Treasured - Chapter Two (Patron Reward)

[This is a patron reward for Mr. Nobody! Thank you so much for the support~]

“Another night will not be necessary,” Grayson replied apologetically. “Your service has been most welcome, but--”

“We need another night,” Trea interrupted. The innkeeper looked back and forth between the two, the heavy glare between the pair not going unnoticed. A tense tone brewed, but Trea continued to work on the thread of a bow. “One more night. Before the sun rises, we’ll be--”

“The night before, did you not say the same thing?” Grayson shook his head, his volume overtaking his politeness. “And the day before as well! Trea, this excursion has been long enough!”

“That boy is still out there because of us,” Trea argued. Over her glasses did her amber eyes peer back at Grayson, unphased by his greater physique and loudness. “Because of you, Grayson. You promised him he could join us if he could pay the fee.”

“That was nary a week ago that such was said!”

“Are promises not promises after a week?” Trea scoffed, her head drawn back coyly. “Then we should drop this matter at once, and reconsider our engagement.”

“Goddess Embolden Me, I Plea,” Grayson groaned to himself. “A remark made to a villager boy is not the same as a proposal… and you know this.”

“Do I know this? Month after month, I have seen that marriage pushed back--”

“Err, about payment~” the innkeeper chuckled awkwardly back into the conversation, but Trea and Grayson were at a standoff.

There was a long pause, and then a calculated answer. “One last night,” Grayson settled, his answer spoken to Trea but a palm’s amount of coin slid to the innkeeper. “One. Goddess knows we have only the funds for that and no more.” He finally turned back to the innkeeper, apologizing with his expression. “Thank you.”

The sun was slipping away across a rolling horizon of hills and distant mountains. Soon, the sky would bleed orange and reel in the moon for yet another peaceful night over Mattervon Village. It would be the sixth night that the Tides of Blakewood would be resting there, a fact that had the guildmasters Grayson and Trea bickering throughout that time. Obsessed with numbers and timeliness, Grayson only sought to resupply and then be back on the road to the capital, but a mishap on a trade route had a shopkeeper delay their travels -- just long enough for Grayson to have met Daemon. It was because of him and that promise that Trea wouldn’t let the guild leave Mattervon, not until Daemon had a fair chance to prove himself.

Tests such as these, spontaneous and whimsical, was in the very nature of the guild. The Tides of Blakewood had been formed under similar circumstances, when Grayson Blakewood took to adventuring formally alongside his childhood friend, Trea Fletcher. It was supposed to be just the couple, two veteran adventurers working in tandem, but the years had found them a fair-sized family of unique recruits. Today, the guild was a multi-faceted organization, and after a lively expedition did Grayson now ferry a team back to the nation’s capital to converge with the others.

Grayson was the leader of the Tides, but he adamantly shared that role with his fiance. Trea could always take command, but her leadership was passive and more calculated, whereas Grayson worked best in the gritty short-term with a hard, no-jokes style. One look into his dark eyes could that be sensed; he was experienced and callous, famously reliable for a reason. His pitch hair was thick and slightly unruly, a polished beard tightly wound into a short braid. It was rare to see him without his armor, even at the tavern, but it was just as rare to find Trea wearing her own. As a talented archer, she preferred lighter leathers and tunics to the chainmail Grayson donned. Her orange hair used to be even shorter, but it was styled now to curl just above her shoulders, a subtle indication of how she managed matters from a distance, both on the battlefield and in the guild hall.

“He just wants to be an adventurer, Gray,” Trea sighed, taking the man’s fists into her hand from across their table. “He’s a village boy. He’s never seen the world. He wants to help people. Doesn’t that remind you of--”

“Me?” Grayson accused her, then laughed. When he stopped, he laughed again, “I have a bloodline of heroes behind me. My father and my father’s father taught me survival and strength. That Daemon jester has energy and nothing else -- I tried telling the lad as much, but, he took it as a compliment it seems!”

“He took it as a challenge,” Trea said. “It was you that said he need only bring the entry fee for the guild. He wants to join that passionately!”

“The passion to be burned alive by the dragon,” Grayson snickered grimly. He began gathering his items and documents off the tavern table, now that the dining hall was beginning to populate with patrons. “From who did he get that story from again? A dragon’s horde, a few hours march of here? That was hilarious.”

“Aye, I told him that one!” a brutish voice replied, tripping into the talks. A chair was quickly claimed from between the two guild masters, the space swallowed up by a sizeable person. A woman, buff and top-heavy, now occupied the table, bringing with her a serving plate of thinly sliced ham. She ate her meal three pieces at a time, making a battle out of her food. “I figured you’d like that one, boss! Should keep him off yer back for awhile!”

Grayson laughed and proudly pat Thrakk on her broad shoulders. She was an impressive recruit for the Tides of Blakewood, a barbarian that traveled from an exotic land, and still did she look the part. The intense forces of nature in such parts had molded Thrakk into a hardened barbarian, adapted for almost any type of battle no matter how grueling the atmosphere. As such, her body was a canvas of such history; woven across her musculature was a story of scars and tattoos, together telling great tales that she wanted to tell. Her usual uniform made a show of her skin, allowing her arms to boast their strength, while her legs were entirely exposed except for the satchels strapped around one thigh. Taller than even Grayson, Thrakk was a worthy contender for being the toughest of the Tides, wielding an oversized hammer that was dragged even into the tavern at that moment.

Trea, however, was not nearly as entertained. “You very well may have sent someone to die, Thrakk!” she scolded. Thrakk winced, for even a mighty warrior like her was impaled by Trea’s parental tone. “A dragon would devour Daemon whole!”

Thrakk shrugged, “It’s a dangerous business. He’d have to learn that one way or another.” She smirked, downing another handful of meat. “He probably got mugged while on the road, so you don’t have to worry about a dragon eatin’ him! Bahaha!”

“Thrakk could very well be correct,” Grayson said. He looked to her, still arranging his inventory, “Go and fetch Ljós. Inform her that we leave tomorrow before dawn.” Thrakk nodded and was off on that mission, bringing with her the plate and its dwindling amount of ham. Grayson stood from his seat and lifted up his sheathed blade, binding it to his side, but he felt Trea’s gaze drill his chest. He sighed, “If the boy returns, so be it; my word will be kept, if he pays his dues. Alas, since no such dragon nor dragon horde exists…”

“You surprised me more than once, Gray,” Trea rambled, shuffling her own scrolls together. “People can do amazing things when you least expect it.”

Through the open tavern doors, an announcement was boldly made: “I demand a horn of wine be given to every patron here -- courtesy of the North Mountain Dragon!” All eyes turned to the entrance where a celebrity stood, a sack of treasure hoisted in one hand. From the bag, a small but precious gem was revealed, drawing the marvel of the crowd. Around his neck was a necklace embedded with a round ruby, and atop his head was a tilted tiara too small for him. It was Daemon at the door, never having appeared more confident in front of his fellow villagers.

Daemon lavishly marched down the middle of the tavern, his displayed wealth earning cheers and calls from those he passed. The servers were hastily distributing drinks as per Daemon’s purchase, but he stopped one so that he could take the horn right from her hand. Before she could comment, an emerald replaced the wine she had been holding, an extraordinary tip that Daemon cherished being able to dole. His swagger had him sweep right past the maiden and continue to his destination, the table the guild masters were seated at.

Disregarding the equipment left on the table, Daemon lifted and then dropped the sack of treasure for Trea and Grayson to witness. The lip of the bag fell to one side, unveiling a collection of gold and gems that sparkled as bewildered eyes glazed over it all. Hovering above it was the smuggest smile, deserving the attention of the guild masters.

“In regards to guild fees…” Daemon chuckled. He toyed with the treasure, circling a finger through the loot and forcing a coin to roll across the table. Happening upon Grayson’s direction, it was him that grabbed it, taking it close to his narrowed eyes in deep observation. Daemon glanced to Trea, just to ensure she was as spectacled as Grayson.

“This is… This…” Grayson struggled to respond, still at odds with the lingering doubt that this was legitimate. He glanced at Daemon, disapproving of his arrogance, but definitely assured by it. The coins were real, the trinkets were true, but he still couldn’t believe it. “Where? Daemon, where did you…?”

Daemon shrugged, “Where did I claim I was off to? The mountains to the north? To the wide split? To the rumored dragon’s den?” He reserved his laughter, but was not shy of how gleeful this made him. “Rumors no longer, I’ve dared to confirm! You see it before you now, just a grasp of the bounty to be found deep into the earth!”

“Incredible…” Trea whispered, sweeping some of the coins in her direction. “Y-You did this alone?”

“Entirely! I only regret not bringing a bigger sack,” Daemon bragged. A giggle leaked from his lips, “Perhaps it would have been wise of the Tides of Blakewood to respect my intuition and have rallied with me! Remind me to share some generosity with that boulder-shaped fellow, she did tell me first of the--”

“You said the rumors were true?!” Suddenly, Grayson had spoken up like a dog’s bark. He slammed on the table with both gauntlets, “True or not?!”

“T-True!” Daemon replied, a cold sweat suddenly dotting his brow. He kept his hands raised and open, “I took this treasure from no where else, stolen o-only from the dragon and her den! I-I promise,” he swallowed, “I-I would never rob someone--”

“Her?!” Grayson spat, his worry manifesting in a shiver of boiled blood. Daemon’s throat tightened completely. “So there was a dragon! A real dragon! You witnessed the dragon, and you claimed this as your trophy?”

“Y-Yes! She was bested!”

“Killed?”

“... The treasure is here, th-thus evidence of her defeat--”

“You killed it-- her, did you? Breathing ceased and heartbeat no more?”

“Well… Killed, no,” Daemon nodded, “err… She was outsmarted. Indeed! Using only my wits was I able to--”

“Oh, Goddess,” Trea bemoaned, dropping her bow onto the table in frustration. “Ohh, Daemon…”

“Damn it all, Daemon!” Grayson growled. He wished to yell, but not in front of the tavern goers, not when they were so excited and lively. “You…! Have you any clue what you’ve done?!”

Daemon’s fingers fiddled with each other. “I-I brought the treasure,” he replied meekly. “W-Was there more, or…?”

“What does one imagine a dragon to do when her treasure is taken from her?” Grayson asked, leaning deep over the table and its riches so that he could speak right into Daemon’s face. “The dragon goes looking for it! The dragon takes it back! She gets revenge, Daemon!”

“You’ve doomed this village,” Trea said, her tone sharp and sincere. “If that dragon gets to here, what is a village like this to do?”

Daemon was silent, but his smile hadn’t slipped away yet, frozen in place. “Ahh, haha… Well, about that… This dragon, she is…” He choked, wondering just how to describe what he had seen. It wasn’t at all like the dragons were described, and he still had doubts that what he witnessed was a true dragon. “I-It will be fine, I’m sure. This dragon, you see, r-really wasn’t a threat. She poses no danger to Mattervon Village.”

A coin then escaped from the bag, rolling across the table and right off the ledge. Daemon had watched it travel, moved by seemingly nothing; he and Grayson thought so at first, until they noticed the rest of the treasure shiver. Another coin threatened to cascade down the slope, another little quake rippling the tavern floor. Daemon, Grayson, and Trea exchanged solemn looks, while the public around them noisily claimed their free drinks.

The mood was too merry for the tavern to notice that Mattervon Village was riled into a commotion, too distant on its hilltop in the corner of town. The afternoon had been fading into the evening hours, and only a few folks had business left on the streets. They were the first to see the shadow of something approaching, a silhouette that hovered over the fields and the trees. It was something of impeccable size, growing larger as it neared closer to the village’s edge. Its approach was slow, but by the time any folks had begun to alert others, the creature was moments from being upon them.

Two reptilian feet made landfall just outside Mattervon’s border. Some onlookers raced to their homes, some others were too paralyzed to move. None dared to raise a weapon against the giantess that had arrived, fearing the power hiding in her claws and her tail. These features added with her size struck the word into the hearts of her audience; a dragon, flown in from the northern mountains.

While an uproar was brewing among the people, Yvedawn herself had no introduction. She had landed only after an exhaustive effort, leaving her panting for air. Her wings, short as they were, fell to her sides in a limp display, barely a twitch of life. “I’m… hah… here…” she breathed, both hands held to her throbbing lungs. “This… must be… that village… It’s so much… farther away… than I remembered…”

Yvedawn stepped forward with lazy footfalls, only making it up to one barn before tuckering out again. The flight had fatigued her greater than expected, and she would have to fly back as well. Before hunting for Daemon, she first needed a moment to recuperate, and so she leaned her upper-half onto the barn’s roof. She surveyed the village for the slim chance of catching her target out and about, but her focus instead went directly to the nearby water silo for the farm she was standing in.

“Perfect!” Yvedawn sighed in relief, but a farmer fetching water from the silo felt differently. His bucket overflowed with water as he gawked at the dragon, too astonished to even shut off the pipe. His problems escalated when Yvedawn marched over the barn and grasped the barrel-shaped tank at the top of the silo. Only then did the farmer flee, hearing the havoc of metal and wood snapping as the dragon claimed the water for herself. An intense thirst called for an appropriate drink, and Yvedawn chugged the water into her mouth messily, all while onlookers gasped and awed at the destruction.

After a long drink to refresh herself, Yvedawn satisfyingly took her lips off the rim and just dropped the whole basin afterwards. The wooden structure shattered on the ground and a flood of water that was still contained released into the road. Farming equipment and crops washed away, but Yvedawn thought only of how quenched her thirst was, smiling brightly while swiping clean her lips.

“That is much better!” Yvedawn celebrated, standing more confident than before. Several strides were made into the town, narrowly avoiding some villagers who only then began to run from the monster. She had little concern for their safety, ignoring their distress while she looked for just one specific person. “Daemon Oversed~! Please reveal yourself to me!” Her announcement echoed through town while every step rattled the simple buildings. “I will not be leaving this village until I have you in my claws, Daemon. I do not take kindly to my possessions escaping me~ If my rage is allowed to fester, then this location may become nothing more than a plain of ashes…!”

The crowds beneath Yvedawn responded poorly to this promise of destruction. More of a panic began as Yvedawn’s invasion brought her to the heart of Mattervon, putting her at the center of attention. All eyes were on the dragon and every commotion was about her presence. The once subsided fears of a monster attack that had dwindled into myth had been resurrected, and all the fretting and worrying was music to Yvedawn’s ears. It was exciting to have spurred such chaos with only her presence, but she couldn’t let her ego get the best of her; Daemon wasn’t to be found among these scurrying people.

“I see that Daemon is choosing cowardice,” Yvedawn mumbled to herself. “He certainly did not drag his feet when it came to fleeing my cave.” She smirked, deciding that a demonstration of power was necessary. Deep to her core, she felt the making of something mighty, as though the restlessness of the villagers were awakening a visceral instinct. If perhaps her voice wasn’t reaching Daemon and wherever he hid, then a draconic roar was in order.

A stance was taken, her scale-covered feet separated wide. She pushed her chest forward and stood straight, allowing a long inhale to completely fill her lungs. The making of a furious sound rumbled within her, and Mattervon felt it. Villagers took cover behind walls and wagons, but still peeked around them to observe the dragon, ever anxious of what she would produce. Eager to terrorize this audience, Yvedawn glanced once more at the people, the roar at the tip of her tongue.

But she hesitated, a red shade warming her cheeks. Suddenly, shyness had crept upon her, and all of Mattervon’s attention was inflicting her with self-doubt. The breath had already been taken, she could inhale no more, but the expectations of a village-toppling shout were slipping from her reach.

Yvedawn tensed up, then unleashed what she had: “R-Ra… Rawww...rr…rrk!” Far from deafening, this sound was a whine, a cough at best. There was no billow of wind or glass-shattering shockwave. No eruption of fire, no screams of horror. The hype behind her roar was for a dud, and the expectant crowd found themselves with no reason to run -- was she going to try that again?

Yverdawn shuddered, glaring at a few specific villagers, but even that couldn’t scare them. Her blush spread further over her face, a sign of embarrassment that others were picking up on. Quickly, she pushed out another attempt: “G-Gaa… arrrr…!” It was slightly bolder, and her claws were displayed for additional impact, yet the volume was too lacking to make a single villager shiver.

Instead, there was a laugh. Yvedawn’s ears picked up the sound, and she immediately pivoted to face the mocker. If nothing else, the lone man that had broken into chuckles did silence himself immediately under the shadow of the dragon. “Th-That was an exercise…!” she spat. “My real roar is… brewing! H-Here it is…” Yvedawn stood straight again and took another inhale, but when she did, a stumble of coughs escaped her. Yet another roar failed to be executed.

In turn, there was a better bout of laughter from where the man stood. Even his family was laughing, albeit nervously, at the strange display of intimidation. The dragon that had terrified them moments ago was now a comical sight to behold, and that attitude was gradually prevailing among the other villagers.

Before Yvedawn could direct her ire at the laughers, she heard others opposite of them cooing. “It sounded like a baby cow,” a woman commented, and another giggled, “I was expecting something ferocious, but that was just sort of silly.” “Is she going to destroy Mattervon, or…?”

“Hey! Th-This is…!” Yvedawn growled. “That’s… very rude! I-I am a dragon! Do not mock me!” But reacting in such a flustered way only drew out more jokes and insults. Others had joined in on the teasing, intentionally or not, and so Yvedawn’s dignity continued to unravel. The humiliation caused her to grow dizzy, and so she wished to go elsewhere to escape the laughing villagers. This was all reminding her of Daemon and how he ridiculed her, and so she clumsily began walking away, distancing herself from this shame--

--and into another embarrassing matter. As she paced backwards meekly, her foot ran into a blacksmith’s workshop. A knick to her was a pounding force against the front wall, busting down its door and scattering tools, but the building proved sturdy enough to unbalance Yvedawn over this misstep. Her weight shifted too far over the blacksmith’s as she turned too hurriedly, and with a gasp, she was suddenly on the descent.

Ker-krash! Yvedawn fell and spilled over onto the other street, devastating the humble blacksmith’s. Her legs plowed through the roof while her torso blocked the road, dividing an unsuspecting crowd into two. It was a graceless pose to be caught in, especially so for the noble dragon, but there was no more condescending comments from the community. They trembled at how destructive this eccentric beast could be without even trying, backing away while her legs rolled through the remains of the blacksmith’s. Her face rose above the roofs as she slowly pushed herself up, her cheeks a deep red and her lips firmly pouted.

Dots of tears and sharp sniffles expressed how close to breaking Yvedawn was. This is why I never leave the cave, she reminded herself grimly, but she had caught wind of something delightful. Her sniffling had captured the scent of roasted meat, baked bread, and strong alcohol. The smell of a festive dinner was at first a distraction from all the humiliating circumstances, but then it acted as a clue. Her nose flickered in the direction of what was right beneath her now; a tavern, just like the one Daemon said he would retire to.

An explosion outside rocked the table of riches, dispersing the gold and silver coins off its edges and onto the floor where Grayson and Trea had leapt to their feet. Other patrons had bounced from their seats as well, with no one sure if staying inside was better than fleeing. Those that flocked to the windows were speechless, but the duo guild leaders had an accurate suspicion of what awaited them.

Grayson claimed his blade from off the table on his way to the door, shoving aside anyone in his way. Whether he was going to kill the dragon or Daemon, Trea couldn’t immediately tell. “This was precisely what I knew would occur!” he growled. “Damn that Daemon! Where is he?! Will he not participate in his own battle?!”

Trea hurried after Grayson with her bow in hand. “What would he do?!” she bewilderedly asked. “This is a dragon, Grayson! We need Thrakk and Ljós, not--”

“Daemon!” Blasted through the thatchwork of the roof was the name, half-sung by Yvedawn’s voice. As tavern patrons gawked up above them, a claw pierced through the roof and tore open a hole. Within the new window was a curious smile, peering in at the dozens trapped inside the building but on the hunt for only one among them. “Daemon~ Is that your smell hidden in here?” Her smirk widened, a flash reflected in her eyes once they were upon a certain table. “Aha, I see that my treasures have been taken here at least. Certainly they did not come here to drink alone~”

“Th-This is… th-the dragon…?” Grayson stuttered, baffled at what attacked the tavern. The image of a woman was not what he anticipated from the mythical beast, yet it spread further across the roof as Yvedawn ripped more into the building. He gripped his sword, ready for a battle he couldn’t fathom a plan for, but Trea and her bow were aimed and ready.

“Begone, dragon!” Trea yelled. An arrow was unleashed, striking Yvedawn’s claw and snapping against the armor-like scales. “You will not be permitted to harm Daemon nor these innocent people!” Another arrow was prepared, but Yvedawn had countered more swiftly. Her claw charged at Trea before she could even flinch, and so she was captured within Yvedawn’s fist, unable to struggle free.

“No! Trea!” Grayson dashed to where Trea was clutched, his weapon overhead for a vertical swing. The sword sliced down, but Yvedawn withdrew her arm along with her prize -- Grayson’s sword missed and chopped right through a table, splashing away drinks and food. He glared up at the dragon, but the sight of his fiance trapped in the giant’s hand ailed him with grief. “Trea!!”

“Do I require permission to locate my own possessions?” Yvedawn asked, smugly staring at the woman straining in her grip. “If you know where Daemon is, then do tell and I will happily be on my way!”

Though Trea had no answer, she wouldn’t need to. Yvedawn smelled past her and into the tavern, filtering through the varied scents until she could lock down Daemon’s. Her nostrils lead her to a series of barrels where all but one had been tipped over in the commotion. Most peculiar about this lone barrel was how it shivered where it stood, exactly how a rookie adventurer would be quaking in his boots.

Yvedawn retrieved the barrel into her other claw, feeling the man inside quivering within. She peeked in, smiled, then tightened her grip. The container splintered and fell apart in the net of fingers, the debris trickling out until only Daemon remained. He was coiled into himself, arms over his head and knees buckled tight. He opened one eye to look at Yvedawn, but immediately flinched back into cowering.

“Daemon~! Finally, we can leave this malicious place together,” Yvedawn sighed, bringing her prize past the broken roof. She could resist no longer and nuzzled him into her cheek, humming gently into him while he pushed back against her. “Did your guild enjoy my treasure~? Did you tell your friends about me~?”

“Aha… I-I did tell them, y-yes,” Daemon stuttered, catching a glimpse of Grayson below. The fury in the guild leader’s glare was worse than Yvedawn ever appeared. “In truth, I believe my problem is that I returned with too much...”

“Well, their opinion does not matter,” Yvedawn declared, rising away from the tavern and onto her feet. Once she was distant from them did the crowd of patrons flood out the doors. Most fled while others withdrew far enough to watch, but one warrior raced outside to meet the dragon. Grayson stood bravely before Yvedawn, even if he was low under her vision.

“Dragon!! Release both of them this instant!” Grayson shouted, angling his sword threateningly. “Have you any awareness of what woman you have taken into your claw?! I will march to the world’s end to rescue her if need be! No mercy will be spared towards you, beast! Heed this warning!”

Yvedawn raised a brow downwards, insulted by the words slung her way by something so diminutive to her. The glint in Grayson’s armor and the weight of his steel, however, proved to Yvedawn that this was no hogwash mercenary. “Might you be the leader of Daemon’s guild?” she wondered, also considering Trea’s position in all this. She grinned wickedly, and put the archer in the same grasp as Daemon. “If you are indeed inseparable, then I will keep you united~ as additional treasures to join my collection!”

A serpent-like hand approached Grayson after Yvedawn knelt closer to his level. Grayson swung his sword at the claw, but all that power failed to connect. Yvedawn’s hand rushed forward as Grayson was still recovering from his miss, and with only that much effort, the warrior was subdued. Sharp fingers grappled his body, nullifying any use for his blade and making escape impossible. Despite being a hefty adult in a near-full suit of armor, Grayson was lifted off the village road like scrap.

“Demon! You…! Release us, you!” Grayson grunted and yelled, but his desperation was Yvedawn’s amusement. Her giggling mocked his struggles, but he refused to give in. This was unlike Trea and Daemon, both of whom acknowledged how fruitless any fighting would be.

Yvedawn brought her latest capture near to her face, a mocking breath huffed onto him. “Why do you struggle when celebrations are in order? You have been given the honor to be company for the great dragon Yvedawn — eternally! Your dangerous and reckless life as a sword-swinger are no more. You will find life as my companion much more peaceful~”

“I don’t want peace!” Grayson argued, and he spat at her — a flick of saliva, marked at the tip of her nose. Yvedawn withdrew him from such proximity, her taunting grin now a grimace of frustration. “I want my fiance, I want my guild, and I want nothing to do with you! Take your damned treasure back but leave us out of this!”

Yvedawn began walking away from the damaged tavern, dispersing the crowds that had circled around the scene. Her smile had returned, “I will be taking my treasure indeed, Guild Leader! Hohoho~”

Their options had been exhausted. Trea maintained a certain level of coolness, in contrast to Grayson’s fury and Daemon’s uselessness. As Yvedawn turned to face the rolling hills that traveled far back to her lair, Trea desperately searched for an answer. Down below, there happened to be that possibility of rescue, as a hulking figure shoved her way through a cluster of panicked villagers. “Thrakk is here!” Trea exclaimed to the others. She unwedged an arm from Yvedawn’s grip and waved down, “Thrakk! Stop her!”

Thrakk had in fact arrived, dumbfounded by the event unfolding before her eyes. She powered through the crowd, shoving aside two bystanders off their feet in her one-track effort to reach her troubled guildmates. “Dammit! This isn’t good,” she growled. “I was busy finding Ljós, but I could have been ripping the tail off a dragon this entire time!” And with that, a fiery smile was sparked as she lunged after Yvedawn.

The pair of wings began to flap, building up their pace. Yvedawn lowered her profile and strained herself to put more thrust behind her wings. They were quite small, proportionally speaking, making it miraculous she could ever obtain flight. With enough effort, actual gusts of wind were being thrown at her feet. It felt right to fly, and at no better time — her long attempt at takeoff was earning the teasing of villagers all over again.

Yvedawn hopped into the air with all of her tremendous mass, and rather than crash back down, she remained afloat. More thrust was pushed into her wings so that she could ascend higher, fluttering precariously over one cottage. Dust was whipped up as she hovered over Mattervon just enough to surpass their roofs. Her long tail dragged behind, exactly as Thrakk had hoped for.

Before it could slip away, Thrakk had charged through the billows of dust in a dash for the tail. She clutched it in a dive, both hands tightly pressed into the scale-covered flesh. She jumped to her feet and rooted herself to the cobblestone path, pulling back on the beast with terrible strength. She whined and groaned, her displayed muscles bulging with pressure. Yvedawn continued forward, and Thrakk stood her ground; the tail between them grew tense as the distance between them grew wider, until—

“Whoops!” Thrakk was pulled forward along with the tail, and smacked directly into a stone wall. The tail continued up the wall of the house, and still Thrakk held on, even as her body was ripped past the thatch roof and dragged across it. Yvedawn proceed with her flight unimpeded, while Thrakk clung on still — whipping into one last wall before Yvedawn ascended higher above the village.

Thrakk shook away the blows, reaffirming her unletting grip on the tail. She winced against the chilling wind of air, only then glancing down. “Whoaaa! Hey, th-this is high up!” she yelled, then deciding to wrap her legs around Yvedawn’s tail for extra security. The last house of Mattervon was flown over, and still the ground fell more and more distant. She glared up above, “Hey! Trea! I tried!”

“I see that, Thrakk!” Trea yelled down from Yvedawn’s fist. She groaned, resisting the urge to complain aloud. “Just… hold on to her! Don’t let go!”

Yvedawn continued forward, disregarding the warrior on her tail in favor of concentrating on her flight. She was already panting, but stretches of rolling hills were passing underneath the dragon and her collection. It was not long before the terrain grew rocky, culminating into a peak. Yvedawn could smile as she neared her dwelling, finally returning home and with more than she anticipated. Of the three adventurers she had claimed, it was Daemon at the center of her attention, but so too did he feel the weight of Trea and Grayson’s glares pointed onto him.