Children darted through the swelling crowd, bare feet slapping stone as they wove between baskets, cloaks, and laden arms. Laughter burst and vanished as quickly as it came. Every doorway along the street breathed out warmth and scent. Dough slapped against tables. Knives rang against wood. Someone cursed cheerfully as oil splashed too hot in a pan.

  The sun sagged low, dragging long shadows across Dagavia’s streets. One by one, oil lamps bloomed to life, their flames wavering in the gathering dusk. Torches were planted along the road toward the plaza, resin popping as they caught. Smoke curled upward, carrying the promise of meat and spice.

  The hunters returned at a measured pace, boots muddy, shoulders loose with fatigue. No antlers crowned their haul, no sleek hides slung across poles. Instead, thick-limbed boars were dragged behind them, tusks dulled with blood and dirt. Heavy but enough. The kind of bounty that fed mouths, even if it did not flatter pride.

  Nadrin walked at their head, hands stained, expression calm. A few men laughed about the Red Dragon’s temper; others muttered prayers under their breath. The words luck and providence passed easily between them, always circling back to the same name.

  West.

  He rode beside Nadrin, slouched slightly in the saddle of the donkey, the oversized black coat swallowing his frame. The Red Dragon rested against him, an unassuming weight to anyone who did not know better. His eyes were half-lidded, his grip loose on the reins, as if the village were drifting past him rather than the other way around.

  Women stepped forward without ceremony, hands already working. Boars were unhooked and dragged away toward waiting tables. The scrape of blades began almost immediately. Steam rose as hot water was poured. No one questioned the absence of deer. Meat was meat, and tonight there would be plenty.

  They reached the plaza as the last of the daylight thinned to gold.

  Nadrin stepped forward, boots finding the center stone by habit more than intention. The noise ebbed as if pulled under by a tide. He lifted one hand, not demanding silence, simply expecting it.

  “We are humbled by the generosity of the Gods; they have delivered us with today’s bounty and the promise of a new tomorrow.”

  His voice carried easily, shaped by years of wind and command. Murmurs of assent rippled through the crowd.

  He turned then, facing West, and something in his posture shifted. The captain bowed, deep and unguarded.

  “We dedicate tonight’s feast to you, Master West.”

  For a heartbeat, the plaza held still. Then the cheers broke loose, rough and joyous. Tankards were raised. Names were shouted. Someone began a chant and lost it halfway through, laughing too hard to continue.

  West lifted one hand in return, the motion slow and slightly crooked. The smile he offered was faint, strained at the edges. Whatever fire had earned him this moment burned low behind his eyes.

  “Thank you, Captain.”

  The words were simple. His voice carried the scrape of exhaustion, and no one missed it.

  Women broke from the edges of the crowd carrying wooden mugs slick with foam. The smell of beer cut through the smoke and roasting fat. West straightened with effort and accepted a cup, fingers stiff as they curled around the handle. Nadrin raised his own, tapping it once against a nearby shield before lifting it high. His men followed. So did half the plaza.

  The toast vanished as quickly as it came. Cups were drained in long pulls. Laughter burst loose again. Nadrin hurled his empty mug to the stone at his feet. It shattered, the crack sharp and forceful.

  The musicians answered at once.

  Drums thundered. Strings shrieked under rough hands. Pipes cut through it all, fast and bright. The sound rolled outward, filling the square, climbing the walls, shaking loose whatever restraint the day had left behind.

  At the back of the crowd, Omni stood with his hands folded into his sleeves. Tyrus lingered a half step behind him, shoulders tight, eyes tracking the movement near the tables.

  “He’s drinking again.”

  Omni’s voice barely carried past his own breath.

  Tyrus shifted his weight. The press of bodies around them felt too close. Too warm. “Does it bother you?”

  Omni watched West through the gaps between dancers and raised mugs. “It’s not so much the drinking, it’s the spectacle of the entire thing. He is the wielder of the Red Dragon, even if he is an imposter; this is no way for him to carry himself. It is my own fault for allowing him to take the lead.”

  His sigh disappeared into the noise.

  “I need to go speak with him.”

  Tyrus moved before he could think better of it, slipping sideways through the crowd, ducking elbows and skirts, ignoring the way his pulse kicked harder with every step closer to the noise.

  West had finally dismounted. The donkey stood forgotten as West leaned over a long table slick with grease. The Red Dragon was already in his hands. He pantomimed a dramatic slice through a roasted boar, careful to angle his mug away from the juices. Someone shoved encouragement at his back. Someone else laughed too loudly.

  West brought the blade down.

  The sound was wrong for a joke. Bone parted. The neck split cleanly. The sword sank through as if the animal were still warm and yielding. Cheers erupted around him.

  “Wait, wait, wait.”

  West tilted his head back and emptied the mug. Foam streaked his chin. Another was thrust into his hand before he could blink.

  “Watch the juices!”

  He lifted the Red Dragon again, slower this time. His arm shook as the weight settled into his shoulder. For a moment, it looked like the blade might not rise again. Then he let it fall.

  The cut went through without resistance. The sword came to rest against the boar’s belly.

  “Oh, that’s a sharp blade.”

  He belched, loud and unapologetic.

  “West!”

  Tyrus pushed forward, heat climbing up his neck. “West!”

  He was close enough now that he could smell the beer and fat mixed with iron.

  West turned, squinting, then grinned widely. “Is that the Mighty…Mighty Tyrus?”

  He dragged the Dragon back into its place without wiping it, grease and blood smearing the leather. He stepped in close, already reaching for another mug.

  “Come on, let’s have a beer.”

  “I thought you were hurt?”

  Tyrus looked at the ruined table, the hacked meat, the careless way the blade had been handled. His hands curled at his sides.

  “You’d be surprised what mixing beer with Juga tea will do to your body.”

  West swayed slightly as he spoke. His arm dropped across Tyrus’s shoulders, heavy and warm.

  “Anyway, I’ll still be hurt tomorrow. So I’ll complain then.”

  He leaned closer, peering past Tyrus into the crowd. “So… Where's Master Omni?”

  Tyrus shrugged the arm away, a little too sharply. The contact had set something off in his chest that he did not want to name.

  “We need to talk about Omni.”

  West halted mid-step, blinking hard as the ground tilted beneath him. He pressed his tongue to his teeth, breathed once, then nodded to himself.

  “Oh.”

  Before Tyrus could speak, a young woman slipped in beside them, her skirts brushing West’s leg as she offered two brimming cups. Foam crested over the rims. Her smile lingered just a moment too long.

  “Well, thank you.”

  West took one without hesitation and drank. Tyrus lifted a hand, palm out, and shook his head. The woman hesitated, then turned to leave. West caught the second cup before it could lower, already tipping it back.

  “We can talk later, buddy. I think I want to dance.”

  The mugs were empty almost as soon as the words left his mouth. West seized Tyrus’s hand, his grip clumsy but determined, and dragged him toward the center of the noise where bodies pressed close, and the drums hit hardest.

  “Dammit, West, be serious!”

  Tyrus yanked his hand free. His eyes followed West’s momentum before he could stop himself.

  The circle of young women came into view, skirts spinning, hair loose, laughter sharp and bright. Nina stood among them, hands clapping in time, her face flushed from movement and heat.

  “Ask Nina for a dance.”

  West’s grin stretched wider, almost feral with delight.

  “West…”

  Tyrus’s fist curled at his side. His shoulders squared as if bracing for a blow.

  “Are you afraid?”

  West leaned closer, voice loud with triumph. “You’re afraid.” His excitement spilled over as he laughed. “Come on, it’ll be fun.”

  He reached up and rubbed Tyrus’s hair, mussing it like a child’s.

  “I am not afraid!”

  Heat rushed up Tyrus’s neck. His ears burned. The words came out sharper than he intended.

  West burst into laughter. “My apologies, it’s actually cute.”

  The sound barely finished before Tyrus’s knuckles clipped West’s ribs. It was not hard, but it landed true. West doubled slightly, coughing as pain cut through the alcohol haze, laughter breaking into rough gasps.

  Tyrus turned away before he could say anything else. He threaded back through the crowd, jaw tight, pulse loud in his ears, the drums doing nothing to drown it out.

  Omni stood where he had been left, watching the dancers with distant eyes.

  “He’s as stubborn as the ass that he rode on.”

  Tyrus crossed his arms as he spoke, gaze fixed anywhere but the center of the plaza, where laughter kept spilling, and the music refused to slow.

  Omni’s expression dulled as he followed Tyrus’s gaze into the crowd. His fingers pressed together at his waist, knuckles whitening.

  “It is the influence of her ancient relic; he is beginning to believe he is its true Master.”

  He released a slow breath, eyes tracking West as the man staggered into a cluster of laughing women. West tilted his head back and pantomimed swallowing the Red Dragon, arms raised in triumph as if the blade were some great prize devoured whole. The women shrieked with laughter, one nearly spilling her drink as she clutched another for balance.

  “We will have to make new arrangements about how we move forward after Dagavia.”

  “Do not expect me to carry the Dragon.”

  Tyrus’s answer came quickly and flat. His arms folded across his chest, shoulders tight.

  Omni glanced at him, then back to the center of the festival, where West caught sight of them and waved both arms overhead, nearly losing his footing in the process.

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  “I won’t.”

  The music surged again, faster now, drums pounding low and insistent.

  “So, ladies, which one of you is strong enough to swing me around for a dance?”

  West reached behind his back and holstered the Red Dragon with exaggerated care. A broad-shouldered woman stepped forward, her laughter booming above the rest.

  Renda.

  West looked her over openly, eyes widening with mock seriousness. He unbuckled the sword again and turned, offering it to Nina with both hands.

  “Do you mind?”

  Nina froze. Her fingers hovered just short of the hilt.

  “I… I don’t think I am allowed…”

  West leaned in and pressed the weight of the blade into her grasp anyway.

  “Oh, don’t be so superstitious. Just one song.”

  The leather creaked as Nina closed her hands around it, surprise flickering across her face as the weight settled. West had already turned away.

  He bowed deeply to Renda, nearly toppling forward. She answered with an exaggerated curtsy, then hooked her arms around him and lifted him clean off the ground. The crowd roared as she spun him, boots swinging, laughter tearing loose from his chest as the music carried them both.

  They whirled until the song bled into the next without pause. When Renda finally set him down, West folded instantly, collapsing into the grass with a wheezing laugh. She hauled him upright again with one hand.

  West blinked hard. His grin faltered just long enough for the world to tilt. He steadied himself, one hand braced on his knee, breath coming shallow as the noise pressed in from all sides.

  He bowed to Renda, slower this time, then turned and staggered back toward Nina. She stood stiffly where he had left her, both hands locked around the Red Dragon as if afraid it might move on its own.

  “Thank you.”

  West took the blade from her, fingers fumbling with the strap as the music thundered on and the night only grew louder.

  Nadrin cut through the crowd with practiced ease, a full cup already in hand. He stopped beside West and Nina, the firelight catching the silver at his temples.

  “Master West, are we enjoying the night?”

  West nodded once and accepted the cup without ceremony, fingers already slick with condensation.

  “I’m glad. Tell me, Master West, are you going to ask my daughter for a dance?”

  Nadrin’s smile widened, proud and pointed.

  “Father, please!”

  Nina’s shoulders drew up as she shook her head, mortified.

  West took a careful sip, wincing faintly as the beer settled. “I’m still a little beat up, Captain. Nina is a beautiful girl, but I don’t think she can lift and carry me the way Renda could.”

  He drained the cup and smacked his lips, eyes already searching the crowd.

  “You know who does need a dance? Tyrus. Tyrus needs a dance.”

  West turned the grin on Nadrin, then clapped him on the back with more enthusiasm than balance.

  “Tyrus can lift me and swing me around.”

  Nina laughed despite herself, the sound quick and bright. Nadrin did not.

  West leaned closer to Nina. “You should really ask him to a dance.”

  “It is a man’s duty to ask a woman for a dance.”

  Nadrin’s voice cut in, firm.

  “Come on, Captain.” West shifted his weight against the wall, boots scraping stone. “Tyrus is too shy to ask for anything. He should enjoy some Dagavian hospitality.”

  He tilted his head, clearly pleased with himself. “I think it would be funny.” West commented.

  Nina glanced between them, then smiled. “It’s just one dance, Father.”

  Nadrin’s nostrils flared. He watched the crowd as if weighing an incoming storm.

  “As a favor to you, Master West.”

  The words were reluctant and carefully measured.

  Nina was already moving, slipping between bodies and lantern light. West raised his cup in a lazy salute.

  “Relax, Captain. Tyrus is a good guy.”

  “I believe you, Master West.”

  Nadrin did not look convinced. His eyes never left his daughter.

  West laughed again, sharp and unrestrained. “Look how red he’s getting!”

  Across the plaza, Tyrus stood rigid as Nina approached. He lifted a hand quickly, the same reflex he had used earlier.

  “Thank you, Nina, but I must politely decline.”

  Omni stepped closer, placing a steady hand between Tyrus’s shoulder blades. “Enjoy yourself, Tyrus. It will be a while before we have a chance to slow down like this.”

  Tyrus swallowed. His jaw tightened. The drums pulsed louder, closer.

  Nina did not give him time to think. She caught his hand and pulled him forward, laughter trailing behind them as the dancers closed in and the music swallowed his protest whole.

  Nina slipped her arms around Tyrus and gently tried to lead him into the rhythm of the dance. Tyrus stiffened immediately, his body moving a heartbeat too late, unsure where to place his hands, how close was too close. His arms hovered awkwardly, half-raised, as if he were afraid to touch anything at all.

  With a soft laugh, Nina reached for his hands and placed them where they belonged. Tyrus followed her lead, but his movements were clumsy and forceful, more brute momentum than grace, while Nina tried to sway and guide him into the music. His eyes flicked downward again and again, tracking his own sandals as if he needed proof the ground would still be there when he stepped.

  Nina giggled, amused, but her gaze never left his face.

  That made everything worse.

  Tyrus kept his eyes averted, shoulders tense, and leaned closer just enough for his voice to carry through the pounding drums and laughter around them.

  “Are you frightened, Tyrus?” Nina asked

  “What, no?” Tyrus responded, “It feels like everyone is laughing at me” Tyrus looked around the crowd.

  Her smile widened, sweet and bright, with just the slightest edge of mischief.

  “No one is laughing at you, they are not even paying you any attention! Well except for Master West. “ Nina assured him.

  “I was under the impression that you were afraid of me” Tyrus said

  “If anyone should be afraid, it should be you. My father doesn’t seem to like you very much. But West says you’re a good person, and I’m going to believe him.”

  The words lodged themselves deep, echoing and repeating in his ears long after the music drowned everything else.

  It was only one dance. Just one song, but it felt longer than all the others combined. When the final notes faded and the crowd shifted, Tyrus wasted no time. He murmured an excuse and retreated quickly, weaving his way back to Omni’s side as if fleeing a battlefield.

  His face burned, flushed redder than the bleeding boars now turning slowly over an open fire pit nearby. Fat hissed as it dripped into the flames, sending the heavy, mouthwatering scent of roasting meat rolling through the night air.

  Nina returned to her friends, who immediately closed in around her, giggling and teasing her about her unexpected dance partner. As their laughter swelled, she stole one last glance across the clearing. She saw Lord Omni and Tyrus speaking in low, intent faces before turning away from the dancing and the drink altogether.

  They moved toward their hut at the edge of the settlement. A few elders raised their hands in greeting to Omni as he passed, then quickly lowered their eyes when Tyrus followed alongside him, the atmosphere shifting in his wake.

  West did not notice their departure at first. It wasn’t until the warmth of the Juga tea began to fade that he felt the ache creeping back into his ribs. In his drunken haze, the dryness in his throat and the lingering bitterness of beer made him think, vaguely, that he should ask Master Omni for more tea. Before the pain fully returned and reminded him of everything he had been trying to forget.

  West stumbled his way back to the hut, the sounds of the feast dulling behind him with every step. By the time he reached the doorway, the world had narrowed to the ache in his ribs and the dull throb behind his eyes. He dragged himself through the entrance, boots catching on the threshold.

  Omni and Tyrus both moved at once, steadying him and guiding him inside.

  “Well, how did it go?” Omni asked as West let himself collapse onto a rough bed stuffed with hay and wrapped in a thin blanket.

  “Everything hurts, inside and out,” West mumbled, his voice muffled as he buried his face into the scratchy fabric. After a moment, he resurfaced, eyes unfocused but smiling faintly. “But I got the horses.”

  “Wonderful, then we will make our leave tomorrow,” Omni said, already turning back to the small fire and the kettle of tea he was preparing.

  Tyrus lingered a moment, then stepped closer to Omni, his posture stiff, jaw tight.

  “Lord Omni, there is something you need to make West aware of,” he said.

  West pushed himself upright, swaying slightly as he turned toward Tyrus. His expression said enough.

  Omni returned to his side.

  “I have decided to invite Beiru on our journey east,” Omni said.

  “Oh, come on, Master Omni, again with this?” West groaned, dragging his hands down his face.

  Omni turned back to the tea, unbothered.

  “West, I have seen the promise in this boy, like I saw in Tyrus, and like I saw in you. He is not defined by the world that made him, or the words of his enemy.”

  “Master, I have already made it clear to Nadrin that I would transfer possession of Beiru to him,” West replied, struggling to his feet before thinking better of it. Pain shot through him and he steadied himself against the wall. “My apologies.”

  Omni turned fully toward him.

  “Nothing to apologize for. Nadrin is a reasonable man. I’m sure you can tell him you had a change of heart.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that, Master,” West said, the humor gone from his voice.

  Omni’s brow furrowed.

  “Oh, and why is that?”

  West met his gaze, serious now despite the drink.

  “Master Omni, he is dangerous. Please consider that we already have a dangerous stranger in our presence.” He glanced toward Tyrus. “No offense.”

  Tyrus gave a small shrug, as if used to the label.

  Omni stepped closer, his presence filling the narrow space. His voice remained calm, but the weight behind it was unmistakable.

  “Is that a refusal of your duty?”

  West straightened as best he could, blinking hard to steady himself, jaw tightening as he found his footing.

  “Yes, Master. This time, yes.”

  Omni exhaled slowly and placed a steady hand on West’s shoulder, grounding but firm.

  “Do not allow the Red Dragon to manipulate you, West. We are not kings nor generals. We do not condemn anyone to death.”

  “We are not condemning him to death, Master. We are allowing Nadrin to administer the justice he and his people…” West began, but Omni raised his hand, stopping him mid-sentence.

  “Captain Nadrin has already condemned the boy to slavery,” Omni said, his voice rising now. “Have some compassion, West. Will you really allow yourself to place this kind of punishment on another soul?”

  “Nadrin said—” West tried again.

  “Nadrin is neither a god nor a king,” Omni cut in sharply. “His opinion does not matter to me when we are discussing his enemies.” His eyes locked onto West, unblinking.

  “Master Omni, I know you mean well,” West said, the words tumbling out now, desperate. “But please…we must not allow ourselves to fall victim to our own promises when our reality does not align with our vision.”

  Omni withdrew his hand and took a step back, the distance colder than the touch had been.

  “You question my decisions. Perhaps allowing you to carry the Red Dragon was my mistake. I have allowed it to inflate your ego. When all you do is disrespect it, you disrespect our faith. I have even allowed you to disrespect yourself.” His voice tightened. “But I will not allow you to disrespect me, your master. I have made my decision on the matter of Beiru, and you will honor it.”

  “Master…” West swallowed, holding his tongue for a heartbeat longer than he ever had before. “On this, I will not comply. Beiru is my responsibility, and I have chosen to deliver him to Nadrin. It is my decision.”

  “Your decision?” Omni stepped forward, authority radiating from him now. “Do not forget your position. You are no godslayer. You are no duelist, nor future king. You are an imposter. A drunkard. You are my slave.” His hand rose, stopping just short of West’s face.

  “And a slave does not question his master. A slave obeys his master. And you will obey me.”

  West said nothing.

  He searched Omni’s face, hoping, foolishly, for hesitation, for doubt, for anything that wasn’t iron certainty. Finding none, he stepped past him. The Red Dragon slid free of its holster and struck the floor with a heavy, absolute sound. West didn’t look back. He walked out of the hut and slammed the door behind him.

  Omni stood where he was for a long moment. Then, without a word, he turned back to his cooking.

  Tyrus remained frozen in the center of the hut, the silence pressing in on him.

  “Perhaps that was a little strong,” he said carefully.

  “He has allowed a lie to blind him from his duty,” Omni replied, never turning.

  “I don’t disagree,” Tyrus said, unease threading his voice. “But he means well. Beiru is too unpredictable. We do not know him.”

  Omni sampled the stew, letting the flavor sit on his tongue before speaking.

  “Then tell me, Tyrus, what would you have me do with the young Ura?” He turned, studying him. Tyrus did not answer.

  “We are not the men who make these kinds of decisions,” Omni said, returning to the pot.

  “I would have killed him,” Tyrus finally said. The words surprised even him. “During the duel. That would have been a kinder gesture than allowing him to live.”

  Omni straightened and faced him fully. “It was not your duel.” He pointed toward the Red Dragon, where it lay abandoned on the floor. “Because you refused to pick it up.” His finger lingered there a moment longer before lowering.

  “My question was not what you would have done yesterday,” Omni continued. “But what will you do today? What would you have me do with the young Ura, when everyone warns me of his kind? When they speak of past wounds, past deaths?” Omni paused, allowing the silence to press in.

  Tyrus had no answer.

  Omni crossed the room and rested a hand on Tyrus’s shoulder. “This weighs on you because you have a good heart,” he said gently. He even smiled.

  “But why fight this hard for him?” Tyrus asked. “We know nothing about him.”

  “Because I can,” Omni replied simply. “I argued for West. I argued for you. And now I argue for Beiru.” He turned back to the stew; a thick, earthy blend of local mushrooms, steam curling toward the rafters.

  “West will come around,” Omni added. “He has simply allowed Nadrin to shape his fear. We will leave Dagavia tomorrow. You should not worry.” He stirred once more. “Besides, I’m making his favorite dish.”

  Tyrus paced the small space, restless energy pulling at him.

  “I’m going to find West,” he said, already reaching for the door.

  “I will see you both later tonight then,” Omni said. Then, after a pause, “And Tyrus… Be careful. Some of the locals are… less forgiving toward people of the Ura.”

  Tyrus stepped into the torchlit streets of Dagavia. Cool mist clung to his skin, the night breathing softly around him. He didn’t know where he was going, only that standing still felt worse. He followed the road, pushing past lingering stares and hushed whispers.

  Time slipped forward. Laughter faded. Doors closed. The village quieted.

  Eventually, Tyrus found himself at the gates of Dagavia. The torches had been stripped from the streets for the feast, leaving the road swallowed by shadow. He turned and looked back toward the village center, where warm light still burned, and music still echoed faintly, distant, and unreachable.

  Somewhere between that glow and the darkness beyond the gate, Tyrus realized something was wrong.

  West was nowhere to be found.   And the night was not done with them yet.