The warriors went one way, and Holly and Valo went the other. Garth, Flakken, and Archie cut through the woods, following the rough, well-traveled path home to the capital.

Holly and Valo’s path, on the other hand, was far less traveled—but far rougher. In these last three years, since the dragons began disappearing, few humans had traveled through the dwarven lands—and, of course, even fewer dragons.

It was not for fear of the dwarves, per se. Before the dragons’ disappearance, people knew what they could expect from a dwarf—a beard, a hearty, welcoming laugh, and an overwhelming desire to hoard valuable objects.

But now, no one knew what to expect from a dwarf—a friendly laugh, or a knife in the back for a purse of gold. Many of them went mad when the dragons disappeared. Even more of them gave into their worst impulses.

So as Holly and Valo ventured into the dwarven lands, their eyes were peeled for any sign of trouble.

But, despite their nervousness at walking into the dwarven lands, they couldn’t help but gaze at the rich landscape around them. They crossed through lush forests teeming with life and cut through by golden, velvety rivers.

They passed mountains that’d been carved into neat, symmetrical structures—dragons’ roosts, Holly suggested, now abandoned. The mountain roosts looked like scraggly towers, with holes in which a dragons’ young brood would roost years ago. Now, though, only puffy white clouds wormed their way through the roosts, making it look like a smoldering pillar.

But they kept walking, despite wondering at the world around them—or, well, Holly kept walking. Valo curled up in her rucksack, spared the need to plod along by her side—though that didn’t make the trip pleasant, exactly. Holly’s rucksack had barely been large enough to fit him when he’d just hatched, but he was growing rapidly. Now, his neck was folded awkwardly against the tightly bucked top of her rucksack, and his legs were a knotted mess against the tight leather confines.

Valo sat there, in the dimness of her rucksack, shifting uncomfortably with every step Holly took. The soft crunch of dirt beneath her boots was exchanged for a gentle tut-tut as she marched onto a stone path. Tut-tut, tut-tut, tut-tut…

But she stopped suddenly. Valo welcomed the reprieve in the steady bounce of her rucksack—until he realized why they’d stopped.

There was a steady hum of activity around them—and not the natural kind. This wasn’t the pitter-patter of forest rodents or flame-squirrels. This wasn’t the musical birdsong, or the hush of wind through a thick forest canopy.

Valo heard… voices. Gruff, cheerful, boisterous voices.

Happy voices.

He heard the uneven clink, clank, clunk of a hammer beating hot steel in a forge. He heard the plucking of a lute—some of the notes true, and most false. The sound of a piece of clay pottery shattering punctuated the hum of noise, followed quickly by a frustrated swear word.

“What is it?” Valo asked, trying—and failing—to peek out from the tightly bound rucksack.

“It’s a town,” Holly answered in a whisper, shifting behind a tree. “A dwarven town.” She sounded almost perplexed by that.

“Do they… not have towns?” Valo asked.

Holly shook her head. “Not that I’ve heard… From what I heard, they lived underground, or in sections of dragons’ Lairs.”

After a bit of struggle—stubbornly shoving his head against the rucksack’s buckle—Valo finally managed to snap it free. He poked his head out, earning a gentle swat from Holly.

“Are you mad?” Holly snapped. “You can’t just poke out like that! What if one of them saw you?”

Valo rubbed the top of his head, where Holly had swatted him. He kept low, just peeking his head up enough to get a good look at the dwarven town.

Now, Valo hadn’t seen many towns. In fact, he hadn’t even seen one. He’d only seen one building—Grettle’s inn and tavern. But the buildings of the town before him were infinitely stranger: they had narrow bases and wide, bulging tops, like mushrooms; the bricks—or, more accurately, roughly cut chunks of uneven stones—were laid in disordered piles, held together with a bit of poorly welded steel and clumpy concrete; the paint was applied unevenly, with patchy spots of unpainted stone occurring just as often as over-painted sections.

It was built as though the ones who’d built it had never built anything in their lives—even Valo could tell that much.

But, still, the boisterous fervor of the dwarves overshadowed their shoddy construction. Dwarves excitedly marched from one badly constructed building to another, humming and chatting boisterously. Their steps were practically gallops, charged with excitement, despite their small stature. Most of them stood less than four feet tall, and yet their legs moved in a rapid blur, like ants scurrying frantically over a fallen cake.

“What’re we waiting for?” Valo asked curiously.

“Nothing,” Holly answered, her gaze fixed on the bustling town. “But we can’t just… walk in there.” She craned her head back. “Can we?”

Valo shrugged. “We came here to speak to the dwarves.” He nodded ahead. “They’re right there—dozens of them.”

“But…” Holly pursed her lips. She let out a sigh, then nodded to herself. “Let’s go. We need to get a closer look at the place—find somewhere to rest.”

Valo nodded and sank back into the rucksack. With the buckle broken, he had to hold the top down with a claw, forcing him into an even more awkward position than before. Mercifully, Holly shuffled into the town with urgency, hoping to slip past most dwarves and into the town’s lone tavern.

But a human slipping by in a dwarven town was next to impossible. She towered over them, making her literally stick out.

Holly strode into the town. As she did, dwarves paused their work. A smith froze, his hammer held high and his eyes wide. A dwarf carrying fishing nets and other fishing gear tripped when he saw her, sending his gear clattering to the uneven cobblestone ground of the town. Every eye was on Holly as she strode into the town, her presence extinguishing the idle hum of the dwarves going about their days.

The only sound that remained was the off-tune plucking of a lute, emanating from the town’s tavern—the Drunken Miner. Its sign was roughly painted with bright colors; for what it lacked in poise, the sign made up for it with exuberant colors and strange little details.

Holly picked up the pace, scurrying toward the tavern. The dwarves’ eyes followed her, wide with disbelief at her mere presence—and the reaction to her presence culminated when she entered the tavern.

The saloon-style doors—misaligned—screeched as she pushed them open, immediately drawing the attention of the entire room. A few dwarves sat hunched over tall mugs of foaming, red liquid, most of them with looks of annoyance stapled to their faces. It wasn’t hard to see why that was: the dwarven bard in the corner of the room plucked away at his lute, singing a garbled tune—if that could even be called singing. He sounded, at times, like a screeching cat, and, at other times, like a croaking frog.

And the lyrics weren’t exactly great either, from what Valo managed to catch.

“And then I told my love…” the dwarf sang, his eyes shut. He was clearly in the throes of his passion. “That I can’t stay for now. Because I have to go. I have to go…” He ended the verse—the song—with a rapid flurry of his fingers across the lute strings.

The dwarven bard opened his eyes, expecting a crowd filled with wondrous appreciation—perhaps a round of applause and desperate cries for an encore.

Instead, he found a stunned tavern, all staring at the blonde girl—human girl—who’d just strode in.

Holly shuffled over to an empty table and sat down. It was much lower than she expected, with the table itself being about the height the bench should have been. She sprawled her legs out beneath the table, clumsily bumping her knees against it. She set her rucksack—with Valo in it—beside her on the bench, and began humming nervously, trying to ignore the dozen pairs of eyes staring at her.

Finally, after a few minutes, the tavern’s hum spurred again—mostly grumbles at the presence of a human.

A dwarf stomped out from behind the bar, her eyes fixed on Holly as she approached. The dwarf stood a few feet tall, her brown hair a tangled mess, plumed up atop her head in a ridiculous fashion. She wore a bright garb—an assault on the eyes to most but the dwarves.

“Uh… are you… lost?” the dwarf asked.

Holly hesitated, then shook her head. “N-No… I just…” She trailed off, unable to come up with a convincing reason as to why she walked into a dwarven town. After a moment, though, one came to mind, her eyes brightening as she formed an idea. “I… heard about this place—a-a-about the Drunken Miner.”

The dwarf quirked a brow. “What do you mean you… heard about it?”

“I-I mean exactly that,” Holly explained. “Everyone’s talking about it. The Drunken Miner. They say you have the best ale this side of the Katmaran river. I’m…” She glanced down, then back up at the dwarf, whose face was beginning to shine with joy at the (fake) news. “I’m here on behalf of the Taverner’s Guild. We may be interested in, uh, some of your special brew.”

“I-In my brew?” the dwarf brightened, her eyes widening. “Really? Really really?”

Holly nodded, taken aback by the dwarf’s excitement.

The dwarf huffed, a smile growing on her face. “You know, they all told me I was no good at brewing. That a dwarf had no business making ale.” She let out a long, exasperated moan. “But if word of it’s already spread…” She shook her head, smiling. “I really must have… a gift.” She furrowed her brow. “I always believed folks would love it, but I had no idea it’d happen so soon… Just a couple of weeks—even I’m shocked…”

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Holly nodded. “Uh… yeah, you do. A gift, right.” She nodded. “Word travels fast in the Taverner’s Guild.”

“What would you like?” the dwarf asked eagerly. “Pepper-beer? Garlic ale? Or…” She leaned in close and dropped her voice. “I’ve been working on something new. Exotic. Something particularly exciting.” She smiled proudly. “Chilli whisky. You better get some soon—the barrel’s almost empty…”

“I-I’ll take a pepper-beer, thank you,” Holly said, choosing the one that sounded least repulsive.

The dwarf slammed her hand down onto the table. “One pepper-beer coming up!”

Holly gulped at that. Pepper-beer? What the hells was pepper-beer?

Valo’s curiosity, too, was piqued. He’d smelled ale before—bitter, awful stuff. But Holly and the others had downed them like they were dying of thirst. Valo was curious about ale in general—but pepper-beer? Garlic ale? Chili whisky? The young dragon shifted and raised his snout, trying to catch a whiff of the drinks crowding the tavern.

And when he did, he found his snout tingling sharply—pleasantly. It felt like his nose was being caressed by a prickly wind. The sharp bite of chilies and whisky hit him hard.

And he liked it.

He wanted it.

So much so, that he nudged Holly’s side through the rucksack. Holly jumped at the sudden nudge, her gaze snapping down to Valo.

“Stay still!” Holly spat in a sharp whisper.

“What was that?” the dwarven brewer said, stepping back to the table. “You want anything else? Gozmo, our chef, makes a… decent pie.” She pursed her lips, as though trying to prevent another white lie.

Holly turned away from her rucksack and faced the dwarf. “A pie, yes, that sounds grea—”

No! Valo thought, furrowing his brow and slamming his claw at the side of the rucksack—at Holly. This time, he hit her harder, causing her to flinch suddenly, a soft, annoyed ow leaving her lips.

“I want the whisky,” Valo muttered, trying to keep his voice low but still alert Holly.

“You don’t get an order!” Holly snapped back.

“Why not?!” Valo exclaimed.

“B-Because…” Holly spat back.

“Oh, sorry, did you want something else?” the dwarf called, drifting back over. “Pepper-beer, pie, and…?”

Holly turned to her. “No, thank y—”

Valo shoved her again, even more insistently this time.

“Fine!” Holly snapped, earning a confused look from the dwarven tavernkeeper. “One pepper-beer, one pie, and… one chili whisky.” Holly sighed.

The tavernkeeper nodded enthusiastically, a self-satisfied smile growing on her lips. “Couldn’t help yourself, eh?”

Holly nodded and forced a smile.

As the dwarf shuffled away, whistling loudly, Holly turned back to her rucksack and bent over.

“What the hells are you doing, Valo?” she snapped. “You trying to announce yourself to all these dwarves?”

“I just…” Valo began, shrinking somewhat as Holly chastised him. “I just… wanted it.”

As he said that, he had a realization—Covetous Urge. He’d unlocked the Skill during his conversation with Grettle. Had it been triggered now? Was that why he’d felt an overwhelming desire for the chili whisky?

He huffed, recalling how the tavernkeeper had described it: exotic, exciting, the barrel almost drained of it… Evidently, Valo only needed to feel that something was rare and precious for him to desire it—and when that desire was triggered, it was as urgent and primordial as hunger itself. He’d felt like he was dying of thirst for it. He felt like it’d be the end of him—of the world itself—if he didn’t get it.

Luckily, he did.

The tavernkeeper dwarf returned quickly, bearing a badly carved tray. On the tray, a mug of pepper-beer spilled its foam onto the wood of the tray. It didn’t look like regular ale; its foam wasn’t creamy beige, and the liquid beneath it wasn’t the rich, golden brown Valo had seen in Grettle’s tavern. Pepper-beer was red—bright, urgent red, like chilies. Like blood.

The dwarven taverness slid the mug of pepper-beer off the tray and onto the table, splashing drops of red ale over the side. Beside it, she slid the pie over. The crust was burnt and—somehow—the inside mixture was almost raw. Finally, she lifted a small metal cup filled with Valo’s drink—chili whisky. A thin fume drifted off the surface of the dark red liquid, filling the air with a spicy cloud.

“T-Thanks…” Holly muttered, staring down at her meal. She was not looking forward to putting any of it in her mouth—but she forced a smile and feigned as much excitement as she could.

And the dwarven taverness drank up her excitement, staring at her eagerly. She retreated from the table—but she didn’t withdraw her gaze. From behind the bar, she watched Holly’s face, eagerly awaiting her first sip of her brews.

Holly took a deep breath as she stared down at her meal, preparing herself to eat it. She reached down and picked up the roughly made fork, stabbing a chunk of undercooked meat and burnt pie crust.

And with a quick plea to the Gods, she put it into her mouth, shutting her eyes in nervous anticipation.

The flavors hit her instantly—the metallic taste of undercooked beef, way too much salt, and…

Holly’s eyes went wide, freezing mid-chew.

The spiciness hit her tongue—like a knife slashing it, with lashes of pure, merciless spice. Heat radiated from her mouth, spreading to her lips, her nose, her entire head. Trickles of sweat burst onto her forehead, slowly carving down her reddening visage.

She glanced over. The taverness—and half of the patrons of the tavern—were still staring at her. She could not spit it out, for fear of offending the entire tavern—the entire town.

So, against her body’s judgment, she swallowed, forcing the clump of barely chewed food down her throat.

The heat remained, of course, still stabbing every inch of her mouth. Instinctively, she reached for the mug of beer in front of her and gulped it down, hoping for some relief.

But relief was not what she got.

She paused mid-gulp as the beer gushed over her tongue—and set her mouth aflame with even more spice. Turns out, the pepper in pepper-beer was not just a name for the drink, as Holly had foolishly hoped. It was far worse than the subtle burn of pepper, though. This was even worse than the pie.

As before, Holly forced it down. Her heart pounded in her chest, and everything in her wanted to run off, find a river, and scrape her mouth clean.

But she took a breath—a painful breath, as the spice wafted down into her lungs, causing her to cough slightly. Tears began to well in her eyes and droplets of sweat began to trickle down her face.

She turned to the taverness and forced a smile, pretending as though she was about to dig back in. Mercifully, the taverness simply nodded and smiled proudly, before turning away and attending to another patron at the other end of the bar, giving Holly a much-needed reprieve from some of the attention.

And giving Valo the perfect opportunity for him to try his own drink.

“Psst,” Valo said, nudging Holly’s leg gently. “Can I try the whisky?”

Holly, breathing heavily, glanced down. “What?”

“The whisky,” Valo repeated. “Can I…?”

Holly wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, then reached for the small mug of whisky. As she swept it around over to the rucksack, though, she paused and narrowed her eyes.

“Wait,” she realized. “Can you drink this? Should you drink this?”

Valo peeked out from the rucksack. “I can handle it,” he said, nodding stubbornly.

“I’m not talking about the spice.” She quirked a brow. “It’s alcohol. You’re… not even a month old.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Valo asked, confused.

“You know… babies can’t have whisky,” Holly tried to explain. She shrugged. “It’s bad for them.”

Valo frowned. “And it’s not bad for you?”

“N-No, it… is,” Holly answered. “But…” She pursed her lips, unsure how to explain it. “It is bad for me, but… I can have it.”

“Because you’re old.” Valo gave her a flat look.

“Older,” Holly corrected. “I’m not old.” She shook her head. “Anyway. It’s worse for babies and children. They say it can damage their brains, if they drink too much of it.”

“Is that ‘too much’?” Valo asked.

As Holly protested Valo drinking the whisky more, the hatchling found himself desiring it more and more. He found his mouth salivating, and a deep, primordial desire spurring in the pit of his belly. As the whisky drifted further from his reach, he wanted it more. His Covetous Urge gripped him fully, and all he could focus on was the whisky in Holly’s hand.

Holly looked at it, unsure. “Look. You’re the…” She dropped her voice and leaned closer. “You’re the last dragon—the world’s last chance at fixing things. I’ll be damned if I mess that all up by… messing you up.” She tugged the whisky further away, much to Valo’s irritation.

“You’re being ridiculous!” Valo protested, his voice rising. “Just one sip won’t hurt. Come ooooonnnn.”

Valo didn’t realize it, but the more desperate and insistent his begging got, the more Holly saw him for what he was—a child. The more he begged and pleaded, the less Holly was inclined to let him have the whisky—and the less inclined she was, the more urgently his Covetous Urge spurred him. The young dragon felt his senses melt into a single, burning desire.

In that moment, he didn’t care about anything else. He didn’t even hear the chatter of the dwarves around them; he didn’t even remember that they were surrounded by dwarves. He didn’t see anything but the mug of whisky—and Holly’s fingers clawed around it, keeping it from him.

In a burst of desirous rage, he pushed his legs down, shoving himself out of the unsecured top of the rucksack. His head—his very draconic head—popped up, like a mole from the ground, revealing his shining ruby-colored scales, stubby horns, and big, curious eyes to the world.

To the dwarves around them.

Holly’s eyes widened in shock. “Valo what are doing—”

Instantly, the tavern erupted. Dwarves shot onto their feet, their eyes wide and their mouths open. Ales were spilled. Conversations were killed. Lutes were dropped, and the only sound that remained in the tavern was the off-tune twang of the lute when it hit the floor.

And yet, all Valo could see was the whisky Holly was withholding from him.

“Give it!” the young dragon snapped, swiping his claws at the mug.

Seeing that there were more important things to focus on now, Holly relented, drifting the mug toward Valo. Valo snatched it—spilling half of it in the process—then tipped it back into his open maw, downing it in one go.

The spicy—hot—liquid sloshed down his gullet, sending a tingling, warm sensation all the way down to his belly. His tongue danced with the spices of the whisky—chili, yes, but also cinnamon and salt and… What was that, Valo wondered? It tasted like…

But now that Valo had sated his desire—he now possessed what his Covetous Urge had commanded him to acquire—his attention slowly widened to the world around him.

To all the dwarves staring at him with wide eyes.

Uh oh.