As we approached Vaelrik’s house, I couldn’t help but gasp at the sheer size of it. The structure stood tall, almost looming over the neighboring houses, but it still paled in comparison to the grandeur of the Dragna palace we’d passed earlier. Even so, it was impossible to miss the careful craftsmanship in every detail—the carved stone pillars at the entrance, the polished wooden doors adorned with intricate Drakonian designs, and the sprawling garden with exotic plants I’d never seen before.

  “Is this really... your house?” Mira asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

  Vaelrik puffed out his chest with pride. “Indeed, it is! Built with my own hands—well, and the hands of a few very skilled masons.”

  “‘A few?’” Sylas teased, raising an eyebrow. “Looks like you had an army of workers here.”

  Vaelrik chuckled and gestured toward the exterior, walking us along the front garden. “Let me show you around. This gate, for instance—crafted from Volkarian steel, unyielding to even the fiercest flames. And over there,” he pointed to a peculiar statue of a coiled dragon, “this is an antique from the old Drakonian Empire. Took me months to outbid the competition for it.”

  Kaldor leaned closer to the statue, tilting his head. “Is it supposed to look like it’s glaring at us?”

  “Ah, yes,” Vaelrik said, nodding enthusiastically. “The sculptor captured the essence of a Drakonian warrior’s spirit.”

  Before we could continue marveling at the exterior, the door to the house flew open. Kyla, Vaelrik’s wife, stormed out with an exasperated look on her face. “Vaelrik, what is all this noise? The whole street can hear you—”

  She stopped mid-sentence when her eyes fell on us. Her expression softened instantly, and she brushed past Vaelrik, nearly shoving him aside. “Oh, my stars! It’s you!” she said, her voice brimming with concern and warmth. “What happened after I left? Are you all okay? Why are you here?”

  Vaelrik rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “They’ll be staying with us for a while. I owe young Duke here a debt, so it’s the least I can do.”

  At this, Kyla’s eyes welled up with tears. She clasped her hands together, her voice trembling. “Raising children... in our home... It’s a dream come true!” She wiped her eyes quickly, then turned back to us with a wide smile. “Come in, come in! You must be exhausted.”

  Inside, the house was even more stunning than the outside. The main hall opened into a spacious, well-lit area with tall ceilings, shimmering crystal chandeliers, and polished marble floors that reflected the light like a mirror. The walls were lined with tapestries depicting Drakonian battles and legends, and shelves displayed an array of artifacts—ornate vases, ceremonial weapons, and glowing gemstones.

  Next, my eyes were immediately drawn to a wall near the entrance. It was covered in an assortment of gifts—wreaths made of colorful flowers, small bouquets tied with ribbons, and drawings tacked up with care.

  I walked closer, my gaze falling on one of the drawings. It showed a group of small Drakonians, their faces drawn with big smiles, standing beside a taller figure who had to be Kyla. The words “Thank you, Miss Kyla!” were scrawled at the bottom in uneven but heartfelt handwriting.

  “Are these from the kids at the center?” Sylas asked, stepping up beside me.

  “They were always so creative,” Kyla said, stepping closer to the drawings. “That one—” she pointed to a picture of a little Drakonian handing a flower to a taller figure, “—was from Linel. He always brought me flowers he’d find outside, even if they were just weeds.”

  Sylas smiled. “He must’ve really looked up to you.”

  “They all did, in their own ways. But I think I needed them as much as they needed me.” Kyla gestured to a wreath of mismatched flowers tied together with string. “This one was from the older kids. They spent a week collecting flowers, arguing over which ones I’d like best.”

  “That’s so sweet,” Mira said, stepping closer. “You must’ve meant the world to them. I mean, you can feel the love in these gifts.”

  Kyla’s gaze softened, her voice quieter now. “I hope so. They gave me so much love, even on the hardest days.”

  I couldn’t help but smile at the image she painted. “Sounds like they really went all out for you.”

  “They did,” she said with a light laugh. “They’d even make up little plays to perform for me when I wasn’t feeling well. Sometimes the plots were... questionable,” she added, her eyes twinkling, “but their effort was what mattered.”

  Sylas laughed. “Questionable how?”

  “Oh, you know,” Kyla said with a smirk, “a five-minute play somehow involving a hero slaying a monstrous soup pot because I once burned dinner.”

  I chuckled. “Sounds like they had quite the imagination.”

  While Sylas and Mira lingered near the wall, Kael and Kaldor wandered into the main room, marveling at Vaelrik’s house like professional appraisers.

  “Look at the woodwork here,” Kael said, running a hand along the banister. “This must’ve taken weeks to carve. The craftsmanship is incredible.”

  “And the stonework too,” Kaldor added, pointing at the ornate archway leading to the next room. “You don’t see details like this in most homes. It’s sturdy but elegant.”

  Kael nodded in agreement. “They didn’t cut corners here, that’s for sure. Every detail seems intentional.”

  I smirked. “You two sound like you’re about to start selling real estate.”

  “Hey, you appreciate what’s in front of you,” Kael shot back with a grin.

  “Exactly,” Kaldor agreed. “A house like this deserves some admiration.”

  Back by the wall, Mira pointed to a bouquet made of paper. “This one’s cute. Did they make this for a special occasion?”

  Kyla’s face lit up. “Oh, yes. That was for my birthday. They worked on it in secret for days and wouldn’t let me into the common room until it was done. When they gave it to me, they insisted it would last forever.”

  Mira laughed. “Kids can be so thoughtful—and dramatic.”

  Sylas joined in. “Sounds like you were their hero, Kyla.”

  Kyla chuckled softly. “They were mine too. I’ll never forget them or the joy they brought into my life.”

  The conversation felt warm and lighthearted, even as Kael and Kaldor continued their admiration for Vaelrik’s home. Though surrounded by unfamiliar grandeur, it was the simple gifts hanging on the wall that truly stood out, telling a story of love and connection that lingered long after the chatter quieted.

  “Put your weapons here,” Vaelrik suddenly instructed, gesturing to a polished wooden rack near the door. “And don’t worry, they’ll be safe.”

  As we placed our weapons on the rack, Vaelrik began pointing out the various items on display. “This spear here? Found it in the ruins of Tal’Rok. And that orb? It’s said to contain the essence of a storm. Got it from a merchant in Brightmoor—”

  Oh? Brightmoor? It is the northern city, a place where we all started our journey as adventurers. Those days were so happy, until Elyndor decided to part ways

  “Oh, don’t let him fool you,” Kyla interjected, a smirk playing on her lips. “He used to be an artifacts collector. It was his dream. Until he got scammed out of half his collection.”

  Vaelrik winced. “Must you bring that up?”

  “It’s a part of your history,” she teased. “And the reason you joined the military was to find the thief. Funny how that turned out—you turned out to be better at fighting than collecting!”

  He groaned, but there was no real frustration in his expression. It was clear the two shared a close bond

  “Ah whatever. Anyways, it’s time we have dinner together. Take a seat.” He pointed at the long tables with 5 chairs on each side and 1 at each end. On the table filled with various food, a huge slab of meat with greasy liquid on top, a set of bread with something that resembled fried potatoes and a bowl of sauce next to it, and many more that I wished my vocabularies a abundant enough to describe.

  As we took our seats around the long dining table, the sheer size of it still felt absurd. It could easily host twelve people or even more if the guests sit close to each other, yet here we were—a party of fivewith two Drakonian hosts.

  “This table really is massive,” Sylas muttered, running a hand over the polished wood. “Do you really need something this big?”

  Vaelrik chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Big appetites need big tables.”

  “It’s more like his ego needed a big table,” Kyla quipped as she placed another steaming dish on the table.

  “Now, now,” Vaelrik began, raising a hand in mock protest, “it’s for my comrades. We used to gather here after long missions. Nothing bonds a group like good food and a few drinks.”

  Kyla smirked. “More like you needed a place to show off your cooking skills, which, I might add, you never use anymore.”

  Before Vaelrik could retort, Mira leaned over her plate and inhaled the aroma of the roasted meat. “Whatever the reason, I’m not complaining. This smells amazing.”

  Kyla beamed. “Well, dig in. It’s all traditional Drakonian cuisine. The roasted Drakven boar is seasoned with ten types of spices and slow-cooked for hours. And the soup,” she gestured to the shimmering liquid in the bowls, “is infused with emberroot—great for warmth and energy.”

  We didn’t need to be told twice. The first bite was like an explosion of flavor. The meat was tender, practically melting in my mouth, with just the right balance of spice and sweetness. The soup was invigorating, the warmth spreading through my chest like a comforting embrace.

  Sylas let out a loud sniffle, tears welling in her eyes. “I—I’m not crying. It’s just... the soup is so good.”

  “Same here,” Mira admitted, dabbing her eyes with a napkin. “This might be the best meal I’ve ever had.”

  Kaldor, usually the quiet one, nodded solemnly. “It’s perfect.”

  Vaelrik grinned, clearly pleased. “See, Kyla? Even they—”

  Before he could finish, Kyla narrowed her eyes, her hands on her hips. “Even they? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He froze, realizing his mistake. “Uh, nothing! I meant—this is the best you’ve ever cooked! Truly!”

  “That’s not what it sounded like,” she said, her voice dangerously sweet. A flicker of fire danced on her fingertips as she added, “Couch. Tonight. No exceptions.”

  Sylas choked on her drink, trying to stifle a laugh. “Vaelrik, I think you should’ve stayed quiet.”

  Ignoring his predicament, Vaelrik turned back to us, attempting to shift the mood. “Did I ever tell you about the time I tried cooking a Drakven boar myself? Ended up setting half the kitchen on fire. It took the entire fire brigade to put it out.”

  “You didn’t try cooking,” Kyla corrected, folding her arms. “You forgot the boar was still in the oven because you were too busy polishing your ‘precious artifacts.’”

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “Details,” Vaelrik said, waving a hand dismissively.

  Despite the constant banter, the meal was filled with laughter and lighthearted conversation. We learned more about Vaelrik’s collection days and how Kyla had been the one to ground him—both figuratively and, judging by her stern looks, quite literally.

  As the laughter settled, Kyla let out a soft sigh, her expression growing fond as she glanced at Vaelrik. “You know,” she said, her voice warm but teasing, “this man’s antics haven’t changed much since the day I met him.”

  Vaelrik grinned, leaning back in his chair. “And yet, here you are, happily married to me.”

  “‘Happily’ might be a stretch,” she quipped, though the smile on her lips said otherwise. Turning her gaze to us, she continued, “He was an artifacts collector back then, obsessed with uncovering rare treasures and oddities. I was working at a local archive, cataloging ancient Drakonian texts.”

  “Oh, it wasn’t just ‘cataloging,’” Vaelrik interrupted, smirking. “She had half the city’s scholars in awe of her knowledge. I mean, who else could quote the entire Drakonian Codex by heart?”

  “Flattery won’t save you from the couch tonight,” Kyla shot back, though her cheeks flushed slightly. “Anyway, one day, this charming idiot bursts into the archive, waving a supposed ‘ancient relic’ he’d found in the marketplace. He demanded to see ‘the expert’—which apparently meant me.”

  “It was a genuine relic!” Vaelrik insisted, though he looked sheepish. “Well... at least I thought it was.”

  “It was a fake,” Kyla said flatly, eliciting laughter from all of us. “A very bad one, too. I told him so, but he wouldn’t believe me. He spent an hour trying to convince me it was real, quoting half-baked theories and waving the thing around like it was a treasure map.”

  “Hey, I was passionate!” Vaelrik defended himself. “And persistent.”

  “Annoyingly so,” Kyla added, smirking. “But there was something endearing about his enthusiasm. He kept coming back to the archive, asking me about artifacts, history, anything he could think of just to have an excuse to talk to me.”

  “You must’ve fallen for my charm,” Vaelrik said, leaning toward her with a teasing grin.

  “I fell for your stubbornness, if anything,” Kyla corrected, rolling her eyes. “But over time, I started to see the person behind the bravado. He cared deeply about his work, about preserving our culture’s history, and he had this ridiculous optimism that somehow made you believe anything was possible.”

  “Like convincing you to marry me,” Vaelrik said, his grin widening.

  “That was a fluke,” Kyla teased, though her gaze softened. “But yes, he did. Eventually, his passion for artifacts led him to some dangerous situations, and when one particularly bad deal left him broke and bitter, he joined the military to track down the thief.”

  “Turns out, I was better at fighting than bargaining,” Vaelrik admitted, chuckling. “And that thief? Never found them, but I found something better.”

  “Me,” Kyla said confidently, earning another laugh from us all.

  Sylas leaned forward, clearly captivated. “So who confessed first?”

  “He did,” Kyla answered promptly. “After a particularly grueling mission, he came back to the city and barged into the archive, covered in dirt and blood, declaring he couldn’t go another day without telling me how he felt.”

  “It was romantic!” Vaelrik said defensively, though his blush betrayed his embarrassment.

  “It was chaotic,” Kyla corrected, though there was a twinkle in her eye. “But... it was also heartfelt. And despite his flaws, I realized I couldn’t imagine my life without him.”

  “Well, looks like persistence pays off,” Mira said with a grin.

  “Not always,” Kyla said, narrowing her eyes at Vaelrik. “But sometimes, the effort is worth it.”

  Vaelrik raised his teacup in a mock toast. “To persistence, and to marrying far out of my league.”

  Kyla rolled her eyes but smiled, the warmth between them undeniable. Their story, full of humor, struggle, and love, painted a vivid picture of the bond they shared, and for a moment, it felt like the room itself glowed with their connection.

  After dinner, Kyla brought out a tray of steaming tea, but Vaelrik had other ideas for entertainment. He disappeared briefly, returning with his spear. The polished weapon gleamed under the chandelier’s light.

  “You kids are in for a treat,” Vaelrik announced, holding the spear aloft. “Let me show you some Drakonian tricks.”

  “Vaelrik,” Kyla warned, already looking exasperated, “don’t start. The last time you did this, the neighbors thought you’d been murdered.”

  He ignored her, balancing the spear precariously on the edge of his throat. We all gasped as he leaned forward, the sharp point just barely avoiding piercing his skin.

  “Careful!” Mira yelped, covering her eyes.

  “Relax,” Vaelrik said with a wink, “I’m a professional.”

  The next few tricks were equally nerve-wracking. He spun the spear with lightning speed, tossed it into the air, and caught it behind his back. He pretended to impale himself, letting out a dramatic groan as he fell to the floor.

  Kyla screamed, rushing over. “Vaelrik! I swear, if you—”

  Before she could finish, he sprang up, grinning. “Gotcha!”

  The room erupted in laughter, though Kyla was far from amused. She grabbed a pillow from the couch and hurled it at him. “A week on the couch! I mean it this time!”

  “I regret nothing,” Vaelrik said, dodging the pillow with practiced ease.

  After his fake impalement stunt, Vaelrik stood and dusted himself off, a mischievous glint in his eye. “You think that was impressive? Just wait.”

  He planted the spear firmly into the floor, its sharp tip gleaming ominously. Then, with a sudden burst of motion, he leaped into the air and did a full flip, landing perfectly on the narrow spearhead. The entire room collectively held their breath as he balanced precariously, his boots barely touching the deadly point.

  “Vaelrik, stop this insanity!” Kyla shouted, half-hiding her face behind her hands.

  “Relax, Kyla! I’ve been doing this since I was a kid!” he called down, a broad grin on his face. “Though admittedly, back then, it was just a broomstick.”

  Before she could respond, he jumped off, landing effortlessly on the floor with a theatrical bow. We all applauded despite the clear danger of the trick.

  But Vaelrik wasn’t finished. “Now, for the pièce de résistance,” he declared, gripping the spear tightly.

  He positioned himself a few feet from the wall and threw the spear with alarming force. It streaked across the room like a bolt of lightning, embedding itself in the wall mere inches away from a decorative vase.

  Sylas gasped, gripping the arm of her chair. “What if you missed?”

  “Miss?” Vaelrik scoffed, walking over to the spear and pulling it free with ease. “I never miss.”

  Kyla stormed forward, her face red with fury. “You nearly destroyed my favorite vase! Do you want to sleep outside?!”

  Vaelrik winced, raising his hands defensively. “It was just for show! I had everything under control!”

  “You—control?!” Kyla’s voice was nearly a roar as flames flickered at her fingertips. “A month on the couch!”

  “But—” Vaelrik started.

  “No buts!” she snapped. “And if you so much as breathe on another one of my decorations, you’ll be sleeping in the yard!”

  As the argument escalated, I leaned over to Sylas and whispered, “I think we’ve had enough entertainment for one night.”

  Sylas nodded, still wide-eyed. “I don’t know whether to be impressed or terrified.”

  Vaelrik, for his part, tried to salvage his dignity. “Alright, alright. No more tricks. Let’s sit and enjoy the tea, shall we?”

  Kyla muttered something under her breath about needing a stronger drink than tea. Despite the chaos, we couldn’t help but laugh, grateful for the lightheartedness after such an exhausting day.

  After the chaos, Kyla led us upstairs to show us to our rooms. The house had three floors, each more extravagant than the last. Ornate carvings decorated the railings, and the hallways were lined with framed paintings of Drakonian landscapes and legends.

  “Alright, everyone,” Kyla said, gesturing to the rooms. “Each of you gets your own. They’re all cleaned and ready.”

  Sylas and Mira ended up on the second floor, their rooms decorated with warm, earthy tones and large, soft beds. Kael and Kaldor were on the opposite end of the hall, their rooms slightly smaller but still cozy.

  As for Vaelrik and Kyla, their master bedroom was on the second floor as well, right in the center. It was massive, with a four-poster bed draped in crimson silk and a large balcony overlooking the city.

  “Not that he’ll be sleeping there,” Sylas whispered with a smirk, glancing at Vaelrik.

  “Don’t remind me,” Vaelrik muttered, trudging toward the couch in the living room below.

  When we reached the third floor, Kyla led me to the room at the very end of the hall. “This one’s yours,” she said, pushing open the door.

  Guess i’m the unlucky one, they all ended on the second floor with the most rooms and here I am on the tallest floor with 1 bedroom and the 2 storage rooms. How fantastic.

  “Sorry, this is the only room we have! If you mind, you can sleep in the master room and I will be sleeping here.” Kyla said

  “Um, I prefer sleeping here. Plus it’s still better than sleeping outside at night. Thank you for your hospitality, miss Kyla.”

  The room was smaller than the others, but still luxurious by my standards. A four-poster bed stood in the center, its curtains tied neatly at the sides. A plush rug covered the wooden floor, and a small desk with a chair sat against one wall. But the most striking feature was the enormous window that took up nearly the entire far wall.

  I walked over to it, staring out at the dark expanse of the city below. The view was breathtaking, but the lack of curtains made me uneasy.

  “This window... It’s kind of creepy,” I admitted.

  Kyla laughed. “You’ll get used to it. But if it bothers you, we can hang something tomorrow.”

  “No, it’s fine,” I said quickly, not wanting to trouble her more.

  After she left, I sat on the edge of the bed, thinking about the day. My friends were settling in, Kyla and Vaelrik’s dynamic was endlessly entertaining, and for once, everything felt... safe.

  Still, as I looked out the massive window one last time before crawling under the covers, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something—someone—might be watching.

  The first rays of sunlight streamed through the enormous window in my room, warming the wooden floors with their golden glow. I blinked awake, stretching lazily before sitting up and running a hand through my hair. “This bed... it’s way too comfortable,” I murmured, swinging my legs over the edge. It felt like I’d slept on a cloud, but staying in bed wasn’t part of my discipline.

  Yawning, I noticed the cup of water on the table had somehow fallen onto the floor. Strange. I was sure I’d left it neatly placed last night. Shrugging off the oddity, I picked it up, set it back on the table, and dressed in lighter clothes, wrapped the red brown scarf around my neck for my morning routine.

  Stepping downstairs, I expected silence but was instead greeted by a heartwarming sight. Vaelrik, sprawled across the couch as expected, had Kyla sleeping peacefully beside him. Their wings curled protectively around each other like a cocoon, their faces serene in sleep. The sheer tenderness of the scene caught me off guard. For all their teasing and bickering, they were clearly deeply in love.

  I quietly retrieved my swords from the weapon rack by the door and slipped outside for my morning workout.

  Arkos' crisp morning air filled my lungs as I began my cardio run. The city was still waking up, and I could hear the distant hum of activity as shops prepared to open. I stuck to the perimeter of Vaelrik’s estate for the first few laps, wary of wandering too far in an unfamiliar area.

  The garden path was bordered with neatly trimmed hedges and patches of vibrant flowers. It was calming yet invigorating, and by the tenth lap, I’d started to push myself a little harder, letting my strides grow longer and my pace quicken. “Tomorrow,” I muttered to myself, wiping the sweat from my brow, “I’ll extend the route.”

  Back in the garden, I moved to strength training. Dropping to the soft grass, I powered through sets of push-ups, feeling the burn in my arms and shoulders. Sit-ups followed, my core tightening with each rise, then squats to engage my legs. The cool morning breeze was refreshing, but it didn’t stop the sweat from trickling down my back.

  Finally, I drew my two swords and began practicing forms. Each swing was deliberate, each motion designed to refine my control and precision. My blades gleamed in the sunlight as I executed combinations of slashes, thrusts, and parries, working up a rhythm that felt almost like a dance.

  The workout left me invigorated, my muscles tingling with exertion. I sheathed my swords and stretched, my body grateful for the release.

  As I headed back toward the mansion, a muffled voice caught my attention. I slowed, tilting my head to listen. The tone was unfamiliar, deeper than Vaelrik’s but carrying a weight of authority. Curious, I made my way to the front gate and pushed it open quietly.

  Inside, Vaelrik and Kyla sat across from a shorter Drakonian with a stocky build and arms like tree trunks. His scales were a dark, metallic silver, and his eyes gleamed with sharp intelligence. He wore a thick apron that bore burn marks and the unmistakable scent of forge fire.

  Vaelrik noticed me first, gesturing me forward with a grin. “Ah, Duke! Perfect timing. Come meet the best blacksmith in all of Arkos.”

  The shorter Drakonian turned, his gaze sharp but appraising. His deep voice rumbled like an iron bell. “This is the kid you mentioned?”

  Kyla nodded, her expression bright. “Duke, this is Master Jorven Steelmender. He’s not just a blacksmith; he’s the blacksmith. Every enchanted weapon worth its salt in Arkos probably passed through his hands.”

  Jorven snorted, though his pride was evident. “They exaggerate. I’m just good at what I do. You’re the swordsman, eh? Two blades, from what I hear?”

  “Yes, sir,” I said, stepping forward and offering a respectful bow. “It’s an honor to meet you.”

  Jorven squinted at me, then nodded approvingly. “You’ve got a good grip and a steady stance. That’s a start. Maybe you won’t break my work the first time you use it.”

  Vaelrik chuckled. “He’s tough, Jorven. Kid’s got promise.”

  Kyla leaned forward, her tone playful. “And you’re here because Vaelrik couldn’t resist bragging about him. Admit it.”

  Jorven shrugged. “Maybe. Or maybe I wanted to see if this boy could handle a real blade. Vaelrik talks big, but words don’t forge steel.”

  Vaelrik feigned offense, placing a hand over his chest. “Jorven, you wound me.”

  Jorven ignored him, turning back to me. “Let’s see your swords. If you’re going to stay in Arkos, you might as well have weapons that won’t fall apart on you.”

  I hesitated, then unsheathed my blades and handed them over. Jorven examined them closely, his expression neutral as he ran a clawed finger along the edges. “Decent craftsmanship. Not bad, but not exceptional. You’re due for an upgrade.”

  He looked up, his eyes gleaming. “If you’re serious about your training, kid, come by my forge tomorrow. I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Thank you, Master Jorven,” I said, bowing again.

  Vaelrik clapped me on the back. “See? Told you he’s the best. And if you’re lucky, he might even give you a discount.”

  Jorven snorted. “No promises.”

  As the conversation shifted to weapon design and materials, I couldn’t help but feel a surge of excitement. A custom weapon from a renowned Drakonian blacksmith? This trip to Arkos was already shaping up to be unforgettable.