Honestly, between the glover and the jeweler, Hallvar enjoyed their interaction with the jeweler more.

Ze was an animated character, interested in gossiping and chatting about the world as ze went about hir business. After a thorough examination of the problem – Hallvar’s talons – the jeweler established a multi-step solution, the first of which was probably as close to a manicure as Hallvar was gonna get.

They were left chatting with the jeweler as their wax-dipped fingertips cooled. A few sets of the molds were made, after which the jeweler had to engage in an extensive process to complete metal talon-caps.

First, the wax negatives were made, from which the jeweler would make basically finger-tip mannequins to build off of. While the caps were based off of a dipped, consistent wax mold, the jeweler still needed to clean the edges and add attachments and space to hook the caps to a ring or some other device that would hold the claws on.

Once that was done, an artisan skill could ensure that the mannequin finger-tips remained untouched by heat or fire as specially-coated sand was packed around the final product. A heating cycle burned out the wax, leaving the talons and finger-tips behind.

The closed mold was untouched until the jeweler could fill it with the chosen metal – Hallvar left it up to the jeweler’s decision, as they had no idea which metal would work best. Once that cooled, the jeweler could remove the sand, clean off the sprue, then polish, engrave, whatever until the final product was ready.

Hallvar did think it was fascinating, and the explanation killed time while they waited for multiple wax molds to be made. They were assured that the result would work as expected, but it would take time.

With some reluctance, Hallvar passed over their guild card with their payment when methods of contact, reliability of payment, delivery and such were questioned.

Hero of Amnasín, it read.

The jeweler was content to contact the Guild with any further inquiries if the now-famous adventurer was indeed off adventuring. Ze didn’t ask questions about the hero designation; perhaps the gossip preceded Hallvar’s presence.

There were a few more tasks at talon, if you will, before Hallvar could relax.

The week's end was fast-approaching, and a vague sense of anxiety twisted in the adventurer’s gut.

The delivery request was fulfilled and paid for. Both gloves and talon caps were in progress. Their adventuring gear was up to par, the leather still needed to be cleaned and oiled but that was a night-time task if any.

What was there left to do?

A bath did not help fill in the blanks of Hallvar’s mind. Pipkin behaved as the akergryph usually did while in the bath house. She was permitted to enter as she was small… and the proprietor was amused by the little beast’s ability to track and hunt bugs and other insects that would otherwise disrupt the clientele’s experience.

Hallvar could relax, clean off, gain a few awkward scratches in their hairline from washing with talons, then return home to... to do what?

They hated the waiting game.

The sky was darkening as they walked home, leading the bug-stuffed Pipkin to rest on Hallvar’s pauldron. The lights were out in the guild as they approached, but a glow shone through Stella’s windows in the near-distance.

It was close to dinner. Should they have grabbed groceries or--?

There was a slight shift in motion to the side near a broad tree. What was in-periphery simply a tree trunk was revealed to be not one, but two cloaked figures.

Hallvar reached behind them, grabbing for the axe handle that wasn’t present. It was inside the house, with the rest of their gear. Shopping trips didn’t require weapons after all.

Swearing softly, Hallvar flexed their hand wide, bones adjusting to accommodate a fight, talons poised to strike.

“There is not need for combat,” a familiar voice called out.

The hero was grateful that it wasn’t Cyciphos or Leon, who were top of the list of person to rush them in a dark alleyway. This wasn’t even a street; it was less organized than a park, even.

The pair of cloaked figures that stepped forward were now easily distinguished. One very round, one unnaturally thin.

“Rubert?” Hallvar asked. “And… was it Tomiford?”

“Tediford,” the gravecaller corrected politely. “But this is Riosa.”

“Ah,” the hero replied dimly, looking at the faintly glowing markings under the genderless skeleton’s hood.

Their poised-to-strike hand relaxed, the wind taken out of their metaphorical sails once combat was no longer required.

“I thought you didn’t come to the capital much?” they questioned, trying not to be terribly rude. Hallvar wasn’t the one waiting silently on the outskirts of the city, after all.

Rubert approached, and the gravecaller’s gaze gleamed, almost as if he had tapetum lucidum – the shine in animals’ eyes at night.

“An exception was made. I require materials that the chemist provides to Riosa. Many humans find gravecalling distasteful, though not morally objectionable. If she holds aloft a basket and a purse of coins, she will not be harried by guards nor bandits.”

With that, the skeleton took off on her task, a shopping list tucked in the basket.

“That’s why you do it at night,” Hallvar filled in with a nod.

They also filled in incorrect details – that Rubert’s appearance was linked to gravecalling, which was distasteful, which meant people found how Rubert looked to be distasteful, so he sent Riosa instead.

Being wrong made complete sense.

The pair stood quietly for a few moments. Rubert recognized that the young man was thinking, and he allowed the contemplation to persist uninterrupted.

As if startled by an idea, Hallvar twitched, turning rapidly to the gravecaller.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. Would you like to come in for tea? I may need to grab a few extra things if you would like to stay for dinner.”

“Such an imposition is unmannerly to do.”

Hallvar may have been a poor excuse for a Proper Woman in their old world, but the manners and enforced politeness were not forgotten.

“It’s my pleasure,” they said almost automatically. “I need to inform my girlf—” Hallvar’s brain short-circuited as they searched for the right word. “—partner, as it’s her house, but she’ll be thrilled that I have friends, at this point.”

They gestured to the house on the other side of the road. “It’s this way.”

Rubert nodded in agreement, a bemused expression on his face.

The pair stopped short of the door, Hallvar pausing with their hand on the handle to glance back at the gravecaller.

“Uh, sorry to ask this, but… given that you were waiting ominously in the shadows when I arrived, do you mind waiting for another minute or two? I need to let Stella know we have guests and, uh, speed-tidy, probably.”

With approval, Hallvar did exactly that.

Stella was sitting in the front room, as it had a couch and books and a fireplace. She looked up and smiled as the adventurer hung up their bags and set the sleepy Pipkin down on a folded towel, placed on a sidetable for this exact purpose.

“We have a guest, though I didn’t know he’d be visiting.”

“Who?” Stella asked, placing her bookmark and closing her book. She didn’t stand up yet, perched comfortably on the sofa with her legs folded to the side.

Out of all of Hallvar’s friends that Stella would consider a guest, that really only left the heroes. “Gryphon?”

Hallvar snorted. “Do you think Gryphon would be waiting politely outside? No, he’d already be in here doling out drinks… or cookies.” Sometimes it was hard to reconcile that Gryphon was both a frat boy and a grandma.

Stella looked at the hero with that quiet gaze of judgment. It took Hallvar exactly too long to process what the request was.

“Oh,” they said. “It’s Rubert.”

The elf went through the many stages of grief – and a few extra stages for good measure – before she rose to her feet to start doing things.

“I’ll start tea and work on the kitchen, you close my door and ensure the bathroom is acceptable.”

Stella wanted to be snappy about the sudden guest, the sudden extremely important, internationally famous individual about to enter her home, but she knew that Hallvar had no context for any of this.

If Stella had to guess, Hallvar probably weighed Rubert’s existence at the same ranking as the tanner – someone who was offering to teach an important skill, who seemed very interesting and helpful, but whose existence wasn’t firmly rooted in the hero’s day-to-day reality.

That might change. Fates, what if it did change?

The idea of Hallvar becoming tied in with the inner workings of a dragon – or the dragons, plural – was laughably impossible until she realized that Hallvar’s egregious luck was constantly increasing.

The hero found it endearing how Stella fixed her hair after starting a kettle for tea. This was the eccentric Rubert, not the Queen.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Stella gave the nod of approval.

“Apologies,” Hallvar said, as they opened the door to the gravecaller. “Come on in.”

Rubert was standing a polite distance away outside of the light escaping the doorway, which only verified that he did, indeed, have tapetum lucidum.

While Hallvar’s perception of the gravecaller was misunderstood by their limited knowledge as a hero, Stella had no such issue. She, in fact, was a sponge for information and specifically sought out education on a variety of… physical signs and signifiers to offset her upbringing as a rural farmgirl.

She exchanged greetings with “Rubert” as he hung up the long cloak, showing him to the kitchen table – or the study, if that would be more comfortable? – before making herself very preoccupied with the tea.

No, it wasn’t her job to serve the tea in this household. Hallvar would happily do it, as they’d done before.

But Stella needed to make herself busy before she was caught staring.

While Hallvar chatted with their friend, she filed away knowledge.

The gravecaller had no staff on hand, but Hallvar’s drawings clearly showed one. When greeting Stella, Rubert’s forearm was displayed briefly – there were tattooed bands of a foreign language surrounding his wrist, a pictographic representation of a staff on the interior, aligned with the bone.

Stella didn’t know if it was a commonality among elves, but she could call her staff to her from short distances, something most mages could not do. Dragons must be similar, then, that their magic permitted… inhuman abilities, such as summoning a staff out of thin air.

There wasn’t much to assess regarding Rubert’s appearance that wasn’t documented by Hallvar. The hero’s recollection of Rubert’s face was a little off in the sketches, Stella thought, but it was from memory, not from life.

Rubert appeared to be from the land now known as Drac Dūmon, once home to pastoral peoples, often nomadic, with brown skin historically compared to ginger root or imperial topaz. That nation had been gone for centuries, most of its peoples moved south to Staareaux and the Qhai Republic.

As a human, Rubert could be from one of those two nations, certainly.

But as a dragon? Rodu the Wisen was centuries old, three hundred at minimum by Stella’s guess. It wasn’t out of the question for him to hail from the archaic pastoral culture.

She didn’t have time to think of much else, pondering one last thought as she set the tea on the table.

War and dragons chased that culture southward. Drac Dūmon was now inhabited by three dragons, much younger than Rodu. How… did that work? Was there conflict? Resentment?

Hallvar was none the wiser as Stella sat across from their guest, though she seriously needed to ask the hero how there were no warning signs popping up. The gravecaller was polite and considerate, but spoke in an archaic, disjointed way, one that was impossible to ignore.

The hero seemed pleased as a conversation started about Stella’s work, about her Archivist subclass, her interest in the Guild and how she came to work there.

Although they weren’t outwardly showing it, Hallvar had been anxious about Rubert and Stella meeting. They knew the pair would get along, but it was still hard to introduce two strangers and prod them into being friendly.

A bit like pushing dolls together, honestly.

They moved to the front room after enough tea and snacks to be considered dinner, chatting away in a more comfortable environment. The sofa was for the couple, obviously, so Rubert took up an armchair as they continued talking.

It was going well, Hallvar thought sleepily. Their [ hero skill: sleep it off ] was a double-edged sword. It permitted Hallvar to sleep anywhere, if they made an attempt.

It was passive, which meant that dozing off counted; Hallvar would remain asleep on their end of the sofa unless intentionally disturbed.

In the middle of a discussion about different subclasses and the theories around unknown subclasses – which ones existed, how they were established by the system, why the requirements weren’t publicly known – the telltale snore rose from the sleeping hero.

They turned to look at the sound. Stella was a touch embarrassed, but Hallvar fell asleep in front of the queen, so… this was expected.

She made eye contact with Rubert, who appeared to be amused by the situation.

“Our apologies,” she began with the professional demeanor she used for the guild. That tone faltered as the message was all but professional. “They… do this, sometimes. It’s impressive, how frequently they fall asleep in inopportune moments.”

“You live here,” came the gracious reply. “Therefore, it is a place of relaxing. I understand. Would you prefer if I left?”

Stella blinked, understanding that Rubert was offering to give the pair their space this late at night, but…

“I know you offered to assist Hallvar with magic, but I may not have the opportunity to speak to you again.”

She found herself growing more nervous as the reality sunk in; she was alone with a dragon.

Yet, she continued. “You are welcome to stay as long as you please.”

Rubert smiled. He was enjoying this conversation, as he had when Hallvar intruded upon his home on Seafowl Refuge, the rocky abandoned ruins in the gulf between Amnasín and Kovatelli.

It was entirely the dragon’s fault that he received so few visitors. He did not welcome ships near his island.

And, the other dragons were questionable in regards to their intellect and capacity for extended conversations about “trivial human things” such as research or studies. Very few of them spent any time in a human form, so they lacked the ability to relate.

This elf was a breath of fresh air, as the saying went.

“As you insist,” Rubert concluded.

Stella refreshed their tea before the conversation continued, although the topic was clearly shifted to more… personal considerations.

“I—” She found herself searching for an appropriate way to query this concern. “Would you prefer that I keep your status hidden from Hallvar? You haven’t made an effort to inform them about your draconic nature.”

That seemed accusatory, so Stella made a quick correction. “Hallvar was thrilled to find a new variety of plant the other day. If they recognized you as a dragon, they would have talked about it constantly.”

Throughout the night, Rubert displayed that he was a very calm, considerate person. Not without cheerful enthusiasm, but certainly not the expected nature of dragons that stories presented.

So when Rubert paused to think, Stella did not shy away. This was a similar silence to that of the guildmaster or the Court Mage, though the former was usually judgmental, and the latter was secretive.

“They are your chosen mate, that is your decision, if it be meet.”

Rubert knew that, as a hero, Hallvar would likely retain great interest in dragons. There was little risk in exposing who Rubert truly was. Perhaps another hero might run, but he doubted Hallvar would.

“Erewhile they are yet to question any physical features I possess. When they will understand, I do not know. I profess that I retain great curiosity to the lengths of time which may pass before their realization.”

Stella nodded. She understood what game was being played. “As long as the lack of knowledge isn’t harmful, I will keep it to myself.”

She wouldn’t lie when asked, nor did she intend to mislead Hallvar at all. But if Rubert truly was this person, this person sipping tea in her study, and not the terrible archetypical dragon, then… there was no harm in letting Hallvar discover the truth themselves.

“May I please ask you a few questions?”

Rubert leveled his eyes at Stella, and she felt a shiver run down her spine. There were still draconic signs in the gravecaller, even if he appeared to be a cheerful researcher. His dark eyes betrayed a red tint in the firelight, as Rodu the Wisen was famed to be a massive red dragon.

“I’ve heard stories of your guildmaster; the dragon Fayth has not forgotten. It is custom to secrets being omitted, yes? If that is acceptable, proceed.”

The first question that sprung to mind was about the dragon Fayth and the guildmaster, but Stella dismissed that as prying. She doubted Rubert would reveal much of anything regarding that incident.

Stella wanted to know several things, some of which definitely were inappropriate to ask about.

Clarifying if all dragons could shapeshift, or if it was simply Rodu seemed to be a waste of a query.

She knew that the horns and scales meant dragon, simply because no human possessed those. Beasts didn’t shapeshift. Sentient beasts were generally magical, and if there were any beasts that could shapeshift, it would be them.

Unicorns, to her understanding, did not change into human form.

Neither did dragons, as far as she was aware by cultural knowledge, but there was no textbook on identifying dragons while they were humans.

When presented with Hallvar’s drawing while at the tea shop, Stella went through a series of understandings and corrections. Horns and scales – that was not a human. What were they? A gravecaller, capable of maintaining skeletal summons.

It was less of a guess than it was sheer knowledge. Rodu the Wisen was famously capable of raising the dead; it was one of the primary reasons that the dragon was uncontested on his island for so long.

The first was his size, a massive red dragon in a tall, rocky ruin. The second, his capability of producing fire breath.

And, most importantly, that the gravecaller had enough magic to maintain several skeletons indefinitely, or many undead for a short amount of time.

It was customary to strip the flesh from the bone, as it was considered polite and clean, but it was not necessary.

Ships set ablaze in the gulf, bodies in the water, not to mention the aquatic beasts.

Stella did not know Rubert well, but the taxidermy and specimens had been mentioned by Hallvar earlier. If he was a collector, he certainly would have a small army of meticulously maintained beast skeletons at his disposal.

It was what the Court Mage would do. By comparison, Rodu had to be smarter and more prepared than any short-lived human. He was “the Wisen,” after all.

Stella didn’t know what to ask. She chose the cautious route rather than an exploratory one.

“You offered to help Hallvar with magic. Why?” Stella could make many presumptions about why – and why not – but she waited to hear it from Rubert.

The gravecaller tilted his head with a wry smile on his lips. The gesture was uncanny, the horns and focused gaze imposing an inhuman nature.

“Should I not? Forsooth, are heroes nae apt to systemic greatness? Are you yet curious on the nature of heroes, to what heights they reach?”

The argument was clear, though Rubert did not directly answer the question.

Stella wrinkled her nose as she tried to rephrase the sentiment. “I understand, but I want to know about Hallvar, not heroes as a concept.”

The dragon, like the guildmaster and the Court Mage, was not interested in playing catch when a complex game could be arranged.

“You maintain your own research, correct?”

“… yes? I do.”

“And, as you unravel the reality of your chosen topic, do you take notes?”

“Yes.”

Rubert was more emphatic now. “Aiyah, then you understand. When you grow wings, you will visit and read my notes. You will know.”

Stella was not satisfied with this answer, though she didn’t dare pry for more. Perhaps she could push Viktor’s buttons, but not a dragon’s.

She asked a few more questions before the night ended, none receiving answers she was pleased with.

The question about why dragons seemed to have classes – based on their unique abilities, such as gravecalling – rather than draconic magic was completely ignored, with an entire subject change.

Regardless, it was a revealing visit from Rubert. Stella politely extended an invitation to return as the man left, joining up with a skeleton in a robe. She thought about spying out the window as the pair walked away – certainly they flew here, not walked.

Since Hallvar was sound asleep, Stella made the executive decision to visit Viktor and alert him to the hero’s… unintentionally challenging new friend.

On Seafowl Refuge, the dragon Rodu pulled a massive book of one of his shelves. The benefit of the gravecaller subclass was that he was able to control decay with some efficiency. There were no time-rotten books in this library, though many were centuries old.

The book was a strange one, filled with half-empty pages and dates.

Rubert flipped through to a page that another hero, long dead by now, said was the most similar to the gravecaller’s own physical relation on Aestrux.

There were several with increasing dates. A blue flag with a white crescent and several circles, the right side made of triangles instead of a flat plane, with red around the edges. A yellow flag with a winding blue dragon in the center, various red markings filling in space like trees. Another of a standing dragon on a yellow plane, looking at a red sun.

That was not Rubert’s heritage, however, simply a culture of a world that saw many heroes pass through Aestrux.

He flipped through a few more pages, looking at some of the curious flags. This book contained flags of nations that were composed solely of humans, no other races in these heroes’ home worlds.

A white one with a red cross in the center. A red triangle with a black, white, and green stripe. A yellow snowflake on a purple field. A green trident over a blue diagonal cross.

There were even nations with other nations inside them.

The flag with red and white stripes and a starry blue square was an empire. None of the heroes could name their countries, but they proudly drew what they remembered of their home flags. A tuskless kjerrborn on a white background. A red sun on a yellow field. A constellation on blue like the sky.

Each drawing had a date by it, or multiple. It was Rodu’s limited understanding that the system’s time wasn’t always linear as it relocated heroes to Aestrux.

He closed that book and searched for a scroll case, carefully removing a single page.

There was a detailed drawing of a vertical flag there. Faded blues with a white tower in the center, rays of light indicating it was some form of lighthouse.

The dragon Rodu was from BeHǎi – now Drac Dūmon – or technically this body was. A civilization absorbed by time.

But the soul known as Rubert was from this place, the blue seaside kingdom.

The first hero flag the gravecaller recorded, with only one date next to it.

Perhaps that kingdom no longer existed in the expanse of these worlds, but it was not yet forgotten.