After a week of hard riding from the East Coast, they were nearly back to Haumblom. The road was long, hot, and quiet. They barely spoke, each lost in thought, replaying the journey they had just survived.

  They set out to save the kingdom from a threat, but came back with more questions than answers.

  With every mile, Talvan’s shoulders drooped lower as dust clung to his cloak. His armor, once bright, was now dulled by sweat, grime, and disappointment. Revy’s eyes looked hollow after so many sleepless nights with little to show for it. Leryea’s hair was tangled with wind and twigs, and her sharp voice had faded to tired sighs.

  No one ever said that most adventuring was just traveling, moving from place to place. The stories always made it sound like nonstop action and daring rescues.

  In reality, that kind of excitement only happened once or twice per job.

  The rest of the time was spent running, waiting, chasing shadows, arguing over maps, and trying to stay ahead of something that never wanted to be caught.

  And before we knew it, we were right back where everything had started.

  No grand discovery. No treasure. No glory, just exhaustion and regret.

  No glory, just exhaustion and regret, saddle rash, heatstroke, and the overwhelming urge to turn on the next person who dared say, “Well, at least you learned a valuable lesson.”

  Some things aren’t lessons. Some things are simply failures.

  On the ride back, everything felt the same as before.

  Up until then, there’d been hope. A fragile, stubborn kind of hope. Just report in, they thought. Tell the truth. The dragon isn’t a threat, it’s delivering mail, for gods’ sake. We’ll write up the report, send it up the chain, and that’ll be that.

  But then a runner caught up to them.

  He handed over a sealed letter, orders straight from Duke Deolron himself. And the moment Talvan read it, the last bit of that hope died.

  Talvan had been stripped of his surname. No more Flamebane. The letter claimed his “failure to neutralize a potential threat” had brought shame to his house. That letting a dragon roam free, even one delivering mail, was an embarrassment to the Flamebane legacy. His family name, once a badge of honor, was now just ash in his mouth.

  Revy? She was ordered to report to the Manum Arcanis for “review.”

  Everyone knew what that meant.

  It was a prison for mages, no bars, just wards, chains, and endless observation. It was where they sent magic-users who didn’t have noble backing or a leash around their neck. Before, Revy had been safe under House Flamebane’s banner.

  But now the house was gone. And without it, she was just another mage too dangerous to be free.

  And Leryea? She was to be shipped back to Avagron, to the capital. To be a proper lady, they said. To sit still, look pretty, and marry someone whose name she wouldn't even know until the wedding day. Her adventures were over. Her life, now reduced to dresses and heirs and meaningless titles.

  Talvan stared at the orders like they were a personal insult. In truth, they were.

  The message from Duke Deolron was clear: Kick rocks and die.

  As the walls of Homblom came into view, a heavy silence settled over the group.

  This was it.

  The end of their journey together.

  Revy and Leryea would now walk two very different roads. The kind that didn’t allow turning back.

  And Talvan, he couldn’t even go home.

  No name.

  No lands.

  No title.

  Ember Keep wasn’t his anymore; it never would be again.

  He’d been discarded. Thrown away like garbage by the very people he bled for.

  They rode forward, but no one said a word. Because what was there to say?

  The adventure was over.

  And none of them were going back to the lives they had before.

  As they passed through the gates, it was hard not to remember the first time, smiles on their faces, hearts full of purpose, the determination to make the kingdom safer.

  Now, it felt like a funeral.

  Their faces were shadowed, their gazes locked on the road beneath their horses’ hooves. The air felt heavier than the armor on their backs.

  Talvan was the first to speak, his voice brittle. “Well... this is it.” He gave a bitter half-smile. “Everything we worked for is gone. This isn’t fair. How did Deolron think this would go? Dragons can fly. Chasing one was always more luck than skill.”

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  Revy looked at the other two. It was the first time she'd spoken in days. “He thinks his army’s going to do a better job. But there’s a reason the old Flamebreakers worked in squads—three to five at most. More people means they’ll be slower, easier to spot, and if they do catch up to the dragon,” she trailed off, eyes cold, “it’ll just be a bigger bonfire.”

  Leryea didn’t speak at first. She kept her eyes on the distant spires of Homblom, lips pressed tight, jaw set. But after a moment, her voice came, quiet and steady.

  “I never wanted to be a noble,” she said. “I liked this—the road, the mission, even the danger. At least it was mine.” She turned to face them. “Now I get to be paraded back to Avagron, dressed in silks and married off to some stranger with a title I’ll never care about. That’s my reward.”

  Talvan exhaled sharply, half a scoff. “At least you’re not being tossed aside like spoiled meat.”

  Revy didn’t smile, but her voice softened. “And I’m just supposed to go wait in a tower until someone decides if I’m dangerous.”

  They were quiet again. Three adventurers, each stripped of the road they’d claimed as their own.

  Talvan dismounted first, boots thudding onto the cobblestone. “Guess this is goodbye.”

  “No,” Revy said, looking at them both. “This is a pause. We’ll find each other again.”

  Leryea stepped forward, then hugged Revy tightly. “Don’t let them cage you,” she whispered.

  Revy hugged her back. “Don’t let them change you.”

  Talvan hesitated before stepping in. For a moment, all three stood together, the warmth of their embrace clashing with the cold reality around them.

  Then, one by one, they broke apart.

  Leryea turned toward the road leading north, her back straight, her steps firm.

  And Talvan turned and walked away from the gates, no direction, no name, no banner. Just a sword, a memory, and a grudge.

  Revy watched the two of them walk away, and for the first time, she had no idea how to stop them. She stood there, helpless, until her legs finally gave out beneath her and she found herself sitting on a nearby bench, hollow and still.

  The Magia Arcanus was in Ulbma, west of here. There was no set schedule, no escort, no formal ceremony, just an expectation that she would show up and submit.

  She took a while to eat, buying a skewer of meat from a nearby food cart. Then she mounted Chestnut, her horse. Talvan had always been the better rider, but she knew how to manage.

  She’d tried to reach Maron, Talvan’s grandfather, and her old mentor, using sending spells. But even before the messages, there had been silence. Something was wrong.

  As the town faded behind her, the road ahead forked. Left led to Ulbma, to the waiting chains. From what she’d heard, the mages lived lives of luxury. Not cages, exactly, but golden ones, filled with rules and rituals. Most didn’t mind. Why scrape by in mud and blood when you could lounge in towers and sip wine?

  But she remembered the others.

  Talvan, loud and proud, making sure she didn’t skip meals even when she was buried in her studies.

  Leryea, fierce and fearless, never hesitated to stand at the front with her spear, even when the sea monster rose from the depths or the spiders poured from the trees. No pampered noble’s daughter, that one.

  Revy thought nothing could break her spirit.

  But a single letter had.

  She looked again at the fork.

  Left was Ulbma. Chains in velvet.

  Right was Bolrmont.

  She knew the dragon was heading that way. They’d tracked its path enough to see the signs.

  That’s when she realized: she had a choice.

  She could follow orders or follow her gut.

  Be safe or be free.

  Revy tapped her heel to Chestnut’s side, and the horse began to move.

  She chose.

  She just hoped she could live with it.

  //////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

  Talvan was walking.

  He didn’t have a direction, just west. That’s where he last heard the dragon was heading. He had no real plan. No map. Just movement. Step by step.

  Maybe, if he found the dragon, if he brought it back to Duke Deolron, showed it wasn’t a threat, or maybe that it was, then maybe, just maybe, his family name could be restored.

  Even if the dragon was peaceful.

  Even if it was innocent.

  He didn’t know what else to do.

  His father had died in battle before he was born. His mother had died giving birth to him. His grandfather, his only family, was missing, unreachable.

  Revy and Leryea, at least, would be fine. Even if they were locked in gilded cages, they’d have food, beds, and futures. That was better than being lost on the wind like he was.

  It had been days since he left Homblom. Each step hurts now. His boots were bloodied, his feet blistered. Still, he kept walking.

  Eventually, he found a roadside inn. Simple, weather-worn, with a crooked sign swaying in the breeze. He checked his coin pouch, which was nearly empty. Maybe enough for a meal and a bed.

  But then what?

  Still, it was warmth. Shelter. Food.

  Inside, the inn was quiet. A dozen patrons, maybe less. He took a seat at the bar, next to a courier with goggles perched on his forehead, happily eating a hot bowl of stew.

  For a brief moment, Talvan wondered if being a runner wouldn’t be so bad. It was simple work. No politics. And it kept your stomach full.

  The courier glanced over and gave a grin. “Name’s Damon,” he said, offering a hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  Talvan blinked, surprised as the courier beside him held out a hand.

  “You alright?” the man asked with a friendly tone. “You look like you’ve had a rough time.”

  Talvan hesitated, then reached out and shook the offered hand. “Name’s Talvan,” he said quietly. “Just… Talvan.”

  The courier gave a nod. “Damon. Good to meet you.” He looked Talvan over again, eyes sharp but not unkind. “You look like something a cat dragged in. Want to talk about it?”

  Talvan didn’t know why, but something about Damon made it feel like he could. Like, maybe, someone would actually listen.

  With a sigh, he spoke. “My friends and I… we ran all over the kingdom chasing something important.” He didn’t mention the dragon; it felt pointless now. “Didn’t find it. And once we failed, we were just abandoned. Now I have nothing.”

  Damon didn’t look at him with pity. That was the strange part. There was something else in his gaze, understanding, maybe.

  “Well,” Damon said, “you’re still young, and you look strong. Someone out there will give you a shot. You’ve just gotta find the right person.” He glanced at the sword on Talvan’s hip. “I heard a mercenary company is hiring just north of here. Tough work, but it’s hot food and a bed.”

  Damon stood and gave a friendly smile. “Nice talking with you.” He reached into his bag and handed Talvan a folded piece of paper. “Hope to see you around.”

  And just like that, he walked out.

  Talvan sat there a moment, finishing his drink. Then, out of curiosity, he opened the paper.

  His breath caught.

  A cartoon drawing of a smiling dragon holding a mailbag. Underneath, in bold letters:

  Scale and Mail

  You sign it, we fly it.

  Talvan shoved his chair back and rushed out the inn doors.

  Just in time to see the dragon taking off.

  It was black as coal, wings spread wide, gliding into the wind. Damon was on his back. Right there.

  The dragon.

  He was right there the whole time.

  And now it was just a shrinking dot in the sky.

  Talvan dropped to his knees, staring at the paper in his hands, then back to the horizon where the dragon vanished.

  Then he laughed.

  A raw, bitter, disbelieving laugh.

  The gods really had a sense of humor, didn’t they?

  But as he looked back at the flyer in his hand, a new thought crept in.

  If they were headed north to Willowthorn

  Then maybe, just maybe

  He still had a shot.