RIDGEWELL AERONAUTICS
Drak clutched the paperwork tightly against his coat pocket, feeling the urgency of his next task as if it were a physical burden. He glanced up at the steam-work clock mounted on the wall of the Department of Vital Records. It was one-thirty p.m. Time was slipping through his fingers, but he wasn’t out of it yet. If he moved fast enough, he could make it to Ridgewell Aeronautics, find his uncle, get the signature, and return to the Department before it closed at five-thirty. Then, he'd have just thirty minutes to pass through the gates of Tribute before they sealed shut at six.
His legs carried him back to the streets, where he mounted his steam-bike and brought it roaring to life. The city’s bustling sounds surrounded him once more in a hum of activity, while the important paperwork remained securely tucked against his side in his jacket pocket. His eyes scanned the streets for a moment before he oriented himself and made his way toward Ridgewell Aeronautics.
Drak sighed, Thankfully, Garvin’s business is located nearby—just a couple blocks from the Department of Vital Records. The towering brick-and-steel building stood tall as he rounded a corner, flaunting Garvin Ridgewell’s success. It cast an impressive shadow over the surrounding shops and streets as it loomed ahead with enormous glass windows, displayed airship models with glistening steam engines, and silver flagpoles that reflected in the sun beneath its trellises.
Drak’s steps slowed as the business came into view, the knot in his stomach tightening. It wasn’t the confrontation itself that filled him with dread; it was what it represented. He hadn’t spoken to his uncle in years. The man had always been somewhat of an enigma. Always aloof, dedicated to his work, and uninterested in familial ties. Drak hadn’t seen Garvin since his 18th birthday, when his uncle had given him a small, impersonal gift before disappearing back into the world of business.
Now, he was about to ask Garvin for a favor.
His mind struggled with the idea of how to approach the situation. Lying to the officials at the Department of Vital Records was daunting, but it had come easily. He had convinced himself that they didn’t need the truth, just a story that fit. But lying to his uncle? That was different. Garvin Ridgewell had nothing to do with his scheme, nothing to gain or lose from it, and yet Drak was about to pull him into the web of half-truths and deception he’d already spun.
What was worse, Garvin was wicked intelligent. He would know if something didn’t add up, and Drak had a sinking feeling that his uncle wouldn’t appreciate being lied to, no matter how distant their relationship had become.
As Drak neared the entrance of Ridgewell Aeronautics, the clean, polished brass doors gleaming in the afternoon sun, he hesitated for a moment. Could he tell his uncle the truth? Could he explain what was really going on without risking everything?
A part of him knew that honesty, at least partially, might be his only way out of this. Garvin wasn’t the type to be manipulated or tricked. If anything, he’d appreciate directness, but explaining Nalli, explaining the entire situation… That could lead to questions Drak wasn’t ready to answer.
His hand hovered over the door handle as his mind raced through the possibilities. He took a deep breath. No more stalling. He had to do this, one way or another.
Drak pushed open the door and stepped inside.
The interior of Ridgewell Aeronautics was as impressive as the exterior, a fusion of modern design and steam-powered innovation. Brass and copper pipes ran along the walls, leading to polished machinery displayed behind glass cases. An enormous clockwork engine whirred in the center of the room on display, slowly rotating with the rhythmic click of gears and pistons, and the floor buzzed with the sounds of business. Everyone, the engineers, the salesmen, and the clerks were moving about with purpose.
Drak’s gaze swept across the room until he spotted the reception desk toward the far wall. Behind it sat a young, red-haired woman dressed in the formal uniform of Ridgewell Aeronautics, her green eyes scanning the room as she greeted visitors. Her name-tag read Rosie.
“Can I help you, sir?” she asked as Drak approached the desk.
“Hi, um, Rosie. Yes, I’m here to see Garvin Ridgewell,” Drak replied, straining his voice to sound more confident than he felt. “I’m his nephew, Drak Forgeheart. It’s urgent.”
The woman, Rosie, blinked, her professional demeanor faltering for just a moment before she regained her composure. “One moment, please.”
The receptionist leaned forward and spoke softly into a polished copper talk-tube as its intricate network carried her voice to another part of the building. After a brief, whispered exchange, she turned back to Drak with a nod.
“Please have a seat in the reception area. Mr. Ridgewell will see you shortly.”
Drak’s heart raced as he made his way to the waiting area, his mind swirling with thoughts of what he would say. His eyes kept drifting upward to the second-floor windows, where his uncle’s office overlooked the business lobby below. From up there, Garvin Ridgewell could see nearly everything that happened in his domain. The minutes stretched on, each one longer than the last, until finally, the door to a nearby set of stairs creaked open. Rosie’s voice rang out.
“Mr. Ridgewell will see you now.”
With a final deep breath, Drak stood and walked toward the stairs, his nerves on edge with each step. He approached the wide, curved staircase and began his ascent until he came to Garvin’s office door. He gave it a nervous push, and as he passed the threshold, he saw the backside of his uncle Garvin, surrounded by the remnants of a bustling workshop. Workers were quietly packing up their tools and parts, stepping away from what appeared to be a grand aeronautical device. For now, it was but a husk. A skeletal frame adorned with copper piping and brass mechanisms.
Garvin casually waved the workers off, clearing the room with an ease that suggested he’d done it often. Once the last worker had exited, he turned toward Drak, adjusting a brass telescoping monocle perched over his right eye.
“Damnable thing,” Garvin muttered as he flipped the monocle up and out of the way, revealing his bright, intelligent gaze. “Ah, Drak! By the skies, it’s been ages!”
Drak was taken aback by the warmth in his uncle’s voice. Garvin, ever the eccentric, looked more like a mad inventor than a businessman in his formal attire, streaked here and there with smudges of grease above his sharp beard and mustache. His energy was infectious, and Drak could hardly believe how welcoming he seemed.
“It’s been, what—three years?” Garvin continued, his tone jovial.
“Uh, seven, actually,” Drak corrected.
Garvin blinked, his smile faltering for a second before he scrunched his face in exaggerated disbelief. “Seven years?” he echoed, genuinely surprised. “Well, I’ll be damned. Where does the time go?”
He sighed and shook his head. “I’m sorry, Drak. The work... Well, it consumes everything, doesn’t it? Progress waits for no man.” He clapped Drak on the shoulder. “But enough about that. What brings you here today, my boy?”
Drak shifted uneasily, avoiding his uncle’s expectant gaze. He wasn’t ready to dive into the real reason he was here. At least not yet. His eyes drifted toward the contraption that Garvin had been so focused on moments ago, a maze-like frame of gears, pipes, and mechanical parts.
“What is that?” Drak asked, more out of a need to stall than genuine curiosity. Though the moment the question left his lips, Garvin's face lit up with excitement.
“That?” Garvin's eyes widened, and he let out an almost childlike sigh of enthusiasm. “Ah, Drak, you have no idea. That is the future of aeronautical innovation! My competitors have been scrambling, trying to build the next great airship, but what I’ve got here... it’s going to change the game.”
He waved Drak over, practically bouncing on his heels as he spoke. “Imagine this: an airship capable of being piloted by a single man, no crew required. It’s small, compact, and can fly higher and faster than anything out there. This isn’t just an airship, Drak—not only will it complement the massive vessels we have now, but be something more agile, more precise.”
Drak’s eyes broadened as Garvin led him around the half-finished device. It was a patch-work mess, but the bones of it spoke of something far more grand. Copper wiring and brass supports twisted around a sleek framework, and even in its early stages, the sheer ambition of the design was evident. His uncle pointed out various parts, explaining the mechanisms in detail as he walked Drak around it, motioning to the stabilizers, the engine housing, and the steam propulsion unit.
“It’s still just a prototype,” Garvin admitted, "but give me time. This beauty will revolutionize flight. No more waiting on massive crews or costly materials. One man—one man—will be able to fly this anywhere. Think of the possibilities!”
Drak marveled at the project. The scale of it, and its intricacy. It all reminded him just how deeply his uncle was invested in pushing the boundaries of technology. For a moment, he almost forgot why he had come.
Eventually, Garvin steered them back to his desk set against the wide window overlooking the lobby below. He wove his hand toward an empty chair in front of the desk. “Please, sit, sit,” he urged, settling into his own comfortable and finely adorned seat. He pushed some papers aside, creating space on his cluttered desk. He placed his chin on his hands, in a seemingly fascinated way. “So, tell me, how’s vineyard life treating you? And how’s Jaemes, and my dear sister?” Garvin asked with a smile, his tone softening.
Drak hesitated, the truth of his situation creeping back in. “The vineyard’s… fine,” he replied slowly, trying to sound casual. “Dad’s doing well. Mom is the same as always, you know. They're out for a few days.”
Except the question now hung in the air, and Drak could feel his uncle’s gaze hone in, curious as to why he was really here.
It was almost as if his uncle could see right through him.
“Something’s bothering you, my boy,” Garvin pressed, his voice softer but more direct. He leaned back in his chair, his fingers tenting as he studied Drak’s uneasy expression. “Come on now, out with it. I've spent enough time around fellow inventors to recognize the exponential burden of stress when it's bearing down on them. And you, my dear child, are clearly carrying a heavy load. What’s going on?”
Drak fidgeted, his heart racing as he wondered, am I really that transparent? He had rehearsed this conversation in his head, but now that he was sitting here, under the scrutinous gaze of his uncle, the words seemed to slip from his grasp. The truth felt tangled in his throat, unwilling to come out.
He started slowly, cautiously, as if testing the waters. “I… I might’ve taken on something bigger than me. Something that got out of hand.” He forced himself to meet Garvin's eyes. “I’m… I’ve gotten myself in deep, and I’m trying to figure out how to…” Drak’s voice trailed off, seemingly at a loss for the right words.
Garvin’s brow furrowed, his eyes narrowing with concern. “Are you in some kind of trouble?” he asked carefully, his voice no longer carrying its usual playful tone.
“No, not… technically,” Drak admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “At least, not yet. But I will be, if things go wrong.”
The silence stretched between them, and Drak could feel his uncle’s stare, like a spotlight he couldn’t escape. His uncle’s discerning eyes seemed to bore straight through him, stripping away any pretence he had carefully crafted. Drak’s thoughts churned like a storm of doubt and fear. Could he trust his uncle? He had always seemed like a good man, fair and pragmatic, but this wasn’t a typical familial squabble or a simple misstep with some unsavory characters. This was about a direhound. An unregistered one at that. If his uncle reacted poorly, the consequences wouldn’t just fall on him: Nalli would pay the price. Drak’s heart twisted at the thought, but he knew there was no way forward without his uncle’s help. The moment of truth had arrived. There was no more room to sidestep and no clever distraction to turn to.
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Drak took a deep breath and finally spilled the story. He told his uncle about Nalli; how he had found her injured in his barn, how he had helped her despite knowing the consequences, and how now he was tangled in a mess far beyond anything he had anticipated. He didn’t tell the whole story, though. He left out the details about Nalli’s mission, her true purpose. That part needed to stay secret, at least for now. Besides, he was still in the dark surrounding that topic, so there wasn't any truth to be told.
As Drak spoke, the color and jovialness slowly drained from Garvin’s face. The lighthearted warmth that had greeted Drak at the door dimmed, but it didn’t disappear completely. Garvin remained silent for a long moment after Drak finished, tapping his fingers on the desk thoughtfully.
“So let me get this straight,” Garvin finally said, his voice measured. “You’re harboring a lost and wild direhound in your barn, you’ve lied your way through the Department of Vital Records to help her, and you’re trying to get her out of human territory without anyone noticing.”
Drak nodded, physically shrinking under the pressure of the truth now that it was all laid bare. He still hadn’t mentioned his need for his uncle’s signature.
“And this direhound… she’s not just any direhound, is she?” Garvin asked, his eyes intensifying again. “You’re holding something back.”
Drak tensed but held firm. “N-no, she isn’t... I can’t say for her safety. Not yet. But you’ve got to trust me, Uncle Garvin.”
He watched as Garvin’s expression changed. It wasn’t with ease, but with something else that more resembed understanding. The inventor sighed heavily, rubbing his temples. “I remember when you were a boy, believe it or not. I may have been consumed with my work ever since... well, that doesn’t matter. But on the few occasions I reconnected with my sister, she always mentioned you liked to get into mischief… But is that really what it was?” His gaze drifted into the distance, seemingly lost in thought for a moment.
Drak swallowed hard, waiting for his uncle’s verdict. He'd gotten into childhood trouble before, but he'd straightened himself out once he became an adult.
Uncle Garvin rose from his desk as Drak’s confession still hung in the air between them. Without a word, he motioned for Drak to follow him across the room. Drak hesitated but complied, unsure of what his uncle intended. Garvin led him over to a series of shelves and glass cases that lined the far wall, each holding an array of intricate devices. Some were small and delicate, others larger and more imposing, but all had the distinct gleam of Garvin’s craftsmanship, between polished brass, gleaming copper, and precisely engineered gears ticking with purpose.
As they walked, Garvin began to speak, his tone more reflective now. “Drak, when I was about your age, I had some pretty wild dreams. Bigger than life, really.” He chuckled softly, eyes scanning the collection in front of them. “Dreams that no one in our simple farm family really understood, and definitely didn’t support. I was always the odd one out. Everyone else was focused on the family ventures—farming and keeping the family tradition alive. But me? I had my head in the clouds, thinking up crazy machines and ideas.”
Drak listened quietly, surprised by the sudden turn in the conversation. His uncle had always been a bit eccentric, but he'd never shared much about his younger years.
Garvin came to a stop in front of a particular shelf, reaching for a small, odd-looking contraption that sat at the forefront of the more polished pieces. The device was a bit worn, its metal exterior dulled by time, with a few gears sticking out awkwardly at odd angles. It didn’t have the sleek, refined look of his uncle’s other work. It was rough, unfinished, and almost clunky in design.
“This,” Garvin said, holding the device up for Drak to see, “was my first invention.”
Drak raised an eyebrow, eyeing the strange device. “What is it?” he asked.
Garvin chuckled again, though there was a hint of nostalgia in the sound. “It’s supposed to be an automatic lock-pick. Could’ve revolutionized security and locksmithing. Or at least, that’s what I thought at the time.”
Drak’s curiosity piqued as he leaned in closer to inspect the device. It looked odd, to say the least. “Did it work?”
“Nope,” Garvin said with a grin, placing it back on the shelf. “A complete failure. Every time I tried to use it, it either jammed or broke entirely, and believe me, I tried it on every lock I could find. Nearly broke my fingers a few times in the process.”
Drak couldn’t help but laugh a little, and Garvin joined in, the air between them lightening just a touch.
“But here’s the thing,” Garvin continued, his tone softening. “It’s my favorite invention because it led to everything else. After it broke down, I didn’t give up. I kept tinkering, kept dreaming, despite the family’s grumbling. Eventually, I built things that worked. Things that made me a name in the business of inventing.” He gestured to the other, more sophisticated devices on display, all gleaming with the success of his years of effort. “But none of these would have existed without that first failure, or should I say, first leap.”
Drak stared at the small, unimpressive device. “So why is it still your favorite?” he asked, genuinely curious, though still not sure where this conversation was coming from.
Garvin turned to look at him, his eyes gleaming with a kind of quiet pride. “Because it’s a reminder. A reminder that every great thing starts with something small. Something uncertain. And sometimes, something that doesn’t seem like it’ll work at all.”
He paused, letting the words ruminate between them. “What you are doing, helping that direhound, getting yourself into something bigger than you? It might feel like a mistake. It might even seem like it’s all going to fall apart. But that’s how big things start. They’re messy. They’re scary. And sometimes they feel impossible.”
Drak stood there, absorbing his uncle’s words. The burden of the situation hadn’t lessened, but somehow, Garvin’s story made it seem more bearable. More real. Maybe this wasn’t the end of everything; maybe it was the beginning of something much bigger than he could understand right now.
Garvin placed a hand on Drak’s shoulder, the warmth of his touch reassuring him. “Now,” his uncle said with a gentle smile, “let’s talk about what you really came here for.”
Drak swallowed hard, trying to gather his thoughts as his uncle's gaze lingered on him. He pulled the folded document from his coat pocket, his hands slightly trembling as he unfolded it.
“Uncle Garvin,” Drak began, his voice unsteady, “I need your help. This... this is a registration form. It’s for Nalli. Without this, there’s no way we can travel through human lands without being stopped, questioned, or worse. And I hate to admit that I used your name in acquiring this paperwork...”
Garvin’s eyes flicked to Drak, then to the paper, but he said nothing. Drak continued, his words spilling out as though he feared losing momentum.
“She needs the permit to pass as my... well, my direhound. My partner. But it’s temporary, just to get her where she needs to go without attracting too much attention. If I don’t get it signed, we’re stuck. She’s stuck.”
Garvin’s face remained impassive, but Drak felt the silence pressing in on him. He spoke faster, his nerves bubbling to the surface. “I didn’t know what else to do. I know it’s a huge ask, and I know this isn’t what I should be getting involved in, but she needs my help. I don’t have another way to—”
Garvin snapped the paper from Drak’s hands before he could finish, his bright eyes scanning the words it contained with scrutiny.
Drak flinched, immediately feeling guilty. “I’m sorry, Uncle Garvin. I just... I couldn’t think of any other way to make this work.”
Without a word, Garvin turned and walked to his desk. Drak’s stomach knotted as his uncle rummaged through a drawer, pulling out a fine brass quill and inkpot. He uncapped the ink with a quick flick of his wrist, dipped the quill, and began signing the form in a smooth, fluid motion.
Drak had to keep his mouth from falling open in disbelief, his mind racing to catch up with the moment. He hadn’t expected Garvin to sign it without questions, let alone without hesitation.
After finishing his signature, Garvin set the quill down and turned to face Drak, his features now softer, though still riddled with thought. “You know,” he said, a distant look in his eyes, “I’ve been where you are. Full of ambition, full of ideas, just wanting to find my place in the world. If I hadn’t taken a few risks of my own back then, I’d probably still be back on that godforsaken farm.”
Garvin held the signed paper out to Drak, but as Drak reached for it, his uncle gripped it tightly, a mischievous smirk creeping onto his face. “Ah-ah,” he added with a sparkle in his eye, “before I hand this over, there’s one condition…”
Drak swallowed hard and nodded, waiting for his uncle to continue.
“I can see a lot of myself in you. That same restless spirit, that desire to break free, to do something that matters.” He let out a small chuckle, shaking his head as if recalling his own past. “Like I said, I had big dreams—dreams that no one else really understood. But I went for them anyway, and it changed everything for me.”
Drak’s heart thudded in his chest. He’d always felt his uncle was strange and aloof, too focused in his own world to care… But now? He admired everything about Garvin for his boldness, his willingness to defy expectations and pursue his own path, and here Drak was, hearing that his uncle saw the same potential in him. It made his throat tighten with emotion, and he wasn’t quite sure how to respond.
Garvin’s astute eyes relaxed even further, a queer seriousness coming over his face as he continued. “You’ve got potential, Drak. I can see it. Maybe more than even you realize.” He paused, locking eyes with his nephew. “That’s why I want you to succeed. To find your own way. It might not be the path Jaemes and Dona laid out for you, and that’s okay. Sometimes, breaking away is the best thing you can do, even if it hurts.”
Drak felt a swell of gratitude and excitement building inside him, a sense of possibility he hadn’t fully acknowledged until now. He was grateful for the support, something his parents would’ve never understood. Even as his thoughts raced, Garvin leaned in closer, his voice dropping to an intimate hush.
“Now,” he murmured, glancing around the workshop as though they were conspiring together, “About that favor... If you’re planning on heading outside the city—I need you to deliver something for me. Something important. It’s for a fellow inventor, and it has to get there without any... interruptions. Within the next day, or two, perhaps?”
The request caught Drak off guard, but he nodded quickly, eager to take on the responsibility if it meant he'd secure the signed document. “Of course, I can do that,” Drak replied, already feeling the enormity of the task. Whatever it was, he knew it was serious. His uncle didn’t entrust just anyone with important deliveries, and the fact that Garvin was putting his faith into him with this? It meant everything, especially, if it meant he was helping Nalli in the process.
Garvin smiled, though his expression transitioned into something more thoughtful as he continued to hold on to the permit paperwork.
“Before I release this,” Garvin said, his mischievous gleam returning to his eye. He leaned in, his voice low but his smile wide. “I want you to promise me one more thing, Drak. When you go out there, when you take that first great step into the unknown, don’t hold back. Find your passion. Take risks. Don’t settle for what’s comfortable.”
He held the paper tight, then added in a more serious tone, “I believe in you. I see something in you that most people don’t get to see until it’s too late. You’ve got a grand unwritten fate ahead of you, Drak. You can do something extraordinary if you have the courage to go after it.”
Drak’s breath caught in his throat. His uncle, this distant, larger-than-life figure in his mind, was telling him he believed in him. It felt surreal, like the ground beneath his feet had shifted. Without even thinking, Drak let go of the registration paperwork. He stepped forward and pulled the inventor into an embrace, catching his uncle off guard. “Thank you, Uncle Garvin. I promise, you won’t regret this,” Drak replied, the lump in his throat getting tighter.
For a moment, Garvin stiffened, surprised by the sudden show of affection, but then he laughed softly, clapping Drak on the back. “Alright, alright,” he chuckled, his voice warm. “No need to get sentimental on me now.”
Garvin then reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small, weathered envelope, handing it over to Drak. “Here,” he said, “take this to Watson Irongear in the town of Solace. He’s… expecting it... within two days. Don’t open it, just deliver it safely. I’m sure he’ll be cordial when you arrive.”
Solace, that wasn't too far away.
Drak took the letter, the light parchment feeling more significant than its size, and nodded confidently. “I’ll deliver it, Uncle. You can count on me.”
Garvin chuckled, his gaze blossoming as he watched Drak. “I know you will,” he said with a smile, his voice suddenly returning to that same whimsical tone as he turned back to the aeronautical contraption on his workbench. “Now go on, before I get too distracted with this airship and change my mind.”
Without another word, Garvin resumed tinkering with his invention, but Drak could tell his uncle had faith in him based on the small smile playing at the corner of his mouth. The reassurance lit a fire inside Drak. He hurriedly thanked his uncle one more time, secured the envelope and the paperwork with his uncle’s signature in his coat pocket, then swiftly ran out of the building, his steps light and full of excitement.
Once outside, Drak rushed to his steam-bike, his adrenaline surging through him. He couldn’t believe it. Everything had gone more smoothly than he could have imagined! He still had plenty of time before the Department of Vital Records closed, and he was one step closer to helping Nalli.
The engine of his bike sparked to life as he sped back into the throes of the city. Arriving at the Department of Vital Records building, he parked and headed inside with renewed confidence, and this time, he had the paperwork legalized with his uncle’s signature. The line was longer this time, and the wait still tested his patience, but with everything now in order, it was worth the wait. Intentionally, Drak found himself face to face with the same official from earlier, her expression neutral but vaguely curious as he approached.
Drak proudly handed her the signed document. “Here it is. My uncle’s signature.”
The official examined the paper, her eyes scanning the signature carefully before she nodded, satisfied. “Looks in order,” she said after comparing it to a list of signatures on the records book in front of her. She then reached beneath her desk for a small stack of forms and stamped one. After a moment, she handed him an official temporary direhound registration card.
Drak stared at the card in his hands, his heart pounding with relief and excitement. The small, card-stock piece of paper felt more important than it should have. It was the physical token of his efforts that he had poured his soul into getting this far. It bore Nalli’s false name as he repeated it in his head, Surge. Complete with the official seal of the Department of Vital Records. For the first time, he felt the flicker of pride in how far he’d come. He’d done it, against all odds, he’d managed to navigate the complex maze of Tribute’s bureaucracy and emerge victorious.
With the registration card clutched tightly in his hand, Drak couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of accomplishment. His mind raced as he bid farewell to the official and quickly made his way back to his steam-bike. The pieces had fallen into place, and he could hardly believe it. All the worry, all the uncertainty, it was finally paying off. And all it took was his honesty and Uncle Garvin’s support. Suddenly, all the lies he had felt like he was leading with felt like they meant something.
The engine growled to life as he mounted his steam-bike, and he took off through the city streets, the wind whipping against his face. He still had time to spare, and his path seemed clear. As he approached the city gates, he instinctively slowed down, making sure to avoid any unnecessary attention from the gate guards this time around. His pulse steadied as he passed through without incident, the gates slowly shrinking in the distance behind him.
Once outside the gates, Drak pushed the throttle, and the bike accelerated with a burst of unnecessary speed. The city shrank behind him as he barreled down the open road, his thoughts racing just as fast. He couldn't wait to show Nalli the registration card and to prove to her that his plan had worked. Although, a gnawing worry crept into the back of his mind, how would she react to the collar? She knew it was part of the plan, but the idea of her wearing it still didn’t sit right with him, and he still had no idea how she would feel about it.
He shook the thought away. One step at a time, Drak, he told himself. At the very least, the registration meant Nalli could walk out of the barn without fear of being harassed or captured. She would be safe, and that’s what mattered most right now.
As the road stretched before him Drak’s limbs buzzed with anticipation. He hoped Nalli would be impressed with how everything had worked out. After all, they were one step closer in their journey, and despite the looming challenges ahead, Drak felt a flicker of hope. For the first time, he believed they might actually pull this off.
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