Waking up should have been an exultant feeling. Fanfare and an entire complement of soldiers presenting arms and twirling their rifles before firing off a few rounds in his honor. Follow that up with a few epics, an achievement, title, mount—yeah, that would all be pretty sick. Selara would be waiting for him, admiration blazing in her eyes, and Egan would cheer him on, Pevarin giving them his blessing. Ok, wait, no, that was weird. Cringe, even. But the first part was fine. The sound of birds chirping in the soft wind of morning was his only reward beyond what it must have felt like to be Prometheus on the mountain in the morning of the next day. His eyes shot open. Birds and Prometheus were not a good combination.

Unfortunately, the sudden movement was something his body was ill-prepared for, and a rogue wave of nausea capsized his stomach, and he leaned over to vomit into a nearby bush. He moaned lightly, not wanting to antagonize his dull headache. His insides felt positively fried, and before he blinked about 500 times, he swore that his clothes were steaming slightly. Looking around, feeling around, he knew that he was in a forest. This one had a different air to it, however. Birds turned their heads inquisitively at him from above, the squirrels scrambled by unconcernedly, and even a rabbit shuffled up to him before wrinkling its nose and bounding off. He frowned, his suspicions confirmed. How long had it been since a man had walked these grounds?

“Awake, I see,” said the now familiar baritone, and his head tried to swivel, but his neck cramped up halfway there. Great. He was going to die like this. Where was that blasted plot armor? “Peace, Hero,” said Gloomfire, sounding weary, “you need not trouble yourself so. I am in no state to fight, nor the mood. Here, I offer you this as proof.” A wave of something traversed his body, cold and brisk like a 6 AM shower, but refreshing and hot, too. Wakefulness and energy appeared where before they had been sorely lacking, though the bloody hole in his side still burned.

“Thanks,” said Zach, genuinely. “Healing magic. That’s strange for a dragon. Wait,” he said, his mind still slow, “how can you heal? Wouldn’t that be a different school of magic?”

Zach turned towards the dragon, now able to without hurting himself, and was surprised to find neither the rat-man nor the massive scaled beast, but a man dressed in fine embroidery a full head taller than him. He looked like an Arabian prince fully dripped out, a soft silk tunic made of rich purple laced with black, his sarouel pants white. His feet were capped off by pointed, curving shoes of solid gold. It was a strange arrangement of colors, but it looked fitting on the dragon for some reason.

Gloomfire snorted as if the answer was self-evident, “I am of a kind superior to yours. We are not bound by the same limitations. Although,” he mused, stroking a fine black beard as he thought, “you do not seem to be either.”

Well, he was still alive, and the dragon could have done anything it wanted to him while he rested, so for now, a truce had been established. That itself was worrisome.

“What did I do?” That was the wrong question, the answer immaterial. He knew what he had done, had done it intentionally. “Rather, what happened as a result of my actions?”

“Even I am not fully sure,” said the dragon, his eyes flickering molten gold for a moment before returning to solid black, “you did something that defies the known laws. You are much like him in that regard. I look forward to the day you two clash. It shall be glorious.”

Well, that wasn’t helpful. He felt a surge of panic at the mention of the unnamed person. There were only two candidates for whom he spoke, and he doubted it was Lucinder. “I take it you are not supposed to interfere with another’s spell-casting the way I did.”

Gloomfire shook his head, saying, “It should not even be possible. None save you has ever turned a spell back on its owner in such a fashion. I can only surmise that, once you took control of my magic, it sensed that you already held an immense amount and thus it attempted to return back into the spell, but the very act of you taking control of my flow had unleashed an unstoppable torrent into the spell, and, trapped, it acted as the catalyst for the resulting explosion.” The dragon shook his head ruefully, “If only I had known what you were capable of. I was so close!” he said, clenching his fist tightly as if to grasp the victory he believed was rightfully his.

Zach shook his head. The man—well, the dragon cosplaying as a man, was only fixated on the glory of battle. “So, I assume your ability to use your own magic is limited, otherwise we wouldn’t be here still. I don’t want to argue with you, especially if we’re to cooperate until we return,” he said, hesitating, then pushing forward, “but tell me the truth. If given the opportunity, you would see me delivered to Lucinder, wouldn’t you?”

Gloomfire didn’t even blink before responding, “Of course. It is my duty as his Second to do so.”

“If you are honorable,” he said, wondering if he could win a battle of philosophies against a being hundreds of years old, “then how can you justify the acts of your liege lord? Your Emperor?” The leaves rustled as a chill wind flew among them, the dragon unflinching. Coincidence. Had to be.

“The opinions of mortals on warfare are so curious to me. Amongst my kind, it is simply accepted that those with the greatest strength will and should dominate.”

“Do dragons tend to vary in opinion on how those in power should govern those below?”

“No,” he said simply, “but your race is young. Perhaps you will achieve common sense in another few millennia.

“I’m sure it will be longer than that,” he replied dryly. “So where are we, exactly? I assume you know since you don’t seem too concerned. Are we in one of the Empire’s great nations?”

“No,” said Gloomfire grimly, “we are far outside of Peratha. In the lands of the Kwinelyn.”

That might be poor for the dragon, but it was great for Zach. He could say he knew Pevarin, and-

Oh, shit.

“You begin to understand our peril,” he said, nodding. “My kind and the elves have never been fond of the other. They were the first dragon slayers of our world, after all. They granted us the gift of magic, but slew us with it all the same.”

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“Well, how the hell else are we getting out of here? How long until you recover?”

The dragon tilted his head in confusion, “Recover? I am well, Hero.”

“No, I mean, like, your magic. How long until you get it back?”

The dragon stared at him in silence, “It continues to amaze me how ignorant you are of the world around you.”

Zach’s face flushed deep red, anger flooding into him, “It was just a question. You don’t have to be an asshole about it.”

“You misunderstand,” he said, shaking his head. “It amazes me that despite your lack of knowledge, you still excel. It is commendable. You have a natural talent, I think. I look forward to finishing our battle.”

He didn’t know what to say to that, so he said the only thing he could think of. “Thanks.” The forest was quite tranquil, but since he had learned they were in the ancient home of the elves, where they had retreated to before all hell broke loose, well, his confidence was wavering. “How do we know they’re not watching us right now?”

“Oh, they are,” said Gloomfire, waving an unconcerned hand. “It would be strange for them not to be, considering we are in one of their little cages.”

He paused for a moment, the information loading in his head. He started laughing, then screamed, “We’re WHAT?”, his blood pressure skyrocketing.

Gloomfire only looked at him calmly, saying, “Yes. It wasn’t particularly relevant, as we can do nothing about it for now.”

“Have they been listening this whole time? I mean, what if I say something incriminating?” he closed his mouth before his irrational mind could say anything more damning than that.

The dragon shrugged, “I do not fear retribution for the truth. I would speak the words that lie within my soul without concern for the small-minded opinion of those I know not.”

“That’s admirable. You should put that on a Hallmark card or something,” he said, dragging his hands over his face, Gloomfire with a look of confusion, mouthing the word “Hallmark”. There was bravado and there was stupidity. How could someone so old be so fucking dumb? “OK, um,” he said, winding up his throat, giving a solid “Erhem” before he yelled out, “Elves of Kwinelyn, I speak to you now, the Hero of Peratha, and demand my freedom.” That sounded decently authoritative. Silence answered him, however.

The dragon harrumphed in disdain, “Elves. Cowardly cretins. They fear our combined might, so they will watch us waste away before they strike.” It was becoming clear that “tactical” and “smart” were just synonyms for cowardice with Gloomfire.

“We do not fear you,” said a voice, feminine and strong, from the trees around them, and he whirled about, searching for it, though Gloomfire merely sighed and did not share his enthusiasm, folding his arms as he leaned back against a tree. “Two strangers, one just a boy, the other one of the most feared creatures in all of the world, and you expect us to abandon caution? We have not survived for thousands of years for the sake of reckless courage.”

“Bah,” said the dragon, waving a dismissive hand.

“Being cautious of those you do not know is wise. Of that I have no issue with,” he said, “but you don’t need to be wary of me. I’m the Hero of Peratha.”

The elf paused in consideration, birds flying by overhead. Pretty, until they shit on you. He supposed that wouldn’t be very atmospheric if they included that in the stories.

“Do you have proof of this claim?” the woman asked curiously.

“Proof? Wha-” What was he supposed to do? It’s not like anyone gave him a diploma, nor had he completed an accredited course at Peratha University. He almost slapped his forehead. The fucking brand. “Yeah, I got your proof right here,” he said, grumbling, pulling his shirt off over his head. The “R” shone whenever the sun touched it, the scar gleaming a pale red from the blood flowing beneath. The elven woman dropped from the trees above him, which made no sense given the acoustics of this place. Magic? She was slender (what, did you expect an elf to be fat?), but muscular, and tall, just as tall as him, actually. Her hair was silvery-blonde, her eyes a strange solution of blue and yellow. It seemed to be both at the same time, rather than a mixture of the colors. Her lips were plump, and her features were just as perfect as he expected. What he had not expected was her massive bosom. Placed on that slender frame, well, he was suddenly painfully aware of his masculine deficiencies.

He also hoped she didn’t get too much closer, because she had fully aroused Little Zach.

Her eyes connected with his briefly and he smiled weakly, though she did not return it as she thoroughly scanned him with an accompanying hand. It wasn’t particularly hot, what with the constant light breeze, but he might as well have been in a sauna. She had a maddeningly soft touch and finally settled on his chest, tracing the ‘R’ out and mouthing it, then pressing on him slightly as she leaned in close, her eyes locking with his.

“You are marked champion of the Sly One. This would be enough to fulfill the prophecy and declare you Hero of Peratha, but the world has been fooled before. You and the Parseli’erath will come with us. This is a matter for the Lords of Morning to decide.” He heard most of that, he thought. The rest slid through a filter as her soft, warm, fragrant breath filled his nose and her impressive chest pushed against him. How was she not red from embarrassment? He supposed the fact that she was likely hundreds of years old and not a virgin loser like he was helped.

She whirled abruptly, the smell of lilacs following her hair as it brushed against him as she began to walk away, but Gloomfire did not move, and he almost groaned aloud. She paused mid-step, turning only her head towards him, back still straight, and he noticed the quiver and bow on her back atop a light green cape. “It would be wise for you to comply, Master Rykaren.”

“Oh, so you little rats know of me?” he said with a smile that did not quite reach his eyes, She turned fully then, her face painted with confusion, “We have all been told the tale of Rykaren Es”Rundar, Dread Flame of Peratha. Even the children are saddened when they hear of your defeat at the hands of Lord Elarome and his bow forged from the shattered remnants of your horns, which he sheared off with only a knife,” she giggled derisively, and Zach felt even his blood run hot at that sound. He couldn’t even imagine what that had just done to Gloomfire’s psyche.

The tree the dragon had been leaning against was now lacking a middle section, his fist embedded in it, eyes burning molten gold, “You tell falsehoods then, you conniving grave crawlers. Elarome was slain by my hand.”

She smiled as if entertaining a tale she regarded as tall, “If that is what you say.” Zach had to give her credit. She was maneuvering Gloomfire with a deft hand. The man was fuming, breathing fire even in human form.

“Take me to him,” he hissed.

“I’m uh, not really with him,” said Zach, edging away from the seething beast, “I’m not sure how to explain it, but we were fighting, and I did something, and now we’re here.”

She regarded him with an amused expression, “Aptly put, but irrelevant. If you are found to be the Hero of Peratha, all charges and crimes that could be levied against you will be dropped, regardless of the reasoning.”

“And if I’m not?” he said, knowing he was not going to like the answer.

She looked between them, then back at Zach, “You will both be executed for entering Kwinelyn uninvited.”

She turned around and began walking once again, and he followed shortly after before a thought struck him.

“I think I might have brought some others with me, unfortunately. Two were humans, like me,” he said, an awkward sentence in his mouth. Traveling with multiple different races was weird, “and the other...well, he was an elf, like you.”

She froze, not responding for a few moments. He was afraid of mentioning Pevarin, but withholding information would likely hurt him in the long run.

“So,” she said icily, and he winced at her tone, “it is you who have brought the Apostate of the Dawn back to us. Thank you for that.”

She faced him, her beautiful and soft face now solid as stone, and just as inviting, “Thank you for bringing my father back to me.”