The white dragon egg rests on the bed while I pack spare clothing, my hunting knife, dagger, climbing cams, rope, pike, gloves, and dry food in case there is a lack of resources—especially on the Blessed Mountain. Most creatures hide in burrows, wanting warmth in sheltered places.

“Is there a cavern when we venture up the Blessed Mountain?” I ask Dagen.

“Yes. A quarter-way up, there is an entrance we must take to get to the top of the mountain without moving through the blizzard.”

I frown. “Our light feet can take us there.”

“Yes… but be wary of the dragon egg in the brisk cold and howling wind. Even though it listens to you, the strength lies within, and if it cannot produce enough heat on the journey, we may lose the dragon.”

I eye the egg, a flutter rising in my chest at the thought of what it would look like when it hatches. Would the egg have the same colouring as the shell or be entirely different? Rialdrenth’s hatchlings, from memory, have a wash of colour: grey, black and faded white. A touch of colour is unnatural for her nest eggs, but still… I curiously wait and anticipate what my dragon will look like.

“Are you nervous?”

I laugh. “This is nothing compared to spending months on end luring groups of humans, dwarves and high elves into Rialdrenth’s cavern, wondering where she slumbers. This will be a walk down Woodlain Path.”

He smiles crookedly. “Funny.”

“Hmm,” I grunt.

I zip the pack up and place wooden arrows with helical and straight fletching for various speeds. With quick examination, ensuring the feathers aren’t cut, I sling the bag on my back and rest the bow on the hook on the back of the pack.

“You ready? We should get there early to see if we can find more of Rialdrenth’s nest eggs.”

My eyes narrow. “Norlon does not care for my dragon anymore. We shouldn’t worry about killing others in that nest… only Helion.”

He leans down, gripping my arm fiercely and squeezing tight. “We do not harm Woodlain Path elves, Inari. Your Yorn customs do not work here, even if he has questionable morals.”

With a roll of my eyes, the dagger I often use taps against the buckle around his waist, deliberately close to between his legs. Noticing where my eyes drift, Dagen loosens his hold, steps bag and murmurs his apology. As bitter as I am, I ignore it, shove my dagger into the sheath strapped to my waist, and rise.

Woodlain Path elves have stupid customs. Since my arrival, after Norlon ripped me and my sister from our home, they are more willing to act on violence on every other village, town and city in Wyl, but forbid I want to harm one of them, and it’s pure chaos and rage.

The cradle. It laid bare. Her cries were pitched, of a babe misunderstood, wanting her mother, only to kiss fire when the home went up in flames. And still, to call peace to Yorn and Woodlain Path, I kneeled before Norlon, holding onto the hate and disgust but doing it for Yorn Shire. To keep Mother safe. To keep my home safe, even knowing I can never step foot in Yorn Shire again to see them.

“We should leave,” I say, only to realise my voice carried off without the words holding firm in the air. Clearing my throat, I repeat it, and Dagen lifts his head, a weary smile on a face filled with guilt.

Good. His reaction will forever engrain in my mind, there, a constant reminder that Dagen has a quick fuse when it comes to Woodlain Path elves. As much as he claims to care for me, his heart lives and breathes here, and I am nothing but a Yorn girl in his eyes.

I should shove him off the cliff, too. He can die beside Helion if he cares for him as much as he says. I have no desire to bond with someone who will let a dangerous elf live because they grew up together. Not even a close upbringing. Two elves who walked the same rope but trees apart.

I grab the sheet I tuck the egg inside of, tie it into a knot behind my head and let the egg rest across my body, more of a satchel bag to keep it safe. Since my dragon produces heat, I do not have to worry about coals and keeping a fire burning. The dragon is intelligent, understanding my voice and learning my words.

Or… it doesn’t want to die, and my words were meaningless.

We leave quickly, moving up the bridges until we reach the tight ropes joining from tree to tree. Dagen moves up first, his bag rattling with items and more food I didn’t want to carry, and he helps me up until I’m balancing on the rope.

Wood elves notice us leaving, and some along the way give a quick wave and grant us luck on our adventure. With a tight smile, still finding it awkward to understand the way of Woodlain Path elves and their over-friendly custom, I dip my head and keep going. Dagen, though, can have conversations that last hours if he wants to.

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

When we are far enough away from the Heart, Dagen points to a tree ahead with a thick, long and sturdy blanch for us to stand next to each other on. He feels the bark, telling me runic stones often burn brighter here.

I remove the runic stone with the Blessed Mountain symbol with cursive, looping markings. “Where will this take us on the mountain?”

“The base,” Dagen says. “The blessed Mountain doesn’t have many trees that are sturdy and can hold runic stone powers without the tree snapping.”

Pressing the stone to the tree, I drag it down until the portal opens, revealing white snow stretching as far as the eye can see and thick, misty clouds covering the blue sky. A bite comes through from the portal, and flakes of snow touch my boots until they melt in Wyl’s humidity.

With a deep breath, I enter first, followed by Dagen. And when I turn around, the portal closes behind us, revealing the red maple tree, with its bright red leaves whistling, slapping together in the fierce breeze. Luckily, as thin as they look, the clothes don’t let the bite of cold wind cut through and burrow into my flesh.

The dragon egg, though…

My hand cups underneath the egg, keeping a hold on it to ensure the heat still penetrates it.

“We have to reach there,” Dagan says, pointing off in the distance.

Far ahead, my eyes widen at the mountain through the wisps of clumpy snow. It’s tall, breaking the layer of clouds, where I cannot see the top—the tip of the mountain. Covered entirely in snow, a sheen white slate, I see where Dagen’s pointing toward when I squint. Past the hailstorm, around the white snow, there is an arched cavern, darkness spooling within.

“Will there be danger inside?” I ask as we walk above the snow.

“Not that I am aware of. Only the other creatures who are venturing on this journey.”

“What creatures?”

A prickle rises on the back of my neck. Resting my hand on the dagger strapped to my waist, I spin, stumbling back until my light feet sink into the snow above my knees.

“Fuck…”

Dagen stands before me, feet shoulder-width apart, on his side, bow raised, three fingers tightening on the string, an arrow pressed between two, ready to loosen the arrow if he needs to.

On the other side of him, standing at the tree we entered from, Vidian stands with his arms folded underneath his chest, egg strapped above and bound by thick, tough leather. From what I remember, his hair was long, falling down his back, and is now cut short at the front, with dark hair falling in front and on the sides while the rest is tied back into a low ponytail, floating in the wind.

He tilts his head, a crooked smile on his lips when he notices me. “Been a while, wood elf.”

Dagen slackens his hold and turns to me, irritation working through him. “Do you know this high elf?”

I push myself up from the hole I put myself in and stand above the snow when I find my light footing again. “Yes. He was the high elf who took Rialdrenth’s other egg.”

Without warning, Dagen raises the bow again, his fingers slipping away from the arrow and string, loosening the arrow on Vidian. The high elf arches his brow, raises his hand, and his mouth moves fast, but the words carry in the wind. In the blink of an eye, the arrow bound toward him slams into a magical barrier, bouncing off it and sinking into the snow until it’s hidden.

Moving my focus away from where the arrow went, my eyes widen at Vidian in front of Dagen, long leg raised, and a cruelly lit smile on his face when he slams his leg into his stomach, causing Dagen to fly back. Snow parts into a line, lifting in the stormy air from the sheer power of a high elf.

As he lowers his leg, he says, “I forgot how light wood elves are. It’s like kicking a halfling.”

I grit my teeth, turning away from Vidian and going to search where Dagen landed. Vidian walks beside me, and the airy way he talks grates when he says, “You cannot grow mad at me, wood elf. Your companion was the one who struck the first blow. I was merely matching his energy.”

My pointed ears twitch. “And where is your companion?”

He pushes dark hair away from his face. “I decided against one. They would only slow me down.”

I huff a breath. “It seems you have changed over the course of months.”

Vidian tweaks a smile. “As I spoke of when we last met, high elves have changed.”

“And now you’re one of them?”

“No… I am against them.”

“Hey!” Someone from ahead calls. “Does anyone own this wood elf?”

Fuck…

Moving ahead, Vidian’s long stride follows with grace, keeping up with my short legs until we reach a clearing. A halfling with dark brown skin stands over Dagen’s unconscious body. My shoulders slump, more irritated than happy to see he is alive. But at least through it all, he kept his grip on his bow; not like it would do him a lot of good against high elves. Their magic has grown stronger.

The halfling smiles, beauty spots freckling his face, and short, cropped, fuzzy hair. Childlike. He’s very childlike—more than me, a wood elf. He wears clothes similar to mine, but they aren’t made for comfort, nor with quality in mind. Still… his teeth do not chatter, and he does not hold any form of discomfort, even when he speaks.

“I checked his pulse. It’s steady. And there is a cut on his lip. A twig hidden underneath the snow must have knicked him when he bounded toward me.” He shuffles through the thick snow that reaches to his waist. “I can give him butterbur milk for his pain when he wakes.” The halfling arches his chin with pride. “My name is Ten, and I am a well-known doctor from Lourbog.”

Vidian crouches in front of Dagen and pokes his cheek, causing the idiot wood elf to moan. “And how did a halfling claim a dragon egg?”

The halfling spins, revealing the woven vine basket behind him. “The human hired me as a doctor on his voyage, but he died after stealing the dragon egg. Even if the egg was rotten, I promised to take it to the Shrine Maidens and get it blessed.”

Vidian, without me asking him to, grabs Dagen and throws him over his shoulder. “Which nest?”

“Rialdrenth, the Dark,” he says with his whole chest.

My focus snaps to him, and the hand on my hilt tightens, reminded of the words Norlon placed me under. Am I that heartless that I would kill an innocent halfling out of fear my dragon would be the weakest of the nest?

Flicking my thumb out until the sheath unbuttons, I raise the dagger until it’s poised.