Silence hung heavy between them, Richard’s face dark as ink, his hand resting on the hilt of the sword at his waist.
Aurina sensed it instinctively: beneath the calm, like the gentle flow of a river, coursed a current of killing intent.
She raised her hand slowly, her expression uncharacteristically grave.
“Richard, look behind you—someone’s coming.”
Richard didn’t budge.
In a flash, Aurina spun on her heel and bolted.
A wise dragon doesn’t court immediate loss—no, not loss, but rather, in her magnanimity, she’d spare him for now.
After all, the beast of burden had served diligently, adding coin to her hoard.
She’d let him live, giving him the chance to atone for his offense with future offerings.
That was all.
Aurina sprinted with all her might, leaping into the air, attempting to shift into her dragon form and take flight.
The golden collar around her neck, worth precisely one thousand seventy-two gold coins, pulsed with a crimson glow.
Yet she remained a girl, her small hands flapping futilely in the air, managing to hover for a fleeting moment.
Glancing back, she realized her wings were still hands.
Her chin hit the ground first, and she tumbled forward, skidding through the dirt in an undignified sprawl.
Scrambling to her feet, Aurina ran on, half-crawling, half-sprinting, stealing a glance over her shoulder.
Richard stood unmoved, his tall figure resolute, like a lone pine standing apart from the forest, his posture unchanged from moments before.
Aurina didn’t stop.
She plunged into the thicket, branches and underbrush crackling as she crashed through.
The noise faded with each step until, moments later, she vanished into the forest, like a raindrop dissolving into a lake, leaving no trace in Richard’s sight.
“I knew it,” Richard muttered, his heart aching as though a piece had been carved out, blood pooling in the hollow.
He tried to lighten the pain with a jest.
“A twisted, malformed freak hoping to be understood is like… like a five-legged frog entering a high-jump contest. It’ll never leap high enough.”
He forced a laugh.
“Haha, hahaha… not funny at all.”
His voice sank, heavy with resignation.
“Who’d let a five-legged frog compete? They’d just crush it. That fifth leg—it’s just disgusting. Revolting.”
He sank to the ground, staring blankly.
A breeze stirred, and the world came alive.
Waves of treetops swayed in the distance, branches rustling, birds flapping and chirping.
A squirrel darted through the canopy, tail flicking as it hunted for food.
By the forest’s edge, a stream danced to the wind’s rhythm, its soft burble rising.
Sunlight pierced the scattered clouds, casting dappled patterns on the ground, shifting with the clouds’ drift.
Bees and butterflies flitted through clusters of flowers, their wings humming faintly as they visited blooms of every hue.
Nearby, a herd of white rabbits hopped across the grass, nibbling, pausing now and then to perk their ears in vigilance.
But in Richard’s small camp, there was only him. The fire had died out.
A sky-blue cloak lay discarded on a blanket—Aurina’s favorite, used as a makeshift cover when she slept.
When Richard had given her the cloak, her draconic greed had flared; she’d claimed it as her own, guarding it fiercely.
Now, it lay abandoned, ignored as she fled.
Gazing at the bustling, vibrant world around him, Richard felt his patch of earth was painfully still—silent, lonely, like a banished exile.
No, I’m not alone.
His fingers brushed the ring on his left hand, thoughts drifting to Sophia, waiting back home.
He began packing, securing his belongings to the horse.
When he reached the sky-blue cloak, its fine silk carried the faint scent of dragon’s breath.
He considered burning it but couldn’t bring himself to do so.
Instead, he draped it over a branch.
If Aurina returned, she could take it.
Would she return?
No, she’d rather stay as far as possible from a malformed freak like him, without a backward glance.
And that was only right.
He should understand her choice.
Who could blame her when he was the one deformed?
He hoped a passerby might find the cloak, claim it before wind and rain reduced it to tatters.
At least the craftsman’s work wouldn’t go to waste.
Richard mounted his horse, leading a packhorse behind him, and set off for home.
No one chattered incessantly now, no one clambered onto his shoulders or perched atop his head.
As the sun sank and night fell, stars filled the sky.
Richard offered a prayer to his deity, then lit a campfire.
He didn’t need the light—starlight alone was enough to read the tiniest script—but he kindled it anyway.
At least the flames danced, keeping the loneliness at bay.
They wouldn’t sprout legs and run off.
Since the fire was lit, Richard decided against dry rations.
He set a pot over the flames, tossing in meat and foraged greens to simmer.
“Moo.”
The horse snorted.
Richard turned to fetch oats for it.
In that brief moment, a new sound caught his ear.
He lowered his visor, drew his sword with one hand, and spun around.
A figure stood by the fire.
Aurina?
The spark of hope died as he saw the figure was tall, its owner’s face cold and stern.
Frostsilver spoke.
“Surprised to see me?”
“I’m delighted to greet Lady Champagne,” Richard said, adhering to knightly courtesy.
“Your arrival, and your beauty, make my sword shine a little brighter.”
“Spare me the pleasantries,” Frostsilver snapped.
“Your courtly nonsense only irritates me—especially since you once pointed that sword at me. Where’s Aurina?”
“How did you get here?”
“Don’t answer a question with a question, paladin.”
“Teleportation, then,” Richard said.
“You left something on me to track my location?”
“Harmless enough,” Frostsilver replied.
“You should be flattered. You’ve caught the attention—and protection—of the sole heir of the most ancient family.”
“My honor, my lady.”
“But you still haven’t answered my question.”
“She ran.”
“Ran? What does that mean?”
“She’s free.”
“Free? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Exactly what it sounds like,” Richard said.
“She bolted into the woods and was gone in less than a minute.”
Frostsilver’s voice sharpened.
“When did this happen?”
“Noon.”
“Fool! Why didn’t you watch her? She’s a true dragon, daughter of the Dread Wyrm, not some mongrel spawn. She carries her father’s finest blood!”
“I didn’t chase her.”
“Why not?”
“She doesn’t belong to me.”
“Weak,” Frostsilver spat.
“The Hand of Tyr’s feeble ways never cease to disappoint. I must find her. Farewell.”
“Why?”
Frostsilver’s horn vanished into the darkness, a flash of warped blue light marking her teleportation.
She was gone.
She hadn’t answered, leaving Richard alone.
After feeding the horse, he rummaged through his belongings, searching for whatever Frostsilver had used to track him.
He found it: an exquisite badge, a gift from the manor’s lord.
“Typical Frostsilver,” Richard muttered.
He crushed the badge in his hand, turning to toss it into the fire.
But then he saw a small figure crouched by the pot, devouring its contents.
The empty pot swayed over the flames.
“Little bug,” Aurina said, turning to face him, her red hair swaying at her waist.
She patted her stomach, pouting.
“The food you made? Way too little.”