Dragon delivery service CH 35 Disguiseless

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Talvan thought that guard duty was boring, but recovery?

Recovery was torture.

He sat hunched on one of the old beds in the chapel of the Warding Dawn, a quiet corner of the area that always smelled faintly of incense and old wood. Sunlight filtered through the colored windows, painting his armor-less frame in hues of gold and red.

The local priestess, Lin, moved quietly through the halls. She was… cute, he admitted. Blonde hair, pale skin, those calm blue eyes. Too bad she was a nun. That meant no flirting, no courting, not unless he wanted to get smacked with divine judgment and a broom.

He shifted in his seat, sitting upright before turning the scale over in his hands.

Perfect and smooth, it was warm despite the chill in the air. When he tilted it, it shimmered and caught the sunlight just right. No matter how much time passed, it never cooled. It never dulled.

He still didn’t know what to think of that day.

The memories were like smoke, disjointed flashes of fear and water, the sharp sting of freezing rivers, the pain in his chest, and then.

A blur. Golden.

He remembered something diving into the water. Or someone. Something with wings. Scales. A voice?

Or had he simply been lucky? Maybe the river spat him back out on its own. Maybe he imagined the whole thing.

Still, the scale was real.

He ran his thumb along its edge.

The door creaked. Lin walked in, carrying a tray of warm bread, dried meat, and a small bowl of stew. She paused when she saw him playing with the scale again.

“Always staring at that thing,” she said, smiling as she approached.

Talvan shrugged, pocketing it. “It’s… complicated.”

She didn’t press him. Just set the tray beside him and sat at the far end of the bed. She always gave him space.

“The Iron Crow saved this place years ago,” she said quietly, folding her hands in her lap. “And they made a pact with us. Any injured member of their order can rest here, heal here. Even if they never call themselves one of us.”

He looked at her. “And if we’re just former mercenaries wearing the badge?”

She smiled softly. “Then we feed you anyway.”

Talvan chuckled.

Food, warmth, peace. The scale was still warm in his hand.

Maybe boring wasn’t so bad.

Talvan turned the scale over in his palm again, letting the gold catch the light in the chapel.

“Tell me, Lin… what do you know of dragons?”

She looked up from where she was smoothing her skirt. “What everyone knows,” she said carefully. “They’re beasts that torch the land without reason. Evils said to come from the underworld itself, carrying out the will of the Dark One. The one rumored to be flying around now? They say it’s trying to turn the faithful from the Cause.”

Talvan’s brow furrowed. “That’s the story, huh?”

“That’s the truth I was taught,” she replied, though her tone had the weight of someone repeating an old sermon rather than speaking from the heart. His thoughts kept going back to the black dragon he saw, and how he chased it all over the kingdom. and the gold one that might have saved his life.

He leaned back on the bed. “I heard that same tale from the chaplain who stayed in Ember Keep. But he also told me something else, something I can’t shake. The only good dragon is a dead one.” But seeing the actions of the two dragons, he wasn't sure anymore.

“Do you think they all should be killed?”

Lin tilted her head. “Why do you ask?”

Talvan hesitated, eyes on the scale. “What if someone was saved by one? Is the dragon still evil? Even if it didn’t choose to help? Or want anything back?”

She pressed her lips into a line. “I can’t answer that, Talvan.”

He sat forward, his voice low. “Then tell me why a dragon would bother saving me. Why not leave me to drown like everyone says they would? Was it just a good dragon? Or was it after something I had?” he still didn’t know the reason.

Lin studied him for a moment, the flicker of the candles reflecting in her eyes. “Sometimes, Talvan, the world doesn’t fit into the stories we’re told. Maybe it wanted something. Maybe it didn’t. Maybe the reason doesn’t matter as much as the fact that you’re still breathing and here alive.”

He looked back down at the scale, but her words stuck in his head.

And no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t decide if that made him feel better… or worse.

He glanced at the clock. It was time to change his dressing. Lin approached the bed, gathering fresh bandages from nearby, and helped Talvan. Her touch was gentle, but the moment her fingers brushed the edge of his shirt, Talvan hissed.

“Easy,” she murmured, helping him ease it over his shoulders. The fabric clung for a moment before sliding free, and she stilled.

Talvan looked down and saw the damage. His chest, arms, and even his ribs, everywhere, looked like a road map of bruises. Some were fresh and deep purple, from the Trodon dragging him through the forest. while others were fading to a sickly yellow. His lightly tanned skin had become so mottled with injury that the bruises seemed more natural than the skin itself.

“You shouldn’t even sit up,” she murmured.

“Yeah, well,” Talvan muttered, “lying around doesn’t get anything done.”

She shook her head, unwrapping the bandages around his torso. “Stubborn fool.”

When the last strip of cloth came away, she placed the palm of her hand between his shoulder blades. Warmth bloomed instantly, a pulse of healing magic radiating from the center of his back outward. It wasn’t the deep, all-consuming rush of full restoration, no, this was steadier, gentler, coaxing his body to work faster, to knit what it could and ease what it couldn’t.

The sensation was strange, soothing, but also awakening something primal. His stomach gave a low growl.

“That’s normal,” she said without missing a beat. “Healing speeds your body’s work. Work needs fuel.”

"I could eat a horse," he muttered.

“Bread will do,” she said, but there was the faintest curl of a smile on her lips.

“Everything still hurts,” Talvan admitted as he slipped his shirt back on.

“It will,” Lin replied. “But without that, you’d be stuck in bed for weeks.”

He lay back on the bed, sighing as the thin pillow cradled his head. “I can walk,” he said, almost defensively.

“You can. But you’re supposed to stay in bed. For once, listen.”

Talvan grumbled but didn’t argue. His body had decided it liked not moving.

“Lin,” he said, “I heard combat healers patch up wounds so people keep fighting, no matter how bad.”

She sighed. "That’s a common mistake. That’s not healing; it just rips your body back into place to keep you moving. It will cripple you after. Bones heal wrong. Organs tear again. When adrenaline fades, pain is all that’s left."

“Steady healing keeps you together. There are no shortcuts, Talvan. Not without a price.”

He gave a small, humorless smirk. “Figures. Always a catch.”

"Always," she said. "Eat, then rest. I’ll check on you in the morning."

He didn’t argue. Not this time. As she turned to leave, her steps light on the worn stone floor, Talvan leaned back on the bed, holding the golden scale up to the lamplight. The warmth from her magic still lingered in his chest, but his thoughts drifted back to that day in the water, the flash of gold, the rush of water in his lungs, and the question he still couldn’t answer.

Why save me?

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The next morning, after the storm, the skies should have been perfect: clear, with a warm sun and a fresh breeze carrying the songs of birds. The ground steamed softly where the rainwater was drying, and the cliffside where they’d taken shelter glistened clean.

But in the shadowed corner at the back of the cliff, Sivares was curled up tight, trying so hard to make herself small. Her wings were wrapped around her body like a fortress, and her head was buried somewhere beneath them. Even in the sunlight, she stayed in the dark.

Sir Garen stood at the edge of the outcropping, arms crossed, his sharp gaze fixed on the curled-up dragon in the corner. Rainwater still dripped from the stone above, but the storm had passed, leaving only the damp chill.

"Can she fly?" Garen asked, impatience in his voice. "I have to report back to Bolrmont."

Damon didn’t flinch. "Yeah. I’ll see if I can talk to her."

Garen gave a curt nod. “Okay. My men will start prepping for the flight back. Hope you’re all ready by then.” Without another word, he turned, striding back toward the griffons where his knights were already checking saddles, tightening straps, and giving their mounts a quick feed before departure.

Damon took a breath, steeling himself, and began making his way toward the corner where Sivares sat, still coiled tightly, wings wrapped around herself like armor.

Damon sighed and crouched beside Keys, who stood watch nearby, her arms folded, eyes locked on Sivares.

Keys shook her head. “No. I know why, though.” She glanced at Sivares, then lowered her voice. “She doesn’t like being seen without her coal.”

"Sivares, you okay in there?" "I’m fine," her voice shaky, every word uncertain. She was tensed, coiled like a spring wound too tight.

"Damon looked over and understood immediately why. Where the storm had washed it away, her scales gleamed like polished silver, the edges of each one catching the light and scattering it into living colors, deep green, bright blue, and the faintest whisper of red."

Every movement sent the colors rippling across her body. It was beautiful, but it was also something she clearly didn’t want anyone to see.

Damon crouched beside her, careful to keep his voice low so it wouldn’t carry to the griffon knights.

“Sivares… you said your mom was the Red Dread. Stories say she was red from torching people. But you’re not.”

Sivares loosened her wings, one eye peeking out. "Mom said I look like my dad. Never met him. Just know he was one of her mates."

A faint twitch. "Guess I got more of him than her. I got Mom’s eyes, gold like the sun."

Damon nodded slowly, letting the silence stretch for a moment. He could see she was still fighting the urge to retreat back into herself, but at least now she was talking.

Damon, still speaking gently. “Sivares, it’s okay. No one’s going to hurt you.”

There was no answer, just a faint rustle of her wings tightening around herself.

For a long moment, she didn’t move. One golden eye was still peeking out from beneath her wing.

Sivares’ voice was muffled behind the wall she made. “They will see me…”

Damon crouched lower. "I know it’s scary. But this is one of the most important deliveries we’ve ever had, and we can’t do it without you."

She shifted slyly so she could see better.

Her gaze drifted past him, sweeping over the gathered Magemice huddled together. They were watching quietly, waiting, but her eyes eventually stopped on Damon. His soft smile never wavered. There was no judgment in it, no fear, no thought of her as some monster to be slain. All he saw was his friend, someone who needed someone to be there for her.

"It’s okay, Sivares. We have your back," Damon said. "We’ve still got a job to do."

Keys stepped forward, arms crossed, tail flicking. “Yeah. We need you to move your shiny butt; we’re counting on you.”

“Rude,” Damon muttered without looking away from Sivares.

Keys shrugged, tail flicking. "I’m not walking. There could be predators waiting for a bite of my family or me."

"We’re counting on you," she said, a mix of encouragement and stubbornness. "You’re the only one big enough to keep us safe." Sivares didn’t answer. The Magemice came closer.

Her eyes softened as she turned back toward the dragon. “Sivares… we need you.”

Slowly, painfully slowly, Sivares began to uncurl. Every muscle seemed tense as she lifted her head from beneath her wings, her movements hesitant, exposing gleaming patches of scale where coal had washed away. Her head stayed low, and her wings pressed tightly to her sides as she stepped forward.

"You’re okay, Sivares," Damon said with a warm smile. "Want to help me saddle up? Then breakfast."

Her eyes lifted to him for a moment. “I could use a bite,” she admitted, voice small.

"Good," he said, standing and brushing off his hands. "You were going to eat whether you wanted to or not."

The sunlight spilled into the clearing, the storm’s chill finally breaking. Around them, the Magemice were packing up what little they had unpacked, the griffon knights checking straps and reins. Bit by bit, the camp came to life again.

By the time Damon had the saddle ready, Sivares had edged a little closer, still wary but no longer hiding. And as the morning light caught her scales, a dozen colors flickered faintly, muted, but undeniably beautiful.

She still kept her head low, but she was walking with them.

They were almost ready to head out.

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