The torch light reflected from a pool of shimmering, precious treasures. The shadows of the cave gave way as the fire moved forward between a tall chasm of jagged stones, dancing away to grant entrance to Daemon. He hesitated in his steps, huddled close to the rocky wall with his torch held high. A chamber did exist this deep into the mountain’s split, the rumors were true, and so were they about the treasure to be unearthed. Piles of coins filled one half of the space, towering tall and disorganized, silks and jewellery and gems scattered about and rolling over top of each other.

The rumors were true that this chamber existed, housing more than enough wealth Daemon needed, but he wondered aloud, his lips quivering, “... But what of the dragon?”

Daemon studied every corner of the cave that he could perceive, as far as his light could stretch. The innkeeper’s warnings, the ones he brushed off as the kitchen staff laughed, were gnawing at his mind. Supposedly a dragon dwelled deep into the north mountain’s crags, hording a treasure all to itself. A beast like that, if real, would burn his flesh clean off the bone, Daemon horrifically imagined.

But the shadows didn’t unveil a monstrous shape. Dameon’s temptations were great, and so he moved forward recklessly, but unpunished. In the open clearing just at the foot of the golden mounds, he awed at the loot closely. He came here only for one sack of gold, and one sack was all he brought, but a whole crew was going to be needed for this excavation!

“And they called me the fool, when it was them all along! Hah!” Daemon sneered, rubbing his chin confidently. A coin recoiled off his leather boot, having rolled down a slope of treasure. He retrieved it, his thumb glossing over the kingdom’s crest. “How angry will the guild be, upon seeing me return successful? Their faces will be a greater treasure…”

Then another coin rolled to his boot, fallen from somewhere else. As he looked to it, a scoop of items slid towards him, and then another little wave. Dameon dropped the coin and held out his torch shakily. Quickly did he realize how unnatural the ground seemed to shake, and how a pushing power resonated from within the center of the treasures.

A geyser of gold bubbled up from the horde, and then a sprout of wings launched curtains of coins to both sides. The treasure was rising, pushed up from the beast slumbering underneath. A growl added to the rumbling, a huge creature promising to unveil itself. Daemon gasped, his heart escaping him as the torch did his grasp, his source of light now at his feet to cast an even greater, larger shadow of the monster’s shape, intensely looming as it painted the back of the cavern.

“A visitor…? How many moons must it have been since…?” A voice hissed, nearly lost in the unruly sound of coins pouring over each other. “Perhaps finally an offering has come to be made? To be added to my collection? Another treasure, or… another life…?”

The beast crept towards Dameon, hunched forward under the dwindling weight of treasure on its back. Daemon bent back to marvel at such a mighty scene until he fell backwards to the ground, where he then raced to retrieve not a weapon, but the torch. The fire was held high, to give image to the monster he trembled before.

But he did not stutter the beast’s name as dragon, nor anything. The light revealed that, perhaps, that wasn’t the creature dwelling here -- or was it? The shape of a lady was unmistakable, but so were the reptilian features. Slender and feminine limbs ended in hard scales and claws, a dark purple color that nearly melded into the shadows. From her head came two fierce horns and a curtain of pink hair, a color not normal for any human. Odder still was her attire, ragged and fastened together from what had to be large scraps; a skirt that concealed little at the sides, and a top that covered only her small chest, leaving her shoulders and midriff undefended.

This was not the exact picture of a dragon that Daemon nor his guild had ever imagined. As stunned as he was that the riches were trapped, what puzzled him the most was the creature standing over him. He noticed, too, that she wasn’t even as towering as he initially thought, no longer seeing the illusion of the gold and the shadows; she was statuesque, perhaps thirty meters high, but the appearance of a young woman gave her a petite look that was hard to take seriously.

She had been smiling, a flash of fangs to match her arrogance, but it faded to an annoyed glare. Daemon, she thought, wasn’t shaking enough, not shivering enough. “You are in the presence of Yvedawn, awakening her from the most lovely slumber,” she announced with an unabashed haughty tone. “Speak your name, and then your purpose. You are being humored.”

Dameon had flinched when Yvedawn spoke, then flinched again when realizing she had a name. He stood up, gathering his nerves and even a shred of confidence. If she could speak and be understood, then she could be reasoned with certainly -- or at least lied to, Daemon considered.

“M-My name is Daemon Oversed,” he replied, taking moments to steady himself beforehand. “M-My purpose is to, err, return to my guild w-with a worthwhile treasure. Dear Dragon, I say, y-you’re overwhelmed with this much treasure, so it was my belief to relieve you of--”

“Pah! Hoho~ I must admit, I am amused! Humored me you have, quite well I say!” Yvedawn laughed, vaguely hiding her mouth with a few fingers. “To your bane, that is not how the world works. This treasure is mine, and of no one else’s belonging! It is in fact a fair claim to say that anything here is of my possession -- lives included.” With that, she pointed a grim claw down at Daemon, that smile slowly returning.

Daemon could feel the sweat seep past his head cloth. “Certainly, o-one as great as you would not be a-amiss if just one humble sack of coins were to--”

“Amiss I would be! Must I repeat myself, adventurer?” Yvedawn stepped forward, her footstep causing more coins to shift and slide. “Nothing will leave my cave. Not gold, nor you. After all, it would be troublesome if you inspired curiosities from tiresome townsfolk, gossiped of my horde…”

“O-Oh, but I promise, y-your cave will remain secret!” Damone urged back to the chasm he entered from, slow steps meant not to draw her attention closely. “I-I have no reason to return nor c-could I forgive myself i-if others came here only to die to you! Definitely, no one will ever know--”

A string of coins flicked up as Yvedawn’s tail rose from a stretch of her horde. The tail, long and heavy like a toned arm, slapped hard against the cave floor just behind Daemon. He twisted to guard himself from what he thought was an attack, but it was only to prevent him from leaving. He spiralled back to face Yvedawn, then realizing she had crept closer while he was distracted. He imagined darting under her draconic legs, a possibility since he was level with her shins, but he doubted he could dodge her now.

“Please make yourself comfortable, mortal. You needn’t worry of leaving, it simply will not happen.” Yvedawn sighed, reeling her tail closer around Daemon, and pulling him closer in its loose coil. “It has been so long since I have last seen a human. Indeed, I have forgotten how small your kind can be…”

Daemon gawked at the woman above him, but feared the dragon around him. The tail was blocking his path out, but more than that, it also flicked at his side, gripping at his arm almost like an embrace. Almost, and then actually -- She’s wagging her tail? Daemon thought, hesitating to just push Yvedawn’s tail back.

It seemed unlikely, but the expression hanging above him confirmed his theory. The sly smile and the interest in her eyes were signs of how she felt. “Pardon me again, b-but are you getting… excited?”

Yvedawn’s smile poofed. “Wh-What? Excited?” Her composure leaked. “And by that you mean…?”

“Oh, it’s a jest,” Daemon chuckled. “Your tail moves like the village dog. It’s cute. Somewhat…”

“Cute?” Yvedawn coughed. “Dog? I-I am no dog!” Her tail rushed up in a cringe, scattering some more treasures. “And I am not excited! Whatever you mean by that! Hah, this insolence is-- err, i-it needs to unlearned! At once! Y-You will be put into your place, disrespectful mortal!”

Daemon guarded himself with the torch and his arm, but he didn’t feel any primal fear. He was uneasy and ready to jump, but Yvedawn’s response was short of a tantrum, clearly troubled by internal doubts. What display would she put on for him?

A growl escaped Yvedawn’s lips, a sound that built suspense. She inhaled, exhaled, then inhaled again, and as she did, she craned her neck back and puffed her chest. She motioned to roar-- “Gah!” Unfavorably, a cough of a smoke left her mouth, aimed up at the cavern ceiling. She gagged, hunching forward to clear her throat and try again. A second attempt-- “Kah!” Worse than before, a burp of smoke that she coughed harshly from.

Daemon trembled, but not from any fright. He was chuckling, and then struggling to not laugh. “Yvedawn, w-was that as the rumors say would be… fire breath?”

Yvedawn tried again, quickly and impatiently, but she couldn’t summon a flare from her aching throat. Only smoke, if that, would jet on command. Clearly Daemon was right, and that knowledge made breathing fire even harder.

She adjusted her posture, spreading her legs in steps that threatened Daemon more than her attempts did. She groaned, “S-Something isn’t right! A-And if you laugh, I-I will absolutely burn you!”

“Absolutely, absolutely,” Daemon laughed, managing to space himself further from Yvedawn. He observed her persistence, and noted it well; she was distracted while trying again and again to call up an actual flame to not even frighten him, but just convince him that she could. His eyes finally broke the strange scene and to the puddles of riches at his feet. “It would be a terrible fate, being smoked to my end…”

Yvedawn growled, a whine unbecoming of a dragon. “Another jest, what madness plagues you?!” She stomped, fists against her hips. “I-It’s the stagnant cave air, mortal! Th-That is why I have difficulty breathing fire! Would you rather I boast my power by laying waste to your village, hmm? I could fly to your home and engulf it all in flames from above!”

“You very well could, I-I am doubtless,” Daemon lied, “but I am surprised. Your wings, they are not very wide from what I perceive, and so for them to carry you would be just as enthralling of a sight…”

“Not very wide?” Yvedawn repeated after Daemon, and her concern turned to her wings. She looked to them like asking a question. “I-I can indeed fly! I can…! I just haven’t had to, not for years, a-and…” As she spoke, her wings flapped without much power. They were weak, due to the exact excuse she gave. After years of laying safe and comfortably in the northern mountain, there wasn’t much need to fly, and her huge body could travel quickly across land well enough. Regret for this laziness consumed her, insisting that she assure herself that she could fly if she wanted, like she was supposed to.

In that meantime, Daemon took up on her being distracted. One arm kept open a sack while the other swept in as much gold and silver and anything else into it, anything he could make out as precious that the grounded torch illuminated. He hopped up to his feet, the sack overfilled with more than enough money to pay his guild debt.

Yvedawn struggled to have her wings thrust enough to hover, or even conjure a gust. Dismayed, she stuttered up an excuse for Daemon, “Th-The stagnant cave air is, of course--” But where she thought his tail was denying his exit, he was already past it. She lifted her tail higher, finding Daemon short from the chamber’s exit. He was brazenly robbing her, no less while she was overcoming a personal anxiety.

“Halt! H-Halt, mortal! Err, Daemon? Daemon, please don’t leave yet!” She hurried to the mouth, but the narrow path for Daemon was a crawl for Yvedawn. She stumbled to catch up with him, her clumsy steps bringing dust to unsettle itself from the dormant rock. “Daemon, d-don’t go! Ergh, I-I won’t burn you o-or your village, so halt now and become my prisoner!”

Daemon laughed, scurrying further into the crag like a snide mouse. As slender as the dragon was, Yvedawn’s proportions made her chase far too burdensome. He was actually getting away from a dragon with a bag of loot, such a haul that he didn’t blink when a few coins spilled out. In fact, if anything tugged at him to look back, it was Yvedawn’s plea, and how particularly genuine it sounded.

“You can make me that promise as I make one of my own; I will return, Yvedawn!” Daemon teased, taking quick glances at her while he still had the chance. “After a long night at the tavern! And I’ll have more than one bag to fill when I do return.”

A high-pitched cry followed Daemon until he was marching out of the mountain’s split, a noise interrupted with sad coughs of smokey attempts. He wouldn’t rest until far from the cave entrance, collapsing to his knees only so he could fasten his loot into its bag and sling it over his shoulder. He laughed openly, slapping his armor and almost rolling down a hillside in childish amusement. He gazed back, through the dirt and deep into the mountain where the chamber likely was, fondly thinking of this adventure. He’d have a tale to tell for the guild, as well as a horn of ale each.

Yvedawn slunk back into her cavern after having given up the pursuit. The only coolant for her frustration was the despairing embarrassment. She had been made a fool of by an adventurer, she had dishonored her dragon blood. Bards would be teasing her for ages, she feared most of all. She threw herself onto her bed of coins, as though tripping over every way she regretted that interaction. There was no way of going back to change what happened, so Yvedawn thought ahead, and wondered how she’d get revenge for this humiliation.

“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.

The terrain’s gentle slopes turned jagged and hard. Rocky hills met together into a tall, sharp peak that overlooked the greens of the earth. A few pines circled around the high cliff, veiling a crack that existed between them. A pit, deep and dark, dug into the ground. The trees shivered and rocked as the giant Yvedawn hovered over them, her flight from Mattervon almost complete. No later could she have arrived, for her petite wings were losing strength rapidly. She descended into the hole, bringing with her the four adventurers she had obtained.

Only the daylight, dwindling as it was, brought light into the cavern from the hole Yvedawn entered. The space opened into a wide chamber, its edges concealed in darkness while just the center was illuminated. Cool air remained mostly stagnant until Yvedawn had appeared, creating billowing winds that threw about dust from the corners. She landed with a great sigh of relief, and immediately her wings fell to either side of her, limp as sheets.

Through her panting, Yvedawn addressed her captives, “Welcome to… your new home…! Oh, oh what a horrible distance it was...” A smile stretched across her lips, raising up the prizes she held. Grayson and Trea were decent additions, but Daemon was the prize she had set out to steal. She admired him, at least, as best she could; in the same hand that held Daemon was also Trea, pressed against him and getting in the way.

Without comment, Yvedawn discarded Trea and Grayson onto the ground without much concern. Both were dropped and fell harshly to the cave floor, but Daemon remained in her possession. Two claws cuddled him on all sides, a rather comfortable hold despite his shaking and squirming.

“You appear so frightened, Daemon,” Yvedawn teased, poking Daemon’s stomach with a nail. She giggled at the way he was tickled, but she was clearly out of breath. “Back where you belong… Fufu, did you truly believe you could get away? Foolish, foolish…”

Daemon shielded himself from that heavy gaze on top of him, turning in Yvedawn’s palms so he could inspect the others. Trea was back onto her feet, but Grayson was slower under all of his armor. Despite his concern, Daemon also feared their judgement — between the guild leaders and the dragon, he could only sweat profusely.

Grayson grunted, finally standing and already with his hand on his blade. He shot a look to Trea, ensuring she was stable as well, then looked to where she stared. Trea pointed to under Yvedawn, “Thrakk!” The brute was there, her arms clamped tight around the dragon’s tail as it idly shifted. A groan escaped her as she undid her grip and fell to the floor. It wasn’t the best landing, but nothing compared to the numbness in her arms.

Thrakk rose to her feet without complaint. Instead, there was a chuckle, a very tired chuckle, “I… I flew… I flew! On a dragon!” She hunched forward with laughter, her arms just noodles at either side of her. “I could have died! Hah! Trea, Grayson, looks like you two held up--”

Boom. Thrakk was gone, disappeared under Yvedawn as she fell into a seat there on the floor. Without the stamina to reflexively dodge, Thrakk was simply sat on, without even a chance to squeak out to her companions. Trea gasped and Grayson drew his sword, but Yvedawn merely sighed, reclining backwards while her wings recovered.

“I am most exhausted!” Yvedawn whined, rolling her head back while a trail of pink hair followed like a banner. “But… we are here! All together!” She looked to Daemon, lifting him over her face. Although he was definitely secure within the hand, he still hugged a pair of fingers as tightly as he could. Yvedawn snickered, “No thoughts of escape this time, Daemon? I see you have no want to let go of me now, fufu~”

“N-No, none at all, no thoughts of escape,” Daemon nervously replied. It wasn’t quite a lie, as he thought that if there was a way to escape, he couldn’t think of it himself. Yvedawn was a giant dragon, bumbling as she may be, and he and the Tides of Blakewood were prisoners in her lair -- an escape did not spell itself out . He had managed to leave her cave once, of course, but this was not the same chamber. There were no piles of gold in this wider space, only aged columns where the darkness began. He assumed this was likely a deeper part of her cavern, which meant that getting out would be that much more troublesome.

A metallic stomp pulled Yvedawn’s focus from Daemon and down to her other captives. Grayson had marched forward, his blade steady in both hands as it erected towards the dragon. “Up!” he demanded of her, a flick of his head to signal his command. “Rise now, beast! For The Goddess Weeps, you’re sitting on my strongest warrior like a pillow!”

Yvedawn raised a brow, crossing her legs into an x-shape as if to wall off Grayson’s approach. She had forgotten all about Thrakk until she was mentioned, at which point, Yvedawn still did not budge. “A warrior so strong, they can be defeated by being sat upon?” she giggled, her free hand vaguely trying to hide her smile. Her head rose arrogantly, “I did not invite this guest, so this trouble is of their own~ If they so wish to be let free from under me, then-- Yeeyyhohh!!”

Suddenly, the dragon was up in the air, her burst of motion rocking dust and gravel within the cave. She had hopped into a standing position, craned over as she massaged her rear. There was a tear in her eye from the sharp pain she had just endured, whatever may have  caused it. Where her seat had once been, Thrakk laid flat-out on her back, wiping her mouth as she toiled to sit up.

“Not the worst ass I’ve eaten,” Thrakk coughed. She stuttered into some laughs, “Grayson! Remember that time with the dire boar? That was the worst ass I’ve--”

“You bit me?!” Yvedawn gasped, whipping around with her mouth agape and her cheeks flushed. She winced, feeling the stinging pain on her left cheek. “That was… That hurt!”

Thrakk spat while in a crawl up to her feet. “Should’ve grown scales there, then.”

Yvedawn groaned while situating herself, using a broken column to support herself. She looked to Daemon in the hand propped against the column, noticing his distress from all the jumping. Before she could say something -- swish -- an arrow flew just past her face. She leaned away from where the projectile had missed her, then shot a glare at her attacker. Trea had her bow aimed and another arrow in her finger to be notched.

“Release him, Yvedawn,” Trea warned. The use of the dragon’s name, she hoped, could reason with the monster slightly better. The string of her bow whined as it was stretched back, “We wish to leave peacefully. I warn you to not corner us to use violence.”

Yvedawn scoffed. “Daemon arrived here of his own volition. I reclaimed him when he went missing. You cannot demand that I forfeit my property!” Daemon complained, but no one heard him.

Grayson growled, his patience surpassed. He charged ahead in a sprint, his sword swayed to the side for a hard horizontal cut. Yvedawn raised one foot to avoid the strike, but it was a feint -- Grayson’s blade glided into the other foot, chopping into the scaled skin as if shattering into armor.

“Graahhhaaa!!” Yvedown howled, nearly tripping backwards as her heel had been sliced into, partially. Grayson undug his blade from the beast, but was then immediately kicked into. He was stomped on by the very foot he attacked, knocked onto his back and fitted perfectly underfoot. Fortunately, his refined armor protected him from the blunt force, but that still left him in a harsh position. “H-How unruly! This is my home you attack me in!”

Grayson was not alone on this offensive. Just after him was Thrakk, running with as much speed and with her hammer swung overhead. A leap forward, and the head of her weapon came whistling down with Thrakk’s weight behind it. The floor shook as it struck hard into one of Yvedawn’s claws.

“Oooaarr!!” Another strange noise erupted from Yvedawn. She hobbled backwards, attempting the same evasive maneuver as before, but with even worse balance. Her heel sliced and a claw flattened, two steps backwards was all it took to have the dragon stumbling into a fall. Yvedawn crashed onto her rear, her head slamming against the jagged rocks of the cave wall.

During the commotion, Daemon was fumbled from Yvedawn’s clutches. He was released as she tripped onto her ass, which was far from the escape he desired. Rather than fall hard to the floor, he managed to grapple some of Yvedawn’s pink hair like rope, and used as much to swing onto her body. When she clashed into the wall, the shake threw off his grip, and he rolled down the long torso. His fingers clenched at bare skin in order to halt himself, which he did so just at her waist. Situated awkwardly on her lap, Daemon was too dazed to move himself further from that position, just as Yvedawn had been firmly seated when she landed.

Grayson, having been relieved of Yvedawn’s stomp, had swiftly stabilized himself, back on his feet and ready for another round. His eyes did not leave Yvedawn as he barked at Thrakk, “Ljós? You brought her?”

“Almost forgot about her, heh,” Thrakk chuckled, reeling her hammer to be over her shoulder. She stared back at her shadow, nodding her head at it. “Come on! You’re missing all the fun!”

A furious growl forewarned an attack on Thrakk and Grayson. Yvedawn’s anger was overflowing as she picked up a crumbled chunk of a column beside her and threw it at her foes. The boulder flew through the air with its impressive weight, but both warriors dashed away. Crash, an explosion of rubble and dust scattered from where the stone slammed into the floor. Yvedawn cursed her accuracy and reached for another projectile, still sat into the corner she had fallen in.

“Who do you think you are?! I-I’ll crush you all…!” the dragon threatened, but the shiver in her tone hinted at her insecurity. Another piece of a column was located, but before it could be tossed at the guild, Yvedawn took notice of smoke that had appeared. There was no scent to this inky blackness, and it did not fill the room like a normal gas. It swirled slowly and only around Yvedawn’s head, persisting there even when she blew a breath at it and swatted it with her hand. “Is this a trick?” she wondered aloud. She sniffed and detected not an odor, but the presence of magic.

The smoke gathered then into one contained shape hovering in the air. It condensed and took form like malleable clay, eventually creating the silhouette of a body. Once all of the smoke had been collected, a person was fully there, a woman garbed in a robe as flowing and dark as the fog she controlled. A wildly tall hat was worn and silver hair fell from out of it, both functioning to hide her face. All but the golden spark of her eyes could be seen from this shadowy figure, and her sights were upon the astonished Yvedawn. From Thrakk’s shadow had Ljós been conjured into the battle.

Ljós aimed an arm forward, effortlessly channeling magic to her palm. Yvedawn scoffed at her, “Another human? Just what could one more of you do…?” Under her black veil, Ljós’s confidence was unwavering. Suddenly, there was a blinding flash centered from her palm, and a magical blast rippled through the chamber. A negative energy struck Yvedawn and drained her of her energy, allowing only enough strength to gasp and push back into the cavern’s corner.

“You were mistaken,” Ljós lectured, unphased by neither the light nor the dark. She watched Yvedawn dizzily blink and lose balance, confirming that the spell had succeeded. As she hovered gently to the ground, Ljós remained poise and elegant. “I am no human, but an elf.”

“A-An… elf…?” Yvedawn winced, still struggling with the bizarre onset of sleep. Her head bobbed to one side, and that half of her wished to fall that way altogether. She whined, “But h-how…? How could… an elf be h-here…?”

It was an unwinnable battle against the magical fatigue that plagued her. Heavier and heavier did Yvedawn feel, especially in her eyes, and before long, her sway to the left lead her to falling over completely. It was an ungraceful way to land, a hard hit into the ground, but Yvedawn was so huge and so tired that she merely passed out without a care. There was a mutter, perhaps one last complaint she had reserved, but it left her as a snore.

Ljós studied the beast, primarily the closed eyes and breathing. “A curious specimen,” she acknowledged mostly to herself, but Grayson was then behind her, patting her pauldron encouragingly as he passed. “Beware,” she warned him, “for her slumber will cease shortly. Her mass dilutes the effects, but furthermore, her blood--”

“She is a dragon,” Grayson interrupted. He took her warning to heart, however, and readied his hand on his blade. “At least she claims to be one. Dragons were immune to many magics, were they not?”

“... So history has suggested,” Ljós replied, her skepticism not so hidden. “But no record or myth has suggested a dragon of this shape or design. No image that I have personally referenced bears any resemblance to this… girl.”

“Monsters are monsters,” Thrakk rambled into the conversation. “What’s important is we can all leave, am I right? Just another evening with the Tides, hah!”

A flame brought light past where it poured in from the entrance above. “Well, we cannot leave without everyone,” Trea said, approaching the others with a makeshift torch in hand.

Thrakk raised a brow, “Everyone is here, Trea! It was just the four of us.”

“The boy?” Trea pointed with the torch to a part of Yvedawn’s collapsed body. Thrakk was directed to her legs, and her thighs in particular -- there was a rumble of movement between them, and then the flapping of a desperate hand. In all the commotion, Daemon had little sway over his predicament, and thus he had been trapped between Yvedawn’s thighs when she had tumbled over into sleep. Try as he might to escape, the weight was too strong, and only his hand could signal for help. Thrakk laughed hardily, but Trea elbowed her in the ribs. “He could very well suffocate.”

“That’s the funniest part,” Thrakk sighed, on her way to assist Daemon. She grabbed the hand without warning and pulled, stopping short of making much progress. “Woo, he’s wedged deep in there.” A second attempt with both hands proved more successful, and after a long pull, Daemon’s head was released, flushed red from a lack of oxygen. In his gasps for air, he had Thrakk giggling over him, “Good! You’re coming out! I thought I’d sooner end up snapping your arm off!”

“You… almost… did…!” Daemon griped, still squirming in his efforts to be freed. He groaned, “You oaf… Is there not a better way…?”

“Nope. Just this.” Thrakk returned to her efforts dutifully, grabbing the newly exposed parts of Daemon with graceless form. Into her bosom went his head while her arms dug under his armpits, and with both legs kicked into the wall-like thighs did she make her best attempt yet. It was slow, embarrassing, and painful, but Thrakk’s process was gradually working.

Yvedawn’s eyes showed the first signs of activity. Immediately, the gleam of steel flashed in front of her, and she felt the cold tip at her throat. Still weary from the spell, Yvedawn only loosely comprehended that Grayson had taken a stand on her neck, his blade cast down at her with both hands gripping it. She blinked -- not only him, but the witch was there as well. She stood in front of her fallen face, admiring any information she could obtain, and certainly ready to whip a spell if need be.

Grayson held his balance while Yvedawn stirred awake. “Yield, beast, yield!” he commanded, emphasizing his point by urging the blade deeper into her neck’s skin. Properly intimidated, Yvedawn stopped her groggy movements. “In more ways than one could we claim your life, and we have just as many reasons to! How do you atone for the kidnapping of myself and my guild? How do you atone for the destruction caused at Mattervon?”

Yvedawn grimaced under her situation, most insulted by how Grayson’s boot was planted into her neck. She snarled, “Atonement is a human concept! I am beyond such things. I am a dragon! A-And you are in my lair!”

“And here in your lair is where you will be slain,” Grayson threatened. “You are a danger to these lands, that much has been proven. Your recklessness nearly brought tragedy upon an innocent village. Why should we not behead such a menace?”

“It was Daemon who--!” Yvedawn raised her voice, but her volume was halved when she felt the point of Grayson’s sword push deeper. She swallowed and continued, “Daemon stole from me…! I was claiming my treasure back!”

“Hah! Does Daemon shimmer like gold as well? He was no treasure from your horde and yet you rampaged to steal him away. Dare I mention that your stolen treasures are not here, but left behind at the tavern? Do not lie to me about what drove you to this.”

Yvedawn winced, stabbed by the truth. She hadn’t even realized it herself that, for all this trouble over some treasure, she never thought much about the goods themselves. From the beginning, it had been about Daemon and keeping him prisoner. It had seemed like an acceptable idea, for a dragon at least, but with Grayson’s boots pressed into her, stumbled over and humiliated, she wondered why it had mattered so much to her to begin with.

“I… did not w-wish to be alone anymore…” Yvedawn sniffled. “Daemon was… the first… to venture into my lair…”

Grayson huffed, “A poor excuse. The minds of monsters simply cannot be understood.” He raised his blade and picked a mark to strike. “Too great a threat is posed to innocent people with your being here. Farewell, dragon...”

“Grayson! Please!” Trea halted Grayson with her voice, quickly approaching Yvedawn’s face. “Please reconsider, Grayson. Do look at her and the emotion in her eyes, and then ask if she deserves death.” The light shined on Yvedawn, her emerald eyes wavering on the edge of tears. Though she closed her eyes, her whines were still audible and her body shivered with anxiety. Trea watched her with a stern look, but it was genuine that her heart was breaking. What she saw wasn’t a fantastical creature bent on violence, but a woman that was wronged and faces death for it.

“Trea, she’s…” Grayson began, the fury in his voice shaking back. Trea’s glare focused on him, and he glared back. His brow quivered and his shoulders slumped -- “Bah… Well…” he grumbled, staring down the length of his sword. With a loud sigh for his fiance to hear, Grayson set the weapon back into its sheath. “I suppose she was little trouble for Mattervon before, so she will be even less trouble for them now…”

Before Grayson could hop down, he was swept up in Yvedawn’s rise. She rushed to sit up, no longer afflicted with sleepiness and disregarding how Grayson tumbled to the cave floor. Sobs bubbled from her as she changed position, her relief to have been given mercy undervalued to what she feared she would lose.

“D-D-Daemon…!” she whined, searching for where he had gone. Thrakk had only just released Daemon from the clap of Yvedawn’s thighs, and the two were spread out on the ground, tumbled over from their success. Faster than either could react, Yvedawn’s reptilian hand swooped down and captured Daemon before he could even get to his feet. “Daemon…!” In her clutches, Daemon was squeezed in her hands and then strangled in her huge embrace. The air was forced out of him as he was hugged with bone-breaking power, all while Yvedawn’s crying grew into an uproar right above him.

Trea aided Grayson to his knees, but both had to cover their ears under the piercing sounds of Yvedawn’s wailing. “Is this an attack?!” Trea asked, but her yell was overpowered by an especially striking sob. The scene for all was painful to watch, especially as thick tears fell from her cheeks. Inbetween her cries, Daemon’s muffled pleas could occasionally be heard.

“I-I don’t…! I don’t want to be alone again…!” Yvedawn sniffled, her volume shaking to less intensity. “You humans… Always traveling from place to place, a-and meeting new people, living such simple, normal lives…” Another sniffle paused her as she rubbed her cheek into a shoulder. “Company was all I wished for…”

“I… I’ll visit…!” Almost going unheard, Daemon’s hoarse voice chipped in with what little breath he had. Yvedawn loosened her hug on him, allowing him a deep inhale and another chance to speak, “I will visit you…! I… I promise.”

“D-Daemon?” Yvedawn frowned, staring down at her chest where Daemon was pressed. “What do you mean…?”

“Indeed,” Grayson wondered as well. “You will visit this dragon?”

Daemon swallowed. “Well, it is not as though it is… very far from home,” he admitted. “Whatever the effort, I-I believe it would be worthwhile… If it is true that you have been alone in this cave, then I… at least sympathize, with wanting to see the world.” He coughed, “Though, kidnapping people is going too far…”

“This must be a cruel joke,” Yvedawn feared. She glared, “This is a trick… You will leave and never return…”

Daemon scratched at his hair -- for once, he had no intention of fast-talking to get what he wanted, and now he had to prove it. Unfortunately, there was no real guarantee he could give Yvedawn. He rambled for a compromise, “P-Perhaps if I spent this night with you, you would believe me? Erk…”

Thrakk interrupted with a boisterous laugh, “What is this! Men sleeping next to dragons -- what a wild world!”

“We will all stay for the night,” Grayson announced. His fellow guildmates immediately turned to him, startled by this decision. “Will that convince you? Will you let us all leave peacefully?”

Yvedawn was befuddled by the deal being offered. Sniffling once more, she settled her gaze on Daemon, determining his loyalty. “... Only one night…?” she weakly asked.

“One,” Grayson specified, to the relief of the others. “We have lost enough time on our return trip to the guild headquarters. Early in the morning is the latest we can stay.”

“... Fair,” Yvedawn tersely replied. Though she showed little emotion to the guild, she sneaked a smile down at Daemon. A remaining tear was wiped away, “One night spared of loneliness will be more of a blessing than you know.”

Daemon’s tension melted from his shoulders as he remembered to breathe. His proposal had been accepted, and not just by Yvedawn, but the Tides of Blakewood -- most of them, at least. Thrakk kicked at cobbled stone, “Hah, what a wild world…”

The rays of light above had faded as night took its turn, but the cave was illuminated more than ever. A campfire in the center brought warmth to the dank chamber and torches set into the columns lit the further corners. More than just to brighten their surroundings, the campfire was also used to roast two large wild hogs, taken from Yvedawn’s stash. Trea boasted her skills as an adventuring cook, gathering what little rations the guild had been swiped up with in order to add flavor and variety to the meal. She dragged Daemon into helping her, pleasantly surprised to discover that, aside from being nervous, he was far from inept at cooking. Grayson and Thrakk were as lively as they were in combat, sharing stories of their adventures with increasing bravado. They had a captivated audience, as both Daemon and Yvedawn were keen on hearing of these amazing exploits, these windows into far parts of the land.

She was distant from the activity, as though pushed away like the shadows. Ljós observed, as she was known to do, but more so than usual; all while the dinner was underway, her gold eyes rarely looked anywhere other than Yvedawn. She watched her participate with the others, how she asked Grayson and the others questions of their travels, how she devoured her portion of hog in just a swallow, and how she laughed at Thrakk and Grayson’s disagreement over a story. Going into the night, Yvedawn felt Ljós’s stare creep along her winged back.

So Yvedawn stared back, disconnecting from the others like Ljós had been. Her stare was especially heavy, hanging over the mage that stood just within her arm’s reach, but Ljós was unintimidated. Rather coyly, Ljós kept silent so that Yvedawn would be the first to speak, and with so many questions on her mind, it was only a matter of time. “A-Are you going to cast another spell…?”

“Ah. So you were afraid of that,” Ljós replied on beat. “Perhaps I will, if the occasion were to arise.”

Yvedawn cringed, “Th-That will not be necessary then…”

Ljós giggled, a chime that wasn’t as chilling as her analytical tone. “I would enjoy that, if so. Violence would tarnish the festivities, and I would prefer to expend magic on endeavors of knowledge rather than combat.” She bowed, “I apologize if I offended you with my looking. I do not require sleep for functionality, so my duty will be to guard the guild overnight.”

“Ah, I s-suppose that is understandable.” Yvedawn fidgetted, thinking once to rejoin the others, but her curiosity was too strong; Ljós silently sympathized. Yvedawn asked, “Then, if you do not sleep, you truly are an elf?”

“Rare as we might be in Midrealm now, I am indeed a dark elf. The grander mystery is understanding what creature you are.”

Yvedawn blinked. “Me? Ah, cl-clearly I am a dragon,” she grumbled, insulted. Her claws flexed, bringing attention to their purple scales. “I could not be something else if I attempted to be.”

Ljós’s fingers crossed into each other at her chest, her habitual pose of intense thinking. “Of my three-thousand years and excess of gathering information, no records have once drawn comparison to the distinct traits you exhibit. Features related to draconic kin are present but unlike that of which I have ever studied… or seen.” Ljós leaned in, and Yvedawn instinctively did the same. “... I have seen dragons, Yvedawn. Humans have forgotten, but this is a childhood memory. The resemblance is lacking.”

Yvedawn glared, a smug smile struggling to stick. “I am short for my kind, I will admit, but my heritage is not to be underestimated…”

“Could you possibly be mistaken regarding your heritage? You could be a different creature entirely. Have you seen a true dragon with your own eyes?”

“Of course I have. My mother was a true dragon-- truest of them all!” Her pride was at stake, Yvedawn decided, and her volume raised with it. “She was quite popular. The humans had foolishly given her a name, which was… Mm…” She recollected, drawing from memories so long ago. “... The Scarlet Terror, I believe? It was a silly title of that sort, but that was my mother, and as her daughter I must be a dragon.”

The campfire crackled in an atmosphere that had fallen quiet. The attention was squarely on Yvedawn, who spoke only to the astonished Ljós. The mage wrestled with dozens of questions, yet could only repeat what was said, “The Scarlet Terror? The dragon most feared in all of Midrealm?”

Yvedawn’s arrogance swelled, and she nodded proudly with her arms crossed. “Most feared, yes! The treasures I have here are just a fraction of the wealth she collected in her prime. That should settle any doubts of what I am, hoho~”

Her audience’s astonishment finally alerted Yvedawn of what she was revealing. She glanced across the expressions, her confidence simmering. Her mother’s name was more impressive than she had assumed, but it was the implications that left them so awestruck. She had wanted to feel proud, but it was Daemon’s expression of worry and horror that had her sink in shame. Rather than lift her head high, she shuddered her knees to her chest and wrapped her tail around herself.

Thrakk chuckled, the first to shake off her surprise. “You said your mother is a dragon, but then what of your father? Was he not a dragon? A human?” she asked.

Yvedawn’s glare pierced through Thrakk. She growled, “Are you mocking my father?”

Thrakk stuttered uncharacteristically. “I-I just thought-- Y’know, everyone must have been wonderin’, r-right?”

“Excuses must be made for Thrakk,” Ljós interjected, “the manners of her people are not like our own. Her and our speculations are unnecessary. But, for the information you have provided, I am most appreciative.” Ljós’s tone was brighter than when it began, the gloom of her appearance not matching how satisfied she truly was for having learned something so extraordinary. Before the fire was fizzled out, Ljós quietly approached Grayson and Trea to make a note of urgency. Reporting to the capital was now their new priority.

The day had been exhausting for the adventurers and a long march awaited them. The Tides of Blakewood that could were fast to fall asleep, reassured by Ljós’s watch. Daemon, however, could not sleep as soundly as these veteran warriors did. As weary as being kidnapped had made him, the thought keeping him alert was that a giant dragon slept in that very chamber. Yvedawn lay sprawled across the cave floor, tucked against one of the walls. He watched her for a time, slumbering away with long snores that were not so subtle at her size. The Scarlet Terror, he remembered, a scourge to humanity. This was her daughter, a being so big and with such latent power that Mattervon suffered when she spontaneously gave chase after him. Enough treasure to join a guild was all I desired, he thought, but of all the dragon rumors to be true, of course, that dragon would be the daughter of the Scarlet Terror. Of course, of course…

Daemon shivered, the cold gnawing at him. His eyes closed, bitterly accepting sleep, but his aches were eased as a warmth enveloped over him. Shielded from the night air, Daemon’s shaking ceased, and he slipped into slumber before he could mutter his thanks.

The shuffling of equipment alerted Daemon. Footsteps avoided him where he lay, the boots recognized as Trea’s. She noticed him stir and smiled at him. “It is time,” she whispered to him. “Before she awakens. Let us go.”

Daemon groaned, trying to get up but unable to. He heard Trea giggle. Turning around, he realized weighing him down was a reptilian claw. Yvedawn had reached out and held him through the night, but she was still deep asleep, unaware that her visitors were leaving. As Daemon gently unfixed himself from Yvedawn’s grasp, he thought back on this creature he had unearthed. She was a story, a stranger situation than he had ever anticipated. A dragon that he tricked, was kidnapped by, and then befriend. He paused as that thought crossed him -- could he consider Yvedawn a friend? What did she think of him and the Tides after everything that occured?

“Will she not be enraged?” Daemon asked Trea, gently putting aside one last finger that was on him.

“It was as we promised, that we would leave early in the morning,” Trea answered, seemingly not content with that answer. “That aside, it would be better to leave quietly, lest we risk a change of her heart.”

Though he understood why, Daemon still felt a pain in his heart for slipping away stealthily. He would definitely return here, if not because of his promise to, then simply to relive this memory and confirm the reality of it. The dragon’s den was a miraculous place that would have to remain shrouded in mystery; the Tides and Daemon all agreed that what they would not remark on what they found. Not a coin was to be touched from the gallant chamber of treasure, as tempting as it was. The risk of wronging the Scarlet Terror was dangerously real, and Mattervon had just a glimpse of a dragon’s rage unleashed.

The morning sun leaked over the horizon one ray at a time. Trea and Grayson lead the trip back to Mattervon while Ljós traveled in Thrakk’s shadow. Daemon lagged behind, distant from the idle chats the others were having. He glanced back up the mountains just as they reached the base. He felt a gaze tracing him, as though he was watched from far away. He offered a silent wave hidden from the guild, and Yvedawn, seated outside her den, waved back.

Repairs were already underway when they arrived at Mattervon. The structures Yvedawn had trampled over were in the early stages of being fixed, proving the village’s ability to endure and recover. Daemon expected as much having lived his life here, a fact he dwelled on as he separated from the guild and turned to his home. After such an adventure, or whatever that was, the plain door into his humble cottage was like a portal into the mundane.

His mother immediately greeted him, rushing into him with a hug and kiss. She had been sick with worry when the dragon arrived and Daemon never returned, and nothing he had to say could lessen her concern. He removed his armor and slumped into a chair, burdened with what he had to report. “I will not be joining the guild,” he sighed, “not after that event.”

“Oh, Daemon dear,” his mother cooed. She bit her lip while gripping his shoulders from behind, massaging his neck like she always did when she wanted him near. “It hurts to hear that… but this is likely for the best. The fate of adventurers is deathly uncertain. I can sleep much easier knowing my son is not being eaten by something, goodness.”

She could tell, however, that this did little to alleviate his disappointment. Daemon’s gaze dropped to where his armor was removed, thinking of how his father once fit into it long ago. His father traveled long and far, returning home with tales of his conquests which Daemon would then take to the village. Telling stories and imagining the grandness of the world, however, was not enough for him, not after his father never returned to Mattervon. He wanted to find his own stories, see the world for himself.

There was a knock at the door. His mother tended to it, but was speechless when she saw who greeted her. “Pardon the intrusion, but is Daemon here?” Grayson’s sturdy voice was unmistakable, rattling the wood of the home with his unwavering tone. Over the mother’s head, he saw Daemon, at the table half-turned towards the door. “Aye, there you are. Have you gathered everything yet? I advise you learn now that I dislike delays, so if you have nothing left to do, come!”

“... Come? Uh, uh,” Daemon stammered, looking around the house for context. His mother was equally confused. “Grayson, sir, I-I do not understand what you mean. After everything that happened, I assumed--”

“That we denied you? Pah,” Grayson shook his head, “why would you assume that? You obtained more than enough to pay your dues, and you showed bravery and wit in dire situations. The Tides have accepted worse and weirder -- gear up and stop making me wait, Daemon.”

Daemon hesitated, but when he understood that this was no dream, he jumped to his feet. Dashing from room to room, he collected all that he would need to begin his life as a member of the Tides of Blakewood. In short work did he have a backpack messily stuffed with just about all of his belongings, with even more luggage tied to the outside. It broiled his mother to see him so eager to leave, but the spark in his eyes and the energy in his movements brought light to the passion he had for adventuring. Rather than anchor him to Mattervon, she wished her son to have an adventure he would have to return home alive to tell.

But one matter went unaddressed, not until Daemon mentioned it while headed to the tavern with Grayson. He glanced at the north mountain and asked, “What of Yvedawn? I cannot very well visit her if I travel with you, and that was a promise…”

“Oh, hoho,” Grayson chortled, amused that Daemon had not thought more of it. “You will not miss her for long. I am afraid this is just the beginning of her story, the daughter of the Scarlet Terror.”