⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ABOVE, the sun hangs in an azure sky, its brilliance bathing the earth in a golden glow. Along a wide dirt path that cuts through a stretch of rolling hills and fields of lush green grass like a weathered scar walks a mighty clydesdale. Atop its broad back sits a young woman, none other than Adelaide, the crown princess of Inuzar. Her hair dances in the breeze, the dark tresses that fell loose from her neat braid swept up in the wind’s playful caress, tickling her cheeks. Tucking an errant strand behind her ear, Adelaide straightens her posture, light eyes flitting to the male beside her: Ser Erik, her retainer. Or, he used to be, before he, along with Zakn’rae and Loa, fled Inuzar, after a kingdom wide manhunt had been unleashed upon them, who the people thought killed their beloved king – Adelaide’s father. He gripped the mare’s reins in a closed fist, tawny eyes fixed toward the distant horizon, looking for danger. At his nape sits a haphazardly tied bun and he absently scratches at the stubble that covers his lower face in patches, evidence of days spent on the road, where he was deprived the luxury of a proper shave.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ Behind him, to Adelaide’s right and left, were the drow Zakn’rae and aasimar Loa, respectively. Where Zakn’rae’s lithe form lacked bulk, Loa’s sturdy build more than compensated; similarly, Zakn’rae stood a few inches taller than the avian-like woman. Pale feathers extend from Loa’s cheekbones to her hairline, their blending into the cascade of fair hair that was meticulously braided to keep its fine strands from crowding her slim face. Her eyes were dark, a deep umber that consumed nearly her whole sclera, while Zakn’rae’s were a pleasant shade of red, shimmering like two polished rubies.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“I don’t think my legs can carry me any further,” a shrill voice complains. Loa’s head pivots like an owl, turning toward the tiny figure buzzing around them like a bothersome mosquito.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ Pressing a hand to her forehead, the pixie feigned exhaustion, gracefully collapsing onto the shoulder of Trinity, the warlock who flanked the group. “If I endure another moment under this scorching sun, I fear I may succumb to its heat,” she declared dramatically.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ A derisive snort blows from Loa’s nostrils. “You haven’t taken so much as a single step we embarked this morning,” the paladin corrects. “And even if your wings grew weary, you could easily rest on Trin; in fact, it seems you’ve made quite the habit of nesting in her cowl throughout our journey.”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Sweet Loa, are you not bound by your duty to aid the distressed?” Thallia gasped in mock shock. “Have you forsaken your oath?”

Lips forming a thin line, Loa retorts, “My oath is the one thing keeping me from squishing you like the irritating pest you are. Consider yourself lucky, little pixie.”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ “Ah, but imagine: defeating such a fearsome foe would undoubtedly elevate you to unimaginable glory,” teases Thallia, voice dripping with sarcasm. “You’d be hailed as a hero of legendary status, perhaps even rivalling the renown of Piergeiron Paladinson!”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“She would surely be my saviour,” Zakn’rae interjects, his voice cutting through the air like the dagger at his hip, causing Thallia to whip her head around so swiftly that Trinity swears she hears the miniature bones in the pixie’s neck crack. “Rescuing me from the torment of enduring your ear-bleeding voice and ceaseless complaints? By the Hells — I would worship her as a goddess, for that would be a blessing surpassing anything the divine have ever gifted me.”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ Thallia bristles. “Silence, male,” a demand barked in an authoritative tone.Trinity doesn’t bother suppressing the snicker that escapes her nor does she try hiding how her lips lift into an amused smile. “Your ears — as sharp as they are — simply aren’t refined enough to appreciate the dulcet tones of my voice. It’s a shame, really,” the pixie adds.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“I beg to differ,” the white-haired drow remarked with a smug tilt of his head.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“You ‘begging to differ’ implies there’s something to differ about,” she challenged. “You can’t differ facts.”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Facts?” Zakn’rae arched a sceptical brow.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Yes, facts," Thallia asserts firmly.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Can you two cease with your bickering?” Hisses Erik, who the party had seemed to have forgotten was present.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ A hush falls over the party. The wind stops, the earth holds its breath. Erik pauses, too, as the mare he was pulling along comes to an abrupt stop in the middle of the road, her nostrils flaring as she emits a series of short, harsh blows that leave the knight bewildered. Her ears perk up, her eyes widen, and her muscles tense. Equally as confused as Erik, Adelaide strokes the frightened mare’s head, her own fear constricted in her throat. She scans the plains, finding nothing but empty space, stretching as far as the eye can see. And yet, the absence of an obvious threat was somehow more unsettling than a horde of orcs charging toward them. A gentle squeeze of her calves pressing into the sides of the mare’s belly signals that the princess wants her to move forward, but she baulks, completely petrified. Even a firm tug at her reins from Erik fails to coax the horse into movement.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ Erik’s gaze lifted, eyes squinting against the blinding glare of the sun as he watches the skies. Amidst the sea of blue stretches a dark silhouette, wings spread wide. Initially no more than a distant speck, it steadily grew larger, hurtling towards them with alarming speed. As the shape gradually takes form, Erik’s heart plummets to his stomach, face blanching as a look of recognition flickers through his eyes. A dragon. He blinks once, twice. A dragon was coming toward them, drawing nearer with each powerful flap of its wings.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ Zakn’rae notices it, too. “Is that a f***ing dragon—”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Yes, run!” Erik bellows, his voice harsh as he swiftly helps Adelaide dismount. With a firm grip on her wrist, he guides her and the few who heed his urgent call downhill, towards the safety of a nearby embankment. There, they would, at the very least, be out of the dragon’s direct line of sight.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ As Zakn’rae sprinted past the knight in a lavender blur, Thallia darted alongside him, a streak of motion. Yet, Trinity remained motionless, the only one to not follow Erik’s lead. Her sudden stop causes Loa’s steps to falter; despite maintaining pace with the group, the aasimar hesitates.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ Loa moves to backtrack and retrieve Trinity, but Erik’s strong hand closes around her arm.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Leave her! If Trinity wants to court death, then let her,” the scarred man barks, dragging her down to safety with the rest of the group.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ The air thrums as the beast breaks through the clouds, its colossal wings stirring up strong winds that whip the grass into a frenzy, rippling like waves on the sea. It touches land with a thud that causes the earth to quiver beneath it, tucking its wings close to its sides.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ Minutes pass, a thick silence permeating the air, devoid of the screams Erik anticipated hearing. Gesturing for the others to remain low, he slowly ascends the hill, shimmying up through the grass flat on his stomach, forearms digging into the dirt and pulling him forward. Peering over the top, he catches a glimpse of Trinity’s body — surprisingly in one piece — standing before the creature. Her fingers are curled around the reins of Adelaide’s steed, who notices Erik and casts him a weary glance, a silent plea for help.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Thric, wux shilta ti sone coi,” seethes Trinity, her scolding directed toward the brass-coloured beast. Erik vaguely recognises the language as Draconic, with its guttural sound and hissed syllables.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ Is she chastising a dragon?

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ This woman is utterly insane. Absolutely batsh*t crazy.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“The way she handles herself with such confidence, staring death right in the face and not wavering in the slightest...” Zakn’rae, in typical rogue fashion, had snuck up to Erik’s side, and eyes the half-elf with poorly hidden admiration.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ Erik could scarcely believe what he is having the displeasure of hearing. Daydreaming while there’s a dragon only a few paces away from you? A monster that could burn him to a crisp faster than he can say ‘oh sh*t.’

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ With a scrunch of his nose, Erik’s face contorts in revulsion, and he delivers a resounding blow with a closed fist to the drow’s head. A string of curses falls from Zakn’rae lips, hands clutching his skull as he bites back a hiss of pain. His voice is not lost on the dragon’s keen ears — or rather, the small holes on the sides of its head through which it listens to the world.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ Swallowing thickly, Erik remains stationary as the beast pivots, stalking toward them with a lumbering gait, barbed tail raised. Its hulking form casts a long shadow over the hillside, beady, black eyes boring into the two men; a wild look that suggests it surely intends to gorge itself on them. A shriek from Zakn’rae nearly provokes the dragon — which, now having a closer look at it, Erik realises is a wyvern — into attacking. Had it not been for Trinity’s intervention, a sharp shout of “Skyrend!” from her mouth, drow, a delicacy of the Underdark, would have been on the menu today.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Sune, ti wistu,” she runs a hand over the wyvern’s — Skyrend, Erik guesses — broad snout. A low rumble vibrates in Skyrend’s throat and it noses Trinity’s hand in an affectionate manner that belies a lesser dragon’s infamously aggressive nature.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“By Helm, Trinity, what are you doing?!” Erik throws his hands up in the air, gesticulating wildly. “That is a wyvern!”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Yes, that much is obvious,” the warlock replies coolly. She, like usual, is nonchalant, unbothered by the fact that beside her stands a beast that, if it wanted, could gobble her up whole, no chewing necessary.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“That thing has the strength to tear you limb from limb, and yet you’re petting it like… some dog?”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“That thing is named Skyrend,” she informs him.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ Erik stares at her incredulously. “Skyrend? You’re on a first-name basis with a wyvern now?”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ Trinity nods. “Skyrend means no harm; its merely misunderstood.”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Misunderstood?! What of the hundreds — no, thousands — that have fallen to a wyvern’s wrath?”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“I could say the same of man,” Trinity answers, tone steady. “Humans bear the weight of countless atrocities — bloodshed not just of animals, but of their own kin as well. Yet I don’t label all of mankind as ‘savages’ based on the actions of a few.”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ Erik shakes his head in disbelief. “Comparing humans to beasts? You’ve truly lost your mind,” he growls, his frustration evident in his voice. “You can’t reason with a wild creature like that. It’s dangerous, plain and simple. Humans have conscience, morality—”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“As does Skyrend,” Trinity interrupts. “You claim I can’t reason with a feral creature like it, but Skyrend has been my companion longer than you’ve been alive. It's not an enemy, I assure you. At the very least, give it a chance to prove itself.”

TRANSLATIONS :
Thric, wux shilta ti sone coi. — No, you cannot eat it [the horse].
Sune, ti wistu. — Friend, not enemy.