CHAPTER 1 - Embers of Dawn: Chapter 32: A Grin in the Dark

Chapter 32: A Grin in the Dark

Before bed, Nelneras made his way back to the shrine to his family, a ritual he’d done every day. The willow’s long branches whispered in the evening wind, shedding faint motes of gold from the lanterns that hung along their boughs. Beneath that glow, three figures waited at the shrine, familiar as his own shadow.

The Stonekettles were there. Grumli the dwarf sat with his back against one of the granite markers, hammer laid across his knees, his beard a riot of silver braids and soot-black streaks. Time had carved him from the same stone he shaped; every wrinkle looked hammered in place by stubbornness. Beside him, Brilda, his treasured wife, fussed with the offerings on the low altar, fruit, feathers, smooth river stones, her broad shoulders filling the air with quiet, pragmatic authority.

A few paces off stood Faelwin, staff planted lightly in the soil. The elven woman’s ageless face glowed like parchment under lamplight, fine-boned, watchful, the wind teased the edge of her green robes, and the faint scent of lavender and old paper trailed from her whenever she turned. She regarded him with the faint, knowing smile of someone who had once scolded him for trying to roast beetles as “magical inquiry.”

They were his anchors, the three who had known him before wings, before wisdom. When he was only a gold-scaled hatchling trying to help with plows too heavy for his paws, they had taught him the mortal virtues: patience, precision, and when to laugh instead of rage.

He lowered his head as he came near, the stones’ engraved names gleaming. Alric, Meredy, Thom, Willa, the humans who had raised him, who had shown him that a dragon could belong to a hearth instead of a hoard. He felt Brilda’s hand rest against his muzzle before he could even greet them

“Evenin’ lad,” she murmured, her voice warm and worn smooth as river stone. “You missed the last hymn.”

“I prefer the reprise,” he replied softly, the words rippling through his throat like a purr. “The second chorus always sounds better when the air’s tired.”

Grumli snorted. “Still can’t admit you can’t keep time. Half the valley heard you hummin’ to yourself down the hill.”

“I was harmonizing,” Nelneras said, straight-faced. “The night requested accompaniment.”

Faelwin’s laugh was a soft chime. “The night has endured worse singers.”

He bowed his head toward her, feigning wounded pride. “I’ll have you know Bahamut herself once complimented my pitch.”

“Yes,” she said mildly. “Right before she asked you to stop.”

That earned quiet laughter from all three. For a moment, the sorrow of the place felt like shared warmth rather than grief.

Nelneras settled among them, wings folding close as he surveyed the willow’s circle of light. The offerings flickered, each flame mirrored in the reflection pool. “They would be proud of you.” Faelwin murmured.

“I should hope so,” he said, voice low. “I’ve been farming their lessons longer than I’ve farmed this land.”

Brilda huffed, leaning her weight against his foreleg. “And you still don’t eat proper meals. That’s one habit they’d not forgive.”

“I have vast meals,” he said, deadpan. “Just… spaced by contemplation.”

Nelneras breathed laughter through his nostrils, a puff of gold smoke drifting upward. His gaze turned back to the stones. “You three have outlasted everyone from the old farm,” he said quietly. “Sometimes I wonder if you linger just to keep me humble.”

Faelwin’s tone gentled. “Perhaps we linger because you still need reminding that you’re loved, not worshiped.”

That silenced him for a heartbeat. The willow leaves rustled; lanterns swayed, shedding halos across the names. He thought of the half of his family who had never come, still clinging to Eiteon’s safer shores, mistrusting dragons even now. The ache of their absence pressed behind his ribs.

Grumli seemed to read it in his face. “They’ll come when they’re ready,” he muttered. “Folk’ve got to see a dream hold together before they’ll sleep inside it.”

“I know,” Nelneras murmured. “Still… I built it for them. For all of us.”

Brilda stretched with a groan, joints popping like settling timbers.

“I’ll not be up to scrub the breadboards come dawn if I don’t find my bed soon. The gods can keep their eternal hymns; I’ll take a pillow.”

Grumli grunted as he hauled himself upright, hammer in hand.

“Aye. I’ve swung steel since before that willow had roots. It can stand watch now.”

Faelwin smiled faintly and touched the dragon’s foreleg with cool fingers.

“We’ll leave the silence to you, Little Ember. You always keep it best.”

He inclined his head in return, voice soft as distant thunder. “Sleep well, my elders. I’ll see you when the sun remembers us.”

Grumli chuckled under his beard. “You’d better. Someone’s got to check the east fence with me tomorrow.”

Brilda pointed a mock-threatening finger up at his muzzle. “And don’t stay till moonset again, Nelneras. You’ll startle the rams when you finally yawn.”

He smiled but didn’t promise as they knew he never did.

The three of them made their slow way down the lantern path, two dwarves in comfortable bickering, an elf walking between them like a silver wisp of patience. Their figures shrank past the curve of the hill, until the night reclaimed them entirely.

The last echoes of laughter faded down the hill as Brilda and Grumli argued softly about whether the stew needed salt. Tandri lingered long enough to press her palm against one of the stones, murmuring a few words in Elvish before following them into the dark. Their lanterns bobbed away like drifting stars.

Nelneras remained. The night air had turned still. Only the willow whispered now, its hanging leaves tracing faint circles in the pond below. He exhaled, the breath shimmering faintly with gold motes that broke apart across the water. The statues of Bahamut and Parunga watched him in silence, platinum and rose-gold faces made solemn by time.

“I still try,” he murmured. His voice carried no grandeur, only weariness. “Even when faith feels like speaking to an empty sky.”

The reflection of Bahamut’s marble gaze trembled in the pool. He bowed his head to the marble eye, and the brazier breathed steady warmth across his scales. “Tomorrow,” he murmured, low so as not to wake the willow, “grant me wisdom enough for joy.”

A breeze stirred without a source. It arrived not from the river nor the hill, but from stillness itself, cool as cave water and faintly metallic, as though dusted with ground bells. The lantern flames did not gutter; they sank, like listeners leaning in. Nelneras’ whiskers lifted a fraction. He did not turn. Predators taught patience; priests taught composure. He carried both in his bones.

“Ah,” came a voice behind him, smooth, lilting, altogether too delighted. “So, this is where the faithful of Bahamut play at piety. I must say, what a view.”

Nelneras pivoted with measured grace, wings easing half-open in reflex before he folded them tight again. A silver dragon, larger than he, stood just beyond the willow’s sweep, tall as the shrine stones, brighter than the pool would dare hold. Moonlight liked him too well; it nested along his edges, it traced his horns, his scales were the color of quiet lightning, scared and marred with what could have been countless battles. His eyes were bright red, like lava poured thin over a dark coin, watched as though he were deciding which role Nelneras ought to play. It all detracted from a pleasant, practiced, toothy grin that dripped with predatory delight.

“Good evening!” the stranger said brightly, spreading his golden membraned wings in a polite half-bow. “Do forgive the intrusion. I do so hate to arrive unannounced, but I saw your… endeavor and simply couldn’t resist! What a marvelous display of moral theater!”

Nelneras’ tail coiled once, slowly. At first, he thought it might have been one of Endrerross’ envoys, but he suspected something else was at play. “You are standing upon consecrated soil. If you’ve come to mock, do it elsewhere.”

“Oh, mockery? Heavens, no!” The silver dragon gasped as if wounded. “Perish the thought! I’ve not mocked anyone of Bahamut’s cult in months! I am here to offer my assistance, dear one.”

“Assistance?” Nelneras repeated flatly.

“Yes, yes, that’s the word!” The silver dragon stepped lightly around the pool, graceful as a shadow in moonlight. “Excuse my sudden visit, but I couldn’t help myself. I heard whispers of what you intend, this paradise of dragons and mortals working together, peace and plows! It’s adorable. Utterly mad, of course, but adorable nonetheless.”

He’s powerful, Nelneras thought. Ancient. And utterly unafraid. His every motion was a performance, yet the silence beneath it pressed like a hand against the heart.

“Name yourself,” Nelneras said. “Clearly you are not from around here.”

The stranger’s grin widened. “Ardanth, if you please. I’ve been absent from these lands for quite some time. Former devotee of Bahamut, part-time cynic, full-time enthusiast of lost causes! A pleasure, truly.” He bowed again, low this time, wings fanning like gold curtains. “You may thank fate, boredom, your goddess, or divine comedy, whichever you prefer. Luckily for you, I am here to render my exquisite assistance.”

Nelneras arched a brow ridge. “You came to help me? If you wished to help,” Nelneras said, voice smooth as banked fire, “you might have begun by announcing yourself like a civilized creature.”

“Oh, civilized!” Ardanth laughed. It was a wonderful sound, melodic, musical, and wrong. “My dear golden visionary, I haven’t been civilized since the Skyfall Reformation. It was terribly dull.”

For a long moment he studied him, tensing his wings. The easy laugh, the gleam in his eyes, beneath it lay something wounded, ancient, and half-mad. “And what aid do you imagine I need?”

“Perspective,” Ardanth said brightly. “And perhaps a bit of spine.”

“I assure you, I’m not lacking either.”

“Oh, I quite agree! You’ve courage enough for five dragons and the naivety to match. It’s charming.” Ardanth stepped to the pool, admiring the reflection of the willow. “You’ve built a dream out of dirt and goodwill, my golden friend, but tell me… where are your kin?”

The question struck deeper than expected. Nelneras’ throat tightened before he could stop it. “They’ll come when they’re ready.” he said, quieter than intended.

“Will they?” Ardanth asked sweetly. “Or are you afraid they’d ruin the symmetry? You speak of unity between dragon and mortal, but you’ve built this place for everything except your own kind. Why not invite them here? Let them see your miracle.”

Nelneras’ tail stilled. “Because most would not understand it.” He thought to Axton, his family, of what it could be. “Not yet, but we will get there.”

“Then educate them!” Ardanth leaned in, voice a silken mockery of enthusiasm. “Show them mercy, teach them humility, whatever hymn you fancy. Isn’t that your mission? Or”, his smile grew soft, pitying, “have you lost faith in them?”

Nelneras’ fire stirred, a low glow escaping through his nostrils. “I’ve lost faith in arrogance,” he said. “And dragons wear it well.”

“Oh, I know,” Ardanth murmured, almost fond. “It’s the one jewel we polish too often. But imagine it, Nelneras, dragons and mortals laboring side by side, your ideals proven so beautifully the lords choke on their own cynicism. Wouldn’t that be divine? Why Bahamut herself might even cry with pride.”

It was intoxicating, the way he said it, half mockery, half prophecy. Nelneras felt the idea flicker in him, dangerous and bright. Then he saw the smile again, perfect, poised, predatory, and grounded himself in the loam. “You don’t believe a word of what you’re saying.”

Ardanth’s laugh rang like wind over glass. “Belief? My dear, belief is for the innocent. I prefer… results. And if your dream irritates the right people, then that’s a result worth protecting.”

Nelneras’ eyes narrowed. “You speak of the dragon lords.”

“Of course I speak of the entire menagerie,” Ardanth replied, tone bright with mischief. “One dripping gold and lust, another posing as a mirror polished too long, the third tangled so tightly in his own spells he squeaks when he breathes. A delightful trio of vanity, don’t you think? So convinced they are gods among livestock, when they’re merely accountants of arrogance.”

“You don’t seem fond of their rule.” Nelneras said.

“Fond?” Ardanth laughed a low, melodic sound that never quite reached the eyes. “My dear, their rule is a tragedy without rhythm. Every proclamation is a bad rehearsal for divinity. They mistake hoarding for governance, cruelty for taste, and fear for order. If I wished to suffer mediocrity, I’d attend one of Veltheris’ salons.” He smiled, sharp and almost charming. “No, I’d see the whole performance collapse purely for the beauty of the silence that follows.”

There it was: honesty wrapped in jest. Nelneras almost smiled. “So, you offer aid not from faith, but entertainment.”

“Precisely!” Ardanth beamed. “You see? We already understand each other. Allow me to stay. I’ll keep the vultures from your gates, lend what assistance I can, and I’ll even pretend to pray at dawn if it makes you feel safer.”

“And what do you gain?”

“Front-row seats,” Ardanth said simply. “To see whether Bahamut’s hope dies loudly or quietly this time. After all, it’s always inevitable.”

Nelneras let the silence stretch. The willow rustled; a lantern creaked. Part of him wanted to laugh, part of him wanted to breathe fire. Yet beneath the silver dragon’s jest, he heard something else: curiosity. The same curiosity that had drawn Nelneras here years ago.

Ardanth’s grin was too wide, too knowing. Every instinct in Nelneras’ body urged him to send this creature away, to guard what he’d built from that smile of knives. But that was the way of Valcagor. That was the way of fear dressed as strength. And if he turned this dragon out into the night, what would that prove? That his dream only endured among the gentle and the small? What had he been doing these ten years if he was too afraid to take the next step? That equality was a story he told to children, not something he’d test? No. If this place meant anything, it had to weather dragons, too.

“Very well,” he said at last, “You may remain, under my oath, and Bahamut’s light. You will not harm those who dwell here. You will not mock what they build.”

“Splendid! You’ll find me an impeccable houseguest. Well—mostly.” Ardanth inclined his head with a little flourish, as if accepting a crown.

 “And you will find I am an excellent host, firm, fair, and absolutely willing to burn intruders alive.” Nelneras turned slightly toward the Hall.

The silver dragon’s grin softened. “I believe we’ll get along splendidly.”

“You’ll swear your oath at dawn,” Nelneras added. “Before the goddess’s statue, if you refuse…” He growled, letting the intention linger.

“Why, I love the ole girl! Don’t worry your little golden head, I’ll behave.” Ardanth clasped his wing talons together with a sigh, eyes bright. “I haven’t had a sunrise oath in centuries! Will there be incense?”

Nelneras’ whiskers twitched. “I’ll bring fire. It suffices.”

“Charming.” The silver dragon began to retreat, each step as deliberate as an actor leaving a stage. “Do rest, my luminous idealist. Dragons and mortals together! Why, it almost sounds believable.” He paused under the willow’s veil and looked back once, grinning bright as starlight. “Sleep well, Nelneras. You’ll need your energy when the curtain rises.”

Then he was gone, vanishing into mist and moonlight, leaving the shrine smelling faintly of iron and laughter.

Nelneras stood long after the silence returned. Invite them, Ardanth had said. Have faith in them. Nelneras watched the ripples fade across the pool. Most would call him a fool for it, but a quiet spark took root beneath his ribs. If even one dragon as bitter as that could learn to believe again, perhaps there was still hope for the rest.

He exhaled, the thought searing hot in his chest. “Bahamut,” he murmured to the night, “you do have a sense of humor.”