The Journey, Book 3: Chapter 12 - Previous Chapter
Chapter 13, Consequences.
Tabby yawns with theatrical exaggeration, stretching long enough to make a point before flicking her tail toward the road ahead. Take the middle fork, her gesture seems to say, then follow it left. Her voice, when it comes, is lazy and sparse. “Small milling village there.”
Nekira shifts his weight in Myrtle’s saddle, leather creaking softly beneath him. “And what will we do there?” he asks, already knowing the answer won’t be complete. “I need to get to Caa Alora.”
Santaya and Kristolia lift their heads at the sound of his voice, padding along on either side of the horse, ears twitching as they watch the road and the hedgerows beyond it. Tabby does not answer. She rarely does when words aren’t strictly necessary.
The village reveals itself gradually, as if reluctant to be found. The first thing Nekira notices is the sound—a deep, steady groan of stone on stone. A large flour mill dominates the edge of the settlement, its great wheel turning slowly as grain is ground into fine powder, dust drifting in the air like pale mist. The scent of it settles on the tongue, dry and earthy.
Low buildings cluster around a narrow central road. At its heart stands a modest inn, weathered but sturdy, with stables set neatly across the way. A swinging sign creaks gently in the breeze.
“Rogden Inn,” Nekira reads aloud.
Tabby springs lightly from Myrtle’s head, landing without a sound. In a fluid, unsettling motion, she shifts—bones realigning, form tightening—until she stands in her human-like cat shape, upright and alert, whiskered face scanning the village. “Go settle,” she says simply. “Get a room. Food and drink. I will find you later.”
Before Nekira can protest—or ask the questions already crowding his mind—Tabby slips into the milling villagers and vanishes as if she had never been there.
Nekira exhales slowly, the weight of the road settling back onto his shoulders. He dismounts, pats Myrtle’s neck in quiet reassurance, and leads her toward the stables. Santaya and Kristolia follow close, eyes sharp, bodies loose but ready.
As was usual in villages like this, animals were not welcome inside the inn. Santaya and Kristolia knew it already, yet they still looked at Nekira with quiet hope, ears tipped forward, tails low but expectant.
He kneels without hesitation, arms wrapping around them both, pressing his forehead briefly to theirs. His voice drops to a whisper meant only for them. “Look after Myrtle. Watch our things. If anyone comes rooting where they shouldn’t… snarl. Growl loud.”
The wolves sit immediately, one on either side of the horse, still and watchful as carved stone. Nekira smiles at them, then straightens and presses a gold piece into the stable hand’s palm. No words are needed.
Leaning slightly on his carved staff, Nekira crosses the road and pushes open the door to the inn.
It creaks loudly.
Every conversation inside stops. Cups hover halfway to mouths. A few eyes flick toward the staff first, then to Nekira himself. He feels the brief, measuring weight of their stares—and then, just as quickly, interest fades. Drinks are lifted. Laughter resumes. Whatever danger they expected, he clearly is not it.
Nekira walks toward the bar at an unhurried pace, his staff tapping softly against the wooden floor with each step. The sound is steady, deliberate.
“A room for the night,” he says quietly. “And food and drink.”
The barkeep grunts, reaches beneath the counter, and sets a key down with a dull clack. “Room three,” he mutters, already turning away. “Sit. I’ll bring food and drink.”
Nekira takes the key, fingers closing around the worn metal. “How much for the room?”
The barkeep grunts again, but does not answer.
A woman behind him wipes her hands on her apron and looks up from where she’s been polishing a mug. “Already paid for,” she says plainly.
Nekira turns slightly. The woman meets his glance with a neutral expression, as though this sort of thing happens often enough not to warrant curiosity. “Room’s settled,” she adds. “Food and drink too.”
Nekira nods once, accepting it without comment, and moves toward an empty table near the wall. He sets his staff beside him and lowers himself into the chair with a quiet exhale. The inn’s noise flows back around him—low voices, clinking cups, the steady comfort of routine.
A blonde woman descends the stairs with easy confidence, her steps light despite the crowd below. The barkeep spots her immediately and slides a filled mug across the bar without a word. She catches it one-handed, smooth and precise, not spilling a drop.
A chorus of loud wolf whistles rises from a few of the tables. She doesn’t look offended. If anything, she seems amused. She lifts the mug in a brief, ironic salute before taking a sip.
Nekira remains where he is, quiet and observant, eyes tracking the room rather than fixing on any one thing for too long. The barkeep’s wife approaches his table and sets down a fresh mug of ale and a bowl of steaming rabbit stew. The scent is rich and comforting. Nekira inclines his head. “Thank you,” he says politely.
The woman nods and moves on.
The blonde weaves her way through the inn, brushing past tables with deliberate grace. She ruffles the hair of one patron in passing, just enough to make him laugh and sputter into his drink, then gives a playful wave to another across the room—small, teasing gestures that keep eyes following her wherever she goes.
Nekira eats slowly, listening more than watching now. Laughter rises and falls. The inn settles into its evening rhythm, warm and crowded.
With barely a sound, the blonde woman is suddenly standing at the edge of Nekira’s table.
“Well hello there, stranger,” she says, her voice soft and light, practiced but not unkind. “Might I know your name?”
Nekira looks up slowly.
Her dress dips low at the neckline, leaving little to the imagination, and she clearly notices the moment his eyes stray before finding hers again. She chuckles quietly, not offended—amused.
“Joseph,” he says after a beat, his voice steady but reserved. “Name’s Joseph. And you are?”
She bites her lower lip, a deliberate, teasing gesture. “Marisa.”
Before he has time to register what’s happening, she steps around the table and drops neatly into his lap, as though claiming a seat already promised to her. The sudden closeness knocks the breath from him.
“W–what are you doing?” Nekira stammers softly, shock written plainly across his face.
Marisa laughs under her breath and traces a finger along his stubbled jawline, slow and intimate. “Well, Joseph,” she says, leaning in just enough to invade his space without fully crossing it, “I’m here to keep you company.”
“C-company?” Nekira stutters, the word catching awkwardly in his throat.
Marisa smiles, unabashed. “Yes. You know. A little fun,” she says bluntly, her voice dropping into something huskier. “A dance under the sheets. Bodies tangled together until the night forgets itself.”
Nekira exhales slowly and glances down at his half-empty bowl of rabbit stew, suddenly far more interested in it than the woman on his lap. Under the cover of the table, he shifts the purple gemstone ring from his middle finger to the index finger of his left hand.
“My apologies,” he says gently, lifting his gaze back to her. “You are very beautiful. But I’m afraid I’m very loyal to my wife.”
He raises his hand just enough for the ring to catch the light.
Marisa’s eyes widen, genuine surprise breaking through her practiced composure. “That’s a beautiful ring,” she says. “And an unusual choice for a male’s wedding band.”
Nekira chuckles softly, easing the tension. “We have eccentric tastes,” he replies. “Me and my wife.”
Marisa rises slowly from his lap, smoothing her dress back into place with deliberate care. “Well,” she says lightly, a playful edge returning to her tone, “kind sir—if you change your mind…”
She leans in just enough for the words to linger. “Room five.”
Then she turns and walks away, hips swaying with intentional seduction, disappearing back into the warm noise of the inn while Nekira watches for a moment longer before returning his attention to his cooling stew—and the quiet certainty of the bond he chose not to break.
A soft, rumbling voice curls into his thoughts, warm with unmistakable amusement. The familiarity of Amira settles him instantly.
'Bloody hell,' Nekira thinks back, half laughing at himself. 'I didn’t think she’d actually believe me.'
'Nor did I,' Amira replies, her mental voice threaded with curiosity. 'But why wife?'
Nekira chuckles quietly to himself and takes another spoonful of stew. 'First thing that came to mind.'
There’s a pause. Not silence exactly—more a muddling of thoughts, like words circling without quite landing. Nekira feels it immediately.
'Amira… what is it?' he asks, a note of concern slipping in. 'Is everyone okay?'
The dragon takes a mental breath, her presence shifting, then answers bluntly, with no small amount of disbelief. 'The woman wanted to have sex with you. You could have lost your virginity.'
Nekira nearly chokes on his drink, coughing softly as he hurriedly sets the mug down. His face warms despite himself.
'I—' He clears his throat mentally. 'That’s… not exactly how I was thinking about it.'
Amira hesitates again, then presses on, cautious but sincere. 'Well… losing someone’s virginity is a big thing for humans, isn’t it?'
Nekira exhales, rubbing a hand briefly over his face before answering. 'It can be. Or it can just be… a moment. Either way, it’s not something I want happening in a noisy inn with a stranger who smells like ale.'
A faint huff of laughter ripples through their bond. 'Humans are strange,' Amira says, fondly. 'But… I’m glad you’re safe.'
Nekira smiles softly and lifts his spoon again. 'So am I.'
Once he finishes eating, the weight of the road finally settles into Nekira’s bones. He rises, staff in hand, and makes his way up the stairs, the old wood creaking quietly beneath his boots. At the landing, he follows the short corridor, eyes flicking over the doors until he finds it.
Room three.
He slips the key into the lock, steps inside, and closes the door gently behind him.
Nekira doesn’t bother to undress. He doesn’t even take off his boots. He lowers himself onto the bed fully clothed, staff laid carefully within reach, and lets exhaustion pull him under. Sleep takes him quickly, deep and unguarded.
The noise drags him back.
Shouting. Boots pounding. The crash of something heavy being struck downstairs.
Nekira jolts awake, heart racing, hand already tightening around his staff—
—and then the door bursts open.
Marisa slips inside and slams it shut behind her, breathless but focused. “Don’t say anything,” she hisses under her breath. “Just trust me. I’m a friend of Tabby’s.”
Before he can respond, she acts.
In a blur of movement, she sheds her clothes and tosses them across the floor, then climbs onto the bed, straddling him without hesitation. She presses close and begins moaning loudly, theatrically, selling the moment with impressive conviction.
Nekira is too stunned to move.
A heartbeat later, the door is kicked open.
King’s guards fill the doorway, armour clanking, expressions already amused rather than alarmed. Marisa shrieks in exaggerated shock, grabs a discarded shoe, and hurls it with startling accuracy.
“Fuck off!” she snaps. “I’m busy with a client, dickhead!”
The guards burst out laughing. One of them shakes his head, already turning away. “Wrong room,” he says, and they move on, boots thudding as they kick open the next door down the corridor.
Marisa waits until the noise fades. Then she exhales, slides off Nekira, and straightens like nothing happened.
“See?” she mutters calmly, starting to dress. “Trust me.”
Marisa drops onto the edge of the bed beside him, utterly unbothered by the fact that she’s still naked. She glances sideways at him, one brow lifting with knowing amusement.
“And I know you’re not married, Nekira,” she says lightly. “Still—politest rejection I’ve ever had.” Her eyes flick downward for half a second and she smirks. “Even if your body’s telling a slightly different story.”
Nekira follows her gaze and immediately groans. “Shit…” He exhales, rubbing a hand over his face. Then, unable to help himself, he adds with a soft chuckle, “Well, it’s not often a beautiful, sexy woman saves your ass by stripping naked and climbing on top of you, is it?”
Marisa laughs quietly—then freezes.
Footsteps. Heavy ones. Guards moving back down the corridor.
Without hesitation, she swings a leg over him again and leans close, her mouth brushing his ear. “Just in case,” she whispers.
Then she raises her voice, pitching it high and dramatic. “Oh yes—yes—yes! Give it to me!”
Nekira clamps his teeth down hard on his lip, shoulders shaking as he stares at the ceiling, fighting laughter with every ounce of self-control he has.
The guards stop outside the door.
There’s a brief, uncomfortable pause. Muffled snorts. A muttered comment. Then laughter—crude, satisfied—and boots moving on, accompanied by a few lewd remarks tossed back and forth as they head down the hall.
Marisa waits until the sounds fade completely before collapsing forward, pressing herself against his chest. A mischievous grin spreads across her face. “You’re welcome,” she murmurs, letting her eyes wander just a little. “Though I have to say… you’re better endowed than I expected. If we really tangled bodies, I can only imagine how good that would feel.”
Nekira exhales slowly, a mix of relief and exasperation tightening his shoulders. “I am never,” he says quietly, “sleeping in a public inn again.”
Marisa’s grin only widens, playful and knowing. “Well,” she teases, “sometimes the best stories come from poor decisions.”
Marisa presses closer, her grin widening as her hands trail lightly over Nekira’s chest and shoulders. He swallows, caught between astonishment and something dangerously like desire. Her lips hover just above his, teasing, barely brushing his skin.
His own hands wander, tentative, fingers brushing her waist, the pull of gravity and mischief heavy between them. They lean closer, breaths mingling, hearts thudding in quiet sync. The room seems to shrink around them, warm and electric, every second stretching taut.
Then—
The door bursts open.
“Marisa! You horny bitch, off you get!”
Tabby stands in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes flashing with irritation and authority, completely unbothered by the scene she’s just walked into. Her voice carries a sharp edge that cuts through the tension like a blade.
Marisa freezes mid-motion, lips parted, one eyebrow rising. Nekira sits back, caught halfway between shock and relief.
“...I—I was just—” Marisa starts, cheeks flushing, but Tabby doesn’t wait for an explanation.
“Out. Now.”
Marisa huffs, muttering under her breath as she reluctantly slides off the bed, smoothing her hair and picks her dress up off the floor, then moves toward the door with exaggerated grace, lips curved into a playful, defeated smirk.
Nekira exhales shakily, running a hand over his face. “Well,” he mutters, voice low, “that was… close.”
Tabby steps into the room fully, shutting the door behind her, giving him a pointed look. “Next time, keep your hands to yourself,” she says, voice low but firm. “And don’t think I didn’t see that coming.”
Tabby stretches languidly, claws flexing, then glances at Nekira with a sly smirk.
“Marisa isn’t wrong,” she teases lightly. “You are well endowed.”
Nekira’s face flushes crimson. He fumbles, hastily wrapping his cloak tighter around himself, trying to reclaim some measure of dignity.
Tabby shakes her head with a soft sigh. “Tell Amira to come to us. From here, we fly—it’ll be quicker.”
Nekira closes his eyes and reaches out through their bond, sending the message. Almost immediately, Amira’s roar of excitement fills his mind.
“About time, little one! It’s been too long!” the dragon bellows, his voice vibrating like distant thunder.
“What about Myrtle and the wolves?” Nekira asks, concern knitting his brow.
Tabby yawns and curls herself into a tight ball at the foot of the bed, tail wrapping neatly around her body. “Cole’s already at the stables,” she says lazily. “He’ll take them back to Caa Alora.” She goes still, settling into silence.
Nekira sits on the edge of the bed, staff resting across his lap, and stares out the window. The light of the late afternoon drifts across the village rooftops, but his mind is elsewhere. His thoughts circle the near disaster with Marisa, replaying each second of the tension, the teasing, the close brush with… more.
He exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair. That had been far too close. And yet… part of him couldn’t deny the lingering heat of it, the pull of temptation narrowly avoided.
Amira, the orange-and-purple dragon, crouches low across the lake, hidden among a dense copse of trees. Her scales catch the early morning light, glinting like molten jewels, yet the foliage shields her from view. The water ripples faintly in the breeze, mirroring the dragon’s tense patience.
Nekira descends to the stables, leaving his sword, Tondro, tucked safely in his bedroll. Only his bow, arrows, and carved staff accompany him. Kneeling, he wraps his arms around the two wolves, their fur warm and reassuring. “Be good,” he whispers. “I’ll see you soon.” Their ears twitch, and their eyes meet his with quiet understanding.
He nods to Cole, giving the stable hand a brief, grateful smile, then sets off toward the far side of the village, keeping to the narrow paths between houses. The copse of trees across the lake grows closer with every step, each leaf and shadow guiding him toward Amira.
Above him, Tabby moves with feline grace, her footsteps silent as she walks along the rooftops.
“From here, we fly into the desert,” she calls down, voice light and teasing.
Nekira looks up, shading his eyes against the sun. “You know,” he says, a grin tugging at his lips, “it would be much easier to talk if you were next to me…”
Tabby pauses, head tilting, eyes wide with mock horror. “Get my clean, pristine paws muddy? I think not!” With that, she continues across the roof, tail flicking as lightly as a ribbon in the wind.
Nekira laughs out loud, the sound echoing across the empty village streets, and feels the weight of the road ease from his shoulders.
Nekira spots her first—orange and purple scales glinting through the dense copse of trees across the lake. Without hesitation, he breaks into a run, boots crunching against the undergrowth, staff and bow bouncing against his back.
“Amira!” he calls, and the dragon’s golden eyes lock onto him.
Amira shifts slightly, a rumbling purr vibrating through the air, but she stays crouched, hiding among the trees.
Nekira reaches her in a few strides and throws his arms around her massive neck, hugging her tightly. “I’ve missed you!” he says, voice muffled against her scales.
'I’ve missed you too,' Amira rumbles warmly, nuzzling him briefly with her snout. The rumble shakes through him, comforting and familiar, but there’s no time to linger.
“Come on, slowpokes!” Tabby’s sharp voice cuts through the moment. She’s already leapt from the nearest branch, moving along the tree line with feline grace. “We don’t have all day, and unless you’ve been hiding wings under that cloak, she’s not shrinking herself for you!”
Nekira pulls back slightly, brushing a hand along Amira’s scaled neck, still grinning. “Right, right… let’s go,” he mutters, shaking off the lingering awe.
Amira shifts, coiling her massive body, readying herself for flight. Tabby perches neatly on the dragon’s head, tail curling around her like a warning flag, clearly eager to get moving.
Nekira takes a deep breath, checks his gear—bow, arrows, staff—and swings himself up into the saddle on Amira’s back, muscles tense but controlled.
“All set?” Tabby calls down, flicking her ears toward him.
Nekira gives a firm nod. “All set.”
With a powerful beat of wings, Amira lifts from the ground, and the trio rises above the lake, Tabby’s impatient smirk ever-present as the wind rushes past, carrying them toward the desert and whatever waits beyond.
Amira stretches her massive wings, lifting them effortlessly into the sky. Nekira sits firmly in the saddle, legs snug against her sides, hands resting lightly on the leather straps. Every beat of her wings is familiar, every motion precise—he feels entirely at home, no fear, no hesitation, just the steady rhythm of flight.
'Little one, hold tight,' Amira rumbles in his mind, a hint of amusement in her voice. 'We’ve got a long stretch ahead.'
Tabby, perched atop Amira’s head and curled neatly like a tiny sentinel, flicks her tail. “You do realise you could just relax, right?” she calls.
Nekira smirks without looking up. “I know. I’m exactly where I need to be.”
Amira banks smoothly over the lake, tilting them with effortless precision. Nekira shifts with the rhythm of her wings, leaning naturally into every turn and dip. The wind rushes past, thrilling and constant, carrying them toward the golden expanse of the desert beyond.
'You’re almost boring up here,' Amira teases in his mind. 'So calm. No screams, no panic.'
“And you love it,” Nekira replies, brushing a hand along her scales as she glides.
Tabby flicks an ear at him, tail lashing. “Boring? Calm? Sure. You’re just sitting there like a statue while I manage the aerial traffic. Graceful flight, my foot!”
“You’re grumpy,” Nekira says, a grin tugging at his lips.
“I’m not grumpy!” Tabby snaps, clearly enjoying herself. “I’m keeping you alive. Someone has to make sure your human sitting skills don’t get us flattened in the desert wind.”
Below, the lake shrinks to a glimmering ribbon, and the desert rises ahead in endless waves of gold. Amira’s wings cut through the air with smooth precision, each beat carrying them forward effortlessly. Nekira leans slightly, letting the wind whip past, feeling the freedom and power of flight, the solid trust he has in the dragon beneath him.
“Think we’ll make good time?” he asks.
'You’ll get there,' Amira rumbles, amused. 'And if you get cocky…'
“I never get cocky,” Nekira interrupts, grin fixed.
Tabby flicks an ear. “Liar. You’re always cocky. But fine—just don’t embarrass yourself when we land in the desert.”
With another synchronised beat of wings, Amira soars higher, wind roaring past them, carrying human and cat toward the endless dunes. Sunlight glints off scales, sand, and the lake below.
The golden desert stretches endlessly beneath them, the wind warm against Nekira’s face, carrying the faint scent of sand and dry earth. Amira glides effortlessly, wings steady, muscles rippling beneath his hands, every motion controlled and precise. Landing is instinctual for her; Nekira doesn’t need to give a single instruction.
Tabby, curled atop Amira’s head, has grown unusually quiet. Her ears flick constantly, tail twitching, eyes scanning the dunes below. “There,” she says finally, voice low and serious. “See those three? Small oasis. Lonely palms. That’s where we touch down. Nothing else for miles.”
Nekira leans forward slightly, following her gesture. “Tabby… everything okay?” he asks, noticing the change in her tone.
She doesn’t respond. Instead, her eyes fix on the oasis, sharp and calculating. “We land there. Watch the wind—gusts shift near the palms,” she mutters, tail curling tighter around her body.
Amira’s wings beat steadily, tilting, banking, and adjusting without a word from either of them. The desert below grows closer, golden sand rippling like waves. Nekira feels the rhythm of her descent, confident and smooth, a dragon who knows exactly what she’s doing.
Tabby’s gaze remains fixed on the landing zone. “Gentle slope into the sand. Don’t let your wingtip brush the tallest palm. Clear?”
Nekira nods quietly. “Clear.”
The oasis rises beneath them, three slender palms marking the spot with surreal isolation. Amira’s wings beat once more, then she folds them slightly, coasting down with effortless precision. The sand shimmers as her claws touch the ground lightly, stirring tiny clouds without disturbing the stillness of the oasis.
Nekira exhales softly, leaning back in the saddle, impressed but unsurprised. Amira lands as if she owns the desert.
Tabby stretches slightly, tail flicking once, still perched atop the dragon’s head. Her sharp, focused demeanour softens just enough. “Finally,” she mutters. “We’re down. Let’s move.”
Nekira glances at her, still noting the unusual seriousness. “Something’s on your mind, isn’t it?”
Tabby just points toward the oasis. “Check the palms,” she says, voice low. No explanation, but the weight in her tone makes Nekira pay attention.
Nekira slides carefully from Amira’s back, landing lightly on the sand. The desert stretches endlessly in every direction, the fading sun casting long, golden shadows over the dunes. He walks toward the three lonely palm trees, scanning the area with sharp, methodical eyes.
At first, nothing seems out of place—just sand, wind, and the quiet hum of the desert. But then, something catches his attention: a rock partially buried near the tallest palm, its surface weathered and cracked, bearing faded carvings: ‘E→3’.
He kneels, brushing the sand away. “Tabby… look at this,” he says, pointing. “It’s the only thing out of place here.”
Tabby saunters over, tail swishing with a smirk. “East for three miles… by foot,” she says, her tone clipped but amused. She glances at Amira, who rolls her eyes and tucks her wings in, folding herself smaller as Tabby begins leading the way.
The trio sets off, walking over shifting sand hills, the dunes rising and falling like waves frozen in place. The sun sinks lower, painting the horizon in blood-orange and violet as night begins to creep across the desert. Nekira’s keen eyes sweep every direction, alert to movement, shadows, and sound.
“What exactly are we looking for, Tabby?” he asks, scanning the sands.
She doesn’t answer immediately, sniffing the air, tail flicking in concentration. Then, in the distance, Nekira notices a crumbled, broken sandstone structure barely rising from the sand. “Why would there be a building like that in the middle of the desert?” he mutters.
Tabby steps forward, ears pricked. She sniffs the wind, then points with a sharp motion. “Amira, dig right here.”
The orange-and-purple dragon tilts her head, confused. 'Here?' she rumbles, but obediently crouches, claws digging deep into the sand. She drags her massive limbs through the dunes with precision, sending sand flying in arcs as Nekira and Tabby watch.
Minutes pass, sand shifting and tumbling beneath her powerful claws, until a dull scrape echoes. Amira pauses, then rakes again.
“There!” Nekira says, stepping closer. He summons a soft purple-orange were-light from his palm, illuminating the cavity. Beneath the sand lies a large wooden crate, aged and weathered but intact.
He crouches beside it, eyes narrowing. “Tabby… what is this?”
Tabby crouches, sniffing the crate with careful curiosity, her ears twitching. “Something long forgotten..”
Tabby drops lightly into the hole, landing squarely on top of the crate with a soft grunt. “Well… this is cozy,” she mutters, tail flicking as sand shifts beneath her. “We’ll need to dig a bit more if we want to see what’s hiding under here.”
Nekira crouches beside her, hands scraping through the loose sand. “Let’s get to it,” he says. “Amira, stay ready—we’ll need your strength soon.”
Tabby begins clawing carefully around the edges, grumbling under her breath. “Fur full of sand, claws turning into tiny bricks… why do I always get stuck doing the dirty work?!”
Nekira laughs softly, shaking sand from his hands. “Could be worse—you could be carrying this crate yourself.”
“Oh, don’t tempt me,” she hisses, swiping at a stubborn clump of sand. “If I were any bigger, I’d just toss it over my head. Not my fault claws aren’t sand-proof!”
Hours pass in patient, gritty labour. Eventually, four chains emerge, buried along the sides of the crate. Tabby pokes at them with her claws, clearly unimpressed. “Finally! Took forever. Sand everywhere… why is sand so mean?” she mutters. “And it makes my claws feel like sandpaper! I’m supposed to be a stealthy predator, not a desert landscaper.”
Nekira chuckles, carefully linking the chains together to make a makeshift handle. “Perfect,” he says. “Amira, ready?”
The dragon lowers her massive head and grips the chains with a claw, muscles coiling as she hauls. The crate slides free from the sand with a loud scrape, the desert sand tumbling around it. Amira sets it gently on the ground, shaking her claws free.
Nekira leans closer, brushing sand from the crate’s side. His eyes widen. “I… I know this symbol,” he murmurs. The coat of arms stamped into the wood is worn but unmistakable: the crest of an ancient human king called Aragorn.
Tabby peers over his shoulder, tail twitching. “Oh great,” she mutters. “So it’s historical royal treasure buried in the desert. Fantastic. Just what every cat dreams of digging through sand for hours to find.”
Nekira runs a hand across the wood, feeling the ancient carvings under the sand and scratches. “If this survived here for centuries, imagine what’s inside…”
Amira rumbles low in her throat, the vibration running through the crate, as if sensing the weight of the history and mystery contained within. Tabby leans back on her haunches, flicking sand from her fur, smirking despite the frustration. “Alright, let’s open it before I lose another handful of fur to this ridiculous desert.”
The desert wind stirs around them, painting long shadows as night creeps closer. The crate sits before them, a promise of secrets, history, and perhaps danger, waiting for the first touch of Nekira’s hands to reveal what’s inside.
Nekira crouches beside the crate, taking a deep breath. Tabby shifts impatiently on her haunches, tail flicking, claws still sandy and rough. “Well? Are we just staring at it, or are we opening it?”
With a careful tug, he lifts the lid.
The crate groans in protest… then bursts open with a thunderous clatter. Heaps of weapons and armour tumble out like a landslide, scattering sand and sending small rocks rolling across the desert floor.
Nekira leaps back, barely dodging a curved blade that skitters past his feet. Tabby hisses and jumps aside with feline agility, tail lashing. “Bloody hell! Who packs a crate like this?!”
But it’s not just any weapons or armour. Each piece gleams with meticulous craftsmanship, designed for dragons—scaled pauldrons shaped to fit massive shoulders, gauntlets reinforced for claws, and helmets polished to a burnished shine with visors shaped for dragon snouts.
Amira lowers her massive head, eyes widening as she examines the pile. 'This… is for me?' she rumbles, awe and curiosity rolling in her voice. The armour fits her perfectly in miniature replicas of scales, straps, and fittings that somehow match her size, strength, and shape.
Tabby steps forward cautiously, pawing at a small breastplate designed for a dragon’s chest. “Well, I’ll be… they actually made armour for dragons! Whoever made this must have been… insane. Or brilliant. Probably both.” She flicks sand from her fur, eyes sparkling with excitement. “And look at these weapons! They’d make even a knight think twice about tangling with a dragon.”
Nekira kneels, brushing his hand across a long, curved sword, the steel cold and smooth, the edge gleaming in the fading sun. “This isn’t just treasure,” he murmurs. “This… this is a war cache. For dragons. Someone was preparing for something massive.”
Amira stretches her wings slightly, flexing claws in response, the vibration in her chest low and excited. 'It has been… far too long since such care was given to dragons,' she rumbles.
Tabby’s grin spreads, claws digging slightly into the sand. “Well, we hit the jackpot, little one. Too bad we didn’t bring a sand-sifter. This place is a mess.”
“Amira, can you help me with the crate?” Nekira calls, stepping closer. “We need the open side facing up.”
The orange-and-purple dragon lowers her massive head and nudges the crate gently with her claws, rolling it with careful precision. Nekira steadies it as it settles upright.
“We need to get this to Caa Alora,” he says, brushing sand from his hands. “How did you know about this, Tabby?”
The were-cat is busy flicking sand from her claws, tail curling as she grooms herself. “Tabby?” Nekira asks again, frowning.
She shrugs casually. “Merlin told me… oh, and this isn’t the only one. By the way,” she adds, glancing at the gleaming dragon armour, “this green stuff? Would look awful on the beautiful Amira. Doesn’t match her scales.”
Nekira freezes, staring at her. “Woah… go back a second. You said more?”
Tabby nods, ears twitching. “That’s exactly what I said.”
Nekira reaches into his rucksack and pulls out the shiny copper bowl. Holding it up, he mutters, “I don’t think the elves will like this… but they’re the fastest way, and we need them moving.”
Tabby leans forward, tail flicking in amusement. “Well, looks like you’re about to make some very unhappy elves very busy, little one.”
Amira rumbles low in the background, tail swishing, as if impatient to get moving. Nekira sets the bowl beside the crate and studies the cache of dragon armour and weapons. The sun dips lower behind the dunes, casting long shadows over the desert.
Chapter 13, Consequences.
Tabby yawns with theatrical exaggeration, stretching long enough to make a point before flicking her tail toward the road ahead. Take the middle fork, her gesture seems to say, then follow it left. Her voice, when it comes, is lazy and sparse. “Small milling village there.”
Nekira shifts his weight in Myrtle’s saddle, leather creaking softly beneath him. “And what will we do there?” he asks, already knowing the answer won’t be complete. “I need to get to Caa Alora.”
Santaya and Kristolia lift their heads at the sound of his voice, padding along on either side of the horse, ears twitching as they watch the road and the hedgerows beyond it. Tabby does not answer. She rarely does when words aren’t strictly necessary.
The village reveals itself gradually, as if reluctant to be found. The first thing Nekira notices is the sound—a deep, steady groan of stone on stone. A large flour mill dominates the edge of the settlement, its great wheel turning slowly as grain is ground into fine powder, dust drifting in the air like pale mist. The scent of it settles on the tongue, dry and earthy.
Low buildings cluster around a narrow central road. At its heart stands a modest inn, weathered but sturdy, with stables set neatly across the way. A swinging sign creaks gently in the breeze.
“Rogden Inn,” Nekira reads aloud.
Tabby springs lightly from Myrtle’s head, landing without a sound. In a fluid, unsettling motion, she shifts—bones realigning, form tightening—until she stands in her human-like cat shape, upright and alert, whiskered face scanning the village. “Go settle,” she says simply. “Get a room. Food and drink. I will find you later.”
Before Nekira can protest—or ask the questions already crowding his mind—Tabby slips into the milling villagers and vanishes as if she had never been there.
Nekira exhales slowly, the weight of the road settling back onto his shoulders. He dismounts, pats Myrtle’s neck in quiet reassurance, and leads her toward the stables. Santaya and Kristolia follow close, eyes sharp, bodies loose but ready.
As was usual in villages like this, animals were not welcome inside the inn. Santaya and Kristolia knew it already, yet they still looked at Nekira with quiet hope, ears tipped forward, tails low but expectant.
He kneels without hesitation, arms wrapping around them both, pressing his forehead briefly to theirs. His voice drops to a whisper meant only for them. “Look after Myrtle. Watch our things. If anyone comes rooting where they shouldn’t… snarl. Growl loud.”
The wolves sit immediately, one on either side of the horse, still and watchful as carved stone. Nekira smiles at them, then straightens and presses a gold piece into the stable hand’s palm. No words are needed.
Leaning slightly on his carved staff, Nekira crosses the road and pushes open the door to the inn.
It creaks loudly.
Every conversation inside stops. Cups hover halfway to mouths. A few eyes flick toward the staff first, then to Nekira himself. He feels the brief, measuring weight of their stares—and then, just as quickly, interest fades. Drinks are lifted. Laughter resumes. Whatever danger they expected, he clearly is not it.
Nekira walks toward the bar at an unhurried pace, his staff tapping softly against the wooden floor with each step. The sound is steady, deliberate.
“A room for the night,” he says quietly. “And food and drink.”
The barkeep grunts, reaches beneath the counter, and sets a key down with a dull clack. “Room three,” he mutters, already turning away. “Sit. I’ll bring food and drink.”
Nekira takes the key, fingers closing around the worn metal. “How much for the room?”
The barkeep grunts again, but does not answer.
A woman behind him wipes her hands on her apron and looks up from where she’s been polishing a mug. “Already paid for,” she says plainly.
Nekira turns slightly. The woman meets his glance with a neutral expression, as though this sort of thing happens often enough not to warrant curiosity. “Room’s settled,” she adds. “Food and drink too.”
Nekira nods once, accepting it without comment, and moves toward an empty table near the wall. He sets his staff beside him and lowers himself into the chair with a quiet exhale. The inn’s noise flows back around him—low voices, clinking cups, the steady comfort of routine.
A blonde woman descends the stairs with easy confidence, her steps light despite the crowd below. The barkeep spots her immediately and slides a filled mug across the bar without a word. She catches it one-handed, smooth and precise, not spilling a drop.
A chorus of loud wolf whistles rises from a few of the tables. She doesn’t look offended. If anything, she seems amused. She lifts the mug in a brief, ironic salute before taking a sip.
Nekira remains where he is, quiet and observant, eyes tracking the room rather than fixing on any one thing for too long. The barkeep’s wife approaches his table and sets down a fresh mug of ale and a bowl of steaming rabbit stew. The scent is rich and comforting. Nekira inclines his head. “Thank you,” he says politely.
The woman nods and moves on.
The blonde weaves her way through the inn, brushing past tables with deliberate grace. She ruffles the hair of one patron in passing, just enough to make him laugh and sputter into his drink, then gives a playful wave to another across the room—small, teasing gestures that keep eyes following her wherever she goes.
Nekira eats slowly, listening more than watching now. Laughter rises and falls. The inn settles into its evening rhythm, warm and crowded.
With barely a sound, the blonde woman is suddenly standing at the edge of Nekira’s table.
“Well hello there, stranger,” she says, her voice soft and light, practiced but not unkind. “Might I know your name?”
Nekira looks up slowly.
Her dress dips low at the neckline, leaving little to the imagination, and she clearly notices the moment his eyes stray before finding hers again. She chuckles quietly, not offended—amused.
“Joseph,” he says after a beat, his voice steady but reserved. “Name’s Joseph. And you are?”
She bites her lower lip, a deliberate, teasing gesture. “Marisa.”
Before he has time to register what’s happening, she steps around the table and drops neatly into his lap, as though claiming a seat already promised to her. The sudden closeness knocks the breath from him.
“W–what are you doing?” Nekira stammers softly, shock written plainly across his face.
Marisa laughs under her breath and traces a finger along his stubbled jawline, slow and intimate. “Well, Joseph,” she says, leaning in just enough to invade his space without fully crossing it, “I’m here to keep you company.”
“C-company?” Nekira stutters, the word catching awkwardly in his throat.
Marisa smiles, unabashed. “Yes. You know. A little fun,” she says bluntly, her voice dropping into something huskier. “A dance under the sheets. Bodies tangled together until the night forgets itself.”
Nekira exhales slowly and glances down at his half-empty bowl of rabbit stew, suddenly far more interested in it than the woman on his lap. Under the cover of the table, he shifts the purple gemstone ring from his middle finger to the index finger of his left hand.
“My apologies,” he says gently, lifting his gaze back to her. “You are very beautiful. But I’m afraid I’m very loyal to my wife.”
He raises his hand just enough for the ring to catch the light.
Marisa’s eyes widen, genuine surprise breaking through her practiced composure. “That’s a beautiful ring,” she says. “And an unusual choice for a male’s wedding band.”
Nekira chuckles softly, easing the tension. “We have eccentric tastes,” he replies. “Me and my wife.”
Marisa rises slowly from his lap, smoothing her dress back into place with deliberate care. “Well,” she says lightly, a playful edge returning to her tone, “kind sir—if you change your mind…”
She leans in just enough for the words to linger. “Room five.”
Then she turns and walks away, hips swaying with intentional seduction, disappearing back into the warm noise of the inn while Nekira watches for a moment longer before returning his attention to his cooling stew—and the quiet certainty of the bond he chose not to break.
A soft, rumbling voice curls into his thoughts, warm with unmistakable amusement. The familiarity of Amira settles him instantly.
'Bloody hell,' Nekira thinks back, half laughing at himself. 'I didn’t think she’d actually believe me.'
'Nor did I,' Amira replies, her mental voice threaded with curiosity. 'But why wife?'
Nekira chuckles quietly to himself and takes another spoonful of stew. 'First thing that came to mind.'
There’s a pause. Not silence exactly—more a muddling of thoughts, like words circling without quite landing. Nekira feels it immediately.
'Amira… what is it?' he asks, a note of concern slipping in. 'Is everyone okay?'
The dragon takes a mental breath, her presence shifting, then answers bluntly, with no small amount of disbelief. 'The woman wanted to have sex with you. You could have lost your virginity.'
Nekira nearly chokes on his drink, coughing softly as he hurriedly sets the mug down. His face warms despite himself.
'I—' He clears his throat mentally. 'That’s… not exactly how I was thinking about it.'
Amira hesitates again, then presses on, cautious but sincere. 'Well… losing someone’s virginity is a big thing for humans, isn’t it?'
Nekira exhales, rubbing a hand briefly over his face before answering. 'It can be. Or it can just be… a moment. Either way, it’s not something I want happening in a noisy inn with a stranger who smells like ale.'
A faint huff of laughter ripples through their bond. 'Humans are strange,' Amira says, fondly. 'But… I’m glad you’re safe.'
Nekira smiles softly and lifts his spoon again. 'So am I.'
Once he finishes eating, the weight of the road finally settles into Nekira’s bones. He rises, staff in hand, and makes his way up the stairs, the old wood creaking quietly beneath his boots. At the landing, he follows the short corridor, eyes flicking over the doors until he finds it.
Room three.
He slips the key into the lock, steps inside, and closes the door gently behind him.
Nekira doesn’t bother to undress. He doesn’t even take off his boots. He lowers himself onto the bed fully clothed, staff laid carefully within reach, and lets exhaustion pull him under. Sleep takes him quickly, deep and unguarded.
The noise drags him back.
Shouting. Boots pounding. The crash of something heavy being struck downstairs.
Nekira jolts awake, heart racing, hand already tightening around his staff—
—and then the door bursts open.
Marisa slips inside and slams it shut behind her, breathless but focused. “Don’t say anything,” she hisses under her breath. “Just trust me. I’m a friend of Tabby’s.”
Before he can respond, she acts.
In a blur of movement, she sheds her clothes and tosses them across the floor, then climbs onto the bed, straddling him without hesitation. She presses close and begins moaning loudly, theatrically, selling the moment with impressive conviction.
Nekira is too stunned to move.
A heartbeat later, the door is kicked open.
King’s guards fill the doorway, armour clanking, expressions already amused rather than alarmed. Marisa shrieks in exaggerated shock, grabs a discarded shoe, and hurls it with startling accuracy.
“Fuck off!” she snaps. “I’m busy with a client, dickhead!”
The guards burst out laughing. One of them shakes his head, already turning away. “Wrong room,” he says, and they move on, boots thudding as they kick open the next door down the corridor.
Marisa waits until the noise fades. Then she exhales, slides off Nekira, and straightens like nothing happened.
“See?” she mutters calmly, starting to dress. “Trust me.”
Marisa drops onto the edge of the bed beside him, utterly unbothered by the fact that she’s still naked. She glances sideways at him, one brow lifting with knowing amusement.
“And I know you’re not married, Nekira,” she says lightly. “Still—politest rejection I’ve ever had.” Her eyes flick downward for half a second and she smirks. “Even if your body’s telling a slightly different story.”
Nekira follows her gaze and immediately groans. “Shit…” He exhales, rubbing a hand over his face. Then, unable to help himself, he adds with a soft chuckle, “Well, it’s not often a beautiful, sexy woman saves your ass by stripping naked and climbing on top of you, is it?”
Marisa laughs quietly—then freezes.
Footsteps. Heavy ones. Guards moving back down the corridor.
Without hesitation, she swings a leg over him again and leans close, her mouth brushing his ear. “Just in case,” she whispers.
Then she raises her voice, pitching it high and dramatic. “Oh yes—yes—yes! Give it to me!”
Nekira clamps his teeth down hard on his lip, shoulders shaking as he stares at the ceiling, fighting laughter with every ounce of self-control he has.
The guards stop outside the door.
There’s a brief, uncomfortable pause. Muffled snorts. A muttered comment. Then laughter—crude, satisfied—and boots moving on, accompanied by a few lewd remarks tossed back and forth as they head down the hall.
Marisa waits until the sounds fade completely before collapsing forward, pressing herself against his chest. A mischievous grin spreads across her face. “You’re welcome,” she murmurs, letting her eyes wander just a little. “Though I have to say… you’re better endowed than I expected. If we really tangled bodies, I can only imagine how good that would feel.”
Nekira exhales slowly, a mix of relief and exasperation tightening his shoulders. “I am never,” he says quietly, “sleeping in a public inn again.”
Marisa’s grin only widens, playful and knowing. “Well,” she teases, “sometimes the best stories come from poor decisions.”
Marisa presses closer, her grin widening as her hands trail lightly over Nekira’s chest and shoulders. He swallows, caught between astonishment and something dangerously like desire. Her lips hover just above his, teasing, barely brushing his skin.
His own hands wander, tentative, fingers brushing her waist, the pull of gravity and mischief heavy between them. They lean closer, breaths mingling, hearts thudding in quiet sync. The room seems to shrink around them, warm and electric, every second stretching taut.
Then—
The door bursts open.
“Marisa! You horny bitch, off you get!”
Tabby stands in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes flashing with irritation and authority, completely unbothered by the scene she’s just walked into. Her voice carries a sharp edge that cuts through the tension like a blade.
Marisa freezes mid-motion, lips parted, one eyebrow rising. Nekira sits back, caught halfway between shock and relief.
“...I—I was just—” Marisa starts, cheeks flushing, but Tabby doesn’t wait for an explanation.
“Out. Now.”
Marisa huffs, muttering under her breath as she reluctantly slides off the bed, smoothing her hair and picks her dress up off the floor, then moves toward the door with exaggerated grace, lips curved into a playful, defeated smirk.
Nekira exhales shakily, running a hand over his face. “Well,” he mutters, voice low, “that was… close.”
Tabby steps into the room fully, shutting the door behind her, giving him a pointed look. “Next time, keep your hands to yourself,” she says, voice low but firm. “And don’t think I didn’t see that coming.”
Tabby stretches languidly, claws flexing, then glances at Nekira with a sly smirk.
“Marisa isn’t wrong,” she teases lightly. “You are well endowed.”
Nekira’s face flushes crimson. He fumbles, hastily wrapping his cloak tighter around himself, trying to reclaim some measure of dignity.
Tabby shakes her head with a soft sigh. “Tell Amira to come to us. From here, we fly—it’ll be quicker.”
Nekira closes his eyes and reaches out through their bond, sending the message. Almost immediately, Amira’s roar of excitement fills his mind.
“About time, little one! It’s been too long!” the dragon bellows, his voice vibrating like distant thunder.
“What about Myrtle and the wolves?” Nekira asks, concern knitting his brow.
Tabby yawns and curls herself into a tight ball at the foot of the bed, tail wrapping neatly around her body. “Cole’s already at the stables,” she says lazily. “He’ll take them back to Caa Alora.” She goes still, settling into silence.
Nekira sits on the edge of the bed, staff resting across his lap, and stares out the window. The light of the late afternoon drifts across the village rooftops, but his mind is elsewhere. His thoughts circle the near disaster with Marisa, replaying each second of the tension, the teasing, the close brush with… more.
He exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair. That had been far too close. And yet… part of him couldn’t deny the lingering heat of it, the pull of temptation narrowly avoided.
Amira, the orange-and-purple dragon, crouches low across the lake, hidden among a dense copse of trees. Her scales catch the early morning light, glinting like molten jewels, yet the foliage shields her from view. The water ripples faintly in the breeze, mirroring the dragon’s tense patience.
Nekira descends to the stables, leaving his sword, Tondro, tucked safely in his bedroll. Only his bow, arrows, and carved staff accompany him. Kneeling, he wraps his arms around the two wolves, their fur warm and reassuring. “Be good,” he whispers. “I’ll see you soon.” Their ears twitch, and their eyes meet his with quiet understanding.
He nods to Cole, giving the stable hand a brief, grateful smile, then sets off toward the far side of the village, keeping to the narrow paths between houses. The copse of trees across the lake grows closer with every step, each leaf and shadow guiding him toward Amira.
Above him, Tabby moves with feline grace, her footsteps silent as she walks along the rooftops.
“From here, we fly into the desert,” she calls down, voice light and teasing.
Nekira looks up, shading his eyes against the sun. “You know,” he says, a grin tugging at his lips, “it would be much easier to talk if you were next to me…”
Tabby pauses, head tilting, eyes wide with mock horror. “Get my clean, pristine paws muddy? I think not!” With that, she continues across the roof, tail flicking as lightly as a ribbon in the wind.
Nekira laughs out loud, the sound echoing across the empty village streets, and feels the weight of the road ease from his shoulders.
Nekira spots her first—orange and purple scales glinting through the dense copse of trees across the lake. Without hesitation, he breaks into a run, boots crunching against the undergrowth, staff and bow bouncing against his back.
“Amira!” he calls, and the dragon’s golden eyes lock onto him.
Amira shifts slightly, a rumbling purr vibrating through the air, but she stays crouched, hiding among the trees.
Nekira reaches her in a few strides and throws his arms around her massive neck, hugging her tightly. “I’ve missed you!” he says, voice muffled against her scales.
'I’ve missed you too,' Amira rumbles warmly, nuzzling him briefly with her snout. The rumble shakes through him, comforting and familiar, but there’s no time to linger.
“Come on, slowpokes!” Tabby’s sharp voice cuts through the moment. She’s already leapt from the nearest branch, moving along the tree line with feline grace. “We don’t have all day, and unless you’ve been hiding wings under that cloak, she’s not shrinking herself for you!”
Nekira pulls back slightly, brushing a hand along Amira’s scaled neck, still grinning. “Right, right… let’s go,” he mutters, shaking off the lingering awe.
Amira shifts, coiling her massive body, readying herself for flight. Tabby perches neatly on the dragon’s head, tail curling around her like a warning flag, clearly eager to get moving.
Nekira takes a deep breath, checks his gear—bow, arrows, staff—and swings himself up into the saddle on Amira’s back, muscles tense but controlled.
“All set?” Tabby calls down, flicking her ears toward him.
Nekira gives a firm nod. “All set.”
With a powerful beat of wings, Amira lifts from the ground, and the trio rises above the lake, Tabby’s impatient smirk ever-present as the wind rushes past, carrying them toward the desert and whatever waits beyond.
Amira stretches her massive wings, lifting them effortlessly into the sky. Nekira sits firmly in the saddle, legs snug against her sides, hands resting lightly on the leather straps. Every beat of her wings is familiar, every motion precise—he feels entirely at home, no fear, no hesitation, just the steady rhythm of flight.
'Little one, hold tight,' Amira rumbles in his mind, a hint of amusement in her voice. 'We’ve got a long stretch ahead.'
Tabby, perched atop Amira’s head and curled neatly like a tiny sentinel, flicks her tail. “You do realise you could just relax, right?” she calls.
Nekira smirks without looking up. “I know. I’m exactly where I need to be.”
Amira banks smoothly over the lake, tilting them with effortless precision. Nekira shifts with the rhythm of her wings, leaning naturally into every turn and dip. The wind rushes past, thrilling and constant, carrying them toward the golden expanse of the desert beyond.
'You’re almost boring up here,' Amira teases in his mind. 'So calm. No screams, no panic.'
“And you love it,” Nekira replies, brushing a hand along her scales as she glides.
Tabby flicks an ear at him, tail lashing. “Boring? Calm? Sure. You’re just sitting there like a statue while I manage the aerial traffic. Graceful flight, my foot!”
“You’re grumpy,” Nekira says, a grin tugging at his lips.
“I’m not grumpy!” Tabby snaps, clearly enjoying herself. “I’m keeping you alive. Someone has to make sure your human sitting skills don’t get us flattened in the desert wind.”
Below, the lake shrinks to a glimmering ribbon, and the desert rises ahead in endless waves of gold. Amira’s wings cut through the air with smooth precision, each beat carrying them forward effortlessly. Nekira leans slightly, letting the wind whip past, feeling the freedom and power of flight, the solid trust he has in the dragon beneath him.
“Think we’ll make good time?” he asks.
'You’ll get there,' Amira rumbles, amused. 'And if you get cocky…'
“I never get cocky,” Nekira interrupts, grin fixed.
Tabby flicks an ear. “Liar. You’re always cocky. But fine—just don’t embarrass yourself when we land in the desert.”
With another synchronised beat of wings, Amira soars higher, wind roaring past them, carrying human and cat toward the endless dunes. Sunlight glints off scales, sand, and the lake below.
The golden desert stretches endlessly beneath them, the wind warm against Nekira’s face, carrying the faint scent of sand and dry earth. Amira glides effortlessly, wings steady, muscles rippling beneath his hands, every motion controlled and precise. Landing is instinctual for her; Nekira doesn’t need to give a single instruction.
Tabby, curled atop Amira’s head, has grown unusually quiet. Her ears flick constantly, tail twitching, eyes scanning the dunes below. “There,” she says finally, voice low and serious. “See those three? Small oasis. Lonely palms. That’s where we touch down. Nothing else for miles.”
Nekira leans forward slightly, following her gesture. “Tabby… everything okay?” he asks, noticing the change in her tone.
She doesn’t respond. Instead, her eyes fix on the oasis, sharp and calculating. “We land there. Watch the wind—gusts shift near the palms,” she mutters, tail curling tighter around her body.
Amira’s wings beat steadily, tilting, banking, and adjusting without a word from either of them. The desert below grows closer, golden sand rippling like waves. Nekira feels the rhythm of her descent, confident and smooth, a dragon who knows exactly what she’s doing.
Tabby’s gaze remains fixed on the landing zone. “Gentle slope into the sand. Don’t let your wingtip brush the tallest palm. Clear?”
Nekira nods quietly. “Clear.”
The oasis rises beneath them, three slender palms marking the spot with surreal isolation. Amira’s wings beat once more, then she folds them slightly, coasting down with effortless precision. The sand shimmers as her claws touch the ground lightly, stirring tiny clouds without disturbing the stillness of the oasis.
Nekira exhales softly, leaning back in the saddle, impressed but unsurprised. Amira lands as if she owns the desert.
Tabby stretches slightly, tail flicking once, still perched atop the dragon’s head. Her sharp, focused demeanour softens just enough. “Finally,” she mutters. “We’re down. Let’s move.”
Nekira glances at her, still noting the unusual seriousness. “Something’s on your mind, isn’t it?”
Tabby just points toward the oasis. “Check the palms,” she says, voice low. No explanation, but the weight in her tone makes Nekira pay attention.
Nekira slides carefully from Amira’s back, landing lightly on the sand. The desert stretches endlessly in every direction, the fading sun casting long, golden shadows over the dunes. He walks toward the three lonely palm trees, scanning the area with sharp, methodical eyes.
At first, nothing seems out of place—just sand, wind, and the quiet hum of the desert. But then, something catches his attention: a rock partially buried near the tallest palm, its surface weathered and cracked, bearing faded carvings: ‘E→3’.
He kneels, brushing the sand away. “Tabby… look at this,” he says, pointing. “It’s the only thing out of place here.”
Tabby saunters over, tail swishing with a smirk. “East for three miles… by foot,” she says, her tone clipped but amused. She glances at Amira, who rolls her eyes and tucks her wings in, folding herself smaller as Tabby begins leading the way.
The trio sets off, walking over shifting sand hills, the dunes rising and falling like waves frozen in place. The sun sinks lower, painting the horizon in blood-orange and violet as night begins to creep across the desert. Nekira’s keen eyes sweep every direction, alert to movement, shadows, and sound.
“What exactly are we looking for, Tabby?” he asks, scanning the sands.
She doesn’t answer immediately, sniffing the air, tail flicking in concentration. Then, in the distance, Nekira notices a crumbled, broken sandstone structure barely rising from the sand. “Why would there be a building like that in the middle of the desert?” he mutters.
Tabby steps forward, ears pricked. She sniffs the wind, then points with a sharp motion. “Amira, dig right here.”
The orange-and-purple dragon tilts her head, confused. 'Here?' she rumbles, but obediently crouches, claws digging deep into the sand. She drags her massive limbs through the dunes with precision, sending sand flying in arcs as Nekira and Tabby watch.
Minutes pass, sand shifting and tumbling beneath her powerful claws, until a dull scrape echoes. Amira pauses, then rakes again.
“There!” Nekira says, stepping closer. He summons a soft purple-orange were-light from his palm, illuminating the cavity. Beneath the sand lies a large wooden crate, aged and weathered but intact.
He crouches beside it, eyes narrowing. “Tabby… what is this?”
Tabby crouches, sniffing the crate with careful curiosity, her ears twitching. “Something long forgotten..”
Tabby drops lightly into the hole, landing squarely on top of the crate with a soft grunt. “Well… this is cozy,” she mutters, tail flicking as sand shifts beneath her. “We’ll need to dig a bit more if we want to see what’s hiding under here.”
Nekira crouches beside her, hands scraping through the loose sand. “Let’s get to it,” he says. “Amira, stay ready—we’ll need your strength soon.”
Tabby begins clawing carefully around the edges, grumbling under her breath. “Fur full of sand, claws turning into tiny bricks… why do I always get stuck doing the dirty work?!”
Nekira laughs softly, shaking sand from his hands. “Could be worse—you could be carrying this crate yourself.”
“Oh, don’t tempt me,” she hisses, swiping at a stubborn clump of sand. “If I were any bigger, I’d just toss it over my head. Not my fault claws aren’t sand-proof!”
Hours pass in patient, gritty labour. Eventually, four chains emerge, buried along the sides of the crate. Tabby pokes at them with her claws, clearly unimpressed. “Finally! Took forever. Sand everywhere… why is sand so mean?” she mutters. “And it makes my claws feel like sandpaper! I’m supposed to be a stealthy predator, not a desert landscaper.”
Nekira chuckles, carefully linking the chains together to make a makeshift handle. “Perfect,” he says. “Amira, ready?”
The dragon lowers her massive head and grips the chains with a claw, muscles coiling as she hauls. The crate slides free from the sand with a loud scrape, the desert sand tumbling around it. Amira sets it gently on the ground, shaking her claws free.
Nekira leans closer, brushing sand from the crate’s side. His eyes widen. “I… I know this symbol,” he murmurs. The coat of arms stamped into the wood is worn but unmistakable: the crest of an ancient human king called Aragorn.
Tabby peers over his shoulder, tail twitching. “Oh great,” she mutters. “So it’s historical royal treasure buried in the desert. Fantastic. Just what every cat dreams of digging through sand for hours to find.”
Nekira runs a hand across the wood, feeling the ancient carvings under the sand and scratches. “If this survived here for centuries, imagine what’s inside…”
Amira rumbles low in her throat, the vibration running through the crate, as if sensing the weight of the history and mystery contained within. Tabby leans back on her haunches, flicking sand from her fur, smirking despite the frustration. “Alright, let’s open it before I lose another handful of fur to this ridiculous desert.”
The desert wind stirs around them, painting long shadows as night creeps closer. The crate sits before them, a promise of secrets, history, and perhaps danger, waiting for the first touch of Nekira’s hands to reveal what’s inside.
Nekira crouches beside the crate, taking a deep breath. Tabby shifts impatiently on her haunches, tail flicking, claws still sandy and rough. “Well? Are we just staring at it, or are we opening it?”
With a careful tug, he lifts the lid.
The crate groans in protest… then bursts open with a thunderous clatter. Heaps of weapons and armour tumble out like a landslide, scattering sand and sending small rocks rolling across the desert floor.
Nekira leaps back, barely dodging a curved blade that skitters past his feet. Tabby hisses and jumps aside with feline agility, tail lashing. “Bloody hell! Who packs a crate like this?!”
But it’s not just any weapons or armour. Each piece gleams with meticulous craftsmanship, designed for dragons—scaled pauldrons shaped to fit massive shoulders, gauntlets reinforced for claws, and helmets polished to a burnished shine with visors shaped for dragon snouts.
Amira lowers her massive head, eyes widening as she examines the pile. 'This… is for me?' she rumbles, awe and curiosity rolling in her voice. The armour fits her perfectly in miniature replicas of scales, straps, and fittings that somehow match her size, strength, and shape.
Tabby steps forward cautiously, pawing at a small breastplate designed for a dragon’s chest. “Well, I’ll be… they actually made armour for dragons! Whoever made this must have been… insane. Or brilliant. Probably both.” She flicks sand from her fur, eyes sparkling with excitement. “And look at these weapons! They’d make even a knight think twice about tangling with a dragon.”
Nekira kneels, brushing his hand across a long, curved sword, the steel cold and smooth, the edge gleaming in the fading sun. “This isn’t just treasure,” he murmurs. “This… this is a war cache. For dragons. Someone was preparing for something massive.”
Amira stretches her wings slightly, flexing claws in response, the vibration in her chest low and excited. 'It has been… far too long since such care was given to dragons,' she rumbles.
Tabby’s grin spreads, claws digging slightly into the sand. “Well, we hit the jackpot, little one. Too bad we didn’t bring a sand-sifter. This place is a mess.”
“Amira, can you help me with the crate?” Nekira calls, stepping closer. “We need the open side facing up.”
The orange-and-purple dragon lowers her massive head and nudges the crate gently with her claws, rolling it with careful precision. Nekira steadies it as it settles upright.
“We need to get this to Caa Alora,” he says, brushing sand from his hands. “How did you know about this, Tabby?”
The were-cat is busy flicking sand from her claws, tail curling as she grooms herself. “Tabby?” Nekira asks again, frowning.
She shrugs casually. “Merlin told me… oh, and this isn’t the only one. By the way,” she adds, glancing at the gleaming dragon armour, “this green stuff? Would look awful on the beautiful Amira. Doesn’t match her scales.”
Nekira freezes, staring at her. “Woah… go back a second. You said more?”
Tabby nods, ears twitching. “That’s exactly what I said.”
Nekira reaches into his rucksack and pulls out the shiny copper bowl. Holding it up, he mutters, “I don’t think the elves will like this… but they’re the fastest way, and we need them moving.”
Tabby leans forward, tail flicking in amusement. “Well, looks like you’re about to make some very unhappy elves very busy, little one.”
Amira rumbles low in the background, tail swishing, as if impatient to get moving. Nekira sets the bowl beside the crate and studies the cache of dragon armour and weapons. The sun dips lower behind the dunes, casting long shadows over the desert.