The Wandering Dragon Café

Thirza von Baer leaned low against her red dragon’s neck. Gusts of smoke clawed the inside of her throat as they soared over a battlefield unspooling into flame and wreckage.

Volcarina’s scales gleamed like living fire in the sunset’s bloody light. Through their magical bond, she could feel every beat of Volcarina’s powerful wings, every subtle shift as they navigated the wind currents, as though they were her own muscles in motion. It was as if they were one.

The Shade King’s massive, draconic form wheeled beneath roiling storm clouds in the distance, darkness trailing in his wake as he dove toward the troops fighting below. His presence seemed to dim the very air around him.

Thirza’s heart clenched as she watched fellow knights on their dragons take to the skies, moving to intercept, tiny in comparison. The black, winged monster looked like a force of nature, a storm coming to sow destruction in the form of flashing claws and raging fire until nothing was left standing except for the weeping, lucky few.

Thirza had seen him do it to many cities and villages, trying but failing to stop him.

No longer. She and Volcarina would end his reign of terror tonight, no matter the cost.

A tremor ran through Volcarina’s form. You’re terrified. Her dragon’s voice resonated in Thirza’s mind, tinged with surprise. I can feel it.

Thirza’s hands tightened on the worn leather of her saddle. She loved their bond, the emotions that rolled between them like steady ocean waves, the way they could speak using thoughts instead of shouting over the whipping wind. But it meant she could hide nothing.

She managed a wry smile. To anyone else, I’d try to deny it. Her throat squeezed. The world needs us here in this fight, and we’ll do everything in our power to defeat him. But I’m finally realizing just how unlikely it is we’ll get out alive.

Volcarina’s thoughts flowed back warm and steady. This is who we are. We protect. And I will keep you safe.

You know that in a battle like this, you can’t promise me that any more than I can promise it to you. The words tasted bitter, but they were true. In war, it was never fair to make promises of life when death was so likely.

No, Thirza. Close your eyes and feel it, Volcarina insisted. Feel what I’m promising.

Thirza hesitated, then let her eyes shut. Volcarina’s love and devotion flooded through their bond, as fierce and bright as dragon fire. It stole her breath.

I will keep you safe, Volcarina’s voice resounded with unshakeable certainty. I swear it.

Together, they banked toward the battle that threatened to be the end of everything.

The worst part about saving the kingdom was all the publicity. Not to mention the celebrating.

The citizens of Aishi Island’s capital city of Ria eagerly waved celebratory flags. Their necks craned to get a better look at her. As Thirza moved through the crowded street in the parade with her fellow heroes, yet another beaming person proffered her a cup of tea.

Thirza von Baer could have done without all the parties and parades, but the people wanted to see her. They wanted to applaud her and cheer. Everyone seemed to know everything about her now too, down to her favorite teatime habits, and Thirza sensed they were determined to gift her free tea for life.

Never mind that she just wanted to be left alone, that she just needed to sit somewhere dark and quiet and figure out who she was now that the war was over.

Never mind that every gift they gave her reminded her of what she had failed to save.

Like she knew she was supposed to, she paused to gulp down the latest proffered drink—lady gray with a hint of vanilla—then handed the cup back with a grateful flourish, causing a cheer from the onlookers.

This was what they wanted from her, of course. Everyone craved a smiling hero. They wanted the Thirza von Baer they’d come to admire at the start of the war. Thirza the sword-wielding, dragon-riding half-elf, Thirza who loved books and teatime, Thirza who met every challenge head-on with a grin and every enemy with an armor-clad fist.

She was an icon. And the Great Shade War had broken everyone enough that the people still needed that version of Thirza, even if the war had broken her most of all.

Stars, it was exhausting to pretend.

The sun beat down on their heads, unusually hot for Songmenth, the first month of spring. The cobblestones of the street and the bricks of the grand buildings magnified the heat, making Thirza wish for the hundredth time that this was over.

Bits of paper fell past her nose, and she looked up to see a group of gnomish children and two opossums beaming from a second-floor window as they tossed handfuls of handmade confetti.

The other warriors who moved down the city street alongside her were also dressed in their armor or adventuring gear. There were a few dozen of them, many elves or half-elves, some humans or dwarves, and even a few halflings, orcs, trolls, gnomes, beast-folk, goblins, and fae.

Not far ahead, her brother, Reuben, waved and grinned through his wild brown beard at cheering youth, his wren serenading the audience from her perch on his head. Dinah maintained a professionally aloof elvish smile even as confetti rained down on her hair and her weasel companion bounced excitedly on her shoulder. Behind her strode the mighty, axe-wielding human, Goff, and Terry on her war-stallion. Her small, gnomish friend, Selina, was hidden somewhere in the mix.

They had been Thirza’s siblings-in-arms. They’d all been there during that final battle.

The reason so many grateful, admiring gazes followed her specifically was because she alone had driven her sword through the Shade King’s skull and ended the war once and for all.

But she’d also failed more than anyone else. Everyone else here was still whole. Only she had failed to save her magical bond. Failed to save her dragon companion.

Thirty minutes later, the ceremony began in the city plaza as the queen lauded their efforts and thousands of people looked on. They stood on a raised wooden platform that had been erected just for this purpose. As Queen Maeve waxed eloquent and the minutes crept by like dribbling sand, Thirza felt her exhaustion mounting.

“Let’s give our heroes another round of applause,” Queen Maeve announced not for the first time, making the onlookers burst into cheering and clapping that blasted across the plaza.

Thirza stood rigidly at attention as waves of heat radiated from her plate mail. She had long since lost her false smile. The crowd’s cheering pressed against her like a psychic wave, making her head throb. She kept her green-eyed gaze fixed on a point above the sea of faces, refusing to look at the empty space behind her where Volcarina should have been.

Three weeks. The thought hammered against her skull with each pulse of pain behind her eyes. Three weeks since she’d stood before the Shade King, slain him, and ended the war. Three weeks since she’d watched her beloved dragon fall from the sky, scales darkening from vibrant red to dull crimson as the light left her eyes. Her every breath felt solitary, cut in half, like she was breathing with only one lung now that she couldn’t feel Volcarina’s presence in her mind.

“And to Lady Thirza von Baer, slayer of the Shade King,” Queen Maeve’s voice cut through the noise, honey-sweet and performative, “whose courage turned the tide of battle. You bring hope to the Forty-two Isles as we move into our bright new future, even as we have faced new loss, such as the death of the ancient and beloved Wizard Hymellius.”

Thirza’s gaze flicked to the star-strewn black and purple banners and pennants hanging at intervals across the plaza. Even with today’s celebration, these banners remained as a reminder of the great wizard’s passing a week ago. He’d been the oldest person in known history, and perhaps the most accomplished wizard Symvalia had ever seen, but his age had finally caught up to him.

It was a shame. Thirza had only been able to meet Wizard Hymellius once during the war. She supposed she should be grateful for that brief encounter. People all across the isles were mourning the loss of such a great mind, even though most folks had only gotten to know him through his books, his public impact on the scientific and magical fields, and his long-lasting enchantments which still shaped various cities and landmarks.

But, honestly, Thirza had barely had time to think about the passing of the famed Wizard Hymellius, and what was more, she hadn’t had room for additional mourning.

“Lady Thirza von Baer, slayer of the Shade King,” Queen Maeve repeated, “you will be honored eternally for your ultimate sacrifice. The realm owes you a debt we can never repay.”

The queen herself turned to Thirza and inclined her head in gratitude as solemn clapping echoed through the city.

Thirza’s jaw clenched so hard her teeth ached. But she maintained her poise, head up, shoulders back, and dark-blonde hair cascading around her in waves.

Still, despite her unshaken facade, she’d rather face another army of shades than endure one more moment of this spectacle. She’d served as one of the queen’s knights for years. Queen Maeve knew Thirza didn’t want to be here, but the queen was properly traditional and elvish, meaning ceremony was important.

Queen Maeve had agreed not to mention Thirza’s retirement today. If the people knew, they’d overwhelm her with care and encouragement. They’d tell her not to give up her position as a dragon-riding knight. They’d tell her that she’d find a new dragon to bond with, that she’d be whole again, that her new happiness would heal her broken heart.

She shuddered at the thought. Volcarina couldn’t be replaced. Thirza refused to do it. Volcarina had kept her promise. She’d made sure Thirza was safe, but Thirza hadn’t been able to do the same. And after failing to save her dearest friend, Thirza wasn’t sure she deserved healing and happiness.

To Thirza’s left, Reuben shifted closer, a subtle show of support. She was tall, but he was a few inches taller still, broad and unusually barrel-chested for a half-elf. Her brother knew her too well, his hazel gaze noting her tense body language.

“And to the animals and creatures that are just as much heroes as their companions!” The queen flourished her hand, giving the signal for the creatures too large to be on the platform for the majority of the ceremony to now join their bonded hero.

Darryla the wood fae was joined by her elk. A griffin leaped up beside her halfling friend, and a father and son dwarf duo made room for their bears.

No companion joined Thirza. There was no sense of her other half drawing nearer to her through their bond. No emotions flowing within her but her own. It made her breath catch from the grief.

A familiar form deftly leaped up behind Reuben, butting him playfully with a horned head. Liv the wren chirped to Reuben’s other creature companion in greeting.

As a Southern Peaks Dragon, Crenshaw wasn’t as big as Volcarina had been, but his scaly, winged form was comforting and helped remind Thirza to breathe. The copper dragon stretched his wings lazily in the sun, making a few onlookers step back nervously. His wing brushed Thirza’s shoulder as an offer of comfort.

The crowd’s applause remained steady, though Thirza noticed some hands remained stubbornly at their sides at the sight of Reuben’s dragon companion. A mother pulled her child closer as Crenshaw yawned, displaying rows of gleaming teeth.

Thirza put her half-elf ears to work, straining to pick out individual voices from those who seemed most disapproving.

“I don’t understand why the queen still lets dragons in the city….”

“…can’t trust them anymore, not after what happened….”

Anger flashed under her skin. Her right hand drifted to her sword belt—a habit she couldn’t seem to break. The leather was worn smooth from years of use while astride Volcarina’s back.

The queen had already taken this a step much too far. She had requested dragons wait here in the plaza instead of joining in the parade. “For everyone’s comfort,” she’d said. Even now, most of Thirza’s fellow knights and their dragons remained in the background, lined like a steady defensive barrier at the back of the plaza. Thirza knew none of them were happy about it.

Volcarina would have hated this ceremony too. The thought hit Thirza with such force that her knees went weak. Her dragon had always preferred snatching pastries from festival stalls to formal events, and she hadn’t been afraid to say so. Thirza could imagine the low purr of Volcarina’s voice, and the soft resonance of her thoughts through their Magica Bond.

Once, she’d snatched a nobleman’s wig right off his head, claiming she’d thought it was some exotic bird’s nest, though Thirza suspected she’d wanted to get back at him for snubbing Thirza the previous week. The memory, usually a source of amusement, now burned like acid in her throat.

Phantom recollections of flames and battle screams made a bead of sweat roll down her back. Dragons possessed by the shades, breathing scorching flame against their own allies. Intelligent golden eyes turned hateful and dark. So many good dragons lost to the evil of the Shade King. She forced the images down, like swallowing bitter medicine.

“At least they didn’t make us wear those ridiculous ceremonial capes,” Reuben whispered to her, barely moving his lips. “Remember the ones from the Winter Festival last year? I swear mine was made from an actual turkey.”

Crenshaw rumbled a deep, resonant chuckle in agreement, causing another ripple of unease through the crowd.

Thirza didn’t respond, but something in her chest loosened. Her brother’s familiar irreverence gave her something to focus on besides the pounding in her head.

The ceremony stretched on like the forging of hot metal. Thirza found herself counting the boards beneath her feet, calculating the exact distance to the platform’s edge, planning escape routes through the crowd like she was still in battle. Anything to avoid looking at the empty space where her red-and-black dragon should have been standing.

When the queen finally concluded her speech, the crowd dispersed in clusters, their celebratory mood tamed by the heat and unease toward Reuben’s lingering dragon. Thirza was almost jealous of the unapproachable royal guards who escorted the queen to her carriage. Still, Crenshaw did repel those who might want to speak to Thirza. The thought of pretending to be her old self any longer today was too much.

“Quite the event, wasn’t it?” A familiar voice cut through Thirza’s fog.

Selina Vintertaft appeared at her hip from the other side of the platform, the tinted amber lenses in her round, sun-blocking spectacles glinting in the late afternoon sun. The gnome bard was only three and a half feet tall with short, apple-red hair, matching red pants, and a silver vest. The only thing inconsistent with her usual look was her lack of lute case. Unlike during their battles against the shades, Selina hadn’t needed her magical music today.

The bard’s expression was carefully cheerful, but Thirza could sense she was assessing her mood. “I particularly enjoyed Her Majesty’s dramatic pauses. Very theatrical.” Selina’s bullfrog companion, Blep, let out a croak of agreement from a pouch at her waist.

Thirza managed a smile of acknowledgment. Even that small expression felt like a monumental effort.

“You look like you’re about to faint in this heat,” Selina continued, hopping down the platform steps with her usual agility. “And while I’m sure it would add delightful drama to the occasion, perhaps we could find somewhere cooler and quieter? With considerably fewer people and significantly more tea?”

She followed Selina down to the emptying plaza. “I’m fine,” Thirza said automatically, though the words came out rough, as if she’d been gargling gravel. “And it’s not like I need more tea.” All she wanted to do was go somewhere cold, dark, quiet, and solitary.

“Of course you’re fine.” Selina’s tone was dry as autumn leaves. “And I’m secretly a frost giant. Reuben, a little help here?”

Thirza’s brother nudged her shoulder with his own, Crenshaw still creating a convenient barrier between them and the remaining onlookers. “There’s a new café a few blocks down,” he said, his voice deliberately light. “Apparently, they’ve got cats. Actual cats, not just people who turn into cats when you annoy them.” He twisted a strand of his beard. “I won’t ever live that one down.”

“Most awkward training meeting ever,” Selina interjected. “Who decides it’s a good idea to entertain a room of wizards with dad jokes?”

“Me.”

The familiar banter washed over Thirza like cool, relieving water. She found herself following them across the wide plaza, her boots moving automatically while her mind drifted. A few more people called out congratulations as she passed. She nodded mechanically, not trusting her voice.

The crowd thinned as they made their way onto a wide boulevard lined with spire-like oaks, and a mix of hanging banners that either celebrated today’s parade or mourned the great wizard’s death. Even with more space, Thirza could still feel stares following Crenshaw. The dragon usually preferred talking to Reuben through their magical bond rather than speaking aloud, but Thirza could hear him grumbling to himself, “Just ignore them….”

Apparently, Crenshaw was only pretending not to notice how people gave him a wider berth than necessary. Thirza realized he was perhaps the only one here who felt as out of place as she did. She placed a hand on the warm, smooth scales of his flank, and he leaned into her touch with a grateful glance of his great golden eyes. She’d helped Reuben train Crenshaw a decade ago when the dragon was significantly smaller and more unruly. Even though Reuben was the one magically and mentally bonded to Crenshaw, Thirza and the dragon were still close.

“Oh, this is it!” Selina stopped so suddenly that Thirza nearly walked right over her. “The cat café, The Purring Kettle.”

The gnome adjusted her tinted spectacles, peering through the front window of a brick building with pots of flowers out front. A wooden sign above the door depicted a ginger cat and a steaming teapot.

“And it’s like you said, Reuben. Those are genuine cats, not enchanted ones. You can tell by the level of disinterest they’re showing everyone.”

Through the café’s windows, Thirza could see several felines lounging on cushioned sills, their tails twitching lazily in the orange light of sunset.

“Looks cozy,” Reuben said while Crenshaw craned his neck to peer curiously at the cats. “And significantly less…” He glanced meaningfully at the dispersing crowd. “Ceremonial.”

Crenshaw obviously wouldn’t fit inside. He must have announced his intent to depart through his bond because her brother seemed unsurprised as the dragon flapped into the air and took off over the buildings, sending a blast of wind swirling through the street.

A child down the road screamed at the sight, and a woman selling buns broke into hysterics as the winged shadow passed over her. Thirza was tempted to march over and shake some sense into the woman. The queen had employed dragon-riding knights for decades. The sight of the dragons used to bring hope, yet everyone had turned on them so fast.

Before Thirza could do anything, Selina pushed open the café door, setting off a gentle chime. The interior was warm, with mismatched armchairs scattered around low tables. Cats of various sizes and colors occupied nearly every surface, some watching the newcomers with mild curiosity, others continuing their dedicated naps.

The change in atmosphere was jarring. After the overwhelming noise of the crowd outside, the café felt like stepping into another world entirely. The air smelled of cinnamon and chamomile, and the only sounds were soft purring, the peaceful murmur of voices from the fifteen or so seated people, and the clink of cups against saucers.

As the soft comfort of the atmosphere settled in, Thirza blinked in surprise. “Oh. I think I get it.”

Reuben grinned. “The reason I brought you here? Yeah, there’s something about this place that has the comfort of home.”

“Over here,” Selina directed, claiming a quiet corner table. A gray tabby immediately hopped onto her lap, kneading her sparkly vest with obvious approval.

Thirza sank into one of the chairs, her armor scraping against the wooden frame. A black cat with white paws regarded her from a nearby shelf, its yellow eyes unnervingly intense. She found herself staring back, remembering how Volcarina used to look at her that way when she was being particularly stubborn about something.

“You’re starting to rust in there,” Reuben said, nodding at her armor as he settled into his own chair. His wren, Liv, found a perch on a nearby coat rack.

“The armor stays on,” Thirza replied flatly. It was the only thing holding her together, though she couldn’t bring herself to admit it.

A young halfling woman, stout, smiling, only three-feet-tall and practically vibrating with enthusiasm, approached their table, arms full of menus. “Welcome to The Purring Kettle! I’m Marigold, and I’ll be serving you today.” She set menus before each of them, then addressed Blep and Liv. “And these are our animal menus. Let me know if you have questions about ingredients, but we try to have delicious offerings for every kind of stomach.”

Blep croaked in thanks, and Liv fluttered over to examine one of the menus. Although they couldn’t speak except to their companions through their mental bond, both understood everything people said to them and knew how to read.

Marigold beamed at Thirza, perhaps recognizing she was the only one without a companion. “Would you like to hear about our adoption program? All our cats are looking for their forever bonds!”

The words “forever bonds” lanced Thirza’s chest. Her hands clenched beneath the table, and she felt the phantom echo of Volcarina’s presence in her mind—that warm, constant connection that had been violently severed three weeks ago.

“Perhaps just tea for now,” Selina intervened smoothly, catching the tension in Thirza’s shoulders.

Marigold gasped in sudden realization. “You’re knights! I’ve seen your pictures in the broadsheets! You must have been in the parade, but I was too busy here to go.”

“Technically,” Reuben said with a smile, “Thirza’s the only knight. Selina and I are adventurers for hire. Benevolent mercenaries, if you will.”

“But you were all warriors in the final battle!” Marigold bowed so deeply that her curls flew over her face. “The shades are gone because of you.”

Selina and Reuben nodded warmly, but Thirza sighed, disappointed that they hadn’t escaped the fawning after all.

Surprisingly perceptive, the halfling seemed to realize they’d come in to get some peace, because her tone turned professional as she said, “Well, I’m here to serve you! What kind of tea would you like?”

“Thanks, darling,” Selina said. “Maybe a tisane? Something soothing. We trust your expertise, so you pick.”

They also ordered some honey cakes, as well as some cricket popcorn for Liv and Blep. The menu said it was neither crickets nor popcorn, but a magically crafted snack designed to have the nutrition insectivores needed mixed with a delicious popped texture.

“I’ll have that right out!” Marigold bounced away, her enthusiasm undimmed. As she passed a chair, a kitten tumbled after her, batting at her apron strings.

Thirza found herself tracking the kitten’s movements, remembering how Volcarina had been just as playful when she was a dragonette. Thirza hadn’t known Volcarina when she’d been a hatchling, but they’d met and trained when they were young, both just fifteen, and Volcarina had been rambunctious. She’d once knocked over an entire weapons rack trying to chase a butterfly through the knights’ training grounds.

The memory squeezed her chest like a vise.

“So,” Selina said once they were alone, scratching under her tabby’s chin. “What comes next for the celebrated heroes of the realm?”

They were all quiet for a moment, and Thirza knew they all still felt a little lost. The war had been their lives for three years.

“Well,” Reuben started, “it’s obviously time for me to become an entrepreneur and use my strategic mind to earn a few tons of gold. I always promised Crenshaw a hoard.”

Selina snorted in amusement. “Strategic mind, huh?”

“I was thinking of opening a tiny tavern exclusively for frogs,” Reuben joked. “There’s a real gap in the market there.”

Despite herself, Thirza felt her lips twitch. “Because that worked out so well with the musical squirrel sanctuary?”

“Hey, that was hardly my fault. How was I supposed to know they’d form a union?”

“The squirrels weren’t the problem,” Selina pointed out. “It was your attempt to negotiate with them using interpretive dance.”

“Squirrels love dancing, and my moves were very eloquent,” Reuben protested. “Elegant,” he corrected, before scratching his head. “Eloquent and elegant.”

His bird’s next chirp sounded suspiciously like a snicker. Reuben had pulled out a tiny sketchbook for Liv, and she was scratching onto transfer paper with her beak so that her lines would show up on the page—a nice alternative to her needing to grip a pencil in her little claws to draw. Currently, she was sketching the cat that sat mere feet from her, and Thirza noticed she’d gotten impressively good.

“You feel safe enough here, Liv?” Thirza asked, her eyes flicking between the bird and the cat. Bonded predators gained the intelligence and moral perspective that let them overcome their instincts and eat fabricated meats instead of hunting, but these cats were still in their natural animal state. Luckily, they seemed more interested in napping or being petted than in Liv.

The little brown and white bird chirped, but kept drawing.

Reuben chuckled. “She says her art is more important than safety. She’s gearing up to publish a wildlife art book, you know. Plus, she says that’s what our healing magic is for.” He shrugged helplessly.

Thirza knew that Reuben had learned from experience that Liv didn’t like being coddled, and it was true that the nature-based healing magic the two of them shared definitely came in handy.

Noises from the front drew their attention. A young girl, no more than seven, was cradling a tiny orange kitten while her mother filled out adoption papers. The kitten purred so loudly they could hear it across the room, its paws kneading the air as it snuggled into the girl’s embrace.

“That’s our newest arrival,” Marigold explained, appearing with a tray of their tea and food. “Found her abandoned in an alley a week ago, poor thing. But look how quickly she’s found her person!”

Thirza stared, imagining the bond of magic that might be sparking to life between cat and child at any moment. The warmth of connection filling their hearts, helping them to sense each other’s thoughts and emotions, granting the cat sapience beyond what an animal could gain on its own.

The severed bond within her felt like a phantom limb, an empty socket, leaving her cold and barren.

Thirza picked up her teacup to give herself something to do. She could feel Selina and Reuben watching her, their concern palpable. They thought she was fragile, that the talk of new bonds would break her.

She proved them wrong by taking a calm sip of her lemon ginger tea.

After Marigold left, Selina munched on a cake. “You know, I’ve been freelancing in my spare time—for years now, right?—helping fellow adventurers manage their treasure hoards. And I rather enjoyed that part. More than the actual adventuring, if I’m honest. I think it’s time I make it official and finally open a financial advisory service.”

Reuben chuckled through a mouthful of cake. “You can probably hit up all your old clients and be off to a solid start in days.”

Selina thumped her fist into her palm, looking eager and determined. “I like it because it’s personal. Helping heroes figure out what to do with all their gorgon’s gold and magical artifacts. Most adventurers are rubbish with money, you know. Present company excluded, of course,” she added quickly, though Reuben’s guilty expression suggested otherwise.

A tortoiseshell cat leaped onto their table, nearly knocking over Thirza’s tea. It fixed her with an imperious stare, and Thirza returned it like the cat was a bear she refused to be intimidated by. It meowed at her like she’d proved herself with her obstinance before settling down directly on top of her menu.

Thirza kept a hand wrapped around her cup, her gauntlets shielding her from the heat. She should probably remove those, at least, but she couldn’t bring herself to start dismantling any part of her armor. Who was she without her uniform?

Who was she without Volcarina?

“What about you, Thirza?” Selina asked carefully. “Any thoughts about the future?”

Thirza kept her eyes on the cat, watching how it settled itself with such easy confidence. “How long can I reasonably nap? A few years?” She let out a deep breath and closed her eyes. “Or maybe someone can turn me into a cat so I can live here.”

Thirza listened to the soft hum of voices. The aromas of freshly brewed tea filled the emptiness inside her with the warmth of nutty fragrances, spiced notes of chai, and subtle floral hints, overlaid by a smell that could be nothing other than cat. Thirza had never minded the smell of animals, though. The scents of creatures big and small had always been a comfort, their unique sounds even more so. The soft mews, purrs, and shuffling from around the café warmed her cold heart in ways she couldn’t fully understand, as did the sight of Liv and Blep enjoying their treats, just as welcome as any of the people were.

There was something magical about a place like this. A place where people and creatures came together to connect over good food and warm drink somewhere that felt like home.

“You could always join the queen’s standing army,” Reuben suggested. “They’d promote you to general in a heartbeat.”

Thirza opened her eyes, the peace of the moment ending. “No.” The word came out like a sword being unsheathed. She softened her tone at Reuben’s wince. “No more armies.” She paused, then let out a breath. “At the same time, who am I without a sword in my hand and armor on my back?”

She didn’t add “or a dragon to ride,” but she knew her friends sensed the unspoken words anyway.

She had been a traveling knight for decades. She didn’t even own a permanent residence. She’d grown up on Providynne Isle where her mother still lived, but that hadn’t been her home since she was a teen. Thirza was now completely unmoored.

Silence settled over the table, broken only by the gentle purring of the tabby. Through the window, Thirza could see festival lights beginning to twinkle as dusk approached. The sight blurred in her vision, transforming momentarily into the memory of Volcarina’s scales catching the sunset, gleaming like living flame.

“There are so many orphaned baby dragons now,” Thirza said, her brows creasing darkly. “I suppose that’s what happens when hundreds of dragons are mercilessly killed in a war.”

“They’ll be okay,” Reuben said quietly. “Dragons are resilient, even the babies. They’re meant to survive in the wild.”

“Not drakelings,” Thirza retorted. The small, domestic species of dragon had personalities similar to cats and dogs, and they’d adapted to human companionship. “They aren’t suited for life alone in the wild, yet after the war, no one wants to take them in.”

Selina sighed. “People are afraid.”

Thirza glowered, her hand clenching into a fist. “The shades may have possessed a bunch of dragons and made them go on violent rampages, but that wasn’t their fault! The dragons were the victims, and if people would just remember—”

“We know.” Selina squeezed Thirza’s hand. “We’re with you. But lots of people lost family members to those corrupted dragons, so you can’t blame them for their fear. The good news is that, because you killed the Shade King, the violence is over. It’s over, Thirza.”

For a moment, Thirza wished it wasn’t over just so she could kill the Shade King all over again. The pointless thought faded and she let out a long, slow breath, deflating.

“What am I supposed to do?” she asked her friends softly.

Neither Selina nor Reuben answered immediately. The silence stretched, filled only by the soft purring and the clink of teacups. Thirza appreciated that they didn’t rush to fill it with hollow reassurances.

Then the café door opened, and every conversation stopped at once as though the air had been pulled from the room. A tingle of magic prickled Thirza’s skin, and her muscles instinctively prepared to burst into action at any sign of danger.

The figure in the doorway had to duck slightly to clear the frame—not because they were especially tall, but because of the enormous pointed hat perched on their head. Its wide, drooping brim cast their face in deep shadow, and a bulky red scarf obscured everything below. The only visible feature was a pair of gleaming spectacles catching the lamplight in the dark gap between hat and scarf. They wore a long brown duster coat and tan gloves, and in the few places where skin was visible—a sliver of wrist between glove and sleeve—it appeared to be gilded, as if their flesh had been dipped in molten gold.

A tiny, wingless lindwyrm dragon, no bigger than a lizard and glittering like a living coin, perched on the brim of the hat. It surveyed the café with bright, imperious eyes.

Thirza’s breath caught. She had never met this person, but she knew exactly who they were. Everyone did. Their image had appeared in enough broadsheets, scholarly texts, and even children’s picture books to be unmistakable.

Mauriasu, the Gilded Mage. One of the most mysterious and powerful living mages in the Forty-two Isles, famous for their magical inventions, including helping design the essence-capture technology that allowed mages to create mock meats with the nutritional value of real meat without harming animals, and equally famous for being a near-total recluse who almost never appeared in public. No one knew their exact age or even their race, though theories ranged from a few hundred years old to nearly as ancient as Hymellius himself.

And they were standing in a cat café in Ria City, scanning the room as though looking for someone specific.

The tiny lindwyrm on their hat brim let out a high-pitched hum. Mauriasu tilted their head, listening, then turned directly toward Thirza’s table.

The café remained silent as everyone stared. Marigold stood frozen with a teapot in each hand, mouth hanging open. Even the cats had gone still, their ears pricked forward with feline wariness.

Mauriasu crossed the room in four long strides, their duster coat sweeping fallen cat hair aside in their wake. They stopped before Thirza’s table and said without preamble, “Thirza von Baer.”

It wasn’t a question, and their voice was soft but gruff, stripped of any pleasantries. Thirza straightened in her chair, only her years of military discipline allowing her to appear more relaxed than she felt. “That’s me.”

“I am Mauriasu. Wizard Hymellius asked me to deliver this to you one week after his passing.” A gloved hand reached inside the duster coat and produced a sealed envelope. “That week has now elapsed.”

Thirza stared at the envelope, her pulse quickening as the words sank in. It was heavy parchment, cream-colored and sealed with deep blue wax stamped with an intricate sigil she didn’t recognize. Her name was written across the front in precise, formal script.

She didn’t take it, alarm bells ringing in her mind because this was simply too absurd. The world’s most famous eccentric wizard had asked the world’s most reclusive but renowned mage to hand-deliver a letter to her? All around the room, people stared and whispered to their neighbors, eyes wide.

“I’m sorry,” she said carefully. “Wizard Hymellius asked you to give me something? Personally?”

“That is what I said.” Mauriasu’s tone suggested they did not enjoy repeating themselves. The tiny gold lindwyrm on their hat brim hummed in what might have been agreement.

Selina and Reuben exchanged a wide-eyed glance. Blep let out a low, contemplative croak from Selina’s pouch.

Mouth dry, Thirza took the envelope.

Thirza studied the envelope with apprehension, turning it over in her hands. The wax seal was cool and smooth beneath her fingertips. “There must be some mistake,” she told the Gilded Mage. “I only met Wizard Hymellius once.”

“There is no mistake.” Mauriasu clasped their gloved hands behind their back, standing with the rigid patience of someone who had delivered their message and now considered the interaction largely concluded. “The letter is from Hymellius’s estate. I am one of three mage trustees he appointed to manage his affairs after death. The contents will explain the rest.”

Thirza broke the seal and unfolded the letter. The script inside was different from the writing on the envelope—more formal, clearly drafted by a legal hand rather than Hymellius himself.

OFFICIAL NOTICE OF BEQUEST

From the Estate of Wizard Hymellius of Yestersun Isle

To: Lady Thirza von Baer

By the authority vested in us as trustees of the late Wizard Hymellius’s estate, we hereby inform you that you have been named as the sole beneficiary of the following property:

The Enchanted Cottage of Yestersun Isle
(Property designation: Hymellius’s Primary Residence, Variable Location)
Most recently observed near: Peckington Village, Yestersun Isle

This bequest is made without condition or encumbrance, free and clear of all claims. The property, including all contents therein and any magical enchantments pertaining thereto, shall transfer to your ownership upon completion of the formal claim process.

The letter then went on to outline the transfer process in tight legal language—documents to be filed, signatures required, meetings to be arranged with key authorities to officially complete the handover, and noted that a former caretaker named Archibald Winstekker would be available to assist with the transition.

She read it once, then read it again, certain she had misunderstood.

“This says,” she began, her voice unnaturally level, “that Wizard Hymellius has left me his Enchanted Cottage.”

Selina made a sound like she’d swallowed her tongue. Reuben’s eyebrows climbed so high they vanished into his curly hair.

“The Enchanted Cottage,” Selina repeated in a strangled whisper. “The Enchanted Cottage? The one that changes shape and size with its mood? The one that supposedly trapped a pesky door-to-door salesman in the root cellar for a week when he wouldn’t stop knocking?”

“The very one,” Mauriasu confirmed without inflection.

Thirza had heard stories about the Enchanted Cottage, of course. Everyone had. It was almost as famous as Hymellius himself. Stories said he’d built and enchanted it with sentience to be the perfect abode in his old age. Supposedly, it had a distinct personality and would reward or punish visitors depending on how they treated it, and it had an uncanny ability to know exactly what its residents needed before they did.

Thirza lowered the letter, her mind whirling.

There was no logical reason for her to have any place in the great wizard’s will. There were museums containing nothing but items that had been significant in his life, university courses dedicated to understanding his styles of spellcasting and the historical roles his enchantments played. He’d lived through the transitions from Early Age to Age of Enlightenment, to Age of Unity, to the modern Age of Clarity. He’d been around so long that he came from a time before folks commonly used last names, which is why he was simply called Wizard Hymellius.

She’d met the man exactly once when they’d both been in the same place during the war. Although he’d said some kind things to her and Volcarina, he’d spoken to other knights as well. In fact, he’d spent much of that meeting trying to convince everyone that his beard was actually a very small, very well-trained cloud that followed him around.

And since his magic had literally created portals, formed eternal whirlpools, saved whole cities from plague, and even raised entire mountain ranges, a cloud beard was—while eccentric—hardly far-fetched.

So why had Thirza been chosen?

Thirza looked up at Mauriasu, her heart still thrumming. “Surely he gave you more information than this. About why he bequeathed it to me?”

The stillness with which Mauriasu regarded her conveyed the resignation of someone faced with an overly questioning child. “Surely he did not,” they said flatly. A pause. “I will tell you that numerous museums, universities, and magical organizations have already filed claims arguing they have a stronger right to the property. The Thaumaturgical Historical Society alone has submitted four separate petitions, all in just this past week. None of these claims will succeed. The will is ironclad. But you should be aware that not everyone will be pleased by this bequest.”

Thirza tried to sift through her feelings, attempting to regard her growing sense of panic from a distant, analytical perspective, even though she felt increasingly tangled up in it. She should be grateful beyond words for this gift, ecstatic to be recognized by two of Symvalia’s greatest mages, and eager to see where this opportunity would take her.

Instead, she saw herself alone in a magic cottage, trying to make a home someplace she would never share with Volcarina. A place that held the memories of someone else’s grand accomplishments while she eternally carried the weight of her failure. Her loneliness and loss. All the plans for future and home she would never get to carry out with the one being who had known and loved her best.

Thirza’s stomach clenched, and she tried not to let her hands tremble as she gripped the parchment.

“Wizard Hymellius must have had something in mind when he decided this,” she said, carefully controlling her voice.

“That is not my concern.” Mauriasu’s tone was not unkind, merely factual. “The letter contains instructions for claiming the property. I suggest you follow them promptly. The cottage has been without a resident since Hymellius’s death, and I am told it does not respond well to neglect.”

Before Thirza could ask any of the dozens of questions crowding her mind, Mauriasu inclined their head in a gesture that was less a bow and more an efficient signal that the conversation was over. “Good evening.”

They swept toward the door.

Thirza stood, her chair scraping loudly against the floor. The cats in the café startled, and a ginger tom bolted from a windowsill. “Wait—”

But Mauriasu was already at the door, their duster coat sweeping behind them. They stepped through the threshold and out into the darkening street.

Thirza was right behind them, pushing through the door into the cool evening air—

The street was empty.

She looked left, right, even up. Nothing. No retreating figure, no flash of a brown coat, no glint of gold. Mauriasu had simply ceased to be there, as though they’d stepped not through a doorway but through a fold in the world itself.

The café door chimed behind her as Selina and Reuben tumbled out.

“Did they just—” Reuben started.

“Teleported,” Selina said, adjusting her spectacles with the air of professional assessment. “Instantaneous, too. No residual shimmer, no audible displacement. That’s extraordinarily advanced translocation magic. I’ve only read about that level of skill.”

Silence hung as all three of them stared. “Well,” Reuben said at last, “that’s not what I expected to happen today.”

Selina’s professional demeanor fell away as she grinned and put a hand to her face like she could barely believe everything that had just transpired. “This is incredible, Thirza! Wizard Hymellius, the ageless wizard who founded the mage libraries and who claimed to have tamed living storms a thousand years ago before any of us were even born… He gave you his cottage!”

She turned to Reuben. “You were there too when he came to Kentler Keep, right? And he made a magical barrier all by himself that would have normally required one hundred mages?” She cocked her head. “I also recall that he was intentionally wearing every article of clothing, including his hat, inside-out because it was a Moonday. If you ever figured out the significance of that, I’d love to know. Still, he was a genius!”

Reuben just nodded, unable to get a word in.

Selina took a deep breath and made a warding gesture with her eyes closed as if to center herself. “Okay. No more gushing. Rein it in, Selina.”

Thirza felt numb with bewilderment. She looked down at the letter still clutched in her hand. The formal script stared back at her, unyielding and real, stating the irrefutable wishes of the man who had once been the most powerful wizard on Symvalia.

Thirza remembered her single meeting with him distinctly. It had taken place at around the halfway point of the war, when Thirza and a number of other dragon-riding knights had been stationed at Kentler Keep. The Shade King and his possessed dragon followers had recently settled on Southern Providynne Isle, and Queen Maeve was worried they’d strike the neighboring keep and surrounding city next, so she’d assigned extra troops and defenses there.

Thirza and Volcarina had just finished a patrol flight over vast seawater sparkling with orange sunlight. Settling down on the battlements of the keep, Thirza had found a little old man standing there as though he’d been waiting for her.

He’d been short, but graceful, half-gnome and half-elf by the look of him. His white hair had billowed long and fluffy from under an inside-out mage hat, matched by a white beard. His long fingers gripped a knobby walking stick, and a large fruit bat—his animal companion at the time—had sat perkily on his hat.

“Droconis torrens igneus,” the wizened man said as Thirza dismounted Volcarina. “And a lovely one at that.”

Thirza had blinked at him, mind too busy racing over the worries of the war to make sense of his phrase. “I beg your pardon?”

“My scientific name,” Volcarina told her softly.

The little old man nodded, smiling at Volcarina. “I was the one who originally named your species.” He chuckled. “In a human tongue, anyway. Dragons have had names for themselves long before we people first learned to scribble words with charcoal and stone.” He turned to Thirza. “Have you learned their language yet?”

Thirza nodded a little uncomfortably. “Some. I’m getting decent.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Volcarina shaking her head and holding back a grin as she mouthed at the old man, “She’s terrible.”

Thirza let out an exasperated scoffing sound, though she was amused, not offended. “Fine. I don’t know Draconic as well as I’d like. Just common words and phrases.”

The man nodded, slow and thoughtful. “I was watching the two of you fly over the sea. You did some lovely aerial maneuvers. Your diving form was excellent.”

Thirza raised an eyebrow. They’d been miles out when they’d practiced their dives. Had this man used magic to see them from so far away? If so, what had been his special interest in them?

He continued. “If you can fly that well together, then surely you can master the world’s most beautiful language together too.”

Thirza had cocked her head at him then. “Who are you?”

“Just a wizard summoned here to help with defense.”

Thirza’s eyes had widened at that, because she’d known exactly what wizard had been asked to come help magically shield the keep. The most skilled wizard in the world.

“Wizard Hymellius,” she whispered to herself now. “Maybe it’s a test.” She bit her lip, staring at the letter. He’d always been eccentric, but perhaps his mind had also gone in his final days. “A test from a mad wizard.”

“It could be an opportunity,” Selina offered carefully.

“I’m not a wizard. I’m not a scholar. I don’t have magic anymore.” The admission scraped on its way out, raw and honest. “What use could the most famous magical cottage in the isles have for someone like me?”

Thirza knew the cottage could rearrange its own rooms, expanding or contracting according to its moods, and that it could sprout legs and walk to a different village if it didn’t care for the neighbors. It was as much a part of Hymellius’s legend as his storm-taming and mountain-raising.

She swallowed. “I don’t know what to make of this.”

“Come back inside,” Selina urged gently. “Let’s sit down and read through this properly.”

But Thirza shook her head and pushed the letter into Selina’s hands. “You read it. I need to go for a walk.” She could already hear the volume in the café rising well beyond what it had been when they’d first entered, all excited, gleeful gossip. And she knew that as soon as she reentered, it would only be a matter of time before the first brave person with sparkling eyes would come over to ask her well-meaning but prying questions about what she was going to do next.

Selina reluctantly took the letter, but her face soon softened into something thoughtful as she looked at it. “Sometimes,” she said, “the greatest adventures are the ones we build, not the ones we’re called on.”

Thirza raised a brow at her friend. “Meaning?”

“It means that not all battles are fought with swords, dear. Some are won with kindness, curiosity, intention, and perhaps,” — she gestured back to the cat café — “a nice cup of tea.”

Thirza’s chest tightened. A cup of tea was what Thirza of old wanted. But new Thirza was distracted by the memories crowding her mind. She’d watched as the creeping black shadows she hadn’t killed fast enough had engulfed dragons, heard their screams as their minds were darkened.

Volcarina’s roar of agony as the Shade magic corrupted her reverberated in Thirza’s mind, threatening to overwhelm her.

Reuben put a hand on her shoulder. “You don’t have to figure this out tonight. Come and rest.”

She shook her head, stepping away more abruptly than she’d meant to. “I can’t. I need air.”

“Thirza—” Reuben started after her, but Selina placed a hand on his arm, shaking her head. Selina had adventured with Thirza long enough to know when her friend needed some space.

As Thirza moved down the streets, the evening air brushed past her like a fresh river. Festival lights were strung between buildings now, their cheerful glow at odds with the heaviness and anxiety in her chest. She walked without thought, no destination in mind, just the need to move, to get away from the peace, comfort, and mysterious gifts that felt like mockery.

Her armor clinked with each step, drawing curious glances from passing revelers. A group of cheerful dwarves must have recognized her from a distance, because one well-wisher called out her name. She ducked down a side street pretending not to hear, her warrior’s instinct for escape routes serving a different purpose now.

The narrow street wound away from the festivities, the sounds of celebration growing fainter. Here, the shadows deepened between buildings, and the air smelled of wet stone and old smoke. Thirza’s boots echoed against the cobblestones, a hollow sound that matched the feeling inside her.

She realized she was unconsciously taking the path toward the western watchtower, where she and Volcarina used to sit quietly together, watching the sun set over the isle before taking off on their evening flight above the capital.

She smiled grimly to herself. It seemed even her feet were betraying her now, leading her toward ghosts.

A burst of laughter from a nearby tavern made her flinch. Beyond its window, a group of soldiers celebrated, their bonded creatures lounging nearby—a griffin preening its feathers, a lynx batting at a ball of yarn, a fox curled up by the fire. Her heart clenched.

She turned away sharply, only to find herself face-to-face with a wall full of graffiti.

Crude drawings covered the alley wall, the paint still fresh enough to glisten in the dim light. They depicted enormous dragons with grotesque fangs and cities aflame beneath their claws. Dragons with black, empty eyes, just like Volcarina’s had been in those final moments.

Someone had scrawled “NEVER AGAIN” in angry red letters that looked too much like blood. At the bottom, a dead dragon was painted with a dozen swords piercing its flank.

Thirza’s hand went to her sword hilt, muscle memory seeking a weapon against this new enemy. But what good would steel do against prejudice? You couldn’t stab hateful ignorance, couldn’t cut down fear with a blade. She’d tried that approach with the Shade King, trying to spare the dragon he’d been possessing at the time, and all it had gotten her was—

The memory slammed into her. Volcarina’s scales turning black as corruption spread through her, her roar of pain as she fought the Shade’s control, the terrible moment when recognition faded from her eyes. Thirza’s sword plunging into the Shade King’s dragon skull even as Volcarina fell from the sky above, unable to fight both the corruption and gravity at once.

Thirza stumbled, her gauntleted hand finding the wall for support. The rough stone scraped against her gauntlet, the sensation anchoring her to the present. She forced herself to breathe, counting each intake like Selina had taught her after particularly bad nightmares. Breathe in for four seconds, hold it for seven, breathe out for eight.

That’s when she noticed something odd about the pile of discarded crates and barrels against the opposite wall.

The shape of the refuse pile tugged at Thirza’s memory—the curve of wood and shadow reminiscent of Volcarina’s sleeping form, the way she used to curl up with her tail wrapped around herself. For a moment, the resemblance was so strong that Thirza had to close her eyes.

“Stop it,” she muttered to herself. “You’re a knight of the realm, not some broken fool seeing dragons in rubbish heaps.” But even as she turned to leave, something made her pause. A warrior’s instinct, perhaps, or just the stubborn part of her that refused to let the nostalgia go.

Moving carefully now, Thirza approached the pile. The resemblance faded now that she was up close, and she told herself she was being ridiculous.

Her foot struck something that rolled slightly, making her breath catch.

Thirza dropped to one knee, armored hands moving wooden slats aside. There, nestled in the garbage like a discarded turnip, was an egg. But not just any egg. Even in the dim light, she could see the distinctive gold scaling pattern on the shell, the red and pink iridescent sheen that marked it as something extraordinary.

A drakeling egg. Someone had thrown away a drakeling egg.

Her first instinct was to reach for it, but the last thing she needed was another attachment, another chance for loss. Better to walk away, find someone else who could take care of it. Someone who hadn’t already failed a dragon.

Still, she removed her gauntlets and touched the egg. It shifted slightly in its nest of refuse, and Thirza’s heart clenched. The shell was warm, but not nearly warm enough. Dragon eggs needed heat to survive. How long had it been out here? Who would do this?

But she knew who. The same people who painted dragons as monsters on alley walls. The same fear that made them forget how dragons had fought, sacrificed, protected, and died alongside humans, elves, dwarves and other races in the war.

“I can’t,” she whispered to the egg, even as her hands betrayed her by cupping it. “I can’t be what you need.”

The egg fit perfectly in her cupped palms, as if it had been waiting for her. As she lifted it from the refuse, she felt the faintest flutter of movement inside. Still alive, then. Still fighting, despite everything.

Warmth spread through her arms, chasing away the evening chill. It wasn’t Volcarina’s fiery heat—nothing ever would be again—but something softer, more tentative. Like the first rays of dawn after a long, dark night.

Selina’s words echoed clearer in her mind. “The greatest adventures are the ones we build.”

And suddenly it clicked. Air rushed into her lungs as Thirza breathed in, and it felt like the first real breath she’d taken in months. In that grimy alley, surrounded by hateful graffiti and discarded hope, Thirza understood. She knew what she had to build.

The pieces fell into place as the events of the day melded together. The coziness of the cat café. The surprise of inheriting an enchanted cottage. The tenderness she felt for this little abandoned egg.

She stood, the egg cradled against her armor. The weight felt different—not a burden but a shield, a promise.

People are afraid, Selina had said. Well, she wasn’t. She’d faced the Shade King and lived. She’d flown with Volcarina through firestorms and icy blizzards. A little public misconception about dragons wasn’t going to stop her. She could fix this.

Images of comfort and warmth from The Purring Kettle flashed through her mind, but transformed. Drakelings instead of cats, curled up amongst steaming teapots. Customers learning to see past their fear, discovering the truth about dragons through shared moments and hot drinks. A sanctuary, not just for orphaned baby drakelings, but for anyone seeking to understand them.

And the Enchanted Cottage she’d just inherited was the location that would make it all possible.

Her heart thrummed, but with exhilaration instead of anxiety this time. A dragon café. The idea was so utterly ridiculous, so completely impractical, that Thirza almost laughed. She could already hear Reuben’s jokes, see Selina’s raised eyebrow. And yet…

The egg pulsed with warmth against her fingers, a tiny heartbeat echoing her own. A small, painful twinge of guilt pricked her. Was it wrong to feel this spark of excitement so soon after her loss?

But this wasn’t betrayal, she realized. This was legacy. Volcarina had said it herself right before the final battle. “This is who we are. We protect.”

Volcarina would have wanted her to keep fighting, to keep protecting dragons, especially the tiny, helpless ones. She would have approved of this idea heartily, cajoling Thirza with a “Well, what are you waiting for?”

This wasn’t forgetting. It was remembering in the best possible way.

A smile, small and hesitant, tugged at Thirza’s lips. She took a few minutes to remove the heavy plate armor from her arms, shoulders, and torso, allowing her to finally tuck the egg against her chest. Its warmth radiated through her tunic, through her ribs, and into her heart.

The vision forming in her head wouldn’t be easy. The egg would probably hatch into a cute, fire-breathing terror with a penchant for burning tapestries. The Enchanted Cottage could end up being harder to turn into a café than she assumed. But Thirza wasn’t one to back down from a challenge.

Especially not one involving dragons.

The thought made her smile widen—a genuine, heartfelt smile, the first in weeks. She adjusted the egg’s position, holding it a little closer. Above her, the festival lights twinkled like stars, no longer mocking, but promising.

Thirza von Baer walked away, leaving her discarded armor behind.

It was time to build something new.

Four weeks of paperwork, travel, and legal logistics couldn’t dim Thirza’s determination. It had been tiring to get her affairs in order—agonizingly heavy, even, when so much of her past life was tied up with Volcarina. And she’d had to sign enough papers to make a life-size paper dragon, because it turned out objects as enchanted as Hymellius’s cottage were regulated and monitored in more ways than she’d thought possible.

But when she emerged from the office of the Magical Item Management Bureau and into the light of gleaming port city Glory Anchorage a month after first conceiving her café idea, she couldn’t keep the smile from her face.

A warm dragon egg rested at her side in a satchel.

She had a bank account full of more shard coins than she’d ever owned before due to how Queen Maeve had handsomely rewarded her for slaying the Shade King.

And a letter from Selina had arrived by courier gridgeon just that morning, telling her that everything was finally ready for her on Yestersun Isle.

Thirza had hired Selina to fill the role of her financial advisor, and the gnome had gone ahead to help make a few arrangements on Yestersun while Thirza finished with all the legal bits on Aishi Isle. They hadn’t been permitted to visit the cottage until the transfer was legally complete, but that was now officially done. It was time for Thirza to join Selina and see Hymellius’s Enchanted Cottage for herself for the first time.

All Thirza needed to do was check on how Reuben was doing with his orphaned drakeling search and get a book to read on the long boat ride north to Yestersun.

She decided to start with the book, so she set off down the cobbled street. She squinted into the morning sun, the salty air whipping strands of her dark blonde hair across her face as she looked for the right kind of shop. She’d stopped wearing a full suit of armor, opting for a leather breastplate over a green tunic with breeches. It made it so fewer people recognized her. Even so, people often still saw her as a warrior, and perhaps she liked it that way.

People and animals bustled around her. A tall, blue-skinned troll pushed a wheelbarrow full of bricks. A small courier griffin the size of a pony flapped overhead, and an even smaller gnome with a satchel of letters rode on its back. The narrow streets were alive with merchant stalls and parents heading to market with wicker baskets and eager kids in tow.

In the distance, over the rooftops of the sloped seaside town, she saw sparkling waves and wheeling seabirds. The salty air carried the calls of fishing boats returning with their dawn catch of fish essence, which could be used by mages to create mock meats for people and carnivorous bonded companions to eat. A large ship was coming in to harbor, white sails taut in the wind.

Thirza stopped to ask a friendly-looking dwarf woman and her mink companion if there were any bookstores nearby. The woman didn’t know, but she translated for her mink who told Thirza she’d find what she was looking for only three streets down.

Sure enough, Thirza followed the directions and found herself entering a narrow brick shop with an interior of floor to ceiling book shelves in neat rows. She was right at home perusing the tomes. Even though she’d been traveling as a knight for years now, there was something familiar and welcoming that every bookstore shared. Something that felt like a sanctuary. She hoped she could create the same atmosphere in her own café.

Thirza selected a book and brought it to the front counter where a halfling woman with thick brown curls was already smiling and waiting to help her. “Did you find everything you were looking—oh!” She gasped, eyes wide as she scanned Thirza’s face with recognition. “You’re Thirza von Baer!”

Thirza smiled politely and handed her the book. “That’s me.”

A defensive sort of anxiety always prickled under her skin when a stranger recognized her. So often, the words that came next were condolences for her loss of Volcarina. Thirza’s feelings about this were… complicated. Discussing the death of her dragon was intensely painful. Yet, she wanted Volcarina to be remembered and applauded. But she also wished Volcarina was actually here to receive the praise she deserved for what she’d done to allow Thirza to slay the Shade King. And above all, Thirza wished Volcarina was remembered as a hero, not as a hero’s dead companion.

“Oh dear. Oh my,” the woman said breathlessly, her hands flying to straighten up the counter. “The hero of the Forty-two Isles in my store. Who could have ever imagined?”

“I’m just a retired knight, ma’am.”

“Just a retired knight who saved us all from the shades and those beasts!”

Thirza’s face grew cold. She hoped “beasts” didn’t refer to the dragons who had been corrupted against their will. For a knight, Thirza was unusually non-confrontational, but when it came to dragons, she refused to stop defending their honor. The day she stopped would be the day she was no longer worthy of being a dragon knight.

The woman didn’t seem to notice she’d said anything off-putting, because she continued, “I’m Mrs. Beet. It’s an honor to meet you. And let’s see what type of book an esteemed knight enjoys reading.” She finally looked down at the tome Thirza had handed her. “Oh!” She looked up at Thirza with a surprised grin. “The Big Magic of Running a Small Business. You’re opening a business, are you? What kind?”

Thirza paused for a moment. She’d shared her business plans with a number of strangers these past few weeks, and it hadn’t always gone well. Still, she wasn’t ashamed of what she was doing, no matter how other people responded, so she plowed ahead.

“A dragon café.”

The silence that followed was as thick as curdled porridge.

“Dragons,” Mrs. Beet repeated faintly. “As in… actual dragons?”

“Small ones,” Thirza clarified. “Drakelings. Orphaned ones who need homes. People will come for tea, meet them, learn about them—”

“Dragons,” Mrs. Beet said again, as if the word itself might bite. Her expression had shifted from pleasant to horrified. “Near everyday people? Near children?”

Thirza let out a slow, long-suffering breath. “Drakelings are as friendly as the average housecat. Besides, you know who I am. I’m a dragon-riding knight. Are you really surprised?”

But the woman was still shaking her head like she hadn’t heard, and her eyes had the look of someone who had been backed into a corner. “Maybe it’s time we all accepted that dragons belong in the wild or on the battlefield, not in civilized places.”

The words hit Thirza like a shove. She’d heard variations of this sentiment a dozen times over the past month, but it never got easier. “The war wasn’t their fault,” she said, her voice tight. “They were victims too.”

“You know that’s not entirely true.” Mrs. Beet’s tone was gentle but firm. “You know that the first wave of dragons joined the Shade King willingly.”

Thirza’s blood simmered. “Actually, no. No one knows that! That was propaganda spread by the Elven Association of Dragon Mastery. EADraM is always disseminating false information when doing so suits them.”

“Now, now,” the halfling said, actually shaking a finger at Thirza. “My nephew is married to a member of EADraM, so that’s uncalled for.”

Thirza squeezed her eyes shut, trying to rein in her anger and salvage this conversation. But the halfling wasn’t done.

“As a dragon knight, you saw the best of the best dragons in your line of work, but even before the war, not all of them were kindly. Surely you know better than anyone that dragons are fierce and deadly, and not all of them are noble.”

“Ma’am,” Thirza interjected, “I’m talking about keeping drakelings in my café. They’re the size of a cat.” Thirza realized that a cat was somewhat larger in relation to a halfling than it was to her, but still.

“That’ll be twenty-eight shards and thirty-two pins,” Mrs. Beet said stiffly, holding her hand out for payment, a clear sign she wanted this conversation to be over.

Thirza ground her teeth but pulled the coins out of her purse. But even as she handed the money over, she realized she wasn’t done, and knowing she could get a few last words in, contentious as they were, gave her a spike of satisfaction.

“You can’t judge an entire species or race by its few bad actors,” she insisted flatly. “Otherwise we’d be forced to say that all humans, elves, halflings, and dwarves are evil. Is that what you think? That any creature that has the potential for bad is indeed bad? Never mind that there have been dragons who protected these islands for centuries. Never mind that they died fighting the shades alongside us. Suddenly they’re all monsters.”

She knew this wasn’t how you convinced people. But stars above, she was tired of having this same conversation over and over.

Mrs. Beet pushed the book toward Thirza, her smile gone. “Have a nice day.”

Thirza took her book, turned on her heels, and left the shop without another word.

Anger and frustration curdled in her stomach as she moved down the cobbled streets of Glory Anchorage. She’d wanted to be in a good mood when she checked in with Reuben, but her optimism had soured, replaced with her more typical realism.

A decade ago, this never would have been an issue. Back then, people saw past dragons’ fangs and claws to their goodness. Even though some chose darkness, the vast majority were beautiful, wise, and protective. Allies to human, elf, dwarf, beast-folk, gnome, orc, fae, and halfling alike.

And then the shades had possessed dozens of dragons and forced them to launch organized attacks on villages across the isles.

To save innocent lives and destroy the shades who refused to leave their hosts, Thirza had been forced to become a dragon slayer.

Thirza stopped by a tavern and slammed her fist into the stone wall, her breath coming heavy. An orc entering the building smirked at her like he thought a female half-elf with a temper was amusing. Thirza glared at him until he passed, then sighed. She continued wearily on her way.

The walk to the town’s closest Viewery took five minutes, and Thirza found comfort in the gentle shifting of the drakeling egg in her satchel. Even after all these weeks, it had yet to hatch, and Thirza wondered if the tiny creature inside was waiting for a time and place that felt safe and right. Dragons were known for that ability. In the meantime, she’d taken to carrying it everywhere.

The Viewery was a tall, crystalline building at the center of town that sparkled in the coastal sun. Inside, the walls were lined with magical mirrors, their surfaces rippling like disturbed water. A dozen patrons sat, each in front of their own framed glass that functioned like an enchanted window, having quiet conversations with distant loved ones while crystal formations hummed with magical energy, and hidden clockwork ticked.

“Appointment for von Baer,” Thirza told the gnome at the front desk. “To speak with Reuben von Baer.”

“Third mirror on the left,” the gnome said, barely looking up from her ledger. “Ten-minute limit today. We’re short on charged crystals.”

Thirza frowned at the limit but settled onto the cushioned stool before the designated mirror. She placed her tuning crystal—attuned to her brother’s larger communication crystal—into a hollow near the bottom so that her call would go to the right place. The mirror’s surface swirled, then cleared, revealing her brother’s face along with what appeared to be absolute chaos behind him.

“Hold still!” Reuben was saying to someone off-screen. “No, don’t eat that! That’s my favorite boot!”

The image jolted as something small, copper, and scaly scrambled across Reuben’s shoulders. Another drakeling, this one bright red, was attempting to make a nest in his wild brown beard. The dragons were kitten-sized, but looked larger with the addition of extended, flapping wings.

Thirza watched the little creatures, her chest warming with fondness. The sight of scaly snouts, leathery wings, and long tails never failed to improve her mood. “Having fun?” she asked, a smile tugging her lips.

“Thirza!” Reuben’s face lit up, then immediately winced as tiny claws dug into his scalp. “Ow! Careful there, little one. Sorry, they’re a bit excited today. I think there’s a storm coming. Makes them energetic.”

Her eyes widened as she took in the full scene of chaos behind him. His one-room cabin was a mess, with blankets and toys strewn about, boxes on their sides, and crumbs of food all over the wooden floor. “Is your cabin going to survive this? It looks like you’ve been letting them play with absolutely everything you own. You can set boundaries, you know.”

While she’d been setting her café plans in motion, Reuben had spent the past few weeks gathering orphaned drakelings that he found during his travels. So far, he’d collected six.

Reuben shrugged. “Someone’s got to keep these little chaos magnets entertained. You know how they get when they’re bored.”

The red drakeling in Reuben’s beard sneezed a puff of golden sparks, setting a lock of his hair smoldering. Thirza’s lips twitched as her brother batted at the smoke. “I’m sure it has nothing to do with the fact that you provide no discipline because you’re secretly a giant softie who can’t resist a pair of big, round eyes.”

Reuben’s face lit up with a grin. “Guilty as charged. But since you’re too busy to take care of these guys until you get your café up and running…” He gave her a pointed look, but couldn’t hide his smile. “Anyway, how long can you talk?”

“They’re only giving me ten minutes today. Crystal shortage, apparently.”

“Really? And I actually remembered to charge my crystals last full moon.” He plucked the copper drakeling from his shoulder. It chirped indignantly, wings fluttering like an overzealous hummingbird. “So, tell me. What’s the latest news?”

With all the baby dragons in sight, Thirza felt significantly better than she had mere minutes ago, so she said simply, “The bad news is that there are still a surprising number of bigots who think dragons are going to destroy everything.”

“Did someone try to convince you to swap your drakeling plan for rabbits again?” Reuben snorted. “As if those fluffballs are any safer than dragons. Remember Mr. Whiskers?”

“The rabbit that set your tent on fire?”

“Exactly! And he wasn’t even magical. Just vindictive. Anyway. What’s the good news?”

Thirza grinned. “I’m completely ready to head to Yestersun and finally, officially inherit the cottage.” Her expression grew more serious. “And hopefully get some answers.”

Her brother beamed. “That’s great news! Everything is finally coming together.”

Thirza nodded slowly. “We’ll just have to see how it goes once the café is up and running. I’m choosing to believe we can break through the prejudice, but…” She trailed off. She tried hard not to dwell on it, but no matter what she did, there was always the nagging voice at the back of her mind saying, you can create the café, but that doesn’t mean anyone will come.

Reuben obviously sensed her change in mood. “You’re welcome to take a break first, you know,” he assured her kindly. “You haven’t had much time to rest since…” He paused, seeming to think better of mentioning Volcarina. “Well. You know. You could visit Mom. Last time I called her, she said she’d enjoy a visit from you.”

“Or how about Mom could visit me,” Thirza said, failing to keep a bitter bite out of her words. “Oh, that’s right. She never leaves home anymore.” Their mother, Rose von Baer, was in perfect health, but still refused to travel.

Reuben’s face grew carefully neutral. “You’re still upset with her.”

“That she wouldn’t even come to the funeral of my companion of over two decades? Yes. I am.” When Volcarina had died, her mother had merely sent her condolences. It still stung. Thirza shook her head. “Listen, I don’t want to talk about our weird family.”

“So I shouldn’t bring up the latest news I heard about Tremina?” Reuben asked with a teasing smile.

Thirza shook her head again. If she didn’t want to talk about their parents, then she didn’t even want to think about their stressful older sister.

“And I don’t have time for breaks anyway,” Thirza insisted, gesturing to the drakelings surrounding her brother. “These little guys deserve a home, and I can’t keep imposing on you.”

A pang of loneliness and longing ran through her chest as she suddenly wished she was in the same room as the drakelings, that she could hold them, toss toys for them, and nap with them by the fire.

Soon enough, she reminded herself. Soon enough.

Reuben nodded sympathetically, the drakeling in his beard bobbing its head as if in agreement. “They’re welcome here, you know that. Take your time getting the café set up just right for them.”

“I don’t think your little cabin will survive much more of this treatment, though. Or your hair. And I’m not sure that half bald and scorched will be a good look on you.”

He grinned. “You know what is a good look, though? Resilience. Fatherly fearlessness. Let’s face it, if I keep raising a horde of baby dragons, I’m bound to finally attract the right woman.”

Thirza chuckled. “Fine. But I’m only giving myself two weeks to make the cottage perfect. After that, I’ll take responsibility for the drakelings, ready or not. Deal?”

A purple drakeling the size of a teapot launched itself at Reuben’s head, clinging to his ear like a scaly earring. He winced. “Stars, they’re worse than the war pigeons.” A crash echoed and three drakelings tumbled into view, locked in a wrestling match over a very disgruntled stuffed bear.

“Admit it, you’re jealous.” Reuben extracted the toy bear, sending drakelings rolling. “When’s the last time you had this much fun?”

She burst out laughing at the sight of gleeful, tumbling dragons. “You know I am. Genuinely. Whereas sane people would agree that ‘fun’ and ‘property damage’ don’t go together, I can’t wait to be in the same place as these little terrors.”

Her brother grinned. “It’s character-building! Teaches improvisation and resilience.”

“How is Crenshaw holding up?” Thirza asked. Reuben’s large copper dragon usually slept in a cave right by Reuben’s cabin, but he’d surely been impacted by the presence of the tiny, rowdy dragons.

“You know he’s an introvert, so he’s been going on more solo flights to get his alone time. He’s out flying right now.”

Just imagining a large dragon flying through the sky made the empty place in her chest where her Magica Bond once resided throb.

The mirror flickered, crystals dimming. The gnome at the desk cleared her throat pointedly.

“Time’s up,” Thirza said.

“Already?” The mirror’s surface rippled, and Reuben’s image began to fade. “Hey, Thirza? You’ve got this. You always do.”

“Thank you for having my back, Reuben.”

“Always.” He gave her a last smile through the dying connection. “Later, Fireheart.”

The nickname—Volcarina’s old nickname for her—struck like a poorly aimed dagger. Thirza’s breath hitched, but Reuben was already waving, distracted by a black drakeling attempting to swallow his belt whole. The mirror clouded to smoke.

She sat frozen, the Viewery’s crystalline hum suddenly oppressive. The blank crystal surface distorted her reflection into a warped version of herself—leather armor dulled, scars smoothed, grief blurred at the edges. A kinder lie.

She inhaled a deep breath, collected her tuning crystal, and stood to her full height.

She was Thirza von Baer, a disciplined and stalwart knight. She could enact her plans, no matter if she was still grieving.

Plus, Reuben was right. Everything was finally coming together.

She left the building with her shoulders squared. It was time to finally meet her inheritance.

---

It was an overnight voyage by boat.

That night on the ship, Thirza dreamed about shades. She dreamed of their lithe, humanoid, shadowy forms crawling and clawing and snatching.

She tried to fight them, but her sword whistled through them uselessly, and the shades forced their inky blackness inside of her through her eyes and mouth, corrupting her just like they’d done to countless dragons.

It was always the same horrifying dream. It had been for months. Terrible though it was, the dreadfulness of it always faded as soon as she awoke with sweat beading on her brow and her breath pumping in and out. Shades didn’t possess people. Besides which, they were gone, every one of them unraveling into nothing when she killed the Shade King.

Still, the nightmares came, and Thirza understood with a bone-deep weariness that some horrors of war never faded.

At last, Thirza’s ship approached a southern port on Yestersun. The medium-sized island contained dozens of cities and villages, yet the picturesque island was known most for its rolling green hills, sprawling countryside, farmland and orchards, wildflowers, gentle woodlands, and the occasional appearance of sea dragons along the sparkling coast. It was the kind of place where time seemed to slow down, where the air smelled perpetually of salt and blooming heather.

Yestersun was just north of Aishi Isle, where she’d spent most of her time as one of Queen Maeve’s knights, so she’d had the pleasure of visiting a few times before. The thought of spending more time in this lovely place sent a small thrill through her.

After making landfall at Port Anjipier, Thirza traveled north through the countryside toward the location Selina had indicated in her letter. The fullness of Blossomenth spring had arrived, and the land here was bursting with life.

The scent of damp earth and wildflowers filled her lungs as the last traces of the sea breeze faded. The air grew soft with an idyllic calm, the kind that made her feel like she was stepping into a painting. The road twisted by farming towns and through gentle hills carpeted in emerald green, dotted here and there with blooming strawberries and alive with the sound of singing birds.

On a beautiful Wendingday morning of the exact date she’d promised Selina she’d be there, Thirza found herself on the outskirts of a quiet farming village named Peckington, staring up at what could only be described as the most cottage-like cottage she’d ever seen.

The building was two stories, but it had a compact footprint, and it was even more charming than she’d imagined. Ivy crawled up its whitewashed walls. A riot of wildflowers spilled out of the garden, and three chimneys puffed out little curls of smoke that seemed to dance in the breeze. The roof was a bright blue with accents of golden-brown trim, and the windows glowed with a soft, comforting light that seemed to beckon her closer. Thirza could have sworn the weather around the cottage was slightly different from the rest of the island—as if it had its own personal patch of perfect spring day while everything else was at the whims of the wind and weather.

Selina already stood smiling on the walkway, with two significantly taller figures beside her. One was Mauriasu, the Gilded Mage, wearing nearly the exact same obscuring outfit of pointed hat, red scarf, and long duster coat. The tiny glimmering gold lindwyrm once again sat on the hat’s brim.

The other was an unfamiliar elf. He had the ageless appearance of most elves, but also managed an “I’m older than you” look with austere slicked black hair, a stern expression, and a fine suit. His height made Selina look humorously tiny by comparison. He didn’t appear to have an animal companion.

“Isn’t it wonderful?” Selina bounced on her toes, her apple-red hair catching the sun, and gestured at the cottage as Thirza approached. Her bullfrog companion, Blep, croaked agreement from his customary pouch at her waist. “It’s exactly like the stories said! I knew it was meant for you the moment I saw it!”

Thirza raised an eyebrow, smiling. “You have to say that. You’re my financial advisor. It’s your job to be optimistic.”

Selina turned to her, hands on her hips. “My job is to give good advice and estimations, and I’m telling you, this is going to be perfect.”

Thirza hoped she was right.

Mauriasu stepped forward, a hint of metallic golden wrist showing as they extended a set of keys to Thirza. “The transfer is official. These belong to you.” Thirza took the keys, but before she could utter a thank you, the mage said in their usual brusque fashion, “The keys are just ceremonial. The cottage locks and unlocks itself as it pleases. I placed a ward on it to keep anyone from viewing or reaching it while the ownership was being transferred, but I think it was hardly needed. The house takes care of itself.”

Thirza nodded mutely, feeling a bit like she’d just been handed a stone while inheriting the grand mountain it had come from.

Mauriasu didn’t seem to have time to allow Thirza to parse through her thoughts. They turned to the elf. “My job is done. You will see to the rest.”

The mage raised a hand toward their hat, perhaps to cast a teleportation spell, but Thirza cried, “Wait!”

The Gilded Mage paused.

“Please,” Thirza said, a little breathless. “If you know anything about why Wizard Hymellius left this cottage to me, even a hint, I would like to know.”

Mauriasu shook their head. “As I said, I don’t know. Hymellius spoke of you to me only once.” They raised their hand to their hat once more. “Farewell.” They touched a finger to the little lindwyrm, and the creature’s scales flashed gold. In a twinkle of light, both of them vanished without leaving so much as a fading glimmer in their wake.

Thirza shook her head slowly, and Selina huffed. “They could have told you what Hymellius said during that single conversation they had about you.”

Thirza sighed. “And I thought Hymellius was the world’s most eccentric wizard. Perhaps I won’t ever know why things turned out this way.”

The austere elf cleared his throat loudly, causing them to turn. “If we could dispense with the lamentations,” he said, adjusting his already-perfect cravat, “I believe we are here for a reason.”

“Oh! Right.” Selina gestured between them. “Thirza, this is Archibald Winstekker, the cottage’s former caretaker. And Archibald, I suppose it’s obvious, but this is—”

“Thirza von Baer,” he interrupted, his voice as crisp as his pressed suit. “Yes, I’m aware. The dragon knight who somehow convinced Wizard Hymellius to bequeath her his most precious property despite meeting him exactly once.” His tone suggested this was roughly equivalent to giving a toddler a priceless antique vase. “Yes, you aren’t the only one wondering how this situation came to be.”

Thirza met his gaze steadily. She’d dealt with enough haughty elves in her time to recognize when one was trying to establish dominance. “Pleasure,” she said flatly.

Still, no one had more questions about Hymellius’s motives than she did.

Archibald Winstekker sniffed. “As the cottage’s former caretaker, I have been tasked with giving you a tour of the building, and then it is yours to do with as you see fit.”

Thirza nodded once as she stared at the magical building that was now hers. The cottage seemed to shiver slightly, and Thirza could have sworn she heard it sigh.

“Shall we?” Selina asked brightly, clearly trying to dispel the tension. She started up the path, but Archibald held up one perfectly manicured hand.

“A moment, if you please.” He turned to Thirza, clasping his hands behind his back. “Before we enter, I feel compelled to inform you that this cottage is not merely a building. It is a complex magical entity with its own temperament, preferences, and…” — he paused significantly — “standards.”

“I’ve heard the stories,” Thirza said.

“Stories,” Archibald scoffed. “Stories don’t begin to capture its true nature. This cottage has been known to trap unwanted visitors in endless hallways, shrink rooms until they’re the size of matchboxes, and once,” — his voice dropped to a whisper — “it turned itself entirely upside down because someone insulted its wallpaper.”

Thirza glanced at the cottage again. One of its windows winked shutters at her. She blinked, wondering if she’d imagined it.

“Your point being?” she asked. She refused to be intimidated.

“My point, Miss von Baer, is that if you intend to turn this magnificent historical landmark into some sort of dragon hotel—”

“Café,” Thirza corrected.

“Whatever it may be,” he continued as if she hadn’t spoken, “you should know that the cottage may have other ideas. It can be… particular about changes.”

Thirza squared her shoulders. “Well then, I suppose the cottage and I will have to discuss it.” She strode past him, up the winding path toward the front door. Behind her, she heard Selina’s poorly suppressed giggle and Archibald’s indignant sputter.

The door was a deep cherry wood, ornately carved with patterns that seemed to shift when she wasn’t looking directly at them. As Thirza reached for the brass handle, she felt a subtle vibration, like the cottage was holding its breath.

The moment her fingers touched the handle, the door swung open with such force that she had to step back. A wave of warm air rushed out, carrying the mingled scents of old books, fresh bread, and something distinctly magical—like lightning in a bottle.

“That’s… unusual,” Archibald muttered behind her. “It normally makes people knock a few times before—”

But Thirza had already stepped inside, and the sight before her made her forget everything else.

The entrance hall was impossibly vast, stretching up and up until it disappeared into shadows that sparkled like a star-filled sky. A grand staircase curved along one wall, its wooden banister gleaming as if it had just been polished. Doorways lined the walls, some traditionally sized, others barely big enough for a mouse, and still others tall enough to accommodate a young dragon.

The whole space felt alive, thrumming with magic that made Thirza’s skin tingle. She’d been in enchanted buildings before, but this was different. This felt less like entering a magical structure and more like stepping into the embrace of a living being, a living universe even.

“Welcome home,” Selina whispered, coming to stand beside her.

But before Thirza could respond, the cottage shuddered. The floor beneath their feet gave a distinct wobble, and the doorways began to spin, trading places with dizzying speed.

“Ah,” said Archibald. “It seems the cottage is testing you.”

The entire room rumbled, then shrank and transformed into a traditional sitting room with floral wallpaper. Red velvet couches bloomed from the floor like aggressive mushrooms. Thirza stumbled as the carpet changed to hardwood beneath her feet. Then everything went still.

As she looked around at the smaller room, she felt like the cottage had previously been giving her just a taste of its grand potential.

Archibald moved across the small room to the only remaining door that led deeper into the building. He opened it and gestured them in. “Well? Shall we see what else the cottage is willing to show today?”