WARNING THIS CHAPTER IS A WORK IN PROGRESS, DO NOT READ THIS CHAPTER
The common room of The Hearth felt too loud and too small after the quiet tension Diego’s announcement had left behind. Arianda pushed her plate away, the lively recounting of trades washing over her without sticking. Zariel, curled next to her, pressed a warm, scaled head against her wrist, a silent question in the bond they now shared. She looked across the table at Lilith, who was methodically shredding a piece of bread, her crystal blue eyes distant. Moss, perched at Lilith’s side, blew a tiny, frosty sigh that crystallized in the air for a second before vanishing.
“Want to get some air?” Arianda asked, her voice low.
Lilith’s gaze focused, sharpening on Arianda’s face. She nodded once, a quick, decisive motion. “Yes. Before we’re locked in for the night.”
They slipped out without drawing attention, the evening cool of Veridia greeting them like a balm. The city of glass glimmered under the first stars, towers catching the last indigo light of the sky, streets glowing with a soft, internal radiance from the buildings themselves. Zariel took to the air in a silent silver flutter, circling lazily above them, while Moss scampered ahead, her blue scales almost black in the dimness, nose twitching at new scents.
They walked in silence for a block, the only sounds the click of their boots on polished stone and the distant, alien music of a Veridian wind-chime. It was Lilith who spoke first, her voice thoughtful. “It doesn’t feel real, sometimes. Any of it.”
“Which part?” Arianda asked, her eyes tracing the impossible curve of a bridge made of what looked like solidified light.
“All of it. The dragons. The magic. Cities made by people who never needed a companion to build them.” Lilith stopped, looking up at a towering spire. “Back home, the biggest mystery was why Old Man Harkin’s pumpkins always won the fair. Here… everything is a question. And the answers are either terrifying or make you feel very, very small.”
Arianda thought of Diego’s single punch, the crunch of the roc’s skull. The counterfeit coin with its ominous symbol. “Mostly terrifying.”
“Mostly,” Lilith agreed. She glanced at Arianda, a faint, wry smile touching her lips. “Except for the parts that aren’t. Like this.” She gestured between them, then upward where Zariel circled. “Him. Moss. Knowing someone’s thoughts before they speak. That’s not terrifying. It’s just… strange. And big.”
A warmth that had nothing to do with the evening air spread through Arianda’s chest. She didn’t have the words, so she just nodded, bumping her shoulder gently against Lilith’s. Ahead, Moss chirped, beckoning them toward a small plaza where soft, golden lantern light pooled.
The plaza was a pocket of warmth and noise nestled between the silent glass giants. A handful of Veridian children, their hair in shades of crystalline blue and green, clustered on low benches. In the center stood a wooden cart, brightly painted, its sides folded down to create a small stage. A man moved behind it, his arms full of colorful puppets. He had a kind, lined face and wore a patched coat of many colors.
“Come, come, little sparks! Gather close!” his voice boomed, cheerful and inviting. “The day is done, the night is young! Pay a small token, just a single Yin, and rest your feet. Sit and listen, and I will tell you the tale that never grows old. The Legend of the King of Merchants!”
The children giggled, a few producing tiny, shimmering coins from their pockets. Arianda felt a jolt, sharp and cold, at the title. She froze at the edge of the lantern light. Lilith stopped beside her, her calm demeanor suddenly still as deep water.
The puppeteer bowed as the children settled. He held up two puppets. One was a simple wooden figure of a man in traveler’s clothes. The other was a magnificent, crudely charming tiger puppet stitched from white and black fabric. “Long ago, in the wild years before the roads were safe and the measures were true, there was a wanderer,” the man began, his voice dropping into a storyteller’s rhythm. “He walked the broken paths with only his faithful dragon friend at his side. And he saw a world where the strong took from the weak, where a good harvest meant nothing if you couldn’t fight to keep it, where power was born in the blood and not in the hand or the mind.”
Behind their cart, Zariel landed softly on Arianda’s side, his weight pressing down with a solid thump. His golden eyes were fixed on the white tiger puppet. Moss crept back to sit at Lilith’s feet, her green eyes wide.
“The wanderer was clever,” the puppeteer continued, making the traveler puppet tap its head. “And he saw a different kind of power. Not the power of the claw or the flame, but the power of the promise. The power of a thing given for a thing received, fairly, evenly, so all could grow.” He made the dragon puppet nod sagely. “So, he began to trade. Not just goods, but ideas. Safety for a price. Passage for a promise. He built the first true road, and where he walked, chaos became order.”
The children were utterly silent, enthralled. The puppeteer swapped the traveler for a new puppet, this one wearing a tiny crown of gilded wood and a robe painted with intricate scales. “He forged the first coin, the Yin, from a pact with the earth and the sky, so that its value came from the trust of all who used it, not from the might of the one who held it. He became a king, but not of land or armies. A king of markets. A king of roads. A king of merchants. He tamed the wilds with fairness, and his tiger watched over it all, the silent guardian of the balance.”
“But even kings of roads do not walk alone forever,” the puppeteer said, his voice softening. From his cart, he drew two smaller puppets. One—a woman, simple in design, but painted with careful detail. No crown. No mark of power. Just… a person. The other—a child, small and bright, its painted smile wide and fearless.
“There came a day,” he continued, “when the King of Merchants chose not a queen of power, but a heart of the world itself.” The woman puppet stood beside the crowned figure. “A natural-born. One without flame, without storm, without the blessing of the companions. A life that would fade as all unbound lives must.”
A murmur passed through the children.
“But he chose her,” the puppeteer said, lifting the puppet gently. “And in that choice, he gave something greater than roads or coin.” He tapped the crowned figure lightly. “He gave hope- to those who had never been meant to have it.” The child puppet joined them.
“They say their child laughed louder than any market, and ran faster than any caravan. That for a time, even the world itself seemed… kinder.” The puppeteer paused. Then his hands stilled. The lantern light flickered.
“But hope,” he said quietly, “draws eyes.” From the side of the cart, he brought out darker shapes—rougher puppets, less defined. Shadows more than figures. “There were those who did not trade in fairness. Those who did not build.” The shadows moved. “They saw what he had made. And they wanted it.”
The woman puppet fell first. The child followed. The sound of wood tapping against the stage was soft. Too soft.
The children had gone completely silent.
“They say,” the puppeteer continued, his voice lower now, “that the King of Merchants did not speak for three days.” The crowned puppet did not move. “On the fourth…” A pause. “…he did.”
The shadow puppets jerked violently. One by one, they were struck from the stage. Hard. Fast. Relentless.
“And the roads he built…” The puppeteer’s hand hovered over the stage. “…ran red instead of gold.”
The crowned puppet stood alone. Still. Unmoving.
“When it was over,” he said, softer now, “there was nothing left of those who had tried to take his world.” A long pause. “Not even their names.”
The puppeteer slowly lowered the figure. “And the King of Merchants…” he finished, “…returned to his roads.” The tiger puppet appeared again beside him. “But he did not build the same way after that.”
A beat.
“He built quieter.”
The story was a fairy tale. A simplified, glowing myth. But it was Diego’s story. The founding of the currency, the creation of the merchant networks. The lonely, thousand-year-old man they traveled with, who missed his old world, was this kingdom’s living, breathing legend. Arianda felt the truth of it settle in her bones, heavy and awe-inspiring.
The puppeteer bowed again as the children clapped. “And they say he still walks among us, the King of Merchants, watching over his great work! So remember, little sparks, be fair in your dealings, and perhaps his eye will fall kindly upon you.”
The show was over. The children began to chatter, dispersing into the night. The puppeteer started gathering his puppets. Arianda stood rooted, watching the man pack away the crowned puppet. The legend was a comfort here, a bedtime story. They had no idea the king was sleeping at their inn, or that his great work was now threatened by counterfeit coins in the shadows.
Lilith let out a slow, controlled breath. “A different kind of power,” she murmured, repeating the puppeteer’s words.
“Yeah,” Arianda whispered back. The fear from the inn, the formless dread, had crystallized into something else. Not less frightening, but clearer. They were traveling with a living myth, and someone was trying to break the world he had built. Zariel nuzzled her cheek, a soft rumble in his throat. She looked at Lilith, the lantern light catching in her blond hair. “We should get back.”
Lilith nodded, her thoughtful calm returned, but deepened now, layered with this new understanding. Together, with their dragons, they turned away from the fairy-tale plaza and walked back into the vast, real, and terrifying story they were living.