The old wizard Maron hunched over his desk, the dim light from a half-melted candle just enough to see the pages in front of him. Age had left his body frail, barely able to move from room to room, but his mind stayed sharp.

  Another message from Revy arrived, sent by a sending spell. That was the fifth one this week.

  Almost two weeks had gone by since the trio set out after the dragon, the one that showed up out of nowhere and then just stayed. Reports from Humblom, Wenverer, and even old Mage-Mouse friends in Honiewood all said the same thing: no fire, no destruction, no deaths. The dragon landed, delivered packages, and left without burning a single doorstep.

  Maron frowned at the latest message. His old friend, a retired magic-mouse from Honeywood, said the dragon visited peacefully, dropped off deliveries from Wenverer, and left without any trouble. No demands, no threats, no fire. The only strange thing was that one of the young apprentices went missing soon after. But everyone was sure the dragon hadn’t taken them. It hadn’t even left its spot the whole time.

  “They think the girl just wandered off,” Maron muttered. “Maybe that’s foolish. I’ve seen dragons burn cities for less.”

  In all his years, one thing had always been true: dragons never showed mercy. They were storms with wings, fire that could think. Only when Rune Gear was invented did people finally have a weapon strong enough to fight back. Before that, villages had nothing but prayers and hope. A dragon calmly running mail routes?

  He gripped his cane, feeling uneasy. Something about this didn’t sit right.

  Not at all.

  But it wasn’t the dragon that truly unsettled him.

  No, it was Revy’s latest report.

  They were in Honiewood. Somehow, the trio convinced the mage-mice they were just passing through, and the small, reclusive folk let them stay for now. That wasn’t surprising. The rest of the message was about letting him.

  Thornwood spiders. Dozens of them, each as big as a large dog. And they had attacked, which should have been impossible.

  He leaned back, brows furrowing beneath the weight of memory. He knew of those spiders. Feral, aggressive, and extremely territorial, but they were mountain-born predators. Native to the southern ranges, hundreds of miles away. They had never been seen this far north.

  Not once in his whole life.

  And now, they were pouring out of Thornwood.

  Revy described it as if the forest itself were bleeding them out, wave after wave, swarming anything that moved. According to her, the only thing keeping them from entering Honiewood now was a natural ravine carved deep into the land. A temporary barrier.

  But that wouldn’t last.

  The magemice knew it too. She said they were already talking about evacuating, leaving behind their old libraries and homes. It wasn’t panic, just a quiet, urgent sense that nothing could stop the spread anymore.

  Maron stared at the flickering candle. You're wrong.

  And it wasn’t just the spiders.

  Maron sank back into his chair, bones aching as he turned to glance at the wall.

  There hung Sir Grone’s sword, now cracked and dull with age. It had once been a mighty blade, the one that cut off the head of Lavries the Red Death, the biggest and most dangerous dragon they ever faced. Now it was just a decoration, a relic from a long-ago war.

  He remembered that battle clearly: flames licking the cave walls, screams drowned out by the roar of wings, and the heavy feeling as the sword struck.

  Still, he kept thinking about that small dragon they’d glimpsed years ago in the cracks of the cave’s broken walls. It was too small to be a threat, too clever to catch. They searched for it, searched for years, but never found a trace in forty years.

  He didn’t think it was one of the others. Not the ones they hunted later.

  Leaning back with a sigh, he rubbed at his eyes.

  Twenty years. It had been twenty years since the last known dragon was slain. And now? Another one appears… delivering mail.

  He let out a weak, dry chuckle that faded almost immediately.

  “Never thought I’d live to see this day,” he murmured to the candlelight. “What has the world come to?”

  Maron grabbed a quill, his hand trembling slightly from age but guided by purpose. With careful strokes, he began to write:

  To Duke Deolron,

  The dragon we observed has shown no signs of aggression. I recommend a formal study to understand this anomaly. Its behavior is unlike anything recorded before.

  However, the activity in the southeastern part of Thornwood is more concerning. There are signs of something unnatural, especially trapdoor spiders that aren’t native to the area. Their numbers and behavior suggest something has forced or attracted them far from home.

  I don’t make these recommendations lightly. The first rule of hunting is to understand what you’re hunting. If these events are connected, we need to find out how and why before it’s too late.

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Signed,

  Archwizard Maron of the Flamebreakers

  He finished the letter, sealed it with wax, and pressed the flamebreaker crest into it, a dragon’s head pierced by a sword. Inner,” he called, voice hoarse but commanding.

  A young aide appeared at the door. Maron handed him the letter. “Take this to Lord Deolron right away. No delays.”

  The aide nodded and hurried out, boots echoing down the stone hall.

  Maron sank back into his chair, letting the light from the window spill across his weathered face. His gaze drifted out to the sky beyond.

  “What will this world become,” he whispered, “when dragons bring mail and spiders bring war?”

  //////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

  Talvan and the others finished packing their bags.

  “Well,” Talvan muttered, adjusting the strap on his shoulder, “if I ever wondered what it’d be like to have my soul scrubbed raw by mice, now I know.”

  Revy stretched, still toweling off her arms. “Hey, at least it smelled like lavender. Could’ve been worse.”

  LerLeryea didn’t say anything at first, but her shoulders looked more relaxed. Even Talvan had to admit he felt lighter, as if years of grime had been washed away from the inside. earby, Barly sat on his saddlebird, watching them with his usual unimpressed expression.

  “So,” he said, raising a brow, “you're after the dragon, huh?”

  “Yeah,” Revy nodded. “We need to find out why it’s out and about.” She added, “She flew us toward Dustdwarf.” Barly answered, “Left five days ago.”

  “That close already?” Leryea murmured. “We really are falling behind.”

  Barly crossed his small arms. “If you see them and Keys is with them, tell her she’s expected to come back. She’s not supposed to be out there.”

  Talvan smirked. “If we survive, I’ll deliver the message.”

  Barly snorted. “When you’re done chasing mail dragons, we’re heading to Dustdwarf too. It’s much safer, and Boarif is an old trading partner. He’ll know what to do if the spiders get bold again.”

  Revy slung her pack over one shoulder with a grunt. “Five days isn’t much of a lead. If we push hard, we might catch them before they leave the region.”

  “Assuming they don’t fly off again,” Leryea added, flicking a stray leaf from her cloak. “Chasing a dragon on foot feels… inefficient.”

  Talvan grinned. “Then we’d better stop dragging our heels, huh?” Barly gave a half-laugh, half-sigh.

  Revy turned to glance back at the treetop village behind them. “You sure the magemice will be alright?”

  BarBarly nodded, his tone softening a bit. “We’re evacuating the young and the elderly first. The rest of us will stay to hold the line. Those spiders won’t cross the ravine unless they’re desperate or something is pushing them.” Alvan’s face tightened slightly. “Let’s hope it’s not the latter.”

  After a moment of silence, Barly clapped his hands. “Enough sentiment. Go chase your dragon. And if you see Keys, tell her that next time she borrows from my library, she should leave a note—or at least a snack.”

  Revy smirked and gave him a salute. “Got it. Rune book, note, snack. Let’s move, team.”

  With that, the trio turned and disappeared down the forest path, heading north toward Dustdwarf and whatever answers waited in the shadow of dragon wings.

  As the group made their way through the mossy underbrush, Revy slowed her pace, glancing up to Talvan.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” she asked quietly. “That dragon didn’t seem like it wanted trouble.”

  Talvan kept his eyes forward, jaw tight. “I don’t.”

  “Then why,”

  “Because something’s wrong,” he said, not unkindly. “Spiders the size of hounds are attacking villages. A dragon is just living among people. That’s not normal. None of this is.”

  Leryea walked in silence for a moment, then said, “She could be the cause. Or maybe just the first sign of something bigger.”

  Talvan frowned but nodded. “Right. So we figure out what’s going on. We talk if we can, fight only if we have to.”

  Revy smirked faintly. “Since when do you talk first?”

  “Since the dragon could turn“Since the dragon could have burned a town to ashes, but didn’t.”m all three, tension breaking just a little.

  Then they walked on, deeper into the woods, heading toward Dustdwarf and whatever truth waited beyond the horizon.

  //////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

  Damon groaned as he sat up on the hard wooden slab the Baubel inn called a bed. His back cracked in protest. He’d tried to sleep outside, but the spiders kept coming all night. That wasn’t a problem for Sivares, but protecting them while half-asleep wasn’t a good idea. So he and Keys chose the inn instead. Five copper well spent, all things considered.

  He blinked down to find Keys curled up on his chest again, sleeping soundly.

  “Guess that’s your favorite spot,” he muttered with a tired smile.

  “You’re warm,” came Keys’ sleepy mumble, her voice muffled and barely awake.

  Damon gently scooped her up with one hand. She dangled, giving a weak wiggle of protest but not really trying to get away. He set her down on the nightstand with care.

  “Let’s go check on Sivares,” he said, pulling on his coat and grabbing their gear. “Hope she didn’t eat half the forest.”

  The morning air outside was fresh and cool, just enough to nip at your nose and hint at a long walk ahead. The town was quiet, maybe even a bit more relaxed. As they reached the edge of the trees, Damon saw her.

  Sivares lay half-coiled, snoring softly. One clawed hand loosely held a half-eaten spider. Dozens more were piled nearby in a messy heap. A few legs still twitched.

  Damon let out a low whistle. “That’s... a lot of spiders.”

  “I lost count after fifty,” Sivares mumbled, opening one golden eye. “I think the town’s safe for now, at least.”

  “You okay?”

  “I was dreaming of a feast,” she said, yawning with a jawful of sharp teeth.

  “Well,” Damon said, looking at the pile of spiders, “it looks like it wasn’t just a dream As Damon got closer, he wrinkled his nose at the smell.

  “Ugh, Sivares,” he said, coughing. “You really need a bath. You smell like spider blood and burnt socks.”

  Sivares lowered her head, ears folding back. Her golden eyes looked almost guilty. “Sorry, Damon…”

  He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I know, I know. It’s not your fault. But still.”

  From inside his mailbag, a small head popped out, Keys blinking sleepily.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Damon looked down at her, then over at Sivares. “Sivares isn’t really a black dragon,” he explained. “She covers herself in coal ash to hide from hunters. If she took a bath, it would wash off. It’s her way of staying safe.”

  “Oh,” Keys said softly, eyes widening as she turned toward the dragon. “That’s kinda sad.”

  “I know it’s selfish,” Sivares murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I was scared. I’ve always been scared. And I didn’t want to stop. Not until we got home.”

  Damon looked at her for a moment before speaking. “Well, I can put up with it a little longer,” he said with a tired smile. “As long as it means getting you home safe.”

  Sivares blinked in surprise. “Thank you... for putting up with me being selfish.”

  He smirked. “Let’s just say you owe me one. We’ll call it even.”

  Her tail gave a slow, relieved wag. “Sure. Deal.”

  As Damon climbed onto her back, he gave Sivares a gentle pat. “Okay, how are your wings?”

  Sivares rolled her shoulders, stretching slowly. “Still sore,” she said, “but I think I can make it to Homblom by this afternoon.”

  Damon smiled. “From your snout to the sky’s ears. Let’s go home.”

  Sivares took a deep breath and stepped back. With a running start, she launched into the air. Her wings caught the wind, just strong enough to carry them high above the treetops.

  Behind them, the forest shrank away, and the troubles of the road faded with each beat of her wings.

  They were going back to where they started.

  Back home.