The group piled onto one another in the small back of the cart while Acadian guided the single horse up front, who was having a particularly difficult time pulling so much weight. The ride would have been awkward and silent if it weren’t for the persistent chattering of Flynn, which made it awkward and quite loud. At one point, Gostor caught sight of a squirrel and began to chase after it, but a stern hand from Arsa on his shoulder convinced him to sit back down.

Frank was waving his fingers gently through the air, weaving a translucent strand of blue magic around his hand. With each motion, the tattoos across his body flittered a sparkling aqua coloration. The magic in his hand seemed to bubble and foam, as though he had plucked a single wave from the ocean and tossed it about in his hand. Circe’s eyes followed every crest and rotation.

“Where did you learn your magic?” she asked, not caring about Flynn’s ongoing monologue about his love for the color green.

Frank glanced up from his magic and, with a gentle movement, passed the magic through the air to swirl around Circe’s head. The magic folded in on itself, becoming a small dolphin made entirely of the wave. It leaped up and down in circles before splashing into nothing and disappearing like water vapor.

“I didn’t,” he said, tossing his black hair over the side of the cart. “It came to me as soon as I was… As soon as I left my home.”

Circe caught his hesitation, but decided not to pry, “A warlock, then? Was your talent bestowed on you by something?”

“Nothing so binding, I think. It just happened, like something had been unleashed in me. Though, it had always been there. Waiting.”

Arsa was wrestling Gostor back into the cart. Something in the woods had caught his eye and he was determined to retrieve it. By the time the others knew what was happening - aside from Flynn who was still talking - Gostor had landed on the path with a hard thud and was scampering off into the thicket. Acadian halted the horse and began to tie the reins onto a low-hanging tree branch. He groaned and nodded to Arsa.

The younger elf took out his bow and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, they were glowing a soft crimson. In the brush was the outline of a dwarf on all fours, running in the opposite direction. Arsa high stepped over the tall grass and gave chase.

“Gostor,” he called. “Get back here.”

Whether or not he had heard Arsa was anyone’s guess. The thick pitter-patter of his padded hands and heavy boots served as an additional guide to Arsa’s enchanted eyes.

Arsa eventually caught up to Gostor when he had stopped in front of a tall womanly statue, long overgrown with moss and lichen. The statue had two round amethysts in its eyes and around its neck was a bronze necklace with a large topaz socketed in the middle. The figure stood tall in a sturdy robe tied in several places down her form. In one hand, she held a hollow lantern; in the other was a measuring scale.

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Bumera, Arsa thought. Gostor was digging at the statue’s feet for something. As Arsa drew closer, he saw that he was pulling up a stone treasure chest. It was about as tall as Gostor and twice as sturdy. There was no lock on the front, but a small knob like a rocky door handle. Without hesitation, Gostor opened it.

Arsa’s protest caught in his throat as the ground beneath them began to quiver. The grass around them almost started to melt as the soil became very soft, almost like water. They both started to sink, the liquified earth tugging at their legs and pulling them downward. Gostor flailed around with hearty grunts, using his handaxes to try and pull himself up - but to no avail.

Arsa looked around frantically, searching for something to grab onto, but he was already too far into the melted dirt. With nothing left to hold or pull, he allowed his eyes to flicker into a deep green color.

“Planirey!” he shouted. At once, the vines and branches that twisted together overhead leaned downward like spindly hands toward Arsa. With the hand that was not clinging to his bow, he grabbed onto the tree limb. With great force, he began to be pried from the earth. He was afraid he might lose his boots when he held down the end of his bow to Gostor. It took a moment for the dwarf to realize what was happening before he got the idea to grab on. As he was pulled free, he extended his legs and squeezed tightly to pull the chest up with him.

When both of them had come out of the dirt, the ground instantly sealed to solid earth again. Arsa let go, allowing them to fall to the ground. Gostor had not waited for either of them to get to their feet before trying to open the chest again. This time, it opened with no issue.

From Arsa’s perspective on the ground, the chest appeared empty. When he stood, though, he saw it was far from it. Inside was a single purple egg. It was not just any purple, however. It was amethyst. The egg was slightly larger than Gostor’s head and weighed as much as a small river rock.

Gostor picked up the egg and sniffed it. Whatever he smelled must not have been to his liking as he immediately tossed it behind him. Arsa caught it reflexively before it hit the ground with wide, fearful eyes. Gostor then began to climb the very tall statue with the same speed he had climbed the tree to the suspended goblin the day prior. Once he reached her outstretched arm, he pulled off the necklace and pried out the gemstone eyes. He then hopped down and trodded back the way they came as though it were any other day.

Arsa stared down at the egg, his heart beating quickly. The amethyst glinted against the streams of sunlight pouring in from the leafy canopy overhead. He knew what child rested inside, for he had seen this kind of egg before. His thoughts moved to his companions at the cart; one of them, in particular, would not take kindly to this acquisition. He carefully stowed the egg in his bag, wrapped it in some spare cloths and parchments, and sprung out of the forest after Gostor.

“Everything alright?” Acadian asked, leaning against the tree with his crossbow notched and at the ready. Gostor, who was already wearing the necklace and playing with the gemstones, was in the process of bounding back into his seat.

Arsa took a breath, “Yeah, just a trapped monument. But we’re good. Got some treasure out of it to sell later.”

Circe turned round to face him, “Are you certain you weren’t cursed?”

“I don’t think so. There weren’t any runes and it didn’t seem to expel any magic when we took the valuables. Let’s get on, then.”

And so they did. Arsa kept a gentle hand on his bag, pressing it close to his hip. He was thankful Gostor hadn’t said anything about the egg and was instead just happy to have the necklace. Though, he couldn’t help but wonder why the dragon egg was there - under a statue of Bumera. What use has a shrine to the goddess of Balance for an amethyst dragon?

A sickening second thought dashed through Arsa’s mind: Who had left it there and would they be expecting it to be in the same place when they came back?