Chapter 53

If the dragon’s outburst had left Arcturus scarred, his absence had inflicted an even deeper wound. To the others, he appeared calm and collected, a stoic knight with a heart of iron. Yet within, his soul was a tattered fragment hanging precariously by a thread, each beat of his heart leaving a residual ache that consumed his every thought.

His mind could not dwell on anything other than the memory of firm scales, the searing intensity of fiery blue eyes, and the agonizing pain of claws raking across his flesh. Questions from his friends buzzed around him like gnats: What had transpired? What would they do now? Was he okay?

Arcturus had no answers for them. His lips formed no words, only silence. He could only stare past them, his gaze lost in the distance, hoping against hope to catch a glimmer of Veledar in the sky, a flicker of red against the horizon.

There would be no coming back for him, no confusion to rethink, no uncertainty. This cold fact settled into Arcturus’ gut, making him weak. To rise so high in complacency and contentment, only to fall so swiftly, would break anyone. The truth was a leaden weight, dragging him into the depths of despair.

As his companions called to him, their voices filled with concern, he dismissed them with a wave and a grunt, clutching his freshly healed side. Despite Asterion’s skill, the memory of those sharpened claws tearing into him, ripping through his shirt, remained vivid and raw. The phantom pain lingered, a cruel reminder of his love's ferocity.

Months spent working on trust, building their relationship, nights spent in each other's company—wasted in a matter of moments. All thanks to this loathsome place, the last victim of his father’s cruelty. Arcturus cast a sharpened glance at the mansion’s walls, his hands tightening into fists. He should have known better than to come here, yet he had brought them anyway. This was his reward for content, for ignoring the warnings of his own instincts.

Veledar would still be here if he had listened to his gut. The dragon’s fiery presence, the warmth of his scales, the deep, reassuring rumble of his voice—

Arcturus stumbled, his breaths coming shallow as the crushing weight of his guilt bore down upon his shoulders. His head spun, his senses numb as he fixated on the dragon’s once charming visage, now contorted into snarls and filled with venomous words. Since Selina’s death, this had been the first time he had felt truly alive, at peace, with a future to look forward to. And now, all of it had slipped through his fingers, a casualty of his own hubris.

If only he had kept his head. If only he had focused on diplomatic words instead of hurling insults and returning the dragon's fire with his own. Arcturus stared at his hands, now shaking and stained with trace amounts of the dragon’s blood. The sight twisted his stomach with regret. Why had he stabbed him?

He recalled the adrenaline, the fear of death wrapping about his flesh like a vice. There had been a twisted satisfaction as he thrust his blade through the dragon’s scales. It had to have been the bond, to be so overwhelmed with emotion and fury. Arcturus grimaced, cursing himself. If he had possessed the willpower and strength to control himself, he could have prevented this travesty from spiraling further.

By the time he had made it within the estate's walls, he was fumbling, nearly unable to progress without leaning heavily upon the stone. Tears blurred his vision, hollowing him out, but he needed to see it, had to witness what had driven Veledar to such madness. He had to understand. Maybe, just maybe, he could find a reason that would help coax the wounded dragon back.

Why had he let it get this far? After Selina’s death, he had sworn never to be this vulnerable again, never to allow himself to be wounded in such a devastating fashion. Yet here he was, aching across every limb, his bones twitching in pain. It felt as though he had run miles, leaving him utterly exhausted.

He made it to the second floor before he collapsed to his knees, sobbing uncontrollably. It was as if his heart had been torn right from his chest. Shame washed over him as he wished desperately that this was all a dream, a terrible nightmare from which he would awaken.

The waking world would not come, for it was frighteningly real. For minutes, Arcturus sobbed, quivering like a leaf in a storm. When his tears finally ceased, he rose, composing himself with a wipe of his sleeve. A broken, wounded man walked into his father’s study, his demeanor darkening at what he saw.

It had been practically destroyed, the dragon no doubt obliterating all that dwelled within. Claws, weight, and fire had left their mark, blackened pieces of wood dotting the floor. Stuffing was scattered from once-proud draconic heads, joining the tattered remains of their flesh and scales. All that remained unscathed was the silver head of Indomitable Aegis, beside the infamous portrait of the hunt.

He remembered that terrible day, the battle with his father. Though he was smiling in the portrait, it was a grotesque mockery of the truth. Threats and shouting had been his father’s weapons, coercing him to fire the magical ballistae that took down the mighty Indomitable Aegis. At the time, he had not known her name, only that she was a "violent dragoness" as his father had claimed. But seeing her wounded, hearing her whine in pain, had been more than enough to turn his younger self forever against his father.

If only he’d warned Veledar about the existence of this room. Arcturus gritted his teeth, his body trembling as he recalled the sickening moment when the ballistae had struck the dragoness, guided by Nigel’s malevolent enchantment to ensure its mark. The thought that this single moment, which had set him on his current path, would lead him here, into the presence of one of her offspring, was a cruel twist of fate.

His gaze drifted toward the stuffed head of Indomitable Aegis. She bore a vague resemblance to the image he had seen months ago in her home, left as a message to Veledar. He should have recognized her, but perhaps, deep down, he had chosen not to. The realization twisted his insides, a cruel reminder that it wasn’t just his family responsible for the immense suffering in Veledar’s life. He had been the instrument of that pain.

“There you are, sir.” Reginald panted softly, his breath coming in ragged bursts as he padded into the ruined room. His feathers were disheveled, a clear sign of his hurried ascent. “A questionable renovation to the trophy room, to be sure, though perhaps not unexpected given your current choice of lover.”

Arcturus did not turn, his arms hanging limply at his sides. “Reginald, I wish to be left alone.”

The gryphon remained undeterred. “I think you’ve had enough solitude over the past two years, sir. It would be a cold day in the Hells before I abandoned you now.”

“He’s gone… Reginald, he’s gone,” Arcturus continued, his voice heavy with despair. “All because of this room and my family’s damned legacy.” His gaze burned with venom as he glared at the portrait of his proud father, as if the painted visage were mocking him in his darkest hour. “I was a fool. I allowed myself to believe, if only for a fleeting moment, that things might be alright, that I had found someone truly special…” He exhaled a shuddering sigh and kicked a charred fragment of wood across the floor. “I should have known better. The world is not so kind.”

“That’s a load of rubbish if I’ve ever heard it sir.” The gryphon countered with a firm squawk, “It may seem it, but the world isn’t out to repeatedly kick you in the balls.” He approached with measured steps, his posture impeccably upright, ears drawn back in sympathy. “And as for this room, the blame does not rest solely upon your shoulders.” His gaze swept over the destruction with a critical eye. “With your father’s passing, I should have taken it upon myself to see this room dismantled. I was aware of your disdain for it. The dragon’s outburst, I regret, is entirely my fault.”

Even in this dark hour, Reginald’s steadfast loyalty shone through. “There is no need to shoulder the blame alone. I gave you no reason to suspect I’d return,” Arcturus said, his voice heavy with regret. “I knew this place existed... Should have warned him.” His hand fell upon the stuffed head of Indomitable Aegis, unable to look her in her dull eye. “Perhaps if we had confronted this together, I could have tempered the storm, explained the terrible nature of that day- “

“And who was she, sir?” Reginald inquired, stepping closer with a poised air. “Someone of particular importance, I take it. A romantic involvement, perhaps?”

“His mother.”

Hinds shifted against the ruined floor. “That explains the outburst then. I’d be cross as hell in his place.” Reginald ruffled his feathers with an indignant squawk. “Though it doesn’t excuse his treatment of you, sir. He should have spoken with you rather than resorting to claws, fire, or teeth.” He extended a hand to touch Arcturus’ tattered side.

“I’m alright,” Arcturus said, brushing the hand away. “Just some tattered clothing; it can be mended.”

“You well know I don’t mean the clothing, sir. I’ve heard the brute wounded you grievously.”

Arcturus winced, the memory of blood pooling from his wounds only an hour ago fresh in his mind. He shivered; the specter of death having hovered too close for comfort. If not for Merlia and Asterion’s swift spells, he might have succumbed. “It was an accident, already healed. No need to concern yourself.”

“I’ll damn well be worried when I please. You don’t get to outgrow that, sir,” Reginald retorted sharply, his beak clicking with emphasis. “And are you aware you’re sounding like a battered housewife?”

The knight turned, his eyes brimming with tears, but his voice remained resolute. “It was an accident, if you choose to believe it.” Arcturus recalled the moment vividly collapsed on the ground, his senses dulled as his blood soaked into the tattered remains of his clothing. “I could feel him, his emotions... We have a bond, Reginald. He couldn’t conceal his shock, his horror, his regret.”

Reginald’s ears splayed in concern. “Have you considered, sir, that this might be a figment of your imagination? Brought about by your proximity to death?”

“It was not that,” Arcturus answered firmly. “There is no debate on this matter.”

With an indignant squawk, Reginald fluffed up his feathers, “Believe what you wish, regardless, it doesn’t excuse how he treated you.”

“I was no better, Reginald.” Arcturus held his head high, tears gathering in his eyes. “When he was engulfed in his rage, needing a voice to guide him back, I only added fuel to the fire. I insulted him, belittled him, and—gods above.” He buried his face in his hands. “I stabbed him... Reginald, I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

As Arcturus trembled and broke down, Reginald’s wing enveloped him, drawing him close against the gryphon’s comforting chest. The embrace was warm and firm, a sanctuary amidst the turmoil.

“You’re going to endure, sir,” Reginald assured, his voice steady and comforting. “It’s what I’ve always known you to do. No matter what life hurls at you, no matter how many times you’re cast to the ground, you will rise again.” A scaled hand gently caressed the back of Arcturus’ head, talons brushing tenderly through his hair. “Today may seem like all hope is lost, like a lance has pierced your heart, but I promise you, it will end. You’ll see, sir. Just because the dragon wasn’t the one doesn’t mean there isn’t something out there waiting for you.” Reginald’s eyes twinkled with a touch of warmth. “And fortunate for you, you’ve got a host of stellar companions by your side to help you through.” He chuckled softly

Reginald’s words, as they always did, provided a reprieve from Arcturus’ spiraling despair. The human remained, tentatively kneading the gryphon’s feathers, his mind a tumult of what might have been, what should have been, and the nights that had once been filled with warmth and promise. When Arcturus finally extricated himself from the comforting embrace, Reginald’s wing moved with practiced grace to dust him off.

“There we are, not quite as good as new, but we’ll manage.” Reginald said with a weak smile.

“Thank you.” Arcturus replied, meeting the gryphon’s gentle nuzzle with one of his own.

“Always, sir.” Reginald nodded, his demeanor shifting to business as he gestured toward the door. “In your tussle with the dragon, you’ve gathered an audience. They are concerned for you. What shall I tell them?”

“Tell them I need a moment to think.” Arcturus said, his hand pressed against his aching head.

Reginald tilted his head. “Think about what, sir?”

“Everything.”

“Very well.” Reginald nodded, padding away with a mournful chirp. He left Arcturus alone amidst the devastation of the room and the weight of his thoughts.

Could he truly continue this quest without the dragon? Arcturus grimaced, Veledar had been such a pillar of strength for him these past few months. Without him, the challenges would be ever greater, could he truly stand up to them? Their plans for Rothdell and beyond seemed insurmountable now, when not long ago they seemed within their grasp. He focused his thoughts, trying to clear away from the dragon’s crimson distraction.

Arcturus sought refuge in the sacred vows that once gave him strength, striving to bring order to the chaos within his heart. With a firm grip, he drew his sword, its steel gleaming in the dim light. He moved through the practiced motions, each swing of the blade a testament to his resolve. He refused to succumb to the crushing weight of sorrow over a single soul, a single dragon.

A paladin is sworn to valor.

As he lifted the sword high, its edge catching the light, a flash of Veledar’s sapphire eyes pierced his concentration. The sight weakened his resolve, causing his hand to tremble. He shook his head sharply, forcing himself to continue, determined to push past the vision that threatened to undo him.

My heart knows only virtue.

Bahamut had gifted him this power, had placed his trust in him, seeing the potential within. Arcturus knew he had to prove his worthiness, not only to himself but to the divine force that had bestowed this responsibility. He could not afford to be distracted by the fleeting emotions of romance.

My blade defends the helpless.

My might upholds the weak.

With his next step, his breaths became fractured, the images of Veledar would not cease. As he tried to press them down, bind them ever more, they exploded with greater ferocity. He relived all those pleasing moments, the laughter, the smiles, the brightness that the dragon had brought upon each day.

My words speak only-

Arcturus faltered, his limbs trembling uncontrollably. The next line of his oaths eluded him, the sacred words becoming a distant echo. Despite his best efforts, he yearned to reach out to Veledar, to make amends, to bring the dragon back. The dragon who had saved him, the one he still loved with all his heart.

My...

He dropped his sword, emotion overtaking him. Legs buckled, tears came, Arcturus broke once more in his solitude. Veledar’s name came to his lips, a desperate plea as if it would summon the dragon right there and then. Of course he did not appear, leaving the knight a wailing, empty shell. How was he going to endure this? This unending sorrow? Though Reginald had insisted on his perseverance, Arcturus was now not so sure. Everything that remained was dark.

** * * * * * * * * * *

When Arcturus had expended the last of his tears and drained his soul of its anguish, he mustered what fragments of himself remained and staggered through the dimly lit corridors of the estate. Each labored breath was a testament to his resilience, every step a defiance of the phantom weight that bore down upon him. He steeled himself despite it, knowing the path ahead would be fraught with pain, clinging to the hope that duty would blunt the edge of his suffering.

True to his request, the others had granted him solitude, retreating to their own corner of the estate. As he entered the dining hall, he found them gathered in tense deliberation. They stood around the great table, voices raised in heated debate, torn between choices that would shape their future. Should they remain, pursue Veledar, or abandon the estate altogether?

The table had become a battlefield of ideologies. On one side stood Merlia, Lyndis, Krotos, and Feku. They stood defiant in the hardened expressions of Asterion and Shandalar, the air dripping with tension between them

“I’m just sayin’ we should give the lad a wee bit o’ time to get his breath back,” Merlia grumbled, leaning heavily on the table. “Look at the state o’ him—emotionally and physically. If that dragon’s claws had gone any deeper, we’d be makin’ a funeral pyre instead o’ havin’ this bleedin’ argument!”

“I appreciate your concern,” Shandalar said, her tone as cold and measured as ever. “However, the operational requirements of our mission do not permit delays for extended periods individual recovery. While the loss of the dragon is unfortunate, it does not incapacitate our ability to proceed. We must adapt and continue with the resources available to us.”

“I get where you’re coming from.” Lyndis glared at the sun-elf, her arms firmly crossed against her chest, “but the man’s just lost his friends, his dragon, and everything else. Give him a bit of a fucking break, will you?”

Asterion gave a gruff snort, his stance resolute as he joined Shandalar. “You underestimate Arcturus. He is a warrior of great strength and resilience. Such adversity will not hinder him for long.”

Lyndis’s eyes widened in disbelief. “I can’t believe you’re actually siding with her.”

“You suggest we stay here to coddle Arcturus’ wounded spirit?” Asterion rose a brow, “Every moment we wait is yet another chance for our enemies to find us. The best cure for this ailment is fresh air, travel and beating one’s enemies head into a bloody pulp.”

Krotos fluffed his feathers indignantly. “We’re not all bloodthirsty lunatics!”

Shandalar nodded, though her expression remained unyielding. “Asterion’s approach has merit, though I would advise against excessive violence. We are, however, pressed for time. The alternative is sheer folly.”

Merlia pounded her fist on the table, her frustration palpable. “We’re advocating for some bloody empathy, you cold-hearted finger-wiggler!”

“And you’re allowing your judgment to be clouded by sentiment,” Shandalar replied coldly. “It’s surprising that you’ve managed to survive as an adventurer with such a lack of discipline.”

“Hold on a minute,” Merlia barked. “We were doin’ just fine before ye saddled yerself to us!”

“Our emotions are what saved me,” Lyndis said, jabbing a thumb at her chest, her gaze fiery. “Or are ye suggestin’ that was a bloody mistake too?”

“Are you asking my honest opinion on the subject?” Shandalar rose a brow.

“Aye, I do,” Lyndis said, rolling her eyes. “Spit it out.”

“Yes.” Shandalar padded a few steps around the table, remaining resolute as she ran a hand along its surface, “From a strictly tactical perspective, your rescue was indeed a mistake. Those are the facts.”

A redness went about Lyndis cheeks as she gave a bitter laugh, running a hand through her hair, “Clearly, they don’t teach people skills in your studies. Though miss facts and know better than thou, you’re forgetting something rather obvious.”

The sun elf’s brow rose as Lyndis work a smirk, “And that would be?”

Lyndis leaned in with a smirk, “Not everyone can just turn off their bloody emotions like some unfeeling monster.” She pointed a finger at Asterion. “Or drown them in a bloody rampage or a sword fight.” Leaning back, she crossed her arms defiantly. “I’m telling you, tossing a wounded spirit into battle or danger is just asking for trouble. The dragon leaving will be the least of our concerns.”

“The dragon leaving was probably for the best,” Shandalar replied coldly, her gaze fixed on the distant horizon through the long windows. “With his temperament, it was bound to create conflicts and tension.”

Merlia’s jaw tightened, her cheeks reddening as sparks seemed to fly from her eyes. “Don’t you dare say we’re better off without Crimson Sky.”

Shandalar turned back, her demeanor calm and collected. “Without his distractions, we’ll be able to complete our mission with greater efficiency. So yes, we are better off without Crimson Sky.”

“That’s it, I’m gonna kill her!” Merlia roared, lunging at the mage, only to be restrained by Lyndis and Krotos. “What are ya doin’, lads? You heard what she said! That stuck-up, dress-wearing ninny deserves a demonstration of the dwarven method!”

“You heard her, Lady Lyndis. Let go!” Feku tugged at Lyndis’s leg, her tiny face set with determination. “Mage lady needs swift kick in balls!”

“Everyone, everyone!” Krotos’s urgent squawk cut through the heated argument as he fluttered his wings between the two groups, trying to calm the escalating tension. “We’re not making any progress by wanting to beat each other’s heads in.”

“True enough,” Lyndis said, grimacing. “But if Arcturus wants to stay, I’m staying. So, what then?” She fixed Shandalar with a challenging glare. “Are you going to force us to comply?”

“Hey, look who it is!” Krotos said, attempting to defuse the situation with a nervous laugh. “It’s Arcturus! How are you holding up?”

Arcturus padded his way to the table with a deep sigh, “How do you think?” He replied truthfully.

Ears splayed, a mournful chirp left his beak, “Sorry about what happened.”

“What’s done is done,” Arcturus said, holding his side. “There’s no going back now.”

Asterion flicked his tail with a smirk. “See? I told you he wouldn’t be a whimpering babe.”

“You want to start this again, bull boy?” Merlia shook her fist, her face reddening. “You’re asking to eat your horns!”

“I’d like to see you try little one.”

“I’ll show you little!”

“Enough of this.” Shandalar’s voice was as calm and measured as ever, cutting through the chaos. “This bickering is counterproductive. Arcturus, the others wish to stay. Do you comprehend why we cannot?”  She met his gaze with a raised eyebrow, her tone unwavering. “I acknowledge the emotional strain you are under, but it must be set aside for the time being.”

“And I suggest we take another day,” Lyndis countered, her tone firm. “Get our heads straight before we dive back into this.”

“Or…go get dragon back?” Feku tilted her head, claws together, a desperate plea glimmering in her eyes.

“And permit that lunatic to shred another one of us?” Asterion growled, his voice deep and resolute. “You witnessed his capabilities, little one.”

Each argument weighed heavily on Arcturus, even as he wrestled with his own thoughts. Despite the pressing mission, his heart ached to pursue his beloved dragon, to mend what had been broken and soothe the flames in his chest. With a solemn grunt, he finally spoke, “I shall side with Shandalar on this. We have many souls relying upon us to complete this quest. They are of far greater importance than my personal desires.”

“You can’t be serious, lad!” Merlia exclaimed, her accent thick with disbelief. “Don’t let the elf get under your skin!”

“I agree.” Krotos ruffled his feathers, striding closer to Arcturus. “It wouldn’t hurt to take a moment to deal with the unease that—”

“Look,” Arcturus interjected gently, meeting Lyndis’ concerned gaze, “I’m truly touched that you care, but we cannot afford to linger here any longer. Lumara won’t be idle while we wait, nor do I imagine they’re keen to let the group that killed their king and humiliated that lich slip away.” His gaze drifted to the window, where he pictured Veledar far off. His heart ached with the distance. “I wish things were different, that the world was perfect, but it’s not. It’s true I love that dragon, but you saw what happened, how easily he turned against me.” Arcturus swallowed hard, a pit forming in his gut. “Perhaps what we had was nothing more than a fleeting dream, never meant to last.”

“Lad, how can ya—” Merlia began, but the words failed her in the face of the harsh reality. Even she could not deny the dragon’s rage. “Think I need me flask.”

Arcturus sighed, seeing the plight of their gaze, the shock that was reflected in their own. No one suspected Veledar would be capable of this, would turn tail and leave them. “All I can do is focus on my oaths. They are what led me to him in the first place, set me on this path. With luck, they will lead to me to him again, perhaps then we can work out what has happened, reforge what was broken.”

“You can’t be serious.” Asterion leaned on the table, lashing his tail as he searched the human up and down, “You wish to make amends to the dragon instead of slaying him?”

He thumped his chest, a gesture of conviction. “The bond we share is a direct tether—”

“Are you sure it wasn’t a figment of your imagination?” Asterion’s gaze was sharp, probing. “The wound you endured was grievous—”

“It wasn’t.” Arcturus started with confidence, but as he met the minotaur’s scrutinizing gaze and recalled Reginald’s suspicion, doubt crept in. His words faltered. “I mean… I thought it was.”

“It is alright,” Asterion said, clasping him on the shoulder. “I’m certain we can mend the spirit in the coming days. This dragon’s betrayal will not linger over you forever.”

“Regardless.” Arcturus brushed aside the warrior’s hand with a firm shake of his head. “It doesn’t matter what I think. We must leave.”

“There we have it. Reason.” Shandalar’s nod was resolute, her voice stern. “I’ll be gathering my things. We leave within the hour.”

As Shandalar and Asterion moved away to prepare, Lyndis approached, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Are you sure? You look dreadful, mate.”

Arcturus took her hand, nodding solemnly. “I’ll endure this, just as I’ve done before. At least there’s a quest to focus on this time.”

“You know, it’s alright to be a wee bit selfish,” she said with a sigh. “Honor and duty are noble, but they can leave you hollow.” Her eyes softened. “I’m sorry how things turned out… I thought you and Vel were going to work out.”

His heart throbbed painfully. “I thought so too.” As he choked back the cold wave of grief, he made his way out of the hall, heading to gather his things. The sooner they got underway, the sooner he might find some solace. He had to.

** * * * * * * *

In no time, Arcturus had packed his belongings, meticulously organizing his gear and equipment into his pouches and sack. He paused to gaze at the scratched, worn surfaces of his armor, the once-glorious plates now marked by the trials of battles. His finger traced the familiar dents and scratches, and he whispered his gratitude for Matilda’s craftsmanship. Her hands had forged a masterpiece, one he wished he could still thank in person. The weight of her loss hung heavy, a constant reminder that her life must not have been spent in vain. The fallen souls of Lumara, her among them, demanded justice.

It was Reginald who found him, his feathers fluffed out in an authoritative display. The butler carried a sack in his beak, which he unceremoniously dropped to the floor with a dull thud. The crack of his tail was sharp, like a whip, and his ears were pinned back against his regal neck. His eyes, keen and piercing, assessed Arcturus with a scrutiny that rivaled the sharpest blade.

“You’re making a terrible mistake, sir.” Reginald’s voice was taut with concern.

Arcturus glanced up, his hands deftly attaching each cuisse, pressing the rune to seal them onto him. “You’ve never seen me put on this armor, Reginald. How can you know it’s wrong?”

The elder gryphon’s feathers fluffed indignantly, his voice sharp and disapproving. “You very well know that’s not what I meant.”

He bit his tongue, moving onto his greaves.

“For someone claiming to be different from his father, you sure brood like he used to.” Reginald sighed heavily, turning to make Arcturus’s bed. “You told me the dragon made a mistake. You were so convinced. Why not track him down and explain things?”

Meeting the gryphon’s piercing gaze, his voice grew firm. “I’ve made up my mind, Reginald. You’re not going to change it. We’re moving out to continue the quest. Matters of personal distress, like the dragon, will have to wait until it’s done.”

“Not important?” Reginald’s voice dropped to a worried murmur. “The way I see it, what’s the point in doing all of this if you don’t save yourself? You look terrible, sir—like you’re already dead behind the eyes. I’ve seen this once before when—” Reginald shifted uncomfortably, his feathers ruffled and his ears pressed tight to his head, “—when Dreadflame turned his wrath upon your family.”

“This isn’t the same.” Arcturus’s voice faltered slightly as he averted his gaze, focusing on attaching the next greave. “There’s something to concentrate on now—people depending on us to continue. The dragon can wait.”

Reginald let out a heavy sigh, padding over to stand beside him, his ears splayed in resignation. “Promise me, when you’re done being a hero, you’ll go find him.”

He raised a brow. “Why is that? Didn’t you just call me a battered housewife not long ago?”

Reginald’s stern demeanor softened, his voice carrying a hint of vulnerability. “I’m aware of what I said before. I’ve had time to reflect on it. I’m only looking out for you, sir.”

Arcturus’s gaze lingered on the tassets he was fastening, the metal clicking softly into place. “Taking this so seriously, are you, Reginald?”

 “You were truly happy.” Reginald said, shifting on his paws as he drew closer, offering Arcturus his breastplate. His hands trembled slightly, but he held the armor steady as Arcturus accepted it. “I’ve always wished the world for you, ever since you were just a lad. I can’t bear to see you in such pain, missing out on something meaningful.”

It was hard not to catch a glimpse of his weary, pale reflection in the steel of the breastplate. “Grand, considering you knew us for only a night. Crimson would have found this amusing.”

“But I saw the spark between you,” Reginald cooed, his voice tinged with a mix of sorrow and hope. “That gleam in your eye, the relief in your expressions. I’ve only seen that once before in you.” His ears drooped slightly. “I know there have been complications, accidents… but if you felt so strongly, surely you can find a way to talk it out.” Reginald’s voice grew resolute, his head dipping close to Arcturus’s. “So, swear to me. Promise me that when all this is over, you’ll find him.”

Arcturus looked at him, puzzled. “Is this what it’s really about? Are you worried about something, Reginald?”

“Just this,” Reginald said, his voice solemn. “In my years, I’ve found that a man without something to hope for will often seek escape from the mortal coil on his ventures. I need to know there’s something worth returning to.

A misty sheen clouded Arcturus’s eyes, moved deeply by Reginald’s dedication. With a gentle touch, he placed a hand on the gryphon’s cheek and pressed his forehead to Reginald’s, closing his eyes. “If it eases the turmoil in your heart, I will endeavor to find this dragon once our quest is through. I only pray the gods will guide me to where I believe he is, and that he will be in the mood to listen.”

He let out a heavy sigh, envisioning the dragon’s crimson snout. “I hope the despair and anger Crimson held do not fester into something beyond reason. I’d hate to have to negotiate with a grudge as fierce as a dwarf’s.”

As Reginald pulled away, a renewed vigor sparked in his eyes. He fluffed his feathers with a sense of urgency. “No sense in dawdling here, then. There are paths to travel, adventures to embrace. Be sure to bring back something interesting for me.”

Arcturus raised an eyebrow. “This isn’t a sightseeing tour, Reginald. The fate of kingdoms rests in our hands.”

“Nonsense,” Reginald replied with a chuckle, “I’m certain you’ll find something for me on your journey. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll gather some snacks for you and your companions. I’ll see if we have any of Evander’s Every Flavor Spheres left. Don’t give me that look; I’m happy to do it.”

“You’re sick of Krotos and Merlia aren’t you.” Arcturus shook his head.

Reginald’s wings fluffed with exasperation. “Did you see the amount of mud they tracked in?” he wailed, trotting towards the door. “All the damage they’ve caused—it’ll take days to set things right!”