CHAPTER 1 - Chapter 20: First Watch

Chapter 20: First Watch

The perimeter was secure. Nelneras had spent the last half-hour ensuring it, circling their rocky outcrops like a golden sentinel, eyes half-lidded but mind sharply alert. The sun had begun its slow descent, slipping beneath the lip of the western cliffs, bleeding its final hues across the Twilight Plains far below. Shadows stretched like reaching claws, and above them, the first stars blinked into existence, quiet and watchful, like ancient friends returning home.

He liked this time. When light and dark held equal sway. When the sky whispered of older days and memory grew long.

The ground here was sharp, rock and bramble, thorn and grit. He moved carefully, inspecting every broken twig, every patch of grass that leaned too eagerly in the wind, marking with magic and scent. A draconic precaution, not strictly necessary. He had argued that with Roran, naturally.

“I’m a dragon,” he had said, voice smooth with pride. “I am the perimeter.”

But the wolven had insisted. Stubborn as old stone in a riverbed. And so Nelneras had relented, if only to humor him.

The flight after he’d plucked Axton up hadn’t taken long, just the last stretch of their path from Lumara into the edges of what was once Rothdell. But they had precious little time to waste. Every hour mattered. He had already given too many away, lingering in Entis longer than planned, attending Axton’s birthday, waiting for the mage to gather his courage.

Some would call it wasted time. He preferred to think of it as an investment. Axton didn’t see the potential in himself yet. But Nelneras did. Saw it burning quietly beneath that nervous laugh, in the care behind every question, the reverence with which he handled spellcraft was as if magic itself might break if held too tightly.

It was something to work with, something to grow. He just hoped Valcagor wouldn’t dock their pay for being late. Who was he kidding though? The bastard would dock them anyway, anything to spare him the cruel pain of giving away his coin.

Nelneras snorted, the sound low and sharp. A porcupine startled in the grass nearby, bolting for the underbrush with a panicked rustle. Smart creature. He watched it vanish, then stretched his wings once, lazily. The sky yawned wide above.

Back at camp, the others had made themselves comfortable. Their resting place was well-chosen, a defensible perch nestled in a cradle of stone, overlooking a steep slope that would give early warning if anything tried to approach from below. Axton had insisted using a spell to shield them away from sight and conflict, something he called a tiny hut. Roran of course had declined, insisting they were going to rough it. Though despite this, Nelneras had seen no point for the defensible position.

“I am the defense.” he’d said with a playful growl.

 “Yeah, well, no harm in a little redundancy, right?” Roran had merely grinned, tail flicking.

He didn’t say it, but he suspected the wolven just liked building camps. Or maybe he was trying to impress him. Either possibility amused him.

They had even managed to build a decent fire, no small, smoldering thing, but a real blaze. It crackled now with pride, fat logs popping, casting warm gold over armor-less fur and leather-bound books.

Roran was leaning back against a stone, sleeves rolled, his breastplate removed and forgotten beside him, roasting a skewered rabbit. Beside him, Axton was seated cross-legged, nose buried in a sketchbook, brow furrowed in that deeply endearing way he had when concentrating.

Rabbit sizzled over the fire, juices hissing as Roran slowly rotated the skewer. “Seasoned it this time,” he said. “Used those little white herbs you wouldn’t shut up about. Smells better, yeah?”

“Moonroot,” Axton murmured, eyes fixed on his sketchbook. “You didn’t crush the stems, did you?”

There was silence for a moment, “Crush is such a strong word.” Roran muttered.

Axton gave an exasperated sigh, “Every single time. I give you one instruction, and you pulverize it like you’re tenderizing a troll.”

“They were handled,” came the indignant reply, “with all the reverence of a seasoned stew artist.”

“With a war hammer, maybe.”

“The stems were fine. Herbs aren’t royalty, they don’t get to complain.”

“They do when they go bitter,” Axton shot back, finally looking up. “Which they do. When. You. Bruise. Them.”

“You sure it’s not just your attitude making it taste that way?” The wolven grinned as he turned the spit again. “You get your tail in a twist when I outcook you.”

The mage clutched his sketchbook to his chest. “If it tastes like wet bark again, I swear I’m hexing your taste buds.”

“Oh no,” Roran deadpanned. “The dreaded ‘Bitter Tongue’ curse. Truly, my days are numbered.”

“You should be afraid.”

“I’m not. Because deep down, you want my rabbit.” He bit off a crisp piece, chewed smugly. “And I don’t mean that as a euphemism. This time.”

Axton’s blush could’ve lit the fire by itself. “You’re impossible.”

Nelneras slunk into the firelight with a low amused huff, scales whispering over the stone like wind through gold. Neither of them startled, not even a flinch. He hid how much that pleased him. “I must admit,” he said, voice as smooth as molten coin, “for a pair so prone to squabbling over herbs, you’ve managed not to poison the meat. That’s progress.”

 “See? Told you I could cook.” Roran barked a laugh.

“Debatable.” Axton muttered.

“I’ll let you decide for yourself in a minute,” the wolven added, turning the rabbit with exaggerated care. “Unless the bitter moonroot gets him first.”

 “Then I suppose I’ll enjoy the bickering more than the rabbit.” Nelneras smiled, sharp and fond, before settling his coiled form around them. “Seasoned quarrels make fine company.”

 “Careful, or we’ll start charging admission. Some of us put real effort into our seasoning.”

“I was helping,” Axton said. “If someone didn’t keep bruising every herb, I hand him…”

“That’s flavor, thank you very much.” The wolven leaned back with a smug grin, fangs glinting. “Adds character. Like a smoky insult.”

Axton rolled his eyes, though the corner of his mouth betrayed a smile. “You’re the only person I know who thinks overcooking something makes it tougher.”

“Exactly. Builds jaw strength.”

The dragon’s gaze drifted to the leather-bound sketchbook resting on Axton’s lap. “And what are you doing,” he murmured, letting his snout dip low, “while your friend handles his meat?”

The book snapped shut with a slap, pressed to his chest as though shielding a scandal. “Nothing!” Axton squeaked. “It’s nothing!”

“Mm.” Nelneras’ nostrils flared, sending a warm breath through the boy’s hair. “Are you certain? It looked rather detailed for ‘nothing.’ Perhaps... was it me?” His smile curled, sharp and gleaming. “Or him? Or something else entirely?”

“It’s not finished!” Axton blurted, cheeks scarlet. “So, it doesn’t count.”

“Please,” Roran scoffed. “He just doesn’t want you seeing it because, let’s be honest, it's obviously you.”

“Roran!” Axton hissed, eyes sharp as swords.

“What?” Roran shrugged, licking a bit of grease off his claw. “It’s not like he’s not goanna guess. You’re being utterly obvious.”

It was of him? Nelneras made a low, satisfied sound in his chest, just enough to make the mage squirm under his gaze. He flared his nostrils again, deliberately this time, and gave a slow exhale that made Axton duck with a squeak. “Is that so?” he murmured. “I’m sure that’s quite flattering.”

“You can see it,” Axton stammered, cheeks bright as sunrise, “when it’s done. Not a second sooner.” He shot a glare at Roran. “And you…stop helping.”

“I think it looks alright.” Roran said, ignoring the glare completely.

“It’s not perfect.”

“Perfect this, perfect that.” the wolven muttered, chewing.

Axton squirmed, clearly desperate to redirect the conversation. “So,” he blurted, “did you finish setting up the perimeter?”

“I did,” Nelneras purred. “Alarm spell. And… a little extra.”

“Oh, I’ve got one too!” Axton perked. “An exceptional version. Works great. Shriek ward with a proximity pulse.”

“That the one that screams like an owlbear?” Roran asked.

“Uh-huh.”

“You shouldn’t be proud of that, Ax. I had nightmares for a week.”

Nelneras chuckled, flicking an ember from his claws. “I added something to mine too. To keep animals away.”

 “What, like scent masking? Magic deterrents?” Axton tilted his head, smiling.

“Nope. He peed on everything.” Roran cut in before Nelneras could answer.

 “What?” Axton turned slowly.

Roran nodded sagely. “Marked the rocks. The trees. Maybe your backpack.”

“Roran!”

“What?” he said innocently. “That’s what dragons do, right?” He looked at Nelneras. “That’s what you did, yeah?”

 “I left my scent, yes.” Nelneras gave a long, luxurious blink.

“You-” Axton’s jaw hung loose. “You pissed around the camp? That’s disgusting!”

“It’s quite the deterrent,” Nelneras chuckled at how flustered the man was getting, “Not many creatures catch a whiff of dragon and decide to press their luck.”

“Unless” Roran added with his mouth full, “you’re trying to attract a dragon.”

“Roran!” Axton practically combusted.

“What? It’s a valid question.”

“No,” Nelneras said, closing his eyes with a deep sigh. “I typically use my words for that.”

The sun was nothing but a smoldering ember at the edge of the world now, draping the Twilight Plains in gold so thick it looked like the land itself had been set aflame. Shadows stretched long and quiet across the grass, and the warmth of the day gave way to the hush of evening. They’d eaten, they’d laughed; and now, like all camps before sleep, the talk turned to stories.

“Do you tell tales to the stars?” Nelneras asked, gaze turned toward the lavender sky. “It’s something we did, back on the farm. Not for the stars to answer, but because someone always needs to remember.”

Axton, curled beside his pack with his knees hugged to his chest, tilted his head. “What kind of stories?”

Roran, flat on his back beside the fire, one foot twitching in the air, grinned. “Let me guess, it’s about how he burned down half a village trying to roast corn.”

“I didn’t,” Nelneras said flatly. “It was only the silo.”

“Oh, that’s better.” Axton deadpanned, and all three laughed.

Nelneras huffed, feigning offense as he leaned into the crook of a sun-warmed boulder. His voice softened. “I was raised on a farm; you know that part. But I don’t think I told you what one of my first jobs was.”

Axton perked up, already curious.

“I was the scarecrow.”

“What?” Roran barked a laugh. “Like, literally?”

“Well, more accurately, the crow scarer.” Nelneras rumbled, a low, amusing sound. “Whenever crows would gather, I’d leap up from the wheat and roar at them. It became… a bit of a game.”

“Did it work?” Axton asked, smiling.

“Only too well. I scared more than just birds. Once, I made a merchant’s horse drop dead from fright. My father was not pleased.”

That got Roran chuckling, nearly snorting on his own laugh.

“Eventually,” Nelneras went on, “my mother made me wear a big red ribbon around my horn. Said it made me look ‘less like a monster, more like the family pet.’” He shook his head, chuckling. “Didn’t help.”

“But you wore it anyway.” Axton guessed.

“Of course,” Nelneras replied, nostrils flaring fondly. “Because she asked me to.”

He looked up at the stars, eyes glinting like coins warmed by firelight. “That ribbon got torn during my first real flight. But sometimes… I still feel it there. Like a thread tying me to something gentler. Something I didn’t realize was rare, back then.”

There was a pause, then Roran, resting on one elbow, muttered with a grin, “I mean, I’d pay good coin to see a big gold dragon leaping out of wheat with a bow on his horn. That’s gotta be adorable.”

 “It was majestic, thank you.” Nelneras snorted, blowing Roran’s hair into a wind-tossed mess.

“I bet.” the paladin chuckled, fixing his fur.

Axton laughed quietly, pressing a hand to his lips to stifle it. “Maybe I’ll draw it.”

“I’ll pose for you,” Nelneras said smoothly, “but only if you promise to capture my good side.”

“You don’t have a bad side.” Axton blurted, then froze as the dragon turned, tilting his head. “I meant, that is…um, I mean anatomically you’re—” He immediately buried his face in his blanket.

Roran threw his head back, wheezing with laughter. “Oh gods, Ax, just marry him already.”

Nelneras let it slide, a smug purr rising from his chest, and coiled his tail a little closer. “Later. Perhaps.”

With the mood lightened, the talk drifted, as it always did, into who would take first watch.

“I told you.” Nelneras rolled his eyes a flick of his tail. “There’s an alarm spell. I’ve scented the perimeter. No creature with a nose is coming near us.”

“Dragon or no, I want a watch.” Roran insisted, arms crossed and tone firm.

Nelneras gave him a look, half amused, half exasperated. “Fine. But if nothing happens, I reserve the right to gloat.”

“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”

And so, it was decided: Nelneras would take the first shift, with the two others bedding down beside the fire. As the others closed their eyes and breathing stilled, the dragon sighed, settling into his watch. The stars wheeled overhead, steady and slow, as Nelneras kept silent guard, but the ribbon still tugged gently at his memory.

** * * * * * * * * * **

The stars wheeled above like slow-turning silver cogs, each one etched into the firmament with ancient precision. They blinked cold light down upon the sleeping world below with the kind of stillness that felt carved rather than born.

Nelneras watched the fire crackle beside the bedrolls. Roran had slumped easily into sleep, one arm across his chest. Axton, however, had curled into himself more tightly, like a parchment scrolled too long beneath the weight of worry. Even now, his fingers twitched faintly in his sleep, brushing imaginary threads.

It reminded Nelneras of home. Of a different fire, long ago.

His thoughts wandered, not to the chaos of Rothdell beyond the hills, but to a patch of earth behind the family stable, where summer grass grew too wild and the goats wandered if left unsupervised. There, beneath a crooked tree, he and his siblings had once pitched their idea of a “campsite”, just a blanket and a half-wobbled fire ring. It hadn’t been far, no great journey, but they’d acted like explorers staking a claim on some forgotten wild. He remembered laughing until their sides ached, telling ghost stories they invented on the spot, and piling on each other for warmth when the breeze picked up.

Their parents had watched from the porch, faces lit by lantern glow, his mother humming, his father smiling with arms crossed. A memory as old as it was beloved.

They’re all gone now. Even the tree had fallen. Nelneras blinked slowly, his gaze unfocused as the memories folded around him. The crackling fire sent soft flecks skyward, tiny orange sparks lifting like wandering souls. They made him think of his mother’s laugh, the way it used to carry on the wind when she called the goats back at dusk. Or his father’s rough-spun jacket that always smelled like smoke and salt. The memories weren’t sharp anymore, not painful like barbs, but blurred and softened by time, like old sketches in the rain.

Still, even blurred, they could wound. Despite the fire's warmth, a cold had seeped into his scales. A familiar chill that crept through the armor of age and pride. He shifted, talons curling into the earth. Grief was a sly hunter; it didn't charge in horns-first. It padded softly, waited for quiet moments like this, then pressed its teeth gently into your throat.

That was when he heard the sound. A soft whimper.

His eyes turned sharply to Axton, whose brow had furrowed in sleep. The mage shifted beneath his blanket, mouth twitching, breath uneven. Nelneras tilted his head, curious. Dreams, no doubt. Perhaps a stray anxiety, a flicker of stress, he’d seen it before in non-dragons. They often dreamed more than his kind.

But then the twitching became a squirm. And the squirm turned into thrashing. Axton jerked suddenly, arms flailing, one foot kicking free of his blanket. He gasped sharply, wordless, but strangled, like someone slipping beneath dark water.

Nelneras rose without hesitation. He padded softly to the mage’s side and bent low, his voice no louder than wind in reeds.

“Axton. Wake up.”

No response. He nudged the young man’s shoulder with the bridge of his snout, firm but gentle. Once. Twice. On the third nudge, the boy gasped awake.

“Nel—Nelneras?” Axton blinked up at him, wild-eyed, voice rough. He stared at the dragon’s snout as though it was some vision pulled from the dream itself.

“That it is.” His voice came soft, warm and low. “Worry not. You’re awake now.”

Axton blinked again, slower this time. “Awake…” He sounded unconvinced. His hand reached up instinctively, fingers brushing Nelneras’ cheek before he jerked them back with a mortified wince. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright.” Nelneras offered a low chuckle. “I don’t growl and snarl over a simple touch.”

“Good.” The mage sagged forward, rubbing his eyes. “Sorry if I woke you…”

“I wasn’t asleep.” Nelneras watched him carefully. “Though you nearly kicked your way into the next campfire over. What in all the realms were you dreaming about?”

The human flinched at the question.

“Was it a night hag?” the dragon teased, trying to keep the tone light. “Should I be concerned? Has some ancient crone staked claim on you in your sleep?”

“No.” The answer came too fast, too brittle.

“Then what?” Nelneras tilted his head. “It looked anything but normal.”

“It is,” Axton snapped, turning away. “Just drop it.”

The shift in tone drew Nelneras up short. He let the silence settle before speaking again, quieter. “You know… burying things only works for so long.”

Axton didn’t respond.

“I’m not asking you to bare your soul,” the dragon added, “but you can’t convince me that flailing like a wounded hare is ‘just a bad dream.’ That’s a story for strangers.”

Another pause. He waited. Watched. Felt. Finally, the mage exhaled a tired, fragile sigh. “I’ve had them since I was thirteen.”

Nelneras tilted his head. A flicker of warmth stirred behind his eyes. “Every night?”

“Not every. But enough.” Axton pulled his knees to his chest, arms wrapping around them tightly. “They’re… awful. But I’m used to them.”

“Used to them,” Nelneras echoed, skeptical. “Did you handle them alone?”

“No.” The word was thick. “I had Pyretalon.”

A soft huff left the dragon. “The gryphon?”

A nod. “He always rested with me. Secured me in his paws, held close against him…Sometimes that was enough to stop them before they started.”

“Ah,” Nelneras murmured. “A feathered night warden.”

 “Something like that.”

“Was it his presence,” Nelneras asked, “or the comfort of knowing someone stayed?”

Axton didn’t answer immediately. Then, in a quieter voice, “Both.”

The dragon shifted, studying the man beside him, someone brave enough to leave behind the very thing that used to keep the nightmares away.

“You’ve made a hard choice,” Nelneras said softly. “Coming with me.”

 “That’s not—”

“I know courage when I see it,” he interrupted. “And I know fear, too. One doesn’t cancel the other.”

The mage looked down, a flicker of guilt behind his lashes.

“I remember the first time I left the farm,” Nelneras said suddenly, his voice turning warm. “I was old enough to be a bit too large for the house, too proud for the village, too hungry to stay where I was. My parents didn’t stop me. They just packed my satchel with dried fruit and told me to be kind.”

Axton listened, slowly turning back toward him.

“I thought I was prepared,” the dragon went on. “Wings full of wind. Heart full of fire. But that first night in the wilderness, alone? I curled up like a hatchling and whispered their names like spells. Just to feel safe.”

 “You don’t seem the type to get scared.”

“That’s because I’ve made peace with the part of me that does.” He turned his head, turquoise depths meeting icy blue ones. “Fear is honest. So is longing. They’re just... signs of something worth keeping.”

Another long silence stretched between them. The fire had gone nearly cold, but the warmth between them lingered, pulled by something deeper than flame.

 “I shouldn’t have left like I did.” Axton’s voice came hesitantly.

“You don’t have to tell me why,” Nelneras said, “but I know this: you came with me because you believed it mattered. That’s enough…and I’m glad that you came.

“Thanks.” Blushed Axton, laying down to admire the sky. A calm settled over them for a moment or two before the man sighed, “He held me, you know. When it was really bad, he tucked his wings around me so tight I could barely move.” He offered a nervous smile. “Unless you’re offering to let me sleep in your forepaws, I’m not sure I’ll get back to sleep tonight.”

Nelneras huffed. “Is that all?”

He rose slightly, wings shifting open as he stretched out one foreleg. “If cuddling is what’s required to get my apprentice functional by sunrise, so be it. You may snuggle to your heart’s content.”

The silence that followed was perfect. Axton stared, as if his mind had tripped over itself mid-step. “You’re not serious.”

“I’m warm, I don’t bite, and I’m far softer than I look,” Nelneras replied, smug. “Your emotional support dragon awaits.”

Axton groaned, rose, steps coming tentatively before he flopped against his scales, red to the ears. “If you tell Roran about this—”

“I would never waste good blackmail material so soon.” The dragon curled protectively around him, tucking the man into the curve of his chest.

A breath. Then another. And slowly, the tension in Axton’s limbs faded. “Thank you.” he murmured, barely audible.

Nelneras said nothing, only draped a wing across the mage like a second blanket, and remained still as moonlight crept across the man's face. He watched a silent sentinel at the border of his dreams.