(Dylan)

Charles stiffly placed a hand on Dylan’s shoulder, drawing him out of his thoughts.

“You’re right,” Charles said. “I wasn’t there and don’t know what you’ve been through, but I’m here now.” He walked down the hall toward the exit, then hopped down from the treehouse. “Come, sit.” He tapped the sill of the door and waited for Dylan to take a seat.

Dylan followed and sat in the doorway, his feet dangling an inch above the ground.

Charles leaned against the treehouse and crossed his arms. “Just watch.”

Dylan sat, parked at the edge of Merchants' Circle near Market Street, watching the heart of Dartmouth bustle with townsfolk shopping and browsing the ever-rotating wares of the traveling merchants.

A slender draconi with umbra-brown scales and five-pronged horns swept back across her head caught Dylan's eye. She wore a simple, cream-colored sundress, turning a small trinket over in her hand. A purse appeared, and she exchanged three colored gems for the bauble.

The merchant was an elf with lilac hair and a frilled white blouse—his only remarkable features. He gave a tight-lipped smile, and she responded with a slight bow of her head, closing her eyes briefly.

A pair of violet draconi whisked across the street, catching Dylan’s eye. Physically identical, they each wore different outfits. One had a loose, open, revealing tunic that accentuated their scaled arms, chest, and stomach, while the other wore a form-fitting vest over a mostly buttoned-up long-sleeved shirt.

On closer inspection, the first had a swagger in their gait, their tail swaying to keep up with their sassy hips. The other draconi’s tail was more reserved, moving in time with their controlled steps. As they passed, Dylan overheard a snippet of their conversation—something about flowers, a nightshade.

“Twins,” Charles said, his gaze following them as they walked down the sidewalk.

“Do you know them?” Dylan asked.

“Me?” Charles pointed to himself before shaking his head. “No.”

They continued people-watching until the sun dipped halfway past the horizon. Charles was right—the draconi were just people. Friendly folk, in fact; every one of them that noticed Dylan gave him a big smile and waved. He realized they stared as much as he did, but he didn’t mind their lingering attention. Charles’ closed-off stance and steely gaze kept them at a distance as Dylan acclimated.

“Hi, Charles,” said a petite, plum-scaled draconi. Her crest was simple and unadorned, and she wore a metallic gold sundress that shimmered as she walked.

“Y’rell,” Charles said with a curt nod.

Y’rell noticed Dylan sitting in the treehouse doorway, smiling and waving at him. This was the closest any of them had gotten. A gentle breeze carried the sweet fragrance of roses. Her lithe figure reminded him of Bronze, but thankfully, her eyes didn’t—they were a lovely shade of emerald, sparkling with interest.

He disliked that the root of his issues boiled down to classic unresolved childhood trauma—mommy issues. But understanding that allowed him to see not all draconi were evil monsters out to get him. It was far more complex; he’d have to get to know them before passing judgment.

Although he’d calmed down, the experience and recent breakthrough had left him raw, so he let Auto-manners take over.

Dylan flashed her a broad grin and waved back. Her bright emerald eyes narrowed slightly as she checked him out, still smiling. Feeling self-conscious, he stopped waving but couldn’t wipe the stubborn smile off his face.

Y’rell approached, stopping a respectful distance away. “I…” Her voice trailed off, clasping both hands in front of her.

Charles watched their interaction, fascinated.

She glanced down at her feet before lifting her gaze back to him. “Hi, I’m Y’rell.”

Dylan hopped down from the sill, straightening himself. She still towered over him. Looking up to meet her gaze, he stepped closer, closing the distance between them, and offered her his hand.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Y’rell,” Dylan said, still smiling.

His forwardness took her by surprise—he noticed her pupils dilate and her nostrils flare. Y’rell quickly clamped her mouth shut with a clomp, realizing it had been open. She stared down at his outstretched hand. This was the second odd reaction he’d gotten from a standard greeting.

Dylan wondered, ‘Am I doing it wrong?’ He referenced his mental “How to People Guide” that society had ingrained in him. ‘Eye contact, smile, repeat their name, and a firm handshake. Should I throw in a compliment?’

Auto-manners ran with the idea, and Dylan said, “That’s a lovely dress.”

Y’rell touched her dress, glanced at his waiting hand, and took it, gently wrapping her fingers around his. Dylan tried to shake, but she only wanted to hold hands. Her touch wasn’t what he expected—warm, soft, and silky. Trying again, he squeezed her hand firmly and gave it a proper shake.

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Y’rell inhaled sharply, looking up from their clasped hands, and asked, “Who’s your friend, Charles?”

“Dylan,” Charles said, raising his eyebrows as he watched.

He kept smiling, staring, and shaking her hand—stuck in an awkward loop. Y’rell seemed to enjoy the attention. She kept gazing into his eyes, not wanting to let go. He swallowed hard. This level of awkwardness was beyond Auto-manners’ capabilities; he’d have to rescue himself.

“Charles,” Dylan said, his cheeks aching. “Don’t we have an appointment with the justice league?”

That piqued her interest even more. “You’re an adventurer?” she asked.

“It’s the League of Adventurers,” Charles corrected, “and we don’t need an appointment.”

“I think I’m ready to go now,” Dylan said. “Can we go now?” He noticed a different hunger growing in her eyes, one he wasn’t entirely comfortable with. They’d just met.

“There’s no rush now,” Charles said with a shrug, more interested in what was happening between Dylan and Y’rell. “We’ve already missed the day shift.”

She finally let go of his hand, turned to Charles, and said, “I could show him.” She sounded exceptionally sweet, clearly excited at the prospect of showing Dylan around.

Charles came to his rescue, shaking his head. “No. He’s under my protection.”

Y’rell stepped back, bringing her hand to her chest. “I didn’t know you were an adventurer, too.”

“Used to be…” he said, pushing off the treehouse. He made his way to the other side, and Dylan heard him open a chest.

“Well,” she said, “are you two going to be around for a while?” She stole another glance at Dylan.

“Just arrived today. I’ll be around for at least a week,” Charles said.

Dylan heard him shut the lid. She blinked and bowed her head in farewell to them both.

“I hope to see you around, Dylan,” Y’rell said over her shoulder as she resumed her stroll.

“Yep, see you around.” Catching himself mid-wave, Dylan pulled his arm down. ‘Stop leading on the nice dragon lady,’ he thought. He’d have to be more careful about who he waved to in the future.

Dylan sensed Charles’ presence beside him, and they both watched Y’rell walk away. Her graceful hips swayed back and forth, her tail trailing behind.

“I thought you were afraid of draconi?” Charles asked.

“Terrified,” Dylan said, still staring, unable to look away. “Absolutely terrified.”

Charles gave him a puzzled look. When Dylan turned to meet his gaze, he saw the weapons. His knees gave out, and he fell over, trying to get away. The well-equipped, rugged elf stood there, armed with three blades and a shortbow.

A longsword was sheathed along his spine, a shortsword across his lower back, and a dagger on his hip. A quiver was strapped to his thigh, with the shortbow slung over his shoulder and across his chest.

Dylan closed his eyes, threw his arms over his head, and thought, ‘Not again!’

There was a long pause before Charles asked, “What are you doing?”

“Just make it quick,” Dylan said, inching back toward the treehouse. At least, that’s where he assumed he was going; he refused to open his eyes.

“Dylan—”

“What are you waiting for?” he interrupted. Of all the methods of torture, waiting was the most effective. For Dylan, anticipating pain was infinitely worse than experiencing it. The knowledge that something was coming enveloped him in an all-consuming state of vigilance. He called it Wait-mode.

“I’m waiting for you,” Charles said.

Dylan flinched as a firm hand took him by the arm, hoisting him to his feet. He opened one eye just in time to see Charles shut the oval door to the treehouse, knowing he wouldn’t get back in until the rugged elf opened it.

“You’re under my protection,” Charles said, noticing Dylan’s eyes darting from weapon to weapon. “I can’t do that if I’m unarmed.”

“You said it’s a short walk. Do you really need to bring all your weapons?”

“These aren’t all of my weapons,” Charles said, double-checking the clasp holding his quiver to his thigh.

In an attempt to divert both his and Charles’ attention, Dylan pointed to the two demons hooked up to the treehouse and asked, “What are their names?”

“They’re summons; they don’t have names.”

“Do you get the same pair when you re-summon them?”

“Yes, they get reconstituted, even if destroyed.”

“I think they should have names,” Dylan said, bending over to check their undercarriage. “How can you tell if it’s a boy or girl?” He couldn’t tell them apart.

“Bramble spawn don’t have genders; they’re bramble spawn.” Charles readjusted the bow across his chest.

‘Bramble spawn,’ Dylan noted mentally.

Charles stood uncomfortably close, prompting Dylan to move down the street. Charles followed closely from behind.

Looking back toward the treehouse, he saw why it was called the Merchant’s Circle—the treehouse had been hiding the other temporary merchant stalls scattered around the circle. There was even a large stable on the opposite side.

“Bramble spawn don’t need to be stabled?” he asked, eager for an excuse to see all the new animals. There were bipeds, quadrupeds, and Dylan didn’t know what to call the three- or six-legged creatures. ‘Sexapeds? No, that sounds wrong.’

“They’re part of the treehouse; they’ll wither away and die if detached,” Charles said. He was eerily quiet for someone carrying so many weapons, and Dylan still didn’t see why he couldn’t give them names.

“Put your hood up if you don’t want them to gawk,” Charles suggested.

Not wanting another Y’rell Incident, Dylan pulled up the hood of his cloak. While a hooded figure walking around at dusk might attract some attention, his human ears still stood out like a beacon.

As they started down the road, something felt off. Dylan chalked it up to being on another world with magic, strange greeting customs, and dragon-people.

There were fewer pedestrians out now than before, when he had sat watching from the safety of the treehouse. Dylan suspected it was dinnertime for most, but the encroaching darkness was also a convenient excuse to be home with their families.

Tall, dark metal poles, evenly spaced along the road, held empty cages.

‘That’s odd,’ he thought. ‘Did someone steal every single light bulb?’ He watched as a small spark came to life in one of the empty spaces, growing into a pulsing mass of constant white light. ‘I guess you don’t need light bulbs when you’ve got magic.’ The spark sizzled into a steady, buzzing hum as the light filled the streets, walls, and even the lower portions of the sky.

Other than foot traffic and the occasional comings and goings of traveling merchants, Dylan hadn’t seen any vehicles on the road to the Merchants’ Circle. The road had a well-maintained surface, mostly made up of squared, evenly spaced, sun-bleached cobblestones.

The sidewalk featured alternating blue and orange brickwork, laid at a forty-five-degree angle, and it was just as wide as the street. The brickwork was impressive—immaculate, even. He continued to take in the town as they walked.

The buildings were mostly one or two stories tall, made of stone and brick. Some even seemed shaped from solid stone, seamless, like the underground levels beneath the Ebonscale stronghold. A range of natural rock colors, from orange to gray and everything in between, dominated the landscape. There was a distinct lack of wood; most of the architecture featured stone, glass, and metal, reminding him of big cities back on Earth.