CHAPTER 1 - Embers of Dawn: Chapter 31: Lanterns in the Loam

Chapter 31 Lanterns in the Loam

The horizon burned low, a slow ember fading beneath the curve of the world. From high above, the valley shimmered like polished glass, every furrowed field catching the last gold of the sun, every brook a thin thread of molten copper. His wings carved the air in long, unhurried arcs; each beat sent ripples of dusk rolling across the wheat below. The scent of river mist and distant hearth-smoke rose to meet him, whispering of home.

Nelneras descended through ribbons of lavender light. Lanterns were already kindling across Thornwell Fields, small suns born of mortal hands. Beyond the orchard roofs, a communal fire gleamed, a living jewel set amid the darkening green. Figures ringed it in laughter and motion. He could pick them out even from above: Roran’s grand gestures punctuating some tale; Pyretalon’s wings drawn round Lyra like dusk-tinted sails as she preened his neck; the faint, unmistakable shimmer of Axton seated near the flames, eyes turned upward in thought.

Relief uncoiled in his chest. The day’s grime, the voice of Valcagor, the stench of molten coins and empty praise, fell from him like ash in wind. Here, at least, the air still smelled of soil and honey and sincerity.

He glided low over the barns, his shadow rippling across rooftops, and settled in the meadow beyond the Golden Hall. The earth welcomed his weight with a sigh of dust. He had scarcely folded his wings when a small voice rang out.

“You’re late!”

He blinked down in mock astonishment. Two shapes sprinted from the herb beds, Lissa and Bren, all knees and elbows, their laughter scattering the twilight like startled birds. Lissa planted herself before his forepaws, hands on hips, chin high.

“Late?” Nelneras arched a brow ridge, voice caught somewhere between a chuckle and a gasp. “Am I to be put on trial?”

“Yes,” Lissa said sternly. “The sun’s almost gone, the fires already started, and you said you’d be back before the sky turned lavender!”

“I said I would return before nightfall,” Nelneras corrected, lowering his snout until it hovered inches from her indignant nose. “The lavender sky is a bonus.”

“You missed the story part,” Bren peeked from behind his sister, clutching a crooked stick carved to mimic a dragon whisker. “Roran did a voice for a troll that sounded like you.”

“Oh dear,” Nelneras muttered. “I shall have to correct his impression immediately.”

“You also said we could see the fire that doesn’t burn.”

“Ah.” Nelneras lowered his head until their reflections wavered in his eyes. “A figure of speech, I’m certain.”

“It was you!” Lissa jabbed her finger at his nose-ridge.

“I see,” he said, sighing with theatrical weight. “Then we must never speak of this again—lest she appear behind us and—”

“Up to trouble again?” a dry voice called.

Nelneras turned with the care of a knight discovering a trap had already been sprung.

Mariane Thornwell stood on the porch steps, one brow raised, apron still dusted with flour and the sleeves of her work shirt rolled to the elbow. A strand of hair escaped her braid, catching the firelight like copper thread.

Nelneras straightened at once, rolling a paw to his chest. “Merely a discussion on the metaphysical nature of illumination.”

“What an advanced subject for my children.” Mariana crossed her arms, a smirk playing on her lips, a game played too many times.

The dragon snorted with a nod, maintaining the image of control, “Quite, they take after their mother, clearly.”

“Flattery so soon, it must be nefarious.”

“I assure you, it’s nothing further from the- “

“He said he’d let us play with fire!” Lissa sang at full volume.

Bren nodded. “Tonight!”

Nelneras closed his eyes and breathed through his nose. “It would appear our lessons on confidentiality have not stuck.”

Mariane’s belted out a laugh, jabbing a finger towards his chest. “You did this when I was their age. You realize that, right? Tell me you were going to ‘show me the breath of the stars.’ I had no eyebrows for two weeks.”

He inclined his head gravely. “A demonstration of impermanence. Philosophical, really.”

“You’re hopeless.” She laid her flour-dusted hand against his muzzle, the contact soft and human and good. “And welcome home.”

The dragon’s breath eased from his chest, warm against her arm. “I had forgotten,” he said quietly, “how fine it is to be greeted rather than summoned.”

She chuckled, thumb brushing one of the tiny scars near his brow. “Then try coming home before nightfall next time, and maybe my children won’t stage a rebellion.”

“They have your sense of timing,” he replied, eyes brightening. “Tragic, yet admirable.”

“Off to bed, you two!” she called, turning to the giggling pair. “Before your uncle teaches you something else explosive.”

They vanished into the house with laughter trailing behind. Mariane lingered, studying the gold sheen of him under starlight.

He bent low, letting her rest a hand on his muzzle. Her palm was warm, smelling faintly of herbs and bread. “How was your day with the bloated jerk?” she asked.

“Mariane,” he replied with mock gravity, “you mustn’t insult our gigantic lord. Valcagor’s self-importance is a delicate ecosystem, any disturbance might cause collapse.”

She laughed, tapping his nose. “One day you’ll say that within earshot, and I’ll be the one explaining to your queen why you’re missing half your whiskers.”

“He’d choke on them before managing the swing.” Nelneras murmured.

Her laughter rang out again. “You’re too good for this island.”

“I’ve been accused of worse.”

Her tone was gentle. “Your guests settled in fine. That Axton boy, quiet, polite, pretending he’s not curious.”

“You noticed?”

“I notice everything, Uncle. And before you ask, yes, I read your hawk letter.”

His head tilted sharply. “The one informing you of their arrival?”

“Oh, it was more than that. It was poetry, Nelneras. Half the valley could feel the blush in your ink when you got around to describing your apprentice.”

He gave a small, scandalized growl. “I believe you’re mistaken; I merely possess a rich vocabulary.”

“You wrote,” Mariane said, adopting her best ‘wise dragon’ voice, “‘He carries the gentleness of a candle and the will of the storm. I suspect Bahamut placed a little of her humor in him just to test my patience.’”

Nelneras stilled, the tip of his tail flicking. “…That seems… an accurate observation.”

She arched a brow. “And then you signed it with grandmother’s blessing line.” Her voice deepened to mimic him perfectly: “‘May the gods keep him close, until I may do so myself.’”

A curl of amused smoke escaped his nostrils. “It seems my words have betrayed me.”

“They always do when you care.” Her smile softened. “Don’t fret the age gap. You still act younger than half the boys in town.”

“I am one hundred and thirty, Mariane. Anyone I choose to pursue would have an age gap.”

“Oh, please.” She waved a flour-dusted hand. “You’re spry for a grandpa. Grandpa Glow, that’s what we’ll call you.”

“Grandpa—?” His voice caught somewhere between disbelief and indignation.

She smirked, “Has a nice ring to it. Maybe we’ll stitch it on a pillow for your hoard—”

Her teasing broke off in a squeal as his snout swept forward, nudging her clean off balance. She stumbled back a few steps, laughing so hard she nearly dropped her apron. “See?” she called between gasps. “Senile and violent!”

Nelneras exhaled a plume of amused smoke, whiskers curling in satisfaction. “Careful, child. Keep talking, and I’ll make it ‘glowing grandpa with perfect aim.’”

She huffed, dusting her apron. “Perfect aim, my foot. You missed the laundry line last month.”

He rumbled deep in his chest, tail curling in delight. “You Thornwells are impossible.”

She brushed her flour-covered apron and looked up at him, still grinning. “And you wouldn’t trade us for a chest of rubies.”

His voice quieted, steady as embers. “No. Not for all the rubies in the world.”

For a long moment, they simply breathed in the same peace, the air rich with baking spice and the faint hiss of lanterns swaying overhead. When Mariane finally turned back toward the house, Nelneras lingered. The laughter carried like music through the night, but another sound called to him, a deeper murmur, rhythmic and low, coming from the green.

He followed it down the slope.

The communal fire still burned bright, its light licking across faces half-shadowed, half-gold. Roran sat in the center of it all, halfway through some dramatic retelling involving ghosts and misplaced chamber pots. Lyra cackled between wingbeats of laughter, while Seraphina heckled from the sidelines, spoon in hand like a dueling rapier.
Axton sat just outside the circle, cross-legged, shoulders relaxed for once, head tilted to listen.

Nelneras stopped there a moment, watching him. How easily he belonged here, among the warmth of mortals. The sight struck something tender in his chest, as it always did.

Roran spotted him first. “Nelneras! I was just about to tell them about the time I got cursed by a cabbage!”

“Tragic,” the dragon replied, voice smooth as warm wine. “I hope you recovered.” Nelneras stepped closer, the flames painted his scales in rippling hues, molten amber and faint rose. Axton glanced up then, eyes widening slightly, and that small, unguarded smile of his caught Nel’s breath in his throat.

“Master Nelneras,” Axton said softly. “You’re back, how was your day?”

“in desperate need of good company to forget the last few hours,” Nelneras murmured, dipping his head. “May I join your circle of heroes?”

Lyra fluttered her wings in mock ceremony. “Granted, if you brought dessert.”

“I bring only charm,” he said, settling with a pleased rumble. “It keeps longer. I promise dessert another night”

Nelneras folded himself nearer the fire, resting on his haunches, wings half-furled. The earth sighed under his weight; sparks drifted upward in greeting. He listened for a while, let Roran finish his story, which ended with a spectral chicken and a bucket of holy water, and felt the last remnants of Valcagor’s oily laughter wash from his mind.

When the tale wound down and the fire settled, he turned his gaze to Axton again.

“You were given the tour today, I hear,” he said. “Should I be jealous?”

Axton smiled, faintly teasing. “Not unless you wanted to race the rams for attention. Your family insisted on showing us everything. Twice.”

“Did they now?” Nelneras tilted his head. “And how did my land treat you?”

“Well,” Axton said, glancing toward Seraphina. “Except for when your cook nearly strangled our cook over who was in charge.”

Seraphina folded her arms. “Nearly strangled? I call that a discussion.” The group laughed, and Nelneras’ chest rumbled with low, genuine mirth.

“I did promise her the position,” he admitted. “I should have warned the staff she takes her stewardship as seriously as Bahamut takes sunrise.”

“Understatement.” Seraphina muttered, but her eyes glowed with pride.

The laughter faded into that gentle quiet that follows for a long day. Crickets whispered in the grass; sparks rose and vanished. The kind of silence that invited honesty.

Nelneras glanced once toward the farmhouse, windows glowing, voices soft within, then lowered his head toward Axton. “You have not yet seen the heart of the fields, have you? The places words fail to describe.”

Axton looked up, uncertain. “I—I think Mariane said—”

“I promised her I’d give you the true tour.” Nelneras interrupted, voice warm but firm. “A dragon’s tour. If you still have the strength to walk.”

Roran half-stood. “Oh, I can come too!”

The paladin started to rise, but Mariane’s rested a hand upon him, “Let ole glow handle this one, Sir Wolf. You’ll scare the rams if you tag along.”

 “Wasn’t planning to, well, maybe a little.”

Lyra grinned. “Private tour, dear.”

Axton flushed scarlet, stammering something indistinct. Nelneras bit down a smile and offered his forepaw in invitation.

“Come,” he said softly. “Before the stars grow jealous that we are still awake.”

The lantern path curved away from the green like a ribbon of melted gold. The world beyond it breathed softly, the low croon of frogs near the canal, the steady murmur of rams in their pens, the wind combing through the fields. Nelneras slowed his pace so Axton could walk beside his forepaw rather than behind it. The young man’s staff tapped gently against the cobblestones, keeping time with the rhythm of his own heartbeat.

For a while, they said nothing. Silence here was comfortable, alive with scent and color. The faint sweetness of drakefruit hung in the air, mingled with the resin of oak and the cool edge of river mist. Fireflies bobbed along the ditches, tiny stars that refused to fall.

“It’s different at night.” Axton said at last, his voice soft but steady.

Nelneras turned one golden eye toward him. “How so?”

“The air feels heavier… but calmer. As if the farm is breathing slower.”

The dragon’s whiskers curled forward with approval. “You notice what most miss. Stillness is its own music.”

Axton smiled, a small, shy thing that made Nelneras’ chest ache in the most ridiculous way. They passed the ram pens; one of the great beasts lifted its head and bleated a sleepy greeting. Axton chuckled. “That one, he tried to eat my robe this morning.”

 “Pebblehorn. He considers anything gold-trimmed a delicacy. I’ve lost three banners to his refined taste.” Nelneras rumbled amusement deep in his throat.

The laugh that followed from the human’s throat was worth the day’s weight in soot and Valcagor’s bile. The dragon’s stride lightened almost imperceptibly.

They left the pens behind, following a narrow track where wildflowers gleamed pale against the dark. The scent of honey and dew drifted on the wind, carrying the soft hum of Glowfire bees nesting in their hives farther downslope.

Axton’s gaze wandered to the living tapestry of color around them. “These flower paths… they feel alive.”

“They are,” Nelneras said, lowering his head so his whiskers brushed a line of moon-pale petals. “I planted them over my first steps here, a reminder that even dragons should tread softly if they wish to leave something gentle behind.”

 “That sounds like one of your lessons.” Axton smiled faintly.

“Perhaps,” he murmured, a playful glint in his eyes. “Though for once, I was the student.”

They walked in silence for a while, the night alive with whispering wings and distant laughter from the cottages below. Then Axton said quietly, “It’s beautiful, what you’ve built. I can see why your family came with you.”

Nelneras’ gaze drifted toward the valley where the faint shapes of the Thornwell cottages slumbered beneath lantern glow. “Half of them,” he said softly.

Axton looked up. “Only half?”

He nodded, tail curling absently in the grass. “The others stayed behind in Eiteon. Too many fears to abandon, too many ghosts to carry. They trust me, but not my kin, some still see wings and fire before they see the person beneath. If you’ve read the legends that were passed down through time, Dragons ruled like tyrants, caused damage to follow us through time.” He hesitated, voice lowering. “I tell myself they’ll cross the sea when they’re ready. Hope is a long voyage, but one must leave the lantern burning.”

Axton frowned thoughtfully, his tone quiet but sure. “They will. You’ve given them something real to come to.”

The dragon looked down at him, and the glow in his eyes softened. “You speak comfort like you breathe it. It’s disarming.”

“Sorry.” Axton said, startled.

“Don’t be,” Nelneras rumbled. “You make old wounds behave.”

The flower rows gave way to bronze-barked trees, drakefruit orchard, glimmering beneath the moon. The fruit shimmered faintly red and gold, each one warm to the eye, as though holding captive the day’s last light.

“This is where the cider comes from?” Axton asked, brushing his fingers against a low branch. “Got offered it earlier, was great.”

“Good to hear, and indeed.” Nelneras plucked some fruit from the branch and held it out. “It’s sweeter when stolen off the tree.”

Axton hesitated only a moment before accepting. Juice streaked his fingers and chin; he wiped at it quickly, flustered.

Nelneras’ whiskers twitched in amusement. “A messy victory, but worth it?”

“Very,” Axton said, laughing. “Though the kitchen may argue. Seraphina nearly declared war there this evening.”

“Ah,” Nelneras sighed, tail flicking. “That didn’t take long.”

“She insisted she’s the head chef, and your cousin—sorry, your great-niece—apparently disagreed. There was a heated debate about spice placement and authority.”

“And who prevailed?”

Axton grinned. “Seraphina. She reorganized the shelves while everyone was still arguing. I think they realized too late she’d already won.”

A low rumble of laughter rose from the dragon’s chest. “I did promise her that kitchen. I suspect my family will never forgive me.”

“They will,” Axton said. “Dinner was wonderful.”

“That’s how revolutions begin.” Nelneras murmured, pleased.

Nelneras’ laughter lingered a moment longer before fading into the hum of the night. They walked beneath the orchard’s bronze canopy until the ground sloped toward a hollow veiled in birch and fern. The scent of moss and cool water drifted through the air, touched by the sweetness of drakefruit carried on the wind.

They descended along the path. Each step down seemed to hush the world until even the chirring insects fell quiet. The trees opened around a pool no larger than a dragon’s outstretched wing. The moon lay mirrored in the water, perfect and pale. Offerings of feathers, carved river stones, little tokens of wood, rested at the bases of the stones. On either side was a stature, dedicated to a specific god. Bahamut, the platinum dragoness forged in platinum white marble, while opposite her in rose gold was the gryphon form of Parunga. It felt sacred, but not austere as if the air itself knew to breathe more softly here.

Nelneras’ chest softened. This was his heart laid bare, and he rarely brought anyone here.

He stopped at the edge and bent low, foreclaws resting in the grass. “Here is where I remember them. Those who left, those who stayed, those who returned to Bahamut’s flame. Every name carved by my hand.”

He lowered his head further, gazing into the reflection. “Some nights, I still imagine I see them here. My mothers, my brothers, the Thornwells who raised me from egg to flight. They were never dragons, yet they taught me every noble thing a dragon should be.”

Axton knelt by the water, his reflection trembling beside the dragon’s. “You miss them.”

“Every day,” Nelneras admitted quietly. “But I’ve learned to miss them with gratitude instead of ache.”

He turned his gaze toward Axton then, and the warmth he found there almost unraveled him.

“You must forgive me,” he murmured. “I’ve spoken too much of myself tonight. I wanted to ask about you. What this day was, through your eyes. What adventures did my family inflict upon you?”

Axton’s laugh came soft but genuine. “They were wonderful. Exhausting, but wonderful. I think half the children tried to braid my hair. And, well, there was the small matter of meeting your dragon prince.”

Nelneras’ eyes narrowed with sudden interest. “The prince? Which one?”

“He saved us from a monster on the road,” Axton explained. “Called himself Bahamut’s paladin. He was… radiant. I didn’t know a dragon could look that holy and terrifying at the same time.”

Nelneras exhaled slowly, a golden mist curling from his nostrils. “A dragon who serves Bahamut rather than merely invoking her name…I know of whom you speak.” His voice was gentle, almost wistful. He exhaled slowly, gold mist curling in the moonlight. “Tell me, what did you think of him?”

Axton hesitated, then smiled faintly. “Magnificent. But he wasn’t you.” Silence stretched, and heat rushed to his cheeks. “I mean—he was impressive, but—”

The dragon’s whiskers curled in amusement. “I understood,” he said, voice low as thunder wrapped in silk. “Still, such comparisons could go to a dragon’s head.”

 “Yours doesn’t need any help.” Axton gave an embarrassed laugh.

“Careful, or I’ll believe you’re flirting.”

“I—I wasn’t—”

“Of course not,” Nelneras purred, and the sound vibrated through the grass. “But it’s endearing all the same.”

They stood a while longer by the water. Then the dragon spoke, quieter now, almost hesitant. “About this morning… I kissed you. I keep thinking I shouldn’t have. Not yet. It was selfish.”

What composure the human had faltered, he gave a sound almost like a dying animal as cheeks burned red as a dragon’s scales. He stepped closer, close enough that his reflection brushed Nelneras’ muzzle. “It wasn’t selfish,” he stammered, and pressed a light kiss against the dragon’s cheek. “I liked it.”

The world seemed to still, no wind, no sound but shared breath. Nelneras dared not move, afraid the moment would fracture if he exhaled too quickly. Then, softly, he rumbled, “Then I’ll try not to do it again… unless invited.”

“You don’t need permission to be kind.” Axton murmured.

“No,” the dragon said, voice rich and low, “only to be greedy. You humble me with your forgiveness, but you still deserve the respect of being treated equal none the less.”

The faintest flicker of golden sparks drifted from his whiskers, vanishing over the pool. He lowered his head beside Axton’s shoulder, close enough for warmth without presumption. They stayed like that until the lanterns began to dim.

Reluctantly, he rose. “Come,” he murmured, voice low and roughened by softness. “The others will worry if their scholar vanishes entirely. And my niece is quick to assume I’ve stolen guests for philosophical lectures.”

Axton smiled faintly. “Would she be wrong?”

“Entirely,” Nelneras replied, though the corner of his mouth curved. “I was thinking of a more practical kidnapping.”

The human laughed, the sound light in the hush of night, and followed as Nelneras turned back toward the path. The air cooled as they climbed, lanternlight spilling through the branches in pale ribbons. Fireflies hovered like drifting stars.

When they reached the ridge, the valley opened below, a spread of gentle gold and silver light. Thornwell Fields slept beneath its own constellation: windows glowing, the soft flicker of a communal fire at the green, distant voices rising in easy cheer. Someone was singing; the notes carried faint and sweet, blending with the sound of running water and far-off laughter.

Nelneras slowed his stride to match Axton’s, his tail swaying idly in the grass. The human’s hand brushed against his scales once, twice, an accident, perhaps, but one he didn’t discourage. He found he liked the quiet between them, the comfort that needed no filling.

After a time, he said, “Tomorrow, I’d like to show you something. A surprise.”

Axton tilted his head, suspicion softened by amusement. “You’ve been smug since the orchard. What are you plotting?”

“Plotting?” Nelneras made a show of offense, eyes glinting with amusement. “I merely follow divine suggestion.”

“Bahamut’s?”

He gave a low hum; more purr than reply. “Let’s say inspiration and divinity share the same voice, now and then.”

Axton narrowed his eyes. “That’s a fancy way of saying you’re not going to tell me.”

“Indeed,” Nelneras said smoothly. “Anticipation is an art form. You, of all people, should appreciate a well-timed reveal.”

They crested the last rise. From here, the Golden Hall shone like a second moon, its bronze roof aglow in the lantern light. Voices drifted from below, Roran’s booming laughter, Lyra’s sing-song teasing, the faint hum of Seraphina’s scolding tone. The warmth of it struck him like a physical thing, familiar and grounding.

He looked down at Axton, who was watching the scene with a soft, thoughtful expression that tugged at something deep inside him. “You fit here better than you think.” he murmured.

Axton blinked up at him, startled. “What makes you say that?”

“Because the light likes you,” Nelneras said simply. “It follows you as though it remembers where you’ve walked.”

The boy blushed, clearly unsure what to do with such words. Nelneras found he rather enjoyed that.

“You’re impossible.” Axton muttered.

“True,” he agreed, “and patient. Two virtues of a dragon.”

They reached the green, where the scent of spiced cider and firewood thickened. Before Axton could slip away toward the others, Nelneras lowered his head once more, close enough that his breath stirred the young man’s hair.

“Sleep well,” he said, tail brushing lightly against Axton’s sleeve. “Tomorrow will ask for your wonder.”

Axton started to reply, but Nelneras was already turning, wings folding in starlight as he moved toward the Golden Hall. Behind him, he could still feel the boy’s gaze, warm and steady on his scales.

He smiled at himself. Bahamut forgive me, he thought, but I could grow addicted to this.