the wolves.
“And the young one?”
Nekonata glanced again. “Jesser, we met her and Convel at the battle outside Edena” he whispered.
Althor nodded as he remembered their vicious aid that helped turn the tide of the battle.
As if on cue, Santaya and Kristolia stepped forward from behind Nekonata’s chair. They stood at attention and gave a subtle but respectful bow of their heads.
King Althor stood, lifting his tankard in a sign of welcome.
“Well met, Convel, Chief of the Direwolves,” he said, voice loud and clear, silencing the remaining murmurs in the room.
Convel came to a halt before the great table and bowed his massive head.
“Well met, Dwarf King Althor.”
His voice was deep and rumbling, more felt in the chest than heard.
“May I present to you my mate, Auburn, and our daughter, Jesser.”
The hall, still and silent, absorbed the words with reverence. A few elves and dwarves exchanged glances. It was rare, unheard of, even, for direwolves to bring their kin into the halls of dwarves.
Before any response could be made, a ripple of color shimmered across the stone floor.
Amira, resplendent and glowing in her orange-purple hues, stepped forward from her corner. Her scales cast dancing light across the walls and floors. The room held its breath.
Convel instinctively stepped back, his ears flicking forward in alarm, protective of his mate and daughter. His muscles tensed, but he did not bare teeth, only watched.
Amira didn’t speak aloud. She circled the trio slowly, her tail gliding across the floor with a whispering sound, her head tilted slightly in curiosity. She passed between Jesser and Auburn, her eyes narrowed ever so slightly.
Then, as suddenly as she came, she turned and padded back toward her corner, where dwarven children still huddled behind a pillar, wide-eyed.
In Nekonata’s mind, her soft, crystalline voice hummed with certainty.
‘The young one is pregnant. She is carrying four.’
Nekonata blinked, his thoughts briefly scattering.
‘Are you sure?’ he asked silently.
‘Yes. Her aura pulses with life. Small, faint, but there. Four heartbeats.’
He exhaled, trying to keep his expression neutral as he looked toward the direwolves again.
Auburn’s tail swayed ever so slightly.
Jesser, youthful but composed, looked between the dwarves and elves, unaware that her secret had already been sensed.
Nekonata leaned slightly toward King Althor, voice low again.
“We may have even more guests arriving in the near future…”
Althor glanced sideways.
“You mean the pups?”
Nekonata nodded, eyes still on the direwolves.
Vivi raised a brow but said nothing. He simply sipped his mead and watched with her usual calculating calm.
Convel’s eyes narrowed with curiosity as he turned his massive head toward Nekonata.
"What did the mighty dragon sense?" he asked, voice gruff but not unkind—more intrigued than demanding.
The room fell quiet again.
Nekonata stood slowly, his chair sliding back with a soft scrape. His tone was composed, respectful.
"That would make for a private conversation at another time, Chief Convel," he replied, bowing his head slightly.
"It's wonderful to see you again, Chief Convel, Auburn... and Jesser."
He inclined his head toward each of them in turn.
Jesser gave a brief, almost shy nod, but her eyes flicked to Amira with a mixture of awe and wonder. Auburn stood tall, calm and regal, as if she’d expected nothing less from the dragon than to see through her.
Convel stepped forward, his fur rippling with his movements as he addressed King Althor directly.
"We heard it is your 300th birthday, Dwarf King. We came to give our good wishes, and to honour your long, continuing, prosperous life."
A few gasps could be heard among the elves and younger dwarves. Even Nekonata’s eyebrows shot up slightly.
"Three hundred...?"
He glanced at King Althor, whose eyes sparkled with mischief.
With a slight curl of his lip, Althor turned to Nekonata and gave him a slow, knowing wink.
“Aye, lad. Been around a while, haven’t I?”
Then he lifted his tankard toward Convel.
“Thank you, Chief Convel, my friend. Your presence is a great honour. Please, welcome to my feast. Make yourselves at home.”
The dwarves, now recovered from the initial shock of the direwolves’ presence, began to cautiously return to their seats, though they gave the three direwolves a wide berth. Plates were hastily rearranged to make space, and cups of mead and platters of roast meat were placed in front of where the wolves might rest.
Amira, from her quiet corner, rumbled approvingly in Nekonata’s mind.
‘Convel has honour. He walks the world like a true leader.’
Nekonata nodded subtly in response, then gave a quick glance around the table.
Vivi looked amused, sipping his drink without comment.
Elvina, always composed, was watching Auburn with sharp interest, no doubt already working to analyze the social and political implications of a pregnant direwolf appearing at a royal celebration.
Tarasque had returned, now sitting quietly beside Elvina, her green eyes occasionally flicking toward Nekonata with an unreadable expression.
The music resumed, softer this time, and the energy in the hall shifted from surprise to wonder.