The plaza at dawn was a bowl of cool, grey light and the scent of damp stone. The sixteen of them stood in a loose half-circle, their dragon whelps—now the size of large hounds—pressing against their legs. Arianda felt Zariel’s warm weight against her calf, his silver scales muted in the morning gloom. Simon stood beside her, Raphaela coiled around his ankles like a living, red-barbed bracelet.

Sage stood before them, his hands resting on his staff. Diego was a step to his side, dressed in his usual white, looking more like a relaxed guide than a man proposing a perilous journey. Sebastian the white tiger sat at his heel, still as a statue.

“You have learned the truth of our situation,” Sage began, his voice carrying easily in the quiet. “Knowledge of walls is one thing. Knowledge of the world beyond them is another. Diego has proposed an opportunity. He will speak to it.”

Diego stepped forward, his silver eyes scanning their faces. “My caravan leaves in three days. I have room, and I have need. Not for guards—not yet—but for sharp eyes and curious minds. I’m offering to take you with me. To show you the roads, the towns, the real shape of this land you’re now stuck in.”

A murmur rippled through the group. A boy named Leo, who had argued for fighting back in the plaza, spoke first. “How? We walking the whole way?”

“A mix,” Diego said. “We walk when the terrain demands it or when silence is an advantage. We ride in the wagons when distance is the enemy. You’ll sleep under them, or in them, or under the open sky. It won’t be soft.”

“Sleep under the wagons?” a girl named Chloe whispered, her voice tinged with dismay.

“When it rains,” Diego confirmed, not unkindly. “And it will rain.”

Simon leaned toward Arianda, his voice low. “Pop quiz: which is worse, a cage you know or mud you don’t?”

She didn’t answer, her gaze fixed on Diego. This wasn’t about comfort. It was about seeing.

“What about attacks?” Kira asked, his tone practical. His own dragon, a sleek red-scaled creature, chittered at his side.

“A possibility,” Diego acknowledged. “That’s why you’ll train as we travel. Not just magic. How to read a road. How to gauge a stranger’s intent. How to blend in.” He paused, a faint smile touching his lips. “I am, after all, a merchant. I’ll teach you the basics of trade—how to value goods, how to barter, how to listen to a market’s gossip. It’s how you’ll build a future here, if you stay. And,” he added, the smile turning sly, “it’s the best cover for learning everything else. Espionage, if you want the fancy word.”

The word hung in the air, heavier than the dawn mist. Lilith, standing on Arianda’s other side, gave a slow, deliberate nod. Arianda felt her own resolve crystallize. This was the unknown, offered. A page she could actually touch.

“I’m going,” Arianda said, the words clear and firm. She felt Simon’s glance, warm on her profile.

“Obviously,” Simon said, louder. “Someone’s gotta document the mud.”

Kira nodded. “In.”

“Me too,” Lilith said quietly.

Their certainty became a pressure. One by one, others agreed, voices layering over each other—some eager, some hesitant, all aware of the group’s collective shift. Leo, after a moment’s scowling calculation, grunted his assent. But three held back: Chloe, and two others who stood close together, their dragons whining softly. Their faces were pale, their silence a wall.

Diego watched the division settle. He didn’t plead. He simply bowed his head to the thirteen who had stepped forward. “Welcome to my tutelage,” he said, his charm now edged with solemnity. “We will learn the world’s weight together. And perhaps, how to carry it.”

He turned his gaze to the three who remained, his expression softening. “Your choice is respected. This fortress needs steadfast hearts too. Sage will see you continue your training here.”

Sage nodded, his old eyes holding a mixture of pride and profound worry. He looked at the thirteen, at their determined, youthful faces, and then at the silver dragon pressed against Arianda’s leg. The journey was no longer a proposal. It was a fact. The walls of Zarinthar, for good or ill, were about to fall away.

The group began to disperse, the thirteen travelers buzzing with a nervous energy, the three who stayed already drifting toward the fortress’s inner halls. Diego caught Arianda’s eye and gave a slight tilt of his head toward a quieter corner of the plaza, near a stone bench overgrown with jasmine.

Simon, Lilith, and Kira saw the look and immediately closed ranks around her. “Where are we going?” Simon asked, his tone light but his posture protective.

Diego smiled, easy and relaxed. “Just a quick word with Arianda. Logistics.”

“We’re her logistics now,” Kira said, crossing his arms. His red dragon mimicked the stance, puffing out its chest.

Arianda felt a flush of warmth at their solidarity, but also a prickle of impatience. “It’s fine,” she said, placing a hand on Zariel’s head. The silver dragon looked up at her, his golden eyes calm. “But if it’s about the journey, they should hear it too.”

Diego’s smile didn’t falter. He shrugged, the motion fluid in his white tunic. “Suit yourself. More ears just means fewer secrets to keep. It’s about our silver friend here.”

As if summoned, Swan appeared from the shadow of a column, Salem the green rabbit hopping silently at her heel. Her curly silver hair caught the growing light. “The dye is prepared,” she said softly, her green eyes settling on Zariel.

“Dye?” Lilith echoed, her brow furrowing.

“Crimson,” Diego said, crouching down to Zariel’s level. He didn’t touch the dragon, just studied his scales. “To make him look like a common red. A silver dragon hasn’t been seen before. He’s a walking target, and not just for rival clans. Certain… older things might take notice.”

“You’re going to paint him?” Simon asked, crouching beside Diego. Raphaela sniffed at Zariel curiously, as if trying to imagine him red.

“Not paint. A dye derived from crushed dusk-berries and iron-root. It bonds to the scale for about a day before it begins to fade from the edges inward.” Swan knelt, her movements graceful. She produced a small clay pot from a pouch at her waist, unscrewed the lid, and inside was a thick paste the color of dried blood. “It washes off with a solution of lemon-bark and clearspring water. We will need to apply it each morning, before the others are awake.”

Diego stood, brushing a non-existent speck from his trousers. “Which means you four, and Zariel, will rise with the first light. Every day. No exceptions. We’ll check him each night for fading, so we know which scales need extra attention the next morning. It’ll become a routine, like breaking camp.”

“And if we miss a spot?” Arianda asked, her thumb tracing the edge of Zariel’s dorsal ridge.

“Then we have a problem,” Diego said, his silver eyes holding hers. His casual tone made the words heavier. “Which is why we’re bringing the wardens. Sherief, Balor, Serena, and a fire-warden named Christofer. If Zariel is to be a red dragon in public, you, Arianda, must only use fire magic when anyone outside our caravan might see.”

“But I’m capable of all four,” Arianda said. “Though I rely heavily on air and earth. Zariel’s is… everything.”

“Exactly,” Diego said. “So Christofer will drill you on basic fire-forms. Enough to have you improve on fire. And if you absolutely must use another element in an emergency, we have a second layer of misdirection.” He gestured to Swan, who produced a folded bundle of grey cloth.

“Grey tunics and trousers for all the wardens and trainees,” Swan explained, shaking out a simple, hooded shirt. “In this world, grey is the color of those who do not openly share their attunement. If you’re all in grey, no one can look at Zariel and definitively say which warden is his partner.”

“Clever,” Kira murmured, taking the fabric from Swan and feeling its weight.

“It’s a lot of deception,” Lilith said, her voice thoughtful.

“It’s survival,” Diego corrected gently. “The last four wagons in the caravan are carrying supplies. Among them, enough dye ingredients for ten weeks of travel. We will not run out.”

Simon let out a low whistle. “All that, just for one dragon.”

Diego’s gaze shifted to Zariel, who was now nuzzling Arianda’s hand. “He’s not just one dragon, Simon. He’s a symbol. And in a war, symbols are either banners or targets. We’re choosing to make him a secret.”

The morning sun finally crested the eastern wall, flooding the plaza with sharp, golden light. It lit the dust motes dancing between them and turned the jasmine flowers a brilliant white. In that light, Zariel’s silver scales shone like a beacon.

Arianda looked from the pot of crimson dye to her friends’ faces—Simon’s determined smirk, Kira’s analytical frown, Lilith’s quiet resolve. She felt the immense weight of the precaution, the daily lie they would all have to enact. Her chest tightened, but beneath it, a strange certainty settled. They were in it together. The secret was already theirs.

“We’ll be up early,” she said, her voice firm in the new light.

Diego nodded, his expression softening into something like pride. “Good. Mornings for breakfast and training. Afternoons for travel. Evenings for map-reading and learning the terrain. You’ll know the road by feel by the time we reach the first trade outpost.” He clapped his hands together once, the sound sharp and final. “Now. Go pack. Travel light. The world is waiting, and it prefers not to be kept.”

The rest of the morning dissolved into the practical chaos of packing. The thirteen travelers scattered to their rooms, the air in the fortress corridors now buzzing with a new, urgent energy. Diego and Swan walked the perimeter of the central plaza, their steps synchronized. Salem the green rabbit rode atop Sebastian’s broad head, his long ears twitching at every sound. The white tiger moved with a silent, liquid grace that seemed at odds with his immense size.

A few of the lingering trainees, struggling under armfuls of gear, cast curious glances at the pair. Leo, hefting a pack, nodded toward Sebastian. “How’s that work, then? The white fur?”

Diego smiled, his hands tucked into the pockets of his white trousers. “No magic in him. Or in me. Means we’re useless for parlor tricks.” He shrugged, the picture of easy nonchalance. “So we specialize in other things. Merchantile efforts. Information brokering. The boring stuff.”

He didn’t elaborate. He knew if they’d been listening during Sage’s revelations, they’d remember the trade-off: no elemental affinity meant a supernatural physical compensation. Let them figure it out, or not. Some lessons were better learned through observation.

Simon’s room was a testament to his ‘act first’ philosophy. Clothes were half-stuffed into a leather satchel, a carved wooden puzzle from his old world sat abandoned on the bed, and Raphaela was gleefully unraveling a ball of twine. “Focus,” Simon muttered, more to himself than the dragon. He held up two nearly identical grey tunics. “Do we get more than one of these? Is there a laundry wagon?”

Across the hall, Arianda’s packing was methodical. She laid out her few possessions on the narrow cot: the secret notebook, now filled with observations about Zarinthar; a smooth river stone from her first earth-manipulation lesson; the simple clothes she’d arrived in. Zariel watched, his golden eyes tracking her hands as she traced the edge of the notebook’s cover, committing its weight to memory.

She folded the grey apprentice tunic with care, her ink-stained thumb smoothing the fabric. It felt like a costume. She looked at Zariel, his silver scales gleaming in the shaft of light from her window. Tomorrow, those scales would be crimson. The reality of the daily ritual settled into her bones, a quiet, persistent hum of anxiety.

Kira’s approach was analytical. He created a mental checklist, packing in order of necessity: water skin, fire-starting kit, the grey attire, a small whetstone for the practice dagger Balor had issued him. His red dragon, sensing his focus, sat perfectly still by the door, a silent sentry.

Lilith worked in silence, her movements efficient. She paused only to stroke the head of her own blue-scaled water dragon, who butted her hand gently. Her expression was calm, but her eyes kept drifting to her window, which faced the towering outer wall of Zarinthar. Beyond it was everything she didn’t know.

Down in the supply caverns, Balor Grimfoot oversaw the loading of the last four wagons. Her stout form was a whirlwind of command. “Secure those dye barrels with double hitches! I don’t want iron-root powder all over the flour!” Her voice echoed off the stone. She placed a thick hand on a barrel of dusk-berries, her piercing green eyes serious. This was their most precious cargo.

Sherief Holt flowed through the chaos like a breeze, his loose green robes not stirring. He grunted at two trainees struggling with a tent roll, demonstrating with a flick of his wrist and a whisper of air how to tighten the straps with minimal effort. “Waste less motion,” he said, his brow furrowed. “You’ll need the energy for walking.”

Serena Walker moved through the same space with a completely different rhythm. Her grace drew glances as she checked bundles of medicinal herbs Swan had prepared. Her flowing blue hair was a splash of color against the dun stone and brown leather. “Remember to pack cleansing moss for your skin,” she said to a passing girl, her tone light. “Travel is grimy work. Beauty requires maintenance.”

By early afternoon, the caravan began to take shape in the main courtyard. The wagons, painted in faded earth tones, formed a loose circle. The dragon whelps, now the size of large hounds, darted between the wheels, playing a chaotic game of tag. Zariel stayed close to Arianda’s heels, his timidity making him observe the boisterous play of the others rather than join.

Diego climbed onto the driver’s bench of the lead wagon, Sebastian leaping up to settle beside him like a great, living snowdrift. He surveyed the assembling group, his silver eyes missing nothing.

The wardens—Sherief, Balor, Serena, their companions, and a stern-faced man with a red dragon following closely behind, who must be Christofer—stood together, a knot of quiet authority in their grey hoods. Serenas blue tiger Azure stood as a large fortress of confidence and beatiful sleekness. Balors Ox, Duke stood on all fours its polished horns looking dangerous. Gale, Sheriefs Rabbit stood in humanoid form wearing green robes and looking like a wizened warrior next to him. This rabbit screamed aura.

Christofers dragon stood taller then the rest, the only other full grown dragon the kids have seen other then Zudrok. His hardened scales all proudly reflecting the sun in hues of red. The dragons stands proud as it observed the area.

Sage and Zudrok watched from the shadow of the gatehouse. The elder dragon’s low, rumbling breath vibrated through the ground. Sage’s hand rested on Zudrok’s scarred foreleg, his knuckles white. The pride in his eyes was at war with the fear.

“Gather round!” Diego called, his voice cheerful yet carrying. The buzz of activity died down. Thirteen young faces, some excited, some pale with nerves, turned toward him. “A final word before we depart. You’ve packed your belongings. Now pack away your assumptions. The world outside these walls does not care that you are young, or scared, or special. It only cares what you can do.”

He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “So, I will teach you what to do. How to assess a trade, how to read a road, how to listen to the gossip in a tavern and hear the truth beneath it.” A sly smile touched his lips. “Consider it your first lesson in merchantry. And your first lesson in espionage. They are often the same thing.”

Arianda felt Simon shift beside her, catching her eye with a raised brow. Diego’s words were a key turning in a lock, opening a door to a kind of learning they hadn’t considered. It wasn’t about elemental forms. It was about reading people. About survival in a world of secrets. She looked down at Zariel, his secret already a weight in her chest, and understood this was just the beginning.