After decades of being alone, one should be ready to host at the first sound of a gold coin falling off a pile. Vakandi should have cleaned up that mess ages ago, especially since he knew this day would come. Walking past now was quite embarrassing. Not that the human deserved a pilot greeting with what she did to him. He had one eye closed and his old back injury freshly cut open. It never healed properly and still popped from time to time during his flight. His emotions urged him to yell and blow fire… but he knew this result had to come to fruition. To calm down, he focused on the gold and what to do with it now that a visitor arrived. His friend had a fancy bag that could hold piles of the gold, and not get any bigger. If Vakandi could put all that gold away, it would really open up the place, but he still did not know if he should. Most of it was not his gold. The bank of Vakfored had not sent a representative in a long time. They were probably wondering what happened to all of their client’s gold.

“Excuse me, little one.” Vakandi glanced back, his one eye still closed. He should get an elixir soon, or else it would take a few days for the eye to heal and a week for the eye to function. Being stationary so long inside his cave, plus his age, made his body naturally slow down. “Is the bank of Golden Essence doing alright?”

The lass- that was the wrong term. She was older than that, gripped her sword out in front of her. “That bank is holding strong.”

“Oh... I...” Having conversations after silence for so long was nerve-wracking. “What day is it?”

“The fourth day of the Moon of Guard.”

The Moon of Guard! His calendar was off by a whole moon. He really should have set an alarm spell after his last gorging of bison. “Remind me, before you leave, that I need to give you a note for the bank. And would you please put that sword away?”

The woman finally listened, pulled out a cloth and wiped her sword down before putting it away. She was about to stuff the handkerchief when Vakandi puffed out a bit of smoke. “This is old-fashioned of me, but could you please give me that kerchief?”

A small smirk stretched across her face. “You mean the tales of using a dragon’s blood to trap someone are true?”

He sighed. “In a sense, it is. But no different from how painting freezes a moment of beauty in time.”

However, even time erodes away the beauty of a moment. Silence sat between them as if his guest could sense his mood. This was no proper way to host, even if the guest tried to kill him and almost broke his favorite pot. It was an original Bedruk Oresword. He walked under the archway of moonstone; they illuminated more when he approached. A very useful light that stopped him from stubbing his toes in the dark. The smallest toe on his foot developed to help find corners in the dark, nothing else. That pinky was never useful in a fight, just pivoting enough to hit some furniture. Like the legs of the oak table in the back chamber, it used to sit twenty people. A few of the chairs near where he slept in the corner got stepped on. To avoid stepping onto the table now, he puffed out a breath of fire into the nearby hearth that lined the length of one wall. The blaze took instantly to the hot coals. The fire spreading out along the wall.

Vakandi waved his claw and let out a small bit of magic that would stir the pot. He was quite proud of the soup he had. Best stock around because it had been going on for a millennium. Various herbs and root vegetables have ended up in there. As well as a few fattened up birds and a bison. From a person’s point of view, the stock pot could easily fit his guest and a friend. Sure enough, her eyes stared at it, hands digging into her bag, probably preparing more of that invisible mushroom powder. “There are some bowls on the table over there. Why don’t you grab one, fill it up with the soup in the black pot over there. Sit down and relax. I know climbing my mountain is a bit taxing on humans.”

The woman stayed still, hand still holding on to that weapon like it was the only thing that would save her. He thumped the ground with a foot. “Oh goodness. How rude of me. We haven’t introduced ourselves. My name is Vakandi Foredldri, titled the Life Giver by the people of Vakfored.”

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The woman snorted and covered her mouth, face heating up over her freckled face. He ignored the slight, tilting his head. “Well, will you tell me your name?”

“I am Sisal - the chosen hero to save Vakfored.”

A smile cracked across his mouth, the warmth in his chest emitting out. “Excellent. You are worthy.”

“Then shouldn’t we be fighting instead of having breakfast?” The woman said it as she grabbed a bowl, studying the design on it. She walked near the hearth, putting a hand on the hearth, mumbled something under her breath. Likely a prayer to the spirit of the sun.

Her head turned to the tapestries which hung on the wall, more red or orange dragons. There used to be oil paintings too, but they did not handle the constant heat of a fire dragon’s snoring. With a guest observing his home, he felt suddenly felt silly for having a collection of dragon images. Even if each one he treasured and marked as an important memory she should learn about. “Maybe later. You almost destroyed something precious to me earlier. That pot is almost as old as your nation. Only younger by a few weeks. Those bowls are from the third generation. While the person holding them is from the...” he thought about the year it was. “forty-third or fourth generation.”

The calloused hands of the sword fighter suddenly acted as if they were holding onto a soap bubble that could burst if they breathed on it wrong. “How have you kept it in such a pristine condition after so long?”

He swished his tail around, wrapping it under him as he curled up by the hearth. His quarters always felt cozy, but when guests arrived, he became very conscious of his size instead. Carefully, he pinched a small serving spoon, realizing that Sisal would never serve herself. “Are you asking because of my size?”

“No! I apologize, I just… just couldn’t imagine seeing this.” Her emerald eyes widened as he gently poured the soup into her bowl, over filling it instantly. People eat such small amounts, it’s impossible to measure with his large fore feet.

“I am actually a delightful host. I forgot to introduce myself after you froze my back. That old injury flared up and saying ‘welcome’ to you was not exactly on my mind.”

The woman took the dripping bowl and locked eyes with him. “You shall leave the nation of Vakfored alone!”

Her fire blazed stronger than his own. She was his end goal, of his dream that he wished would never have to come true. Sisal's name would be sung in the streets and taverns, recorded for future generations to learn, and perhaps even immortalized with a street in her honor. But for just a day, maybe one more, he could share the company of a Vakfored resident. “My wings tire and my bones ache from our scuffle. Why don’t you listen to my tale? Then I shall leave.”

“I don’t have time for tales. And you never used your wings in our fight.”

Excellent, she paid attention to details and could catch a lie. “Is there another dragon you need to go slay? Before you do, are they single? I wouldn’t mind having a date.”

“No. You have done plenty of tricks on the Vakfored. But no more. I will end all of that now.”

Vakandi reached around Sisal and she reacted by backing up, dropping the bowl and pulling her sword out. She learned he had armed himself with a chair and slid it under her. She flopped down into it as he pushed her to the table. Calmly, he pinched another bowl and filled it up with the soup. “I fortunately have a collection of bowls. Crack that one and I am adding you to the stock.”

He only meant it as a joke. She did not laugh but carefully put the bowl on the table, terrified to eat. If she truly believed he was a trickster like a fairy, well, she would probably not eat the soup. That’s a shame. “I promise no harm will come to you under this roof as long as you remain peaceful.”

Her hands still did not pick up the bowl. This would be an uncomfortable breakfast if she would sulk the whole time. The people of Vakfored really did not want to spend any time with him, they wanted to do other things. This specific human reminded him of the Orc Queen, who always wanted to be elsewhere when she talked to Vakandi. "I promise my tale shall end before the next sunset. It will be hard to condense it all, but I shall do my best.”

“I don’t want to know about your stories.”

“But if you don’t listen, then I don’t have to leave.”

She glared up at him. “You swear on all the magics of the river, the land, the wind, the sun, the stars, and on life and death that you will leave Vakfored before sunset once you finish your tale?”

The magic in the air stirred up like dust, waiting for him to take flight or anchor himself to its will. To take this oath created a balance in the system of magic, granting him access to more magic and power. To break it would mean returning all his being to magic and the earth itself. “I swear to all magics of the world that I shall leave Vakfored alone if you listen to my story.”

The air sizzled as it placed a sigil in the room. Like an hourglass starting, he could only tell all of the beginning, hardly any of the middle, and all of the end. Sisal had to know his end for her to start the new beginning for Vakfored.