Chapter 5: Market Meetup

It had taken far longer than Nelneras had anticipated to extricate himself from Lira and her merry band of wanderers. Though affable enough, their incessant chatter, laden with tales of trivial exploits across the Lumarian countryside, had been a leash he hadn't anticipated. How easy it was, he reflected bitterly, for even the sharpest mind to be ensnared by the banalities of others. Curse his curiosity. It was a fault he'd never quite managed to tame, though he had known better than to indulge it.

The wagon wheel had been the tether, their stories the binding rope. Tales of mundane troubles and improbable sights, spun with all the drama of a bard seeking coin, should have slid off him like water on stone. Yet one particular tale had wormed its way into his mind.

Garik, broad-shouldered and weathered by years of unremarkable toil, had spoken with the gravity of a prophet delivering a warning. “A stag the size of a house," he'd said, voice thick with conviction. “Came striding right out of the Everwood, bold as a brigand. Walked through the firelight like it owned the place, then stopped. Looked me dead in the eye." Garik's rough hands, scared and callused from a lifetime of honest labor, gripped the edge of the wagon as he paused, as though clutching the memory itself. “Then it vanished. No sound, no nothing. Just gone. Tell me that's natural. I dare ya."

“It wasn't a stag," Lira had interjected, her tone dripping with certainty. She leaned in, her voice soft but insistent, meant only for Nelneras. “That was a forest spirit. Mark my words. That's why we don't camp near the Everwood anymore."

Her gaze lingered too long, the kind of look Nelneras recognized all too well. It was a trap—one he had no interest in springing. He didn't need her words to understand her intent. She wanted him to be intrigued, to step closer, to become ensnared by her charm and the promises veiled in her tone. “Perhaps if someone like you had been there," she added, the barest flicker of a smile curling her lips, “I wouldn't have been so worried about what came out of the trees."

He had returned her smile out of politeness, though it felt more like slipping a mask over his face than a genuine response. “I have no doubt you'd have managed just fine, Lady Lira." he had said, careful to keep his tone as smooth and impenetrable as glass.

Beneath her pleasant exterior, Nelneras could feel the weight of her intentions, heavy and unyielding. It wasn't his insight or company she sought—those were mere pretense. What she truly wanted lay between his legs, buried in the magic coursing through his veins. She hadn't said it outright, of course. People like her never did. But the suggestion was there, glinting in her sidelong glances and the casual lilt of her voice.

But charm and feigned promises had finally earned him his freedom. With a farewell as polished as a blade and a promise he had no intention of keeping of “meeting up with her one day" should he ever return to Lumara, Nelneras had taken to the sky.

The plains stretched vast and endless beneath him, the golden grass swaying in waves as the wind rippled across the open land. Rivers, gleaming ribbons of silver, wound their way through the terrain, carving deep veins into the earth as they flowed toward their inevitable destination. Even from this height, the land was alive with movement, the distant shapes of caravans tracing slow, deliberate paths toward the only thing that mattered in this part of the world, Entis.

The capital of Lumara rose in the distance, a monument of stone and magic, its great walls standing unbroken against the ages. Built for war, for strength, for survival, they encased the heart of a city that had not merely endured the turning of centuries but had shaped them. The walls, carved with runic sigils of protection and reinforced with both steel and sorcery, funneled foot traffic through its towering gates, their iron-bound doors standing as the only sanctioned entry into the thriving civilization within.

Nelneras angled his wings, the wind shifting beneath his feathers as he adjusted his course. The higher he flew, the more Entis revealed itself, not just a city, but a testament to the resilience of those who had built it and those who now called it home. It had been human once, its streets designed for those bound to the ground, its buildings constructed with no thought to the sky, but that time had long since passed. What had been shaped for one race had become something more, something greater, a city where gryphons soared just as freely as men walked.

Above the city, suspended like sentinels of stone and arcane will, two floating fortresses hovered in perfect defiance of nature, their sheer scale staggering even from this distance. They loomed over Entis, their foundations pulsing faintly with magic, the runes etched into their surfaces keeping them aloft as effortlessly as if they had always belonged to the sky. Siege engines lined their battlements, waiting like coiled vipers, their crews little more than shadows moving with practiced precision, their presence a reminder that Entis was more than a beacon of trade and culture—it was a stronghold, a fortress that would not fall.

Between them, gryphon riders wove in disciplined formations, sweeping through the air with a precision that spoke of years of training, their mounts tilting effortlessly as they adjusted to unseen commands. They patrolled the sky as if it were another set of streets, their movements as much a part of the city as the winding roads below. Nelneras let his eyes drift over the city, noting the way its architecture had evolved to accommodate those who now called it home. Towers bore reinforced perches, wide landing spaces breaking up the rooftops where gryphons could rest before taking flight once more. The courtyards, once meant for market stalls and street gatherings, had been reshaped into sprawling roosts, filled with movement as gryphons rested, took to the air, or simply watched the world below.

Even from a distance, the vitality of the city was unmistakable, its heartbeat felt in the movement of traders, travelers, and guards that passed through its streets and skies alike. The ports beyond the walls held massive airships, their sails taut with wind and magic as they drifted toward the towering skyports, mooring alongside spires that had once been meant for nothing more than distant observation. These ships, coming from across the known world, carried with them foreign banners, exotic wares, and the ambitions of countless kingdoms, their passengers adding to the ever-changing fabric of Entis' society.

Nelneras held his course, allowing himself but a moment to take it all in. This was more than a city. It was a living force, a collision of past and present, a gateway to the future that so many sought yet so few had the power to shape. The walls that had once kept gryphons out now protected them. The streets that had once been lined only with human feet now bore the talon-pressed earth of those who belonged just as much to the sky as they did to the ground.

Entis had not just adapted. It had become something greater.

The city gates loomed ahead, a massive archway of stone and steel, its reinforced doors standing open just enough to allow a steady flow of travelers through. Nelneras had no intention of walking through them.

With the wind at his back and the sky open before him, he had fully intended to bypass the tedious process of waiting in line like a common traveler. His wings carried him upward in a smooth ascent, gliding toward the city's walls, his sharp eyes already picking out the best place to land.

He made it three wingbeats past the perimeter before a pair of gryphon guards veered toward him, intercepting him mid-air.

“Hold," one of them barked, banking to cut off his approach. “No authorization, no entry."

Nelneras's wings flared instinctively as he slowed his momentum, hovering just long enough to offer the guards his most unimpressed stare.

“And who exactly do you imagine I am?" he said smoothly, talons flexing against the air. “Some wayward fledgling who simply lost his way?"

The second gryphon narrowed his eyes. “No authorization, no entry." he repeated.

Nelneras sighed, the breath slow, measured, deliberate. “This is hardly necessary."

“Gates are that way." the first gryphon said, nodding toward the long, snaking line of travelers, carts, and merchants waiting below.

His tail flicked sharply, agitation creeping into his posture. “Perhaps you fail to understand the importance of my arrival. I do not have time to waste in line like some…"

“I'm going to say this one more time before we arrest you for trespassing." The guards begin hovering slowly towards him as if daring him to try something, “No authorization. No entry. Get in line if you wish to enter."

Nelneras clicked his beak shut.

Had he been in his true form, a single pulse of magic, a carefully woven enchantment, or even a fraction of his presence would have been enough to sway them. He could have overwhelmed them, left them speechless with nothing more than a look, reduced their objections to nothing more than the fumbling of lesser creatures standing before something beyond their station.

But that was a surprise he had no intention of revealing. And so, with great reluctance and a mournful chirp, he dipped his wings and descended toward the gates below.

The wait was excruciating. He had tried, genuinely tried, to reason with the guards, but their refusal was absolute. Nothing he said, no argument he crafted, had done anything but solidify their obstinate adherence to protocol.

By the time he reached the entrance, the guards at the gate subjected him to a painfully thorough inspection, their sharp-eyed scrutiny lingering just long enough to test for traces of magic.

They found nothing. Of course they didn't. He was far too skilled for that. A well-placed compliment, a slow roll of his tongue as he purred something flattering, and suddenly, the pair of gryphon sentries were ruffling their feathers and shifting awkwardly under his gaze. It wasn't magic, but it was close enough.

By the time he stepped into the city properly, he was already plotting his next move.

Entis was a maze of stone, feathers, and moving bodies, an endless flow of people and gryphons moving through streets not meant to accommodate both. The architecture bore its human origins, but its bones had been reshaped over time, molded into something that could support both those bound to the earth and those who claimed the sky.

Navigating it was second nature to him. He had a map. He had the location. And soon, he would have his quarry. The thought alone sent a ripple of anticipation through him.

Arcturus Lund. The last of his line. A paladin of Bahamut. A man who could have commanded vast estates, claimed holdings and wealth beyond imagining, yet had chosen to reside in a humble quarter like a common citizen.

The very idea had left Nelneras both astonished and amused when he first read him, this human whose lineage was, to an extant still is, the nightmares of dragons. It was exactly the sort of self-imposed humility he should have expected from such a man, and yet it still surprised him.

And then there was Crimson Sky.

The Crimson Sky. A red dragon of legendary reputation, a beast said to be prideful, arrogant, greedy… agreed to live with people in such a humble home? Had willingly chosen to live in such conditions? If Nelneras had not seen the records himself, he would have dismissed it as nonsense.

Perhaps he had misjudged them. Perhaps, despite all that was said, they were greater than mere stories. A pleased coo rumbled in his throat as he neared his destination.

With a swell of pride, he strode toward the modest home, wings held high, already imagining the moment to come, the knock, the grand declaration of adventure, the offer so enticing that no hero could refuse.

He lifted a talon, struck the door firmly, and announced himself in his finest, brassy tone.

And nothing happened. Nelneras blinked.

He knocked again, louder this time, tail twitching as his voice rang out boldly against the silence.

Still nothing.

His wings twitched. A slow, nervous laugh escaped him. We're they not home? Had he truly come all this way only to be denied before the journey had even begun?

No. That was absurd. There had to be a reasonable explanation. Surely, they were simply out. That was all. Why would he even expect heroic individuals like them to be at home? Silly him.

He was still mulling over the possibilities when a voice behind him shattered his fragile optimism.

“Are you looking for someone?"

Nelneras turned, meeting the gaze of two passing gryphons.

“Yes." he said smoothly, flicking his wings. “Arcturus Lund and Crimson Sky."

The two gryphons exchanged a glance, the first rubbing at the back of his head while the other's ears flicked in something close to pity.

“They… don't live here anymore."

The words hit like a stone. His tail lashed once, then twice before curling in slow, deliberate agitation. “What?" The single word left his beak like a blade.

“They moved," the first gryphon said, shifting awkwardly. “Haven't been in Entis for some time."

Nelneras exhaled, the motion slow, deliberate, his talons flexing against the stone beneath him. “And where," he asked, each word clipped and controlled, “might they dwell now?"

“Drakenburg," the gryphon answered. “Just south of the Crimson Peaks. Half a day's flight if you hurry."

Nelneras's head lowered into his talons. A deep groan escaped him, his head lowering into his claws. Why on earth would they abandon this city, with all its resources, its power, its significance, for some outpost in the middle of nowhere?

The gryphons exchanged a glance. One shrugged. “Who knows? That Crimson dragon's a bit of a nutter."

“Don't say that" the second gryphon hissed, nudging him hard in the ribs. “He's a bloody big hero."

“Oh, please," the first scoffed. “You only say that because you've got a crush on him, Deri."

The blue-and-white gryphon stuttered, ears flattening instantly. “I—I do not!"

Nelneras was no longer listening. His gaze had drifted toward the horizon, to the distant roads leading away from the city, his mind turning over his own failure with growing irritation. So much time wasted.

Why had he not verified the information beforehand? Why had he assumed without checking? The arrogance of it made his feathers bristle, his tail flicking sharply as he cursed himself for his own shortsightedness.

And then, just to make matters worse, he could already imagine hearing Valcagor's voice if he ever found out why he went.

"Well, well, well. What do we got here? Nelneras, mate, you absolute bloody legend, takin' time off just to fly your scaly arse into a dead end. What's next? Gonna go knock on some other poor cunt's door and beg 'em for an adventure?"

Nelneras's beak clamped shut.

"Really, mate, I thought ya had standards. Bahamut's pet paladin and his soft-bellied dragon husband? That's what ya wasted yer bloody vacation for? Thought you were after somethin' real, somethin' worth your time. I mean, come on, at least tell me ya got a yer cock wet on the trip, otherwise I might just start cryin'."

His claws curled against the stone, the words burning hot in his mind. He could hear Valcagor's wheezing laugh, the kind that dripped with self-satisfaction, the kind that had no regard for anything outside his own amusement.

Nelneras exhaled sharply through his nostrils. He could take off now, make for Drakenburg, arrive by morning, and pretend this trip had not been an infuriating waste of time or he could make something of the journey.

The thought of returning to Valcagor's sneering mockery, of listening to that smug, bloated lizard laugh at his failure, was enough to grate against his very soul.

No.

It would be a crime to pass through a city like this and not sample the life around him, to ignore the chance to mingle with the people, see the sights, visit a few shops, and, perhaps, find some small solace in a well-earned distraction.

A resounding chirp left his beak as he committed himself to the decision. His first order of business? Finding a place to stay. A few quick inquiries led him to what was, apparently, the best establishment in Entis for relaxation, The Gilded Feather.

Nelneras was curious to try what the gryphons called, The Preeners. He had heard of them before, half spa, half tavern, half brothel, though he had no intention of indulging in the latter. He had earned the right to unwind, to let a pair of skilled gryphons massage away the aches and frustrations of the day.

And if a good drink, a warm perch, and a few admiring glances came his way, well…That wouldn't be so terrible, would it? With a pleased hum, he spread his wings and set off. Perhaps this trip wasn't a total loss yet.

The market district of Entis was impossible to miss, a sprawling network of streets, alleys, and courtyards, each bursting with life, sound, and movement. Multi-leveled buildings rose around him like towering stone canopies, their upper balconies and open archways designed not just for human commerce but for gryphon passage, their wide perches and reinforced railings allowing those who preferred the sky to the streets to make their purchases without ever touching the ground.

The main avenues were packed shoulder to shoulder, merchants and travelers alike weaving between stalls and permanent shops, some carrying crates of wares on their backs, others dragging carts filled with goods that rattled over the stone roads. Voices clashed together in a symphony of trade, sellers barking out their best deals, arguing with customers, bartering with the desperate, the impatient, and the greedy.

The scents alone were an assault on the senses, roasted meats spiced with foreign seasonings, honeyed pastries that left the air thick with warmth, the sharp tang of brewed tonics and dried reagents, and the ever-present hint of animal musk from both merchants and beasts of burden alike.

The people here were as varied as their wares. Though humans and gryphons dominated the market, he spotted towering saber-toothed Ilbir, their sheer size making the humans beside them seem fragile in comparison, their muscular frames swathed in patterned tunics, some displaying decorative warpaints upon their furred chests. A few wolven moved between stalls, their sharp, predatory eyes flicking between vendors, ears twitching as they overheard whispered deals. Among them, Ceullus strode confidently, their horse-like frames allowing them to navigate through packed courtyards with ease, their tails flicking as they carried heavy bags laden with goods.

Above, gryphons darted between rooftops and open-air stalls, some clutching parcels in their talons, others landing briefly upon wooden perches that jutted from buildings, exchanging coin for wrapped bundles before launching back into the sky with powerful beats of their wings.

Nelneras had no intention of flying just yet. This was the kind of place meant to be experienced from the ground, a storm of voices, laughter, scents, and colors, each demanding attention, each promising something rare, something valuable, something unseen beyond these streets.

His head was on a constant swivel, trying to determine which shop or vendor deserved his interest most. There were simply too many.

One merchant, wrapped in brightly dyed silks, lifted a vial of glowing blue liquid, swearing it could "clear the mind, refresh the body, and make you ten years younger." A perfume vendor called to him next, promising “a scent so enticing, even the gods would take notice." Another, a tailor, gestured to his display of elegant suits, capes, and fitted vests, declaring that "no self-respecting gryphon should be without a fine coat to match his feathers."

Nelneras laughed as the offers stacked upon him, reveling in the attention, in the sheer energy of the place.

Then a minotaur merchant caught his eye, standing beside a rack of polished weapons, each gleaming under the afternoon sun. His colorful vest was a stark contrast to the crude, battle-tested weaponry around him.

“Your loss, gryphon!" The minotaur tapped his chest confidently, his thick fingers adorned with several rings of gold and steel. “Don't be surprised when Korde comes knocking and you're standing there with nothing but your beak and your pride!"

Nelneras smirked, flicking his tail. “You wound me, sir," he said, voice thick with feigned offense. “I am always prepared."

The minotaur snorted, unimpressed. “Not in the way that matters."

The market carried him onward, its currents pulling him through narrow alleys, past merchants boasting of everything from enchanted spices to preserved dragon scales.

Several times, he found himself stopping mid-stride just to soak it all in.

That was his mistake.

A passing gryphon bumped into him, their feathers brushing roughly against his own, the sheer force of the encounter enough to make Nelneras reel back a step.

The gryphon barely turned, barely regarded him at all, save for the irritated flick of his tail, his followers casting mildly contemptuous glances before they moved on.

"Apologies." Nelneras said smoothly, dipping his head.

It was ignored.

He clicked his beak, feathers ruffling slightly.

“Tourist." The other gryphon uttered under his breath as he struts away.

That was what they thought he was. Just another outsider, another passing visitor, a curious gryphon with no real business in their city.

He let the irritation pass, brushing it off with a slow breath. It hardly mattered.

The market was vast, and if one encounter soured the experience, there were dozens more to replace it.

He was just about to step into his third shop of the afternoon, a cozy little storefront tucked between a blacksmith's forge and a jeweler's stall, when he heard the kobold shopkeeper weaving a tale about the building's supposed history.

She was winning him over, her voice animated as she detailed its origins, how the foundation had once belonged to an old mage who went mad, convinced his broom was out to assassinate him.

He had half a mind to indulge her, to hear the rest of the tale and browse her wares, but then—

Something caught his eye.

At the far end of the marketplace, tucked beneath the shadow of a tall spire, was a shop that stood apart from the rest.

The Talon & Vine.

A dark wooden sign hung above the door, engraved with delicate curling vines wrapping around a single outstretched talon, the craftsmanship precise and meticulous.

The air shifted around it, carrying the scent of fresh herbs, rich soil, dried flowers, and alchemical, faintly metallic, sharp, the unmistakable bite of preserved reagents. A reagent shop.

Nelneras felt his feathers fluff in intrigue. He was always one to sample the flora of new kingdoms, to take home rare cuttings, exotic blends, potent mixtures that could not be found elsewhere. With a small, satisfied hum, he adjusted his path, stepping toward the entrance. He had wasted enough time today. At the very least, he would leave this city with something worth taking home.

** * * * * **

The bell above the door chimed softly, the sound lost beneath the quiet hum of enchantments that filled the air. Nelneras stepped inside, his keen senses immediately taking in the earthy scent of dried herbs, the acrid tang of crushed minerals, the faint metallic bite of alchemical fumes. The shop was clean, orderly, a place of form and function, where every jar, bundle, and vial had its purpose.

Shelves stretched from floor to ceiling, brimming with roots twisted in strange shapes, vials of glimmering dust, and flowers dried to the perfect stage of preservation. The space had been designed for both human and gryphon clientele, its layout accommodating those who walked on two legs as well as those who preferred the air, with sturdy wooden perches along the upper shelves and a rope-and-pulley system for retrieving hard-to-reach wares.

Behind the counter, a broad-shouldered gryphon with rich russet feathers and a white crest perched comfortably, his sharp golden eyes sweeping across the room with the casual confidence of a merchant who had seen it all. His beak clicked as he finished measuring a portion of dried emberroot, shaking his head at the human bartering with him.

“See something you like, feather friend?" the shopkeeper called, brushing a talon absently over the green amulet on his chest bearing the mark of Nutambar, the god of nature, two deer horns touching.

Nelneras flicked his tail, offering a lazy smirk. “Well, obviously."

What did the gryphon think he was going to do? Simply take what he wanted?

The merchant chuckled, turning his attention back to the customer at hand.

Nelneras wandered deeper into the shop, his talons trailing idly along the edges of wooden shelves, his eyes skimming over the bustling array of flora, some fresh, some dried, some preserved in oils or fine powders. He could recognize common alchemical components with but a glance as he passed over them without a second thought. He wasn't interested in the mundane.

It was in the next room that something caught his eye.

A young man stood near a display of exotic roots; head tilted as he examined the delicate handwritten labels. He was slim, with tousled black hair, his frame slight but not fragile, his loose-sleeved robe shifting with his every movement. The golden afternoon light filtered through the window, casting him in a glow that made the dust motes in the air swirl around him like suspended embers.

But Nelneras's attention did not linger on his face, nor his hands as they hovered over the vials of rare reagents.

It was the book strapped to his hip that stopped him in his tracks. Bound in aged leather, its spine gilded with intricate draconic sigils, it bore a title embossed in gold.

Nelneras had seen that book before. He had read its theories, its interpretations of spellcraft so old it predated most mortal civilizations. There were few tomes on draconic casting left in the world, and fewer still that spoke of it with accuracy.

What was something like that doing here, in this quaint little reagent shop? Intrigued, he strode forward, his talons clicking against the stone floor.

The human didn't even notice him.

Nelneras tilted his head, watching as he pulled out a small ruler, measuring the lengths of the roots against his palm. He muttered under his breath, something about form and potency, his expression one of critical evaluation rather than idle curiosity.

This human was no ordinary shopper, was he an alchemist, a scholar?

Nelneras's beak curved slightly, or perhaps he was something more if he was wielding such ancient texts.

With a confident chirp, he closed the distance, feathers sleek as he effortlessly stepped into the man's periphery.

“One does not dig through curiosities with such scrutiny unless one shares a touch of Azhadros's spirit."

The young man did not startle. He simply continued measuring, rolling the reagent between his fingers as he murmured, “Azhadros the Seeker. A blue dragon of the Old Era. He sought knowledge over riches, vanished into the Wyrmspire Peaks, never to be seen again. Some say he found the wisdom of the gods themselves."

Nelneras's ears perked slightly in surprise. His tail flicked, pleased.

The human finally glanced up at him, and then visibly hesitated, color creeping up the sides of his face as recognition flickered across his features.

Nelneras tilted his head, studying him with a lazy sort of interest.

“You know your legends," he remarked. “Didn't think I'd find someone in a shop like this who knew of such things."

A small, nervous laugh escaped the mage's lips, his fingers tightening slightly on his book. “Well… dragons are a topic of mine."

Nelneras's beak curved slightly.

He dipped his head, wings sweeping slightly outward in a display of careful poise.

“Valaros, Scion of the Hearth and Soil." he introduced smoothly, his voice a rich, warm rumble.

The human hesitated before responding. “Axton…Axton Turnvoth"

Nelneras's tail curled. “And what compels you to find dragons a topic of yours? Seldom do you see such interests in lands like these."

Axton hesitated, adjusting the book at his hip. “It's just… a bit of light reading, really."

A short, amused huff escaped Nelneras before he could stop it.

“That book," he said, nodding toward it, “Is a study of draconic casting so ancient that most people can barely comprehend it. Magic woven at the height of their rule, when wyrms dictated the very nature of spellcraft." His eyes gleamed. “I'd consider that anything but light."

The color of Axton's cheeks deepened visibly.

“I—well, I mean, I just like learning about it." His fingers brushed over the cover of the tome. “Their spellwork is… different. Powerful. Elegant. Beautiful, really."

A quiet purr of delight rumbled in Nelneras's throat.

“Beautiful?" His tone dipped lower; warmth laced with knowing amusement. “Quite the romantic view of dragons, don't you think?"

Axton flushed scarlet, fumbling over his words. “It's—not romantic! I just—" A huff, a shift of his weight, a reluctant glance away. “I admire their mastery of magic. The way they shape the world with sheer will. It's… fascinating."

A slow, satisfied hum escaped him. “To hear someone speak with such reverence for what others have long forgotten," Nelneras murmured, “is rare indeed."

Axton's fingers curled slightly against his basket.

Most people dismissed dragon magic as outdated, a relic of a past long buried beneath the achievements of modern spellwork. Few understood it for what it was.

Nelneras tilted his head, studying the man before him with renewed interest.

Axton cleared his throat, clearly flustered by the weight of Nelneras's attention. His fingers twitched as if debating whether to adjust the book at his side, though he ultimately left it alone, gripping the handle of his basket instead.

"The magic of dragons is…" He hesitated, his voice quieter now, less rehearsed. "It's not like the way we cast. They don't shape spells the way we do. There's no incantation, no formula, it's… woven, like breath and thought made real."

Nelneras hummed in approval. “A scholar's answer."

That earned him another flustered glance, Axton shifting his grip as if he'd said too much.

After a moment, he busied himself with selecting another small vial, placing it carefully in his basket before turning toward the counter. “It's just a side interest."

“Light reading, you mean?"

The mage groaned softly under his breath, clearly regretting his choice of words.

Nelneras chuckled, adjusting his wings before falling into a measured step beside him. The way Axton carried himself intrigued him. For all his stammering and visible embarrassment, he did not cower, there was confidence beneath it all, a quiet certainty in the way he assessed reagents, the way he measured magic not by appearance, but by form and function.

He found himself pleased by that.

Axton made his purchase, exchanging a few coins before offering a quick thanks to the gryphon shopkeeper. Nelneras quickly grabbed some herbs and did the same, strolling out with a charming gait.

As he stepped outside, the late afternoon sun painted the streets in shades of gold and amber, the sky tinged with the slow descent of evening. Warm light stretched long across the cobblestone, catching on the edges of fabric and feather alike as the market continued its daily hum of trade and movement.

Nelneras followed easily, ruffling his feathers against the crisp breeze. Overhead, gryphons darted between rooftops, carrying packages in their talons, weaving through airspace filled with lingering bits of spell-light and drifting banners.

The mage rose a brow, curiosity sparkling within his gaze, his tone was soft, uncertain, wary. “Are you going this way?"

A chuckle escaped Nelneras' beak to ward away his fears, “I was supposed to meet someone, but alas, fate had other plans in store. Mind if I tag along?"

There was a pause, Axton thinking it over, clearly not upset by the offer. With a sigh the mage continued. “I suppose not."

They walked in companionable silence for a short distance, passing merchants selling roasted meats, their stalls billowing with the scent of spice and charred honey. Nearby, an armorer polished a set of finely etched bracers, his anvil ringing as he tested a blade's edge.

Nelneras glanced sideways, watching the way Axton's eyes scanned the market not for spectacle, but for details, noting which vendors had uncommon wares, which artifacts held traces of lingering enchantment. He did not look upon things like a mere passerby. That, too, was interesting.

“So," Nelneras mused after a moment, “What brings you to a place like this?"

The question earned a skeptical look. “What makes you think I don't live here?"

A small chuckle escaped him. “You browse like a scholar, but you study like a traveler. There's purpose in it. A local would pass through without half the care."

Axton looked away, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “I work for the queen." he admitted at last.

Both ears perked at that. “You work for the queen?"

A flicker of mischief glinted in Axton's expression. “I do."

Nelneras tilted his head, eyeing him with mild amusement. “And yet you're in such a quaint shop?"

“There's a reason for that." Axton said simply, gesturing to the street behind them. “True, the court has access to just about everything we need, but places like these? They hold things you won't find in royal inventories. Sometimes only certain merchants with connections to the right places in the world might hold what is required. “

A purr of satisfaction rumbled in Nelneras's throat. “A rare breed indeed, Master Mage."

The compliment made Axton glance away, fingers tightened on the strap of his satchel.

Nelneras's wings fluffed slightly as he closed the distance between them, just enough to brush the tips of his wing against Axton's shoulder.

“Very few mages would consider such detail, most would find a working substitute." he continued, watching the way the mage reacted to the proximity.

The pause that followed stretched just long enough for Axton to feel the weight of it.

He shifted uncomfortably, adjusting his grip on his basket. “And what brings you to Entis?"

“What makes you think I'm visiting?"

 “I noticed your accent," he said. “You're from Rothdell, aren't you?"

The observation drew a flick of the tail, a note of approval glinting in Nelneras's golden gaze.

“Indeed." he admitted.

“You don't hear the Rothdell enunciations often," Axton continued, adjusting his basket. “Not since…" He hesitated, eyes narrowing in thought before he looked back at Nelneras, testing. “I take it you were not there when it fell?"

Nelneras chuckled, fluffing his feathers, allowing Axton to think he'd been spot on.

“Most astute," he mused, tilting his head as if considering him in a new light. “But tell me, Master Mage, do you always carry tomes of dragon magic for light reading, or is this a special occasion?"

Axton exhaled sharply through his nose, more at himself than at Nelneras. “I'm never going to live that down, am I?"

“Not if I can help it." The smile Axton gave him was small but genuine.

“Though I did come to Entis to find someone," Nelneras sighed. “Alas, it would seem my knight is in another castle."

“Friend?"

“Something like that."

A long breath escaped him, though there was no real frustration behind it.

“But while I address the mistake, I decided to go see the sights, the people, sample what the city has to offer." He gestured vaguely to the market around them. “Such is the splendor of life."

For a moment, his eyes lingered on Axton, gleaming in the dimming light.

“Thankfully," he murmured, “something caught my eye and demanded my attention."

Axton blinked. “Oh? And what was that?"

A slow, knowing smile curved at the edge of Nelneras' beak. “I'm always curious about the people I visit."

Understanding did not immediately dawn on the mage, but the moment it did, color bloomed across his face with a vengeance.

Nelneras's tail swayed just slightly, pleased beyond measure.

The crowd thickened as the market narrowed into a main thoroughfare, where vendors clustered their stalls beneath wide awnings and stone-built storefronts. The scent of roasting meat and honeyed pastries clashed against the sharper bite of potion fumes, the air thick with the sound of traders barking deals, the rhythmic clang of a blacksmith testing the edge of a newly forged blade.

Nelneras walked with an unhurried ease, talons tapping lightly against the worn cobblestone, each step effortless. The mage beside him, however, moved with a noticeable shift in his gait, something just barely short of quickened.

A subtle sign. The effect of their conversation was lingering, no matter how much the man tried to will it away, charming.

Nelneras let his wings shift slightly at his sides, the movement calculated, not wide enough to impose, but just enough to close the space between them for the briefest of moments. The mage did not step away, but he did grip the strap of his satchel a fraction tighter.

He let the silence between them stretch.

Axton glanced toward the passing stalls, his eyes flicking over wares with only the barest interest, clearly searching for something to say.

“Well," the man finally said, his voice measured, neutral, though the grip on his basket betrayed an edge of tension. “I suppose you might as well see something worthwhile while you're here."

Nelneras did not respond immediately. Instead, he let his head tilt slightly, watching Axton's face as the words left his beak. “Oh?" His voice was rich with interest, though he kept the true amusement from slipping through.

The mage's shoulders tensed, just barely. Regret, perhaps.

“The arena has a demonstration later tonight." The words came with forced nonchalance, as if he had already decided to ignore whatever conversation this would turn into. “Mostly for entertainment, but there's a duelist performing who uses hybrid magic. Blends human casting with traditional Ceullus channeling."

Nelneras smirked, “Now that sounds like a lovely evening, would enjoy it more if I went with someone who knew the finer details on the art."

Axton's head snapped toward him, his expression utterly unreadable for half a breath.

The mage said nothing for a long second, his posture caught somewhere between stiffness and motion, as if unsure whether to keep walking or stop.

Something about that reaction pleased him, more than it should have.

“I—" Axton started, then stopped.

The rest of his sentence fell into muttering incomprehensibility, something Nelneras did not entirely bother to piece together.

He kept his expression relaxed, though he made no effort to hide the knowing glint in his eyes.

Axton straightened abruptly, his stance too quick, too forced.

“I merely meant to suggest it," he said at last, the words clipped, businesslike. “It's one of the more unique performances you'll find here. Take it or leave it."

Nelneras let the moment stretch, watching the way Axton deliberately avoided looking at him now.

Then, smoothly, he said, “Oh, I'll take it."

The mage gripped his basket a fraction tighter. Axton muttered something under his breath, something undoubtedly unflattering, and turned away as if the conversation had never happened.

Nelneras let him go, watching the way his shoulders remained squared, his back too straight, the tension still coiled beneath every deliberate step. The mage clung to the illusion of control, as if walking away might somehow undo the moment entirely.

He exhaled slowly, a hum of amusement beneath his breath as he fell into step beside him. His tail swayed lightly behind him.

Axton said nothing. His grip on the strap of his satchel, however, was just a little too tight.

“You seem troubled, Master Mage."

Axton's voice came clipped, too quickly to be fully natural. “I'm not."

Nelneras let a smirk curve at the edges of his beak. “So that wasn't you muttering curses a moment ago?"

“That," Axton said, his tone painfully measured, “was not directed at you."

A slow flick of Nelneras's tail allowed the feathered tip to brush briefly against the hem of Axton's robe.

“Ah," he mused, “so the only unfortunate soul subjected to your wrath is yourself?"

Nelneras let the silence stretch, letting Axton sit with the weight of it.

The pause was just long enough before he continued, his voice touched with idle amusement. “Or perhaps you're still thinking about my offer."

Axton adjusted his satchel as though the weight had suddenly shifted.

Nelneras chuckled, a deep, rolling sound in his throat. “I thought as much."

A measured breath left Axton's lips, a deliberate action, something controlled, something practiced. The kind of breath someone took to rein in their own thoughts before they betrayed too much.

“I don't know what you think I'm considering."

“The arena."

“That was a suggestion, not an invitation."

A knowing gleam sparked Nelneras's gaze. “If that's what you need to tell yourself."

Axton stopped walking.

Nelneras had to pause for the first time, lest he overshoot him.

The mage turned, expression caught somewhere between exasperation and barely checked frustration, his ice blue eyes locked onto him with a weight that might have been withering.

Silence stretched. Then, finally, “You are—"

A pause. The edges of Nelneras's beak curved slightly, his wings shifting just enough to show his attentiveness.

“Yes?"

Axton inhaled through his nose, eyes narrowing in visible restraint. “…Infuriating."

Laughter, rich and warm, rumbled from Nelneras's chest, the sound curling low, almost purr like. “A common observation."

The mage glowered.

They remained in that delicate tension, the air between them sharpened into something more than simple banter.

Then, finally, as if he had reached the end of his patience, Axton exhaled and muttered, “Eight bells."

Nelneras arched a brow. “So, you were considering it?"

No answer. Axton turned briskly, as if determined to escape before the conversation unraveled any further.

Nelneras let him go, watching the slight but undeniable stiffness in his posture, the residual heat lingering at the tips of his ears.

He let Axton put a few more steps between them before calling out, voice smooth as silk. “Before you disappear entirely, Master Mage…"

Axton didn't stop walking, but there was hesitation. A small misstep. A pause too long to be casual.

Nelneras smiled.

He stepped forward, just slightly, closing the distance by half a breath, letting his voice drop into something smooth, something rich, something just shies of indulgent.

“Should you wish to spend the evening in my company," he murmured, “you'll find me at The Gilded Feather."

Axton stiffened.

Not much, not visible to anyone else. But Nelneras saw the way his breath hitched for half a second, the way his grip shifted again on his satchel.

Oh, he was listening.

Nelneras let his gaze trace the curve of his jaw, the faint heat still lingering at the edges of his ears. The reaction was unmistakable, it was of a man who wanted to flee but also wanted to know more.

“I would not mind enjoying a drink," he continued with amusement. “And perhaps a meal with a most captivating man such as yourself."

That got him.

Axton swallowed. His fingers curled too tightly at his sides, his body language wound so carefully closed that it only betrayed the effect.

The color on his cheeks deepened visibly, creeping high enough that even the late afternoon light couldn't mask it. His breath caught.

Nelneras knew that look. Knew that kind of hesitation. Knew the moment when someone was desperately trying not to react. How utterly delightful.

Axton adjusted his grip, “Oh… oh?"

The soft, startled quality of the word sent a slow, curling pleasure through Nelneras's chest. “Indeed," he purred.

The moment hung between them, stretched taut, waiting to snap. Then, smoothly, he inclined his head.

Not an exaggerated bow, just enough to acknowledge what had been exchanged. Just enough to let the tension coil and settle, waiting to be unraveled.

And then, with the same unshaken ease he had carried from the very start, he turned and left the mage curious on who he just meet.