Magnus crouched beside the mossy log, his fingers brushing gently against the pipmunk’s soft fur as he set it back where it had first appeared. “There you go, little one,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing, a small smile gracing his lips. The tiny creature blinked up at him, tilting its head curiously, but remained still as Magnus began to straighten, ready to leave it in the safety of its hollow.

Before Magnus could take a single step, the pipmunk emitted a sharp, insistent chitter. In a blur of motion, it scampered up his arm, its nimble claws barely grazing his sleeve as it clambered onto his shoulder. Magnus chuckled in surprise, the sound light and warm.

“Hey!” he exclaimed, tilting his head as the pipmunk scrambled even higher, burrowing into his thick hair like it was building a nest. Its soft fur brushed against his neck, sending a ticklish sensation down his spine. Magnus’s shoulders shook with laughter. “What are you doing up there?” he asked, amused.

The pipmunk let out a rapid series of chirps, its oversized ears twitching as it leaned closer to Magnus’s ear, its sounds almost forming a language of their own. Magnus stilled, his sharp gaze softening as he listened, his expression shifting to one of understanding.

“Ah,” he murmured, his tone thoughtful. “That’s why your log was on the ground.” He glanced around the clearing, his eyes narrowing as he took in the subtle signs of disruption. Fallen branches littered the ground, their jagged ends telling of an unnatural break. Scattered tree stumps jutted out of the earth like grim monuments, their edges worn but sharp enough to reveal that they hadn’t been felled by time.

Magnus’s gaze returned to the pipmunk, still perched on his shoulder. Its tiny nose wriggled defiantly, and it let out another sharp chirp. “But there are plenty of other trees here,” Magnus reasoned, gesturing to the remaining forest. “Why not make your home in one of those?”

The pipmunk shook its tiny head with such forceful defiance that it almost seemed to be saying, ‘I don’t like those!’ Magnus glanced around, his eyes falling on the surrounding area. Several tree stumps stood like gravestones among the sparse forest floor, a clear sign that something—or someone—had disrupted the habitat. Perhaps woodcutters had passed through, or worse, a monster had destroyed the grove.

“I see now,” he murmured, more to himself than the pipmunk. “This place isn’t safe for you anymore, is it?” The pipmunk nuzzled against his cheek, as if confirming his words

Magnus turned to Caelus, his eyes calm yet expectant, carrying a question that needed no words. The weight of the moment pressed between them, unspoken but unmistakable. Caelus felt the intensity of Magnus’s gaze and flicked his eyes upward briefly before looking away, his jaw tightening. He busied himself with anything but Magnus—adjusting his gear, brushing nonexistent dirt from his armour, even glancing toward the others.

Around the group, reactions varied. Lorian was practically vibrating with enthusiasm, his eyes wide and sparkling as if the pipmunk were the most exciting thing he’d ever seen. Beside him, Cheese turned a faint shade of blue, clearly intrigued. In stark contrast, Riven stood apart, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her face a mask of quiet disapproval. A single arched brow spoke louder than words—Another nuisance?

Seraph let out a nervous chuckle, her unease evident in the way her hands fidgeted at her sides. She had never been comfortable around strange creatures—or monsters, for that matter. It had taken her ages to grow accustomed to Cheese, and even now, the thought of touching the gelatinous companion sent a shiver down her spine. She glanced at the pipmunk, then quickly looked away, her discomfort plain as her silver eyes darted nervously around the group. It was clear she was trying to mask her apprehension, but the faint grimace tugging at the corners of her lips betrayed her.

While the others reacted with varying degrees of interest, Elira remained utterly unbothered. She grabbed a nearby twig, crouched down, and began idly sketching doodles in the dirt. Her movements were casual, almost childlike, as if the weight of their conversation barely registered. Lines and shapes took form under her absent-minded focus, a small grin playing at her lips as she worked.

Magnus, undeterred, stepped closer to Caelus, his steady presence commanding attention. He said nothing, simply stood before him, his silence speaking volumes. The stillness was impossible to ignore, as though Magnus were silently challenging Caelus to look him in the eye and offer a decision.

Caelus exhaled sharply, feeling the unyielding pressure of Magnus’s quiet resolve. Finally, he stopped fidgeting, his shoulders slumping slightly as he let out a resigned sigh. The unspoken standoff came to its inevitable conclusion.

Caelus let out a heavy sigh, the weight of inevitability pressing down on him. “Fine,” he muttered, his voice tinged with reluctant surrender as he threw his hands up in defeat.

The pipmunk erupted into an ecstatic display, bouncing with unrestrained joy before launching itself at Magnus. It leapt up to hug Magnus’s cheek, its tiny paws patting his face affectionately. Magnus chuckled, a rare sound that warmed the group like a flicker of sunlight.

“Yaaaay!” Lorian cheered, leaping into the air with an exuberant spin, his energy as boundless as ever. He darted over to Cheese, scooping up the squishy slime with both hands and holding it aloft like a prized treasure. Turning to the pipmunk perched on Magnus’s shoulder, Lorian grinned ear to ear. “Pipmunk, meet Cheese! Cheese, meet Pipmunk!”

Cheese extended a gooey limb, its gelatinous surface shimmering in the dappled light, and waved with enthusiastic vigour. The pipmunk, after a moment’s curious inspection, raised its tiny paw and mimicked the gesture with surprising earnestness.

Lorian’s eyes widened as if he had just unlocked the secrets of the universe. He gasped loudly, clutching Cheese closer. “That’s it!” he exclaimed, pointing at the pipmunk with dramatic flair. “Let’s name it Pip!”

The pipmunk tilted its head, ears twitching, as if considering the name, while Cheese jiggled in apparent agreement. Lorian looked around at the group, clearly expecting applause for his “brilliant” idea.

Riven groaned, rolling her eyes as she crossed her arms. “Another creature I’ll have to get used to...” Her voice was tinged with a mix of exasperation and resignation, as if she’d been thrust into a never-ending parade of oddities.

Elira, ever the optimist, let out a carefree laugh and slung her arm around Riven’s shoulders, giving her a playful squeeze. “Oh, come on! The more, the merrier!” she said with a grin, her tone light and teasing, as if the idea of an ever-growing menagerie was something to celebrate.

Seraph, leaning against a nearby tree with her arms folded, watched the interaction with a bemused look. A wry smile tugged at the corners of her lips, her violet eyes glinting with amusement. “I can’t believe we’re adding another critter to the party,” she said, her voice dry but with a hint of humour. She glanced at the rest of the group with a raised eyebrow. “Are we gonna keep adding more?”

After a few more minutes of lighthearted banter, Caelus walked over to Darius, who was sprawled out across a fallen log, his tail twitching lazily as he slept. The dragonborn looked almost serene in his slumber, wings folded around his frame like a blanket, the soft rustle of leaves the only sound accompanying his steady breathing.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Caelus crouched beside him and gave his shoulder a gentle shake. “Hey, wake up,” he said, his voice quiet but insistent, nudging him again.

Darius stirred, groaning low in his throat, then stretched out his wings with a mighty yawn that rippled through his entire body. He shook off the remnants of sleep, blinking blearily before rubbing his eyes with the back of one hand. “Wha—oh, time to go?” he muttered, his voice thick with sleepiness.

He blinked a few times, standing up slowly. Then, with a sharp whistle, he called to the dragons nearby. Their massive forms stirred, eyes flicking open, and they stretched their wings, the air around them rippling with the weight of their movement. Each dragon began to rise from its resting place, the ground trembling slightly beneath their paws as they prepared to take flight. Darius gave a lazy smile, nodding toward the group. “Let’s head off, then.”

The group mounted their dragons with practised ease, their movements fluid as they settled into the familiar saddle. The dragons' massive wings unfurled, stretching out like the sails of ancient ships ready to catch the wind. With a low rumble from their chests, the creatures leapt into the air, their powerful wings thrumming with each beat. The ground dropped away quickly beneath them as they soared into the sky, the air rushing past with a force that tugged at hair and cloaks alike. Pip clung to a strand of Magnus’s hair like a lifeline, its tiny paws gripping the silky strands, its wide eyes blinking against the wind that whipped around them.

The dragons banked gracefully, their wings beating in perfect sync as they gained altitude. The rhythmic thrum of their wings filled the air, a sound both exhilarating and soothing, as if the dragons were moving with an innate harmony to the world around them. Below, the land stretched out in rolling hills, forests, and rivers that seemed like threads in the vast tapestry of the world. Caelus could feel the rush of freedom, the exhilaration of flight, the sensation of weightlessness as the dragons soared effortlessly on the updrafts, higher and higher into the heavens. Every now and then, one of the dragons would tilt its wings, catching the wind in just the right way to glide for miles without a single beat of its wings, sending Caelus’s heart fluttering in response.

The sun dipped lower in the sky, turning the heavens into a brilliant canvas of amber, gold, and crimson. The light washed over them, casting long shadows across the land below. As they flew onward, the wind turned cooler, the last rays of sunlight stretching like fingers across the horizon, pulling the day to a close. Caelus leaned into the wind, letting it whip through his hair, a feeling of timelessness washing over him as they flew toward the next destination.

Ahead, the town of Ashenbrook loomed into view, its silhouette dark against the dying light. The town seemed to stretch outward in a crooked, uneven line, the rooftops jagged and worn. Some buildings had collapsed entirely, leaving only their skeletal frames to stand as silent witnesses to whatever had happened here. Ivy crept over the remains of abandoned houses, the wild green tendrils covering windows and doors, as if nature itself were trying to reclaim what had once been a place of life. The town’s air was thick with neglect, a heavy, oppressive presence that seemed to cling to the structures like a thick fog. The long-abandoned homes were darkened and silent, their shutters hanging loosely, creaking occasionally in the wind. It felt as though time had forgotten this place, leaving it to wither in the quiet shadows of the past.

As they neared the town, the oppressive feeling in the air grew heavier, making the hairs on the back of Caelus’s neck stand on end. The once-thriving town now seemed like a forgotten relic, haunted by its past. The sun’s last rays reflected off the broken glass in the windows of the houses, casting ghostly glimmers on the decaying structures below. It was as if the town itself was holding its breath, waiting for something—or someone—to return.

As the wraith's malevolent presence deepened, the group moved swiftly, reaching into their inventories and retrieving the protective artifacts entrusted to them by King Rowan. These relics, crafted with care and imbued with ancient magic, were meant to shield them from the cursed influence of the Withering Woods.

Each artifact gleamed faintly, their designs as unique as the warriors who bore them.

The atmosphere shifted as the artifacts took effect, their protective auras forming a faint, interconnected web of light that pushed back against the encroaching darkness. The oppressive chill eased slightly, and a collective breath of resolve passed through the group as they prepared to face whatever horrors the wraith might unleash.

Darius, leading the group with his steady, commanding presence, glanced down at the eerie scene below. “Ashenbrook,” he muttered, his voice tinged with uncertainty. “It feels wrong here. Stay sharp.” The dragons’ wings beat steadily, the sound almost too loud in the unsettling quiet of the town below. The air grew colder as they descended, the chill of the dying day creeping in, and the ground seemed to rise up to meet them, dark and silent.

When they finally touched down in a clearing near the town, the ground seemed to groan beneath their weight. The dragons, ever obedient, settled gracefully, their wings folding in with precision as they came to a stop. They landed just outside the town, leading their dragons to a stable. An elderly Dragonborn stable master shuffled out to greet them, his scaled hands trembling slightly as Darius handed him a small pouch of coins. The man thanked him absently but froze as his eyes landed on Caelus. His pupils dilated, and his jaw went slack.

“Vorrath!” The Dragonborn’s voice cracked, raw with disbelief and something else—fear, perhaps, or desperate hope.

Caelus froze, the world seeming to slow as the man’s words echoed in his ears. His heart skipped a beat. Vorrath? That name—his name—had been a shadow hanging over him since he first awoke in this strange new life, but hearing it spoken with such urgency, such raw emotion, made it feel like a weight pressing down on him.

He turned slowly, dread knotting his stomach as he faced the old Dragonborn. The man’s eyes were wide with a kind of wild recognition, his weathered hands trembling as they reached for Caelus, grasping his own with an intensity that caught him off guard.

“You’re back, Vorrath...” The man’s voice faltered, and a few tears slipped down his cheeks. His gnarled fingers held Caelus’s hands as though afraid he might vanish if he let go. “I thought you were gone... lost to us all these years... I never thought... You’re... you’re truly here...”

Caelus’s chest tightened. The man’s words felt like a distant echo, as if the very air around him had shifted. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words stuck in his throat, the weight of the moment threatening to crush him.

"I... I’m not Vorrath,” Caelus managed, his voice hoarse, barely above a whisper. He tried to pull his hands back, but the old Dragonborn’s grip remained firm, like a lifeline. “I’m... his reincarnation. It’s a long story.”

The words didn’t seem to register. The old Dragonborn's eyes searched Caelus’s face as if trying to find the truth in his expression. But Caelus could feel the tension in the air, thick with the weight of expectations he didn’t know how to carry.

The man shook his head, a sudden laugh escaping him—a sound full of wonder and disbelief. “It doesn’t matter,” he muttered, the tears still glistening in his eyes. “If you’re here, Vorrath, it means you’ve come to save us. You’re the only one who can.” His hands gripped Caelus’s tighter now, almost desperate. “Please. The town... we need you. We need him.”

Caelus felt the urgency in the man's voice, the years of suffering and fear wrapped in every word. But even as the old Dragonborn’s plea resonated within him, Caelus felt an uncomfortable knot twist in his gut. Save them? He barely knew where to start.

He stood there, unable to speak, his heart pounding against his ribs as the weight of the moment crushed down on him. Can I really be the one to save this town?

The Dragonborn’s eyes didn’t leave him, filled with such desperate hope that Caelus’s mind raced, uncertainty flooding him. He wanted to say something—anything—to ease the man’s pain, but the words eluded him.

Just then, Elira stepped forward with her usual bravado, placing a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Of course! We’ll explore the Withering Woods and defeat Myrkos!” she declared confidently, her voice ringing with assurance.

The man’s face lit up, a flicker of hope sparking in his expression, but before Caelus could process the weight of his situation, he felt it—a cold, unsettling feeling that crawled up his spine.

Suddenly, a jarring flash seized Seraph’s vision, a shard of something sinister piercing through her consciousness—a foresight.

Seraph’s eyes widened, her expression shifting in an instant from calm to alarmed. She stepped toward Elira, her hand shooting out to grab her arm and pull her back. “Elira—wait!”

Elira stumbled slightly, her brows knitting in confusion as she turned to face Seraph. She turned back to her. “What is it?” she asked, tilting her head, her tone a mix of curiosity and concern.

Seraph froze, glancing around to find the group’s eyes all fixed on her. Words faltered on her tongue as she struggled to explain. “I... just…” she stammered, her gaze darting uneasily between them, her chest rising and falling with the weight of what she’d seen.