Willowthorne sat at the heart of a vast forest, and after two full days of flying over nothing but endless green, even the clouds seemed tired. Damon leaned forward on Sivares’s back, squinting at the horizon.

  “Mind if we land soon?” she muttered, her wings flexing from the strain.

  He checked the sun, already halfway down the sky. “Yeah. Let’s start looking.”

  The forest below rolled on forever. A sea of treetops, broken only by the occasional clearing, until they saw them.

  These weren’t like the trees beneath them. They were massive, towering shapes that seemed to touch the clouds. Damon knew their name. Everyone did.

  “The Eld Trees,” he whispered. “One of them has to be Eldrasel, the spirit tree.”

  Sivares perked up. “That’s right... It’s just over there. Think we can make it?”

  She sounded uncertain. The weight of the gear she carried from Oldar still tugged at her back.

  Damon patted her neck gently. “We’ll find somewhere to rest. Don’t push it.”

  His eyes scanned the woods below until he spotted it.

  “There, a clearing. Big enough for you to land.”

  From the depths of Damon’s travel bag, a small, sleepy voice piped up.

  “Smells like trees,” Keys mumbled, poking her head out of her cozy nook between the letters and snacks. “And I vote we land now.”

  As they descended toward the clearing, it was clear Sivares was pushing her limits. With all the extra weight from the mining supplies, they’d barely managed half her usual travel distance.

  She touched down with a heavy thud, the force rattling through her limbs. The moment her feet hit solid ground, she collapsed to her side, panting hard.

  Damon slid off her back, boots crunching in the grass. “Alright, I’ll get a fire going,” he said, brushing off dust.

  Keys, still curled in her nook, poked her head out with a yawn. “Okay, but… I only saw that one elf. We’ve seen dwarves in the cities, even some humans, but where are the rest of the elves?”

  Damon, rummaging for their dry rations, answered while pulling out a pack of preserved bread and cheese. “Elves and humans don’t exactly get along. And dwarves and elves?” He gave a low whistle. “From what I’ve heard, there’s some serious bad blood.”

  He knelt beside a patch of bare earth, clearing space for a fire pit. “Elves try to live in balance with nature. Humans and dwarves? We kinda bend nature to our will. You saw Oldar, how much work the dwarves put into carving the mountain to fit their needs.”

  As he struck flint to steel, sparks leapt onto the kindling. The fire caught slowly, a faint warm glow beginning to spread. Sivares had already scooted several feet away, wary.

  With the black powder keg still tied to her back, she didn’t dare risk a stray ember, and she wasn’t going to use her fire breath anytime soon.

  “It’s why rune gear is so rare,” Damon said, adjusting a log. “It can only be made when dwarves and elves work together, the dwarves forge the metal, the elves inscribe the enchantments.”

  “And only one thing ever got them to work together long enough to make any,” Sivares added quietly. “Dragons, right? My kind. Just flying around, burning everything to the ground...”

  Damon turned to her, his brow furrowed. “Hey. Don’t worry, Sivares. I don’t blame you for what happened. It was before my time. And I know you. You’re not like the stories say.”

  She looked at him, her expression unreadable. “Thanks. I don’t know how to feel about that. Not being a ‘true’ dragon. Just a shell of one now.”

  “Hey!” Damon waved a stick in mock scolding. “Don’t say that.”

  “Say what?”

  “‘True dragon.’” He frowned. “Who decides what that even means? ’Cause from where I’m standing, you’re the most dragon-y person I know.”

  She let out a chuff, half-sigh, half-laugh. “You just made that up.”

  Damon crossed his arms. “Doesn’t make it less true.”

  Sivares shifted slightly, her wings curling tighter around her as she stared into the fire. The flickering light painted her scales soft gold.

  “You know,” she said, voice low, “we weren’t always monsters. At least not to everyone.”

  Damon didn’t say anything. He just fed another log to the flames and

  waited.

  “There was a time when my kind were... more. Keepers of stories. Guardians of the old paths. Some say we shaped the weather, others say we carried the dreams of the world in our wings.” She huffed. “Now all anyone remembers is fire and death.”

  Damon sat beside her, close but not crowding. “History tends to shrink things. Flatten them into whatever shape people need them to be.”

  “Convenient villains,” Sivares muttered bitterly.

  “Exactly.”

  She glanced at him. “My mother used to sing old sky-chants to me. Not lullabies, real chants, the kind that she said could call the wind or still a storm. She said dragons weren’t just beasts of fire. We were woven from the breath of the world. Living echoes of the first sunrise.”

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  Damon let the silence stretch, letting the weight of her words settle. Then: “That doesn’t sound like a monster.”

  “No,” she whispered, eyes gleaming. “It sounds like something I’ll never be.”

  He turned to her, voice firmer. “You’re already more than that. You carry the memory of it. That matters.”

  She blinked slowly, surprised.

  “Maybe you weren’t there for the beginning,” Damon went on, “but you’re here now, with us. You’re kind, smart, fiercely loyal, and annoyingly humble sometimes, but I know you would fly through lightning to keep us safe. That counts.”

  Sivares lowered her head, touched, and gently tucked her snout against Damon’s shoulder. “You think so?”

  “I know so.”

  “I’d like to hear one of your sky-chants,” Damon said softly.

  Sivares turned her head, startled. “I haven’t sung one in decades.”

  Damon leaned back against his pack and smiled. “It’s fine. I want to hear it.”

  She looked at him for a long moment, then up at the sky.

  When she began, it was a deep, resonant hum, low and slow, the kind of sound you could feel in your bones. The melody wasn’t bright or cheerful. It was haunting. Beautiful in the way old things are beautiful, like wind through ancient ruins, or the creak of old trees that had seen too much.

  It didn’t sound like a song meant for people. It sounded like something sung to the stars, or to the soul of the sky itself.

  Damon lowered his head, eyes closed, just listening.

  When she finished, the silence that followed was heavy and still.

  “It was bad, wasn’t it?” Sivares asked, not looking at him.

  Damon shook his head slowly. “That was… incredible. I’ve never heard anything like it.”

  They sat like that for a while, the fire crackling gently as the forest darkened around them. Keys poked her head out of Damon’s bag, blinking sleepily at the pair.

  “You two gonna keep being sappy all day, or can I come out now?”

  Damon chuckled and handed her a fire-roasted walnut, cracking it open with his knife before passing it over.

  “You know, Keys,” he said, poking her belly, “you eat and sleep a lot. I figured you’d be, I don’t know, puffier by now.”

  Keys huffed, snatching the nut and munching. “It comes with being a mage. Where do you think the energy to cast spells comes from?”

  Damon scratched his chin. “I dunno. I thought it came from the air or something. Like an invisible force you pull on.”

  She stared at him flatly. “You have no idea how magic works, do you?”

  “Nope. Not at all. You’re the first caster I’ve ever met.”

  “Well,” she said primly, sitting up straighter like a miniature professor, “mana is made by the body, from food. That’s why I eat so much. Sleep helps, too. And you were sort of right, the air holds something called aether. Spells happen when you mix the mana inside you with the aether outside. Boom. Magic.”

  “Huh,” Damon nodded. “So it’s like cooking. You need ingredients.”

  “Exactly,” Keys said, clearly pleased. “And there is a shortcut. Mage stones. You crush them up and dissolve them in water; it refills your mana in minutes. But it’s rare, expensive, and I’ve heard the side effects can be not great.”

  “How bad?” Damon asked.

  “Teeth falling out. Nosebleeds. Spontaneous hair growth. One guy exploded.” Keys explained.

  Damon blinked. “Exploded?”

  “Well, partially.”

  He stared. “That doesn’t make it better.”

  She grinned and stuffed another nut in her mouth. “Still beats running on empty.”

  “Be right back,” Damon said, standing and glancing toward the woods. “Hey, you want to join us?”

  Sivares and Keys both looked at him, confused, until a figure emerged silently from the trees.

  She wore a green cloak that shimmered like living leaves, each fold blending seamlessly with the forest. Pulling back her hood revealed high cheekbones, pointed ears, and the unmistakable grace of an elf. Her sharp eyes swept over the camp, landing on Damon, then Sivares, and finally Keys.

  Sivares tensed. Keys half-vanished into Damon’s coat. But Damon just patted the ground beside him.

  “Yeah, figured being this close to Willowthorne, and having a fire, someone would come check us out.”

  The elf’s gaze didn’t soften. “Human,” she said coolly. “You’re the dragon rider flying around.”

  “That’s me,” Damon replied, calm as ever. “Damon, mail courier. And you?”

  Her hand hovered near her bow. “Why are you here? What business do you have with Willowthorne?”

  Then her eyes landed on the black powder keg tied to Sivares’ harness.

  “You’re here to attack,” she accused, drawing the bow from her back.

  Sivares instinctively stepped back, shielding the keg.

  “Nope.” Damon stood, hands open. “We’re not here to start anything. Just delivering a letter from Scout Vivlan.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Well, you found the scoutmaster.”

  Damon nodded, carefully opening his bag. “Then this letter’s for you.”

  She watched every movement, tense and silent, until he produced a faintly glowing letter sealed with a silver glyph. Her posture shifted instantly.

  “You’re not lying, are you?” she asked, her voice suddenly softer.

  Damon shook his head and handed her the letter without flinching. “I don’t lie. Not about the mail.”

  She stared at it for a long moment before taking it and tucking it into her cloak.

  “So... what now?”

  “Well,” Damon said, rubbing the back of his neck, “we’ll rest here tonight. Then head to Dustdwarf in the morning. I just need a signature, really.”

  He pulled out a delivery log and held it out with a small, hopeful grin.

  She studied him a moment longer, then signed in elegant, flowing script:

  Scoutmaster Arieay

  “Thanks,” Damon said, tucking the book back into his pack. “Guess that makes it official. Letter delivered.”

  “Just don’t make too much noise tonight,” she said, turning to vanish into the trees. “The forest listens. And it remembers.”

  “Noted,” Damon replied.

  Sivares blinked. “She really didn’t like the powder keg.”

  “Yeah,” Keys added. “Elves aren’t fans of loud things. Or explosions. Or really anything not made of moss and light.”

  Damon sighed. “Well, we’ve got a signature, a fire, and some slightly suspicious goodwill. Let’s not waste it.”

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

  By the time the dragon took flight, the first rays of morning had barely kissed the treetops. From her perch in the upper canopy, Arieay watched them go, wings beating steadily, the boy tucked against the saddle, flying southeast and away from Willowthorne.

  A rustle of leaves signaled another’s approach, and a quiet presence settled beside her. Master Kellyon. He carried no bow anymore, though the faded scars along his arms told of the one he’d once wielded. His eyes, however, were still sharp.

  As they watched the dragon fade into the sky, he finally spoke.

  “So, what do you think?”

  “That was the same dragon, wasn’t it?” Arieay asked softly.

  Kellyon nodded. “The one from all those years ago.”

  “She’s older now. Covered in cloth and carrying gear, but... the way she moves. It’s her.”

  Kellyon rubbed his hands together, old muscle memory from too many years drawing a rune-bow that had long since broken him.

  “But what stood out,” he said, “wasn’t the dragon. It was him.”

  Arieay turned. “The boy?”

  Kellyon’s eyes narrowed, a rare flicker of awe in his voice.

  “Last night, when he was tending the fire… he looked up. Saw me. Locked eyes, right through the canopy, like I was standing in an open field. No magic. No tricks. Just saw me. Clear as day.”

  Her eyes widened. “Not even the Grand Rangers can track you that easily.”

  “I know,” he murmured. “That’s why it rattled me. And the dragon, she moves like she’s always half-lost unless he’s nearby. Centered on him. That’s not how dragons are.”

  Arieay looked back toward the sun-dappled canopy.

  “You think he’s dangerous?”

  “I think,” Kellyon said slowly, flexing fingers that no longer opened doors without help, “that he might be something more.”

  As the last glimpse of the dragon vanished over the horizon, Kellyon spoke, his voice low with wonder.

  “I hunted dragons for a long time… but I’ve never heard one sing before.”

  They sat in silence a while longer, watching the sky where wings had vanished.

  Neither spoke what they were both thinking.

  Something had changed.

  And the forest, old and wise as it was, had felt it too.