Talvan and the others finally reached the base of the mountain where Dustworf was located. A zigzagging dirt path wound its way up the steep cliffside, the only route to the town. With burning legs and labored breaths, they began the climb.

  “Why did they build a town up here?” Leryea wheezed, struggling for air.

  Revy, walking beside her, gave a tired chuckle. “I think it’s because they wanted to be closer to the ore veins in the mountain, y’know. But with the main road still closed, I guess they’re just living up here out of habit.”

  Leryea leaned hard on her staff, hoping it would keep her from falling on the stone path.

  “Well,” Talvan said, looking over the quiet village at the top. Most of it was carved right into the mountain.

  “Let’s find a place to rest and ask around.”

  They spotted a group of dwarves drinking and talking around an old barrel used as a table. Laughter filled the air, mugs were full, and everyone seemed to be talking about the same thing.

  “The dragon,” Talvan whispered, then stepped forward. “Sorry to interrupt, are you talking about a dragon?”

  One of the dwarves, a broad fellow with a braided beard and soot-stained shirt, squinted at him. “Outsiders, huh?”

  “Yeah,” Talvan said. “We just got into town. We couldn’t help overhearing.”

  “Ahh, no harm in listenin’.” The dwarf grinned, sloshing his drink. “Aye, lad, we were talkin’ about that dragon. Most interesting thing to happen around here since Old Jim stubbed his toe on that cursed anvil.”

  Revy walked up beside Talvan, curious. “Can you tell us what happened?”

  The dwarf leaned in, his voice dropping just a bit. “Strangest thing I ever saw. Looked more jumpy than a cat in a thunderstorm; it was skittish, really twitchy. Took a step back even when the mayor approached, and he was in his full steam-knight armor.”

  The other dwarf chimed in, chuckling. “But the lad with it, never seen someone like him. Nerves of steel. Just walked right up to the mayor and said, ‘Hello.’ Didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink.”

  “I’ve seen soldiers with less backbone than that mail carrier,” the first dwarf added, raising his mug. “Brazen as a hammer to the face.”

  After leaving the dwarves to their drinks, the group walked on in thoughtful silence. The talk of the dragon stayed with them.

  Despite its size, despite its power… the dragon had been skittish. Nervous. It didn’t match the old stories, tales of dragons that showed no fear, even as they took their final breath. Creatures that always carried that fire of defiance, or raw engagement, in their eyes.

  Revy was the first to break the silence. “I’ve got a theory.”

  Talvan raised an eyebrow. “Let’s hear it.”

  “That dragon,” she said, “was in hiding for at least twenty years. Maybe longer.”

  Leryea blinked. “Hiding? A dragon?”

  “From rune gear.” Revy's voice grew quiet. “It killed hundreds during the Kinder Wars. What if the survivors learned to fear us? What if that’s what we saw?”

  Talvan gave a small nod, murmuring, “Might be a good thing…”

  “It would explain a lot,” Revy continued. “The strange behavior. People kept their heads down when they saw it. If the dragon thinks anyone could kill it, wouldn’t that change how it acts?”

  Leryea frowned. “Not necessarily.”

  They looked at her.

  “Fear doesn’t always lead to caution,” she said softly. “Sometimes… it leads to desperation. And we all know what scared creatures do.”

  Her gaze turned distant.

  “They try to destroy whatever scares them. And who knows what a scared dragon would do.”

  As they approached the mayor’s home, Talvan stepped forward and gave the door a firm knock.

  “Hello?” he called. “We’re looking to speak with the mayor.”

  A few moments passed before the door creaked open, revealing a stocky dwarf with a blood-red beard and a jagged scar where one of his eyes used to be. He gave them a long, assessing once-over, arms crossed and unimpressed.

  “Well now,” the dwarf rumbled, his voice gravelly with age and ale, arms crossed and unimpressed. For a moment, he said nothing. Then,

  'Flamebreakers, eh? You’ve got that air about you.”

  His good eye narrowed at Talvan’s blade.

  “And that fancy weapon on your hip, I’ve seen steel like that before. Ain’t cheap, and sure as hell ain’t from around here.”

  Talvan gave a polite nod. “Yeah… that’s us.”

  The dwarf snorted. “Figures. You lot walk like you’ve seen war, and carry yourselves like you’re not done with it yet. Come in, then. I reckon you’re not just here for tea.”

  As the group stepped inside, the dwarf motioned for them to sit.

  “I’m Boarif, son of Doarif,” he said, thumping his chest in the old dwarven way. “Mayor of Dustworf… more or less.”

  Talvan offered a small bow. “I’m Talvan. The mage is Revy, and this is Leryea.”

  Boarif gave them a long look, sharp enough to freeze bone. “Lad, you’re not here to hunt that dragon, are you?”

  Talvan tensed. “We still need to track her. Understand what we’re dealing with.”

  Boarif’s eye narrowed. “She’s not like the others. That one… she shared a table with my wife and me. You know what kind of honor that is? For a dwarf to share a meal with you?”

  Revy raised a brow. “For a dragon to accept? That’s unheard of.”

  Boarif gave a slow nod. “Aye. At first, we thought it’d be like the old stories, a monster come to burn the world. Fire and ruin. But she wasn’t like that.”

  Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

  “I’ve known dragons,” he said after a pause, tapping the scar over his ruined eye. “Lost this to one over a hundred and twenty years ago. I hated ‘em for most of my life.”

  He looked away for a breath, then back at them.

  “But Sivares… she’s different. Mark my words.”

  Leryea spoke up next, her voice cautious but firm. “It’s not just the dragon. The magemice are leaving Honiewood.”

  Boarif’s brow furrowed, the red in it darkening like storm clouds. “You sure about that?”

  “Yeah,” she nodded. “And as you can guess, to get here, we had to cross Thornwood. Ran into some giant spiders along the way, bad ones. The mice said more are planning to come here for shelter.”

  Boarif sat back in his chair, stroking his beard. “Hmph. That’s a bad sign. The magemice leaving their burrows… They’ve only done that twice in history. Once before the Kender Wars. And once during the Red Blight.”

  “Still,” he added, glancing toward the window, “if they come, they’ll find a place here. Dustworf may be carved into stone, but our doors stay open.”

  “Well, not like we can leave,” Leryea muttered. “The only road is still blocked by the landslide, and Thornwood is crawling with those spiders.”

  Boarif gave them a long look. “I won’t help you track the dragon,” he said firmly. “But you’ve been straight with me, so I’ll lend a hand.”

  He walked to a nearby desk and rummaged through a pile of scrolls and maps. “Here we go.” He unrolled a worn parchment and pushed it across the table. “This will take you through the mine tunnels. When you come out the other side, head west about twenty bars, and you’ll reach a small town called Baubel. I figure from there, you can head home.”

  “Twenty bars?” Revy asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “Dwarven measure,” Boarif explained. “We mostly use it for tunnel lengths. That’s about twelve miles.”

  Talvan gave a small nod. “Thank you, Boarif. For being honest with us.”

  “Aye, well, unlike you tallfolk, always dancin’ around the truth, I like to keep things straight from the start.”

  As the group stepped out of the home and into the cool mountain air, Revy gave a small shrug. “Well, we still don’t have any real leads.”

  “We might find something in Baubel,” Talvan said, tucking the map under his arm.

  Leryea glanced to the sky. “But the dragon… Sivares, was it? She’s still out there.”

  “And if she’s moving,” Revy added, “we’ll need to move faster.”

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

  Damon stepped out into the crisp morning air, taking a deep breath. Nothing beat the smell after a night of rain, fresh, clean, like the whole world had hit reset. The sun was already up, casting golden rays across the drying puddles.

  From inside his shirt collar, Keys poked her tiny head out. “You think Sivares will come back?”

  Damon stretched his arms overhead, back popping with a satisfying crack. He glanced toward the horizon. “Sure she will,” he said with a quiet chuckle. “But for once… we’ve got a little time.”

  As he walked along the edge of the square, Keys climbed up to perch on his shoulder, eyes wide as she looked around. “This is the biggest city I’ve ever been in.”

  Damon snorted. “This? This isn’t even a city.”

  “What?” Keys blinked. “Really?”

  “Homblom’s just a trading town, kind of a halfway stop between three actual cities. Avagron, Bolrmont, and Ulbma. Now those are cities. Especially Avagron, it’s the capital.”

  Keys tilted her head. “That's the one with the royal family?”

  “Yep,” Damon said. “Their castle’s built right in the middle of a giant lake. Looks like it’s floating.”

  Her eyes sparkled. “I want to see it.”

  “Me too,” Damon admitted. “Never been myself.”

  They walked in silence for a moment, the morning calm stretching around them.

  But in both of their hearts, a quiet ember of excitement had already been lit.

  The two of them wandered through town for a bit, taking in the sights. At one of the stalls, Damon used some of his small change to buy a skewer of freshly grilled meat. He handed a piece to Keys, who balanced it in her tiny paws and took a bite.

  Her eyes lit up. “Not as good as Emafi’s cooking… but I’ve never had this before.”

  “Really?”

  She nodded between chews. “It’s usually just seeds and, if we’re lucky, some bugs. I mean, we’re small. Doesn’t take much.”

  Damon chuckled, watching her enjoy it. “So what made you want to be a mail carrier?”

  “I heard they traveled,” she said, swinging her legs as she sat on his shoulder. “But, we only ran local routes. Never left the woods. Never really left.”

  He glanced at her. “You really wanted to leave, huh?”

  Keys looked down, clutching the half-eaten skewer. “Don’t get me wrong, I don’t hate it. It’s home. But never being allowed to leave? Same people, same streets, same woods. After a while, I’d seen everything. Nothing was new anymore. I felt trapped.”

  She looked up at him again, her voice quiet but sure. “What I hope is that when I go back, I’ll have stories. Stories about all the places I’ve been and the things I’ve seen. I know it’s risky. But living stuck like that…” She shook her head. “And you wonder why I jumped into your bag, even if it meant being with a dragon.”

  Damon didn’t say anything right away, but he smiled.

  “You’re braver than most people I know,” he said at last.

  That’s when they heard it, a shout from somewhere in town.

  “The dragon’s back!”

  People didn’t panic this time. No screams or stampedes. Just a lot of heads turning, confused murmurs rippling through the crowd.

  Damon looked to Keys, who had poked her head up from his collar.

  “Looks like Sivares is back.”

  He downed the last bite of his skewer, wiped his hands on his coat, and started walking toward the gate. Keys clung to his shoulder as they passed through.

  There she was, Sivares. Still coated in coal dust, but the sour smell from before was gone, and she looked… better. Healthier. Her eyes were clearer, and her posture less tense.

  “Hey, Sivares,” Damon called.

  “Hello, Damon,” she replied, tail giving a slow wave.

  “Want to see if your new saddle’s ready?”

  She looked up hopefully. “Yeah… I’m really hoping it is.”

  “Oh, and one more thing,” Damon said, reaching into his bag and pulling out a folded piece of paper. He held it up with a grin. “You’re officially an officer mail carrier now. Congratulations.”

  “Really?” Her golden eyes widened in surprise, tail flicking again with a little more energy. “We’re moving up in the world, huh?”

  “You bet,” Damon chuckled. “Next stop, legendary mail service.”

  Damon looked to the guard captain by the gate. The man gave a slight nod, permission granted, but it was clear from his posture that they’d be keeping an eye on Sivares the whole time.

  Together, Damon and Sivares made their way through town toward Blain’s shop, the local leatherworker. Naturally, Sivares had to wait outside; she was far too big to fit through the doorway.

  The little bell above the door rang as Damon stepped inside.

  Blain looked up from his workbench, grinning. “When I heard the dragon was back, I figured you wouldn’t be far behind. Been waiting for you two.”

  “Hey, Blain,” Damon said, flashing a cheerful smile. “Oh, Boarif says hello, by the way.”

  “Old man Boarif, huh?” Blain chuckled, rubbing his chin. “He’s been around since my grandfather’s grandfather's time.”

  Damon handed over the receipt. “Here’s the letter he signed.”

  Blain squinted at it, then gave a nod. “Yep, that’s Boarif’s signature. All right then, consider your down payment covered. You can pay the remaining four silver, one a month, until it’s done. Next one’s due on the new moon.”

  “Got it. With all the commissions we’ve got coming in, we should be paid off way before then,” Damon said confidently.

  That’s when he and Keys saw it, sleek brown leather, shaped perfectly to match the contours of Sivares’ back. The new saddle had two large carrying bags, one on each side, sturdy and practical.

  “Figured if you’re running mail routes, those bags’ll come in handy,” Blain said proudly. “And don’t worry, they’re on the house. Just make sure folks know who made ’em, good ol’ Blain.”

  “We’ll spread the word,” Damon promised, eyes gleaming.

  “Come on,” Damon said with a grin. “Let’s give it a test flight.”

  After leaving the town and making sure they had a clear path, Sivares crouched low. Damon climbed up, securing himself, with Keys tucked safely in his jacket.

  With a running start, Sivares spread her wings wide, and then they were off, lifting into the sky with a powerful burst of wind behind them. The saddle held firm, the straps snug, and for the first time, it felt like they were flying as one seamless unit.

  Keys peeked out, eyes wide with delight. “We’re really flying again!”

  Damon laughed as the wind rushed past. “Feels like freedom, doesn’t it?”

  Sivares let out a joyful rumble, banking to the side. “It really does.”

  Damon leaned forward, eyes on the horizon.

  “Let’s go show Mom and Dad,” he said. “Back home.”

  Sivares gave a pleased rumble. “Think they’re ready to see the upgrade?”

  Keys perked up from Damon’s collar. “We’re going to land in that field again, right? I like that spot.”

  “With a proper saddle this time,” Damon added with a smirk. “No ropes, no frayed blankets. Just smooth flying.”

  With a beat of her wings, Sivares took them into the open sky. The wind rushed past, carrying them toward the hills and the quiet farmhouse tucked behind them, -0[p9a place that had seen a scared dragon land once and now would see a proud mail carrier return.

  “They’re gonna be so proud,” Damon said softly.

  Watching the horizon blur beneath them. “Yeah. I think this will work.”