Craumont lives and grows, as all cities do. For every familiar landmark, there's ten new faces around it— and I feel it keenly here, in this plaza. The blacksmith's hammer clangs, but the man who made my first gauntlets has been replaced by his son. The grimy tavern where I'd met a brawler is now a reputable inn.

  But children still play here, elders still gossip, and stalls hawk their wares. That, at least, is the same... and more importantly, the snacks I came for exist in abundance. I'd hate to detour further when I have an appointment to make.

  "Wooah! You're a ! Mom, look!"

  I look up from my perusal of sausages, and then when something rubs up against my tail. And there, staring directly up, is a child with the certainty of a trained Mage. Not a dreg of doubt gleams in those massive eyes, only the absolute wonder of... me. I guess.

  "I think I'll take the sausages cut and grilled like the rest, maybe in a bread pocket?" I say absently, reaching onto the hot metal plate with my claws to pick up some of the sizzling sausage. Impressive how this kid can just hold my gaze the way adults fear to do. So, I smile back without baring teeth.

  “Dragons are pretty cool, but I'm actually closer to a drake— I’m a Drake Mageblood, or, ah,” I frown. “Drakeblood, Scaleblood I guess? There’s lots of words for it.”

  Not that the difference will mean anything to this kid, of course. Now, where's a parent? This one seems a little young to have run of the streets. “Did you rush ahead of your mom, kid? You called for her.”

  “I didn't wanna wait. Dragons are the best but I guess drakes are cool too. The dragons on the radio could breathe fire! Can you breathe fire?" The kid beams up at me, and I take a moment to slide some coin over to the owner of the stand. We exchange glances, and the bemusement in her eyes is matched by my own.

  "No, I can't breathe fire, which sucks. But I can manipulate Lightning and Wind! Which is..." I quirk my lips, turning a little further so I can show them a few sparks of Lightning between my claws. “Where were you listening to a ? There’s almost none of that in the Ayldom.”

  Those eyes, gormless, guileless, and entirely without mercy, gleam in the violet Lightning's glow. “Why?”

  "Why what?" And I'm not pouting at their lack of reaction to my Lightning. I can see how their eyes are fixed to it, so clearly they're enthralled. They still haven’t answered the radio question, but that might be a lost cause.

  "When I'm a dragon, I wanna breathe fire. Like this!" The kid makes a gesture with their hands, miming flame from their mouth. The noises they make aren't half bad. “Why can't you?”

  “Because I have Wind and Lightning,” I explain again, and I curl my tail away now that the kid's hands are off it. Their eyes jump down to follow, of course. “No Fire. I'm trying to learn, though. Where's your mom?”

  “She's right there!” The kid says, pointing vaguely into the crowd. “Mom! Look, a dragon!”

  “Drake. My scales are identical to those of a mountain drake,” I correct absently. Ah, there's someone jumping at being called , and here she comes. Same dark skin as the kid, not that it means anything, so... probably the right mother?

  I really need a trick to show people when they ask if I can breathe fire. Lightning can heat air until it glows, maybe I can do something there? I drag my tail along the cobbled street, and my eye twitches when the kid touches my tail again.

  “Madam? Your sausage pocket is done.”

  Yess. I look over, give her a smile— no teeth shown of course— and take the food from her waiting hand. “Excellent.”

  Chatting with an excited child, and eating hot food. Not a bad way to waste time, and possibly even a good one. Though the kid in question is about to get a talking-to, from the expression on the mother's face.

  "Darell! I saw you touching her tail,” and sure enough, she does jump right into it, sparing a moment to give me an apologetic look. "Did you ask?”

  "Um.” Their hand jerks away from my tail, going behind their body. "Miss, can I touch your tail?"

  My tail twitches slightly, and I hum. I don't usually deal with kids and parents, so...

  Looking down at the kid, I step to the side of the stand and curl my tail up. “You can touch it more if you'd like, sure.”

  “Yes!” they cheer, and their hands grab right for the tip of my tail. “It's so cool. I want a tail. Mom, can I get a tail?”

  “That's not up to me, dear.” The mother runs a hand through her curly hair, sighing. “I'm sorry, miss. He's usually very polite, but—”

  “He's never seen a Drake Mageblood before. Or an actual drake, I imagine,” I finish wryly, gesturing back at the kid with my free claws. “Actually, kid. Darell. I got my tail because I'm a Mageblood. You'd have to get trained in magic to get one...”

  I stop myself before I can explain the intricacies, shaking my head. “Yeah, just ask your mother. And apology accepted, miss. He's not doing any— hey, stop tugging, please. That's attached to my spine.”

  My tail, just like the rest of me, is quite resilient. But tugging on my tailtip and twisting it to inspect the underside still .

  “Darell, don't tug at people's tails.” And now she looks really apologetic, as if she wasn't already. “I'm sorry, miss.”

  I wave her off, tensing my tail so the kid can't actually tug it anymore. “Thanks, and don't worry. I've dealt with far worse, and I say he could touch my tail.”

  “Mooom, you're not listening! Can I get a tail?”

  I snicker, lips curling back a bit. “I'm Ivy, by the way.”

  “Karine, nice to meet you. And again, dear, growing a tail isn't up to me. Ivy...” She looks at me, and I shrug.

  “If you work with magic and you want a tail, you just might!” I grin this time, hiding my teeth when Karine flinches. “That's how I got mine, along with... everything else.”

  “Oooh! I wanna do magic. Then I can breathe fire, too!”

  Technically it'd be breathing Fire, the archetype of magical flame. “Hey, Lightning is just as cool, you know.”

  “No it isn't,” he says with absolute certainty. “Dragons breathe fire, and they're the coolest.”

  “Is that true? Everybody I know's been born with their traits. Not that I don't believe you, of course.” Karine adds the last part hastily, taking a few steps further to sit down on a bench. I prefer this side— benches looking in towards the little park, rather than looking out at the stalls.

  “It's true!” I say with pride, gesturing down at myself. I turn back towards Darrell, scooching to give him room and get closer to the bench. “I was a beanpole before, you know. Shorter, with red hair. Started learning Magecraft, grew some scales... it's tough finding tutors out here, though.”

  “Red hair?” Karine mutters, brow furrowing. “That sounds...”

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  Looks like my time is about to be up.

  There's a bit of an audience now, but I ignore them. Instead, I focus on tugging my tailtip away from the kid, no matter how hard he pouts. “So just be good for your mom, alright? You just might get to be a cool dragon someday.”

  “And breathe fire?” His eyes are and Adamantine give me strength, I can't bear to let adorable children down.

  “Maybe. Fire doesn't like me very much. But, I've got important Delver things to do,” I kneel, tapping the kid on the nose with a claw. “Good luck, Darrell.”

  “Wait! Are you ?”

  Sure enough, Karine's figured it out. Rising again, I give them both a nod and fill my mouth with delectable sausage.

  “Have a nice day,” I say around my food, tail clicking along the cobbles. “Oh, and Karine, you've raised a good kid.”

  And, being a Drake Mageblood with cool Wind and Lightning magic, I can rush on out of there faster than anyone can get a word in. I’lll keep my pouting in my own head along with my wounded pride.

  Gods, though. I should've ordered two pockets, Gelson probably wants food after all the interviews.

  “Oh, you've found lunch. Good.”

  She's leaning against a lamppost, chewing on a sandwich that looks to be cabbage but smells of chicken. Not as excellent as my sausage pocket, I'm certain, even if it might be wheat... no, that's a bit yellow, it's probably the usual potato.

  It's also entirely irrelevant, so I shake my head and focus on what Gelson is saying.

  “Good afternoon, Dame,” Gelson replies, inclining her head. “The interview was informative.”

  Yes, of course, the interview. Business, the investigation, and my father's schemes.

  “Was he lying, too? Alain, I mean.” I gesture outward, glancing up and down the street. It's not exactly empty, but I can't help but ask. Was it a bigger lie that Helena had been dragged into? Defending her Church, her family? All I can do is speculate.

  She hums, eyes tracing the lines of Craumont.

  “His testimony matched the guards’ perfectly,” she says slowly, each word enunciated with delicate precision. “Helena was sent down by Dongbaek, evidently.”

  Sent down by...

  A few drifting thoughts connect, drawn together in a noose of red thread.

  “That's what the guards said, isn’t it,” I say drily, snapping my fingers. “They said that Helena was sent by Dongbaek. Helena said she was sent by Alain. Alain, then, says that Dongbaek sent Helena down.”

  That prompts a scowl from me as the thought settles in. “So why would you say is lying, instead of ? What if Dongbaek is lying, then?”

  “Everyone could be lying,” Gelson replies, shaking her head. “Almost everyone lying. Helena has more motive than the guards.”

  Irritation blooms, prickly and hot. My tail slaps against the street. I'd gone and said my piece to Helena, but the results have yet to show themselves. So I take a deep breath— cold air in, hot air out.

  “And you're certain it's important? Her lie?” I say quietly, looking towards our destination.

  “I am. Whether or not she means it to be, I feel her testimony will be essential to this investigation.”

  “There’s that, at least,” I mutter.

  “Hmm?” Gelson looks up, mouth full of sandwich.

  Clearing my throat, I shake my head. “Are we ready to go?”

  She hums, chewing thoughtfully before swallowing. “A few minutes more. I am still eating.”

  We pass the time in silence. It's a blessing, really; I need those minutes to mull some things over.

  Ulrich Blackwood the artificer lives in a house near the Wildflower District, where the train's whistle is just sharp enough to make my sensitive ears ache.

  Fortunately, their house doesn't reflect that shrillness or discomfort. And it is , just like Benny is a . They've left it utterly undecorated, no painted flowers, no plants in the boxes... just shades of red clay and grey stone, hiding in brighter surroundings. Two floors, shingled roof, windows, and so on.

  The front door, though? The front door is . Plants trace its edges, cut into the wood with such care that I expected them to reach for the sky and beg for sunlight. Vines and flowers hang in its contours; trees lurk in the paneling. If it was any more alive, I suspect I'd be able to feel the Wind dancing around it.

  But no, it doesn't. Another magic swirls here, something far more artificial.

  "That door is enchanted," I say bluntly, tail flexing against the stone. "The structures are woven into the fibers of the wood, drenched in magic so thick I can taste it in the air."

  Gelson hums, hand held above the door without touching it. "How vivid. Is it safe?"

  I can't help but grin. "Probably, but I haven't a damn clue what it does. If they take regular visitors for their work, though, I think we should be fine."

  We pause, looking at each other, and Gelson takes a step away from the door. She hums, and says, "You should—"

  "—I'll knock and open the door, yes.” I step forward, and clarify, “I won’t be punching it down. Just knocking.”

  “I would not expect that of you, no,” Gelson says, voice lilting.

  It's certainly a little tempting, in a childish way. I quash the thought; strength comes with temptation, but I can just take it out on monsters.

  So, before Gelson can ask, I walk forward and knock on the door. The first knock is too soft, muffled by in the wood, so I add three heavier knocks after it. No surges of magic or sudden movements— as I expected, the door is entirely safe.

  I take a step back, tail curling so I don’t jab into Gelson. “I didn’t sense anything hostile in the magic. Did you let them know we were coming?”

  “No.” Gelson shakes her head, using one hand to tug a strand of curly hair out of her eyes. “If Ulrich isn't prepared to speak to us, or needs time to review records, we can return later... and we discovered their involvement yesterday. Official channels would take too long.”

  I raise an eyebrow, half-surprised, half-bemused. “They would, and I don't want to wait, either. Guess you're not as rule-abiding as I thought, huh?”

  She just shrugs, eyes fixed firmly on the door. “The longer the box is missing, the higher the risk. With all due respect to your family”—I snort at that, because ?—“the likelihood of something dangerous being contained inside is high.”

  “And you're excited about solving the case.” I challenge her, turning just enough to offer her a thin smile. “You've got to enjoy this, if you're doing it as a job.”

  Her eyes flick over, and her lips twitch. “Perhaps.”

  The door swishes half-open, and our attention shifts. Someone peers out, wispy white hair and hawkish features lit from behind by gentle lamplight. Bright purple eyes seek to pin me in place, glowing like mine do when magic flows freely.

  “Bah!” they say, scowling. Their voice scrapes my ears, rough like sandpaper. “Here to order something, Mageblood?”

  They pause. “And a constable. No, you're a detective. What do you want?”

  I look to Gelson, fingers flexing. “We have questions.”

  “Indeed,” Gelson nods to me, “Mir Blackwood, we are looking for information on a puzzle box. May we come in?”

  Mir— not a term I hear often, though I suppose I don't use Miss or Mister much either. They stare at us, eyes scanning back and forth.

  “No.”

  I sense their movement before it truly starts, a shift of their shoulders and a change in their balance. I step forward, hand crashing against the wood and halting its swing. Magic hums, and the gentle weight of the door doubles. Triples. , and it’s not slowing down. It's like getting hit by that bear monster all over again.

  “We,” I grit out, and my shoulder aches as magic and muscle strain, “Can do it Anywhere. It's—”

  A boulder crashing into my arm, a carriage slamming into me. What in the Gods' names did they put in this? Their smug smirk morphing into alarm isn't quite enough for me to feel good about this.

  “More than just a petty Mageblood, if you can resist the enchantments. Bother!” Ulrich huffs, and Wind curls around their fingers. “Get out.”

  “Dame!” Gelson calls, but I can't see what she's doing. Scales creep up my arm, fingers turn to claws, and ow ow ow . Every muscle in my arm and shoulder groans from the strain, with the force traveling down my back and into my braced legs. I can feel the cobbles pressing down underneath me.

  “Mir Blackwood, there's been a theft of a puzzle box. We need to know if—”

  And that's enough. I jump back, and the door slams shut just hard enough to mess up my hair. It's infuriating how effortless and gentle it is, after all that.

  “Bother, indeed,” I growl out, shaking my arm and pouring magic into it. I don't want any bruising from that, no thank you. “Did I crack any claws?”

  “That was irresponsible.” Gelson shakes her head, but she's not glaring like I expected. “But better than I would have managed without you, I'm certain.”

  I start massaging my shoulder, Wind at my fingertips so I can press it into my muscles. It helps everything other than my pride, which is critically wounded. “Good, and Gods, what a door. What now?”

  “We wait, or we break in. Those are the options available in the immediate.” Gelson shrugs again, hesitating before smiling faintly. “We are breaking in, Dame.”

  "We though.” Maybe it's unproductive, but it's better than getting frustrated. I just lost to a . A Drake Mageblood that can punch through solid iron, losing to a Gods-damned hardwood plank. A plan forms, though, and I quite like it. It’ll be cathartic at worst.

  I raise my voice, just in case Ulrich is listening. “I know two ways I could pick this lock. The way Elizabeth taught me—"

  "Dame Tousavon?"

  "—and the way Lady Rosewater taught me.”

  Gelson's face makes a wholly unique expression, somewhere south of irritation and west of bafflement. "The... cannonsmith from the north?"

  I gesture at the lock with a soft smile. Ah, good times. "And guns, which are a bit like crossbow-sized cannons. Expensive to use, though. Anne just shot the mechanism, which I prefer to tooling the lock."

  “You will shoot my door with a miniature cannon. Or punch it, or blast it!” And there Ulrich is, in their grumpy glory, door wide open without looking the least bit welcoming. They shake their head. “Fine. Come in, before you do something idiotic.”

  Yes! Maybe it was a stupid plan, but it worked, so it’s not stupid anymore. I grin, tail dragging across the cobbles. “With pleasure.”

  “You planned that?” Gelson whispers, eyebrows shooting up.

  “Improvised, more like,” I correct her, raising a claw. “But it worked.”

  “Get inside, you two! Stop bragging.”

  incredible run.