Chapter 2: Mage Troubles

Axton Turnvoth, apprentice to the most powerful wizard within Entis, tossed and turned within his bed. He was unassuming at best, practically a twig, more adapt at matters of study and mystical arts than physical. His onyx hair was short and shaggy, a stark contrast to how neatly his beard and mustache were trimmed.

Within his mind he was rotting to the bone, his fair skin growing grey and clammy, withering till it resembled nothing more than a gnarled branch. What remained of his hair was tattered slivers, falling out in large, bloody clumps. Eyes of icy blue had darkened and dulled as he screamed, becoming little more than onyx gems within his rapidly withering skull. He cried out to the blackened void that held him bound, to the gods, to anyone that save him from this terror. All that came was the bone chilling laugh of his once father, insisting that this is what eventually what would become of him.

He couldn't breathe, even knowing that this was all within his mind. Instinctually he reached out with desperate grasps, a ringing finding its way to his ear. He was adrift in a sea without aid, heart pounding as if near death, thankfully in times such as these, he had a refuge in which he could cling to. His fingers found feathers.

The gryphon resting around him was a mass of blue and white, with a black strip of fur heading down his underside. He was far larger than the slim, frail man beside him, a body like a tiger without the fore talons that gryphons typically they had. Instead he had two large paws, in which reached out to grab the ever shivering human close. The gryphon coiled, from his grey beak came a calm voice, soothing and comforting, “Axton, it's alright, focus on my words, you can pull yourself out of this."

In a breath the terrifying void that gripped him began to dull, slipping ever away to each rise and fall of the gryphon's chest. Until, with a comforting sigh, he knew that he had returned to the waking world. There he could take in the sensation of warm feathers against his cheek, the comforting thud of the catbird's heart, and listen to his gentle, soothing chirps.

“Axton, you're safe," Pyretalon murmured, his voice deep and unwavering. “There's no danger here. I'm right here. You're not alone."

He blinked, finding himself not in the realm of nightmares, but in what had become his home. He and the gryphon that held him were in a sizable nest like bed. Its large frame draped in layers of thick, soft blankets and furs. Feather-stuffed pillows were scattered haphazardly, while woolen throws pooled around the edges. The air carried the calming scent of Pyretalon's musk, not overpowering, but a grounding, earthy, scent. 

“Pyretalon." He said, not opening his eyes, “Have I mentioned I'm glad you're here?"

“Hard to get away from me when you're in my…" Pyretalon's shifted, catching himself, “Our home. Was it a bad one?"

“I'm alright."

“The kind of alright when you say you're alright but you're not?"

Even, cuddled up in his chest, he could see the catbird's cocked head, the smart rise of his brow teasing him. “Yea, I'm alright, you don't have to fuss."

“If you say so." Yawned Pyretalon, ever gently pulling Axton close as he shifted within the bed of soft furs. “Just know, if it's that damn lich again... rubbish. You're not going anywhere like that. Not on my watch."

He knew that deep down, but sometimes it felt as though he was being tested against the same temptation as his father. To extend his life by unnatural means, seeking power to bend the world to his whims.

“You're not even that bony, honestly," Pyretalon continued, nudging Axton's shoulder with his beak. “But if you try that nonsense, I'll have a thing or two to chirp about it. Mark my words."

“I bet you would." Axton murmured, pressing his cheek into the gryphon's warm chest. He closed his eyes, the steady rise and fall of Pyretalon's chest working like magic on his weary mind. Despite his lingering thoughts, the comfort of the gryphon's presence was a balm. The world seemed to slow as Axton let himself drift, his breaths growing deeper and more rhythmic. “Did anyone ever tell you that you're a great bed?"

Pyretalon's chest rumbled with a soft chuckle, a low chirp of amusement that vibrated through his feathers. His tail thumped lightly against the pillows, an expression of contentment. “All the time, since you moved in. You'd be hard-pressed to find a better one."

Axton smirked, his voice softening with sleep. “Then I shall not ruin the routine... you make a great bed." He let out a long sigh, the last bit of tension slipping away. “Where's Lyra, anyway? I thought she liked to sleep in on Swordday?"

A sharp kick of Pyretalon's hind legs caused the bed to shake gently, ruffling the layers of soft sheets and furs. His head rested on the mountain of pillows that made up their nest, the gryphon's body a solid, comforting presence next to Axton's. “Oh, bless her, typically." Pyretalon's limbs stretched wide, “But someone was feeling really sick, the library needed her, and—well, she slipped out while you were snoozing."

“I slept through that?" He blinked. “If I recall, she likes to sing upon waking."

“She did, and you did." Pyretalon clacked his beak softly, “Shows you're getting used to it."

“Lucky me." He huffed, ruffling the gryphon's feathers, “With my luck a dragon could attack outside, and I'd never wake."

“Or nibbling at your ear."

“You've done that haven't you." Axton narrowed his gaze upon the gryphon, who turned his head, amber eyes averting.

For a moment the blue jay faced gryphon said nothing, his dark blue ears flicking ever softly in the morning light that filtered in through the curtains across the room. The way the light was hitting him, it was hard not to notice the way his dark fur spread across his face, it looked as though Pyretalon had a permanent bandit mask equipped.

“Well?" He repeated, shoving the warm mass in which he was trapped.

A mischievous smile curled at the corner of his beak. “Nibbling upon your ear?" He scoffed, puffing his chest with mock offense. “I'm a gryphon of honor, Axton. A protector, not some common beast." He paused, then his tail gave a small, knowing thump against the bed, as though recalling something. “But if I did happen to nibble, it would've been in a very... affectionate manner. Your ear's just so tempting, after all."

Axton raised an eyebrow, his tone laced with amusement. “Tempting, huh? You make it sound like I'm a snack."

“What can I say? You're rather irresistible when you're all soft and relaxed in your sleep."

Even with the sly threat of an ear nibbling, he was tempted to slumber the day away in the gryphon's embrace; that was until the day called to him in the form of a gryphon crowing outside about the morning paper. “We should probably get up, shouldn't we?"

“Instead of lazing about, having a well-deserved rest after a week of magical chores for your majesty?" Pyretalon's chirp was tight, “Sometimes it seems she just seems to double up on your duties, once as your queen and then as your master." The gryphon thumped his tail in protest, “Sounds terrible. I would like to protest."

“You have to let me go." He shifted, grabbing hold the muscular forelimbs that held him bound. Try as he might, he could not remove them from keeping him secure.

“Having a problem?" Chuckled the gryphon.

“Yes, you, lazy tail. I can't just sleep all day." He grunted, putting all his effort into it, coming up short.

“Getting really responsible in your twenty second year. I'm touched." Pyretalon did as he requested, relinquishing his grip.

“You're wel-“

“Off you go!" Pyretalon's paws came swift and forceful, dislodging the reluctant human off his larger frame.

With a startled yelp, he flailed for a moment before his back hit the floor with a soft, yet unmistakable thud. He lay there for a beat, blinking up at the ceiling, momentarily stunned by the unexpected fall, before groaning and pushing himself up to all fours, a mix of irritation and amusement coloring his expression. Why must he do this every morning?

"Well, now that was a graceful landing," Pyretalon teased with a tilt of his head, but the concern was clearly painted across his gaze, "You alright down there?"

“I'm fine."

Pyretalon's eyes gleamed with mischief, a slow, teasing smile curling at the corner of his beak. “Well, well, that's good; look at you," he said, stretching lazily and making sure Axton had a good view of his long, powerful wings unfurling with a sharp rustle. “I must say, I do enjoy seeing you on your hands and knees."

Axton blinked up at him, trying to push himself off the floor. The flush creeping up his neck only made his irritation worse, but there was no hiding the soft warmth in his chest that Pyretalon's teasing always managed to evoke. "Lucky you I've had worse."

“Right, I believe Lyra told me this?" Pyretalon stroked his white feathered neck, “Where you tripped? All the way down the stairs of the west wing?"

His cheeks flushed as he dusted himself off, already picturing that day. One spent rushing, ending in knocking over every bookcase in a line. “And why the library bolts down its shelves."

“And yet our queen didn't remove you from her service." Pyretalon gently slid from the sheets, standing proudly on all fours, his resting head taller than Axton. With a soft warble he leaned forward, bumping his forehead against the human and then nuzzling, a gesture meant only for those of exceptional meanings. “Don't worry, even if you're clumsier than most, I won't depart your company."

He pushed back, trying not to laugh from the gentle rumble. “Such a noble gryphon."

“You don't have to tell me what I know Axton." Came the reply, turning his head away with a regal flair, “Guess I should count myself lucky that I don't have to inform Queen Nivra about the untimely demise of her favorite apprentice.

“It can be both things." Pyretalon mused, pulling back. “I'll just be glad she doesn't have my balls removed and put on a platter."

“She wouldn't do that."

“Tsk Tsk, you truly don't know your master, do you?" Laughed the gryphon, fluffing his wings, a collage of various shades of blue, black and white. “At the age of nineteen, our beloved queen was facing off against dragons, flaying witches alive, she'd have no problem turning my haunches inside out with whatever spell she could muster."

“Nivra?" He scrunched up his face, it didn't sound like the noble queen he'd come to know these last ten years. “You're making this up."

“Ask her sometime." Pyretalon replied calmly, placing down his haunch to begin his morning grooming ritual. One feather after the other passed through his beak.

Axton crossed the room as the gryphon's soft chirps filled the room. It was a reflection of Pyretalon himself, with weathered stone walls that bore marks of age and strength. Wooden shelves, intricately carved, held leather-bound tomes filled with ancient gryphon lore, books on strategy, their pages well-worn from frequent study. Trophies from past hunts—mounted antlers, rare feathers, and a few prized claws—lined the space, a quiet testament to his skill.

Moving to the wardrobe against the far wall, Axton slid open the carved wooden doors, his fingers brushing against the cool brass handles shaped like gryphon talons. The interior was meticulously organized, each shelf holding neatly folded tunics, trousers, and robes, their dark fabrics softened by use. Axton reached for one of the tunics, the rich material slipping through his fingers as he pulled it free.

“So, what's on the agenda today, o king of lists?" Axton asked, his voice laced with a teasing tone.

Pyretalon paused mid-preen, lifting his head with a slight, knowing smile. His yellow eyes glimmered as he regarded Axton, a mischievous glint flickering within them. “King of lists, huh? I wasn't aware that I was some fattened bureaucrat with an obsession of list making."  He gave a small chuckle, a low, rumbling sound, before resuming his grooming, “And to be clear, I prefer 'Protector of the Realm,' or 'Noble Guardian,' if you're going to hand out titles." He stretched one of his wings with an exaggerated flourish, emphasizing his lofty self.

“I don't know, you're always lingering about- “Axton, in a moment of mischief, fluffed out his arms and flapped them dramatically, mimicking the exaggerated motions of a chicken. “Like a mother hen." he teased, a playful grin curling on his lips. He had heard Lyra, and a few others, poke fun at Pyretalon with this very line, and now seemed as good a time as any to add his voice to the chorus.

Pyretalon's eyes narrowed, his beak clicking softly as he shot Axton a sharp glare, feathers ruffling in irritation. His tail flicked once, the thick, striped appendage swishing with a faint thump. “I am not a mother hen."

“Oh, but you are the motherest of hens, Pyre. Can't deny it-"

The gryphon had begun to pose in exaggerated displays, drawing out each stretch of his limbs. Each pose was carefully calculated—so revealing—that Axton couldn't help but feel the heat rise in his cheeks. It was like the gryphon was fully aware that he had a crush on him, ever posture never missing a beat as he held each stretch just long enough for Axton to notice. He didn't make a show of it, but the hints were clear: every flex, every stretch, was an invitation to admire. His powerful legs flexed as he bent slightly, tail lifted high, giving Axton a perfect view of the gryphon's lithe, muscular form. It was a cruel payback, causing him to avert his gaze when he noticed he'd been lingering two long on Pyretalon's sizable furry orbs. The gryphon's eyes were half-lidded, locked onto Axton's, and a sly smile pulled at the corner of his beak.

“Well now," Pyretalon purred, his voice dripping with playful amusement. “Looks like you got a good look. Careful where your eyes wander, Axton. It might be dangerous for you."

Axton quickly averted his gaze, flustered and trying to regain some composure. He tried to brush off the teasing, his face flushed with embarrassment. “I was just—uh, noticing the form." he muttered, stumbling over his words. Deep down he cursed himself, unable to summon the courage to mention anything to the rather handsome, dominant gryphon that made his heart flutter.

Pyretalon smirked, striding over with slow, purposeful steps. The gryphon stood before Axton now, looming slightly over him with a knowing look. “Sure, Axton," he said, leaning down a little, his voice low and teasing. “I think I know why you stopped teasing. You're realizing you'd rather call me Daddy bird, wouldn't you?"

Oh, gods above, he couldn't look the gryphon in the eye. Not when in his mind's eye, he was already being roughly handled, shoved to the ground by this powerful gryphon looming atop him. “T…that's ridiculous." He managed to stammer, nearly melting as he slipped into his trousers.

Pyretalon watched Axton flounder in his deflection, the human's cheeks now blazing a deep red. The gryphon's eyes gleamed with a mischievous spark, clearly enjoying the effect his teasing had. Without warning, he moved. His powerful, muscular frame shifted fluidly as he pounced, sweeping Axton off his feet in one swift, calculated motion.

Axton's protests were half-hearted at best, his voice faltering as Pyretalon pinned him to the floor. The gryphon's weight, a warm and firm presence, made it hard for Axton to focus, his thoughts suddenly clouded with an overwhelming swirl of desire. His heart pounded in his chest, blood rushing to his face in a deep flush as Pyretalon's gaze bore down on him, intense and playful all at once.

“Now, now," Pyretalon purred, his beak close to Axton's ear, voice low and teasing. “If I were truly your 'daddy,'" he continued with a sly grin, “that would make you my egg, wouldn't it? All warm and soft, just waiting to be cared for."

Breaths caught in his throat, every inch of him wanting to escape yet he found himself utterly speechless, only able to flush deeper under the gryphon's words. Pyretalon's tail flicked lazily beside them, brushing against Axton's leg in deliberate slow motions.

The gryphon leaned down further, his weight settling more comfortably over the mage's chest as his eyes danced with mischief. “I think you like being beneath me, don't you, Axton? You're practically melting." Pyretalon's voice rumbled in a teasing cadence

Axton barely managed a stuttered response, his voice thick with embarrassment. “I—I do not! I—get off me, you overgrown chicken!" The words came out forced, not quite as defiant as they should have been, his body betraying him with every racing heartbeat.

Pyretalon's gaze softened for just a moment, his playful teasing never faltering as he relished the effect he had on Axton. “I could, but I don't think you want me to," he said, grinding his hips against the poor mage. “Is this what you want?"

“Pyretalon!" Axton shouted, banging his fists against the bulwark of white feathers atop him. He had to get him off before he realized just how much he liked it!

“That wasn't very nice," Pyretalon chirped, averting his gaze as if wounded. “You should think twice before calling me a mother hen again. If you have to call me anything like that, call me 'daddy.'"

Axton went silent. The grin on Pyretalon's ashen beak told him he was at least aware of what the word meant. The handsome gryphon had him, and deep down, Axton wished more would happen. He brushed it off, coughing up his reply. “Why does Lyra get to call you that?"

“She has certain privileges," Pyretalon rolled a paw in the air. “Besides, she's much bigger. Now, shall we discuss how you blush when I'm atop you, grinding?" The gryphon did it again, making the poor human squirm.

“Shut your beak and get off me!" Axton ordered, his face flushed, though his body's reaction betrayed his words.

“Then say it. Say it, and I'll consider it," Pyretalon teased, his voice low and sultry.

Axton sighed, realizing he couldn't avoid it. “I love being under you, the most handsome Pyretalon with the prettiest feathers!"

Like magic, Pyretalon sprang off him, shaking his flank as he gave a thoughtful trill.

“There we are. Doesn't it feel good to admit the truth?"

If only Pyretalon knew those words weren't entirely fake. Axton grimaced at him, playing it up as though he didn't wish to have him back upon him. “I'm going to smell like you all day now." he muttered, plucking at his clothes.

“Here I thought you liked smelling of me," Pyretalon quipped, sliding past him and running his flank alongside Axton's body. “I don't see the problem."

Finally managing to untangle himself from that teasing bundle of fur and feathers, Axton focused on finishing his dress. He was adorned with care, his appearance both functional and purposeful. His tunic, the color of dark pine, clung to his frame, the fabric fine yet sturdy, woven to withstand the demands of both city and wilderness. Over it, a leather vest, supple with age, wrapped his torso. The vest's seams stitched with meticulous care. Dark trousers, tailored with precision, were tucked neatly into worn leather boots, their soles sturdy and firm. At his waist, a belt of well-oiled leather hung loosely, its pouches carrying the tools of his trade—small scrolls, a vial of ink, and a blade that was more for defense than for show. It was an outfit that did not shout for attention, but commanded it, nonetheless.

Finished with dressing, the pair exited out into the hall, and on too a well-polished stone floor. It caught soft light as it filtered in through the narrow, tall walls that lined it. A soft warmth lingered in the air, a comfort born of hearth fires and the scent of wood and age. The walls were lined with rich tapestries depicting scenes of adventure, battle, and peace. The stone itself, though weathered, had been well cared for, its cracks and chips filled with precision.

As they walked down the hallway, a sudden scent wafted through the air, sharp and enticing. It was a heady mix of sizzling chili peppers, roasted garlic, and the earthy fragrance of fresh herbs—basil, thyme, and something with a bite that made Axton's nose twitch in curiosity. The heat of the spices lingered in the air, with a smoky undertone, as though something was being charred or seared to perfection. There was a sweetness to it too, like caramelized onions or something savory that had been slow-cooked, offering a contrast to the spicy bite that made Axton's stomach growl in response.

“Did you get up to cook before waking me?" He chuckled, “I didn't know you'd been practicing."

“Me?" Scoffed the catbird, tossing his head, “No, it must have been Lyra, bless her, gods above I love that hen."

Last he'd sampled of the gryphoness' cooking hadn't been that special, although with how Pyretalon was going on about his feathered angel, it was best not to interject. Axton accidently struck a glass bottle lying haphazardly upon the floor, sending it into the wall with a resounding smack.

“Axton, watch your step- “

“Would help if you didn't leave shit laying around." He plucked up the still intact bottle, “A shift in perspective." He read the label aloud. He knew of these gender change potions, a common item in Lumara for those of whom had been born in the wrong form. “You'd think Lyra wouldn't leave it around."

Pyretalon chuckled, snatching it and returning it to a nearby shelf. “Guess she got a wee bit excited and forgot to pick up."

The heavy wooden door creaked as Axton and Pyretalon descended the stairs, and an unmistakable scent of spice and cooking meat curled through the air, drawing them in. The aromas were sharp, tempting—sizzling chilies, roasted garlic, and the deep, smoky richness of a simmering sauce. Axton's mouth watered almost immediately, but his attention was caught by an unusual stillness that hung in the kitchen like a strange calm before a storm.

Before them, stretched the kitchen, a place of warmth and controlled chaos. The large stone hearth dominated the far wall, its flames licking at the iron grates holding a pot of something thick, simmering a stew or sauce, its scent mingling with the heat of the fire. Above the workbench, copper pots hung, their surfaces burnished and well-loved from years of use. Shelves stacked high with jars of spices—dried rosemary, crushed red pepper flakes, and deep green basil—lined the walls, the essence of the herbs mixing with the smoky, hearty smells of the hearth. The floor was a patchwork of worn tiles, soft at the edges from years of constant use, worn down by time and care.

A long, rectangular table stood in the center of the room, already set for the meal. Plates, stacked high with breads, fruits, and dishes still warm from the stove, sat ready. At the center of the table rested two earthenware bowls—diced mango and chilies. The mangoes were sliced to perfect cubes, golden and glistening under the dim light that filtered in from a narrow window above the sink. Shadows stretched long across the floor, where the glow from the hearth flickered, casting its soft light across the room.

And there, at the stove, stood the ceullus Seraphina.

Taller than a man, the horse woman moved with a quiet confidence, the long, muscular legs and powerful frame of her kind giving her an air of strength and nobility. Her rich chestnut coat shimmered with a life of its own in the low glow of the hearth, the golden horseshoes adorning her hooves catching the light as she stirred the pot with practiced ease. Amber eyes gleamed with warmth, and her long mane, tied back with ribbons and beads, swayed with each movement, delicate jewelry catching the light like tiny stars.

She wore a fitted blouse in earthy tones, blending harmoniously with the natural hues of the kitchen around her. The apron draped over her shoulders—adorned with floral patterns—was worn with care, clearly loved, like a piece of her very soul. Her attention remained focused on the pot in front of her, the tip of her nose twitching slightly as she tasted the air.

Her kind were not common to Sethera, the ceullus originating from the distant continent of Cliara. Seraphina and her family immigrated to Lumara, her father seeking to spread the word of his wonderful sweets.

Pyretalon was the first to speak, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. “Seraphina, you're not my wife!"

“Well, I hope not, like I'd want to be hitched to you featherhead." She looked up, her face lighting up with a grin that could have warmed the coldest of hearts. Her eyes gleamed as she met Pyretalon's gaze. “Now get your rears over here, breakfast is almost ready."

Pyretalon, ever vigilant, stepped forward, his sharp eyes scanning the kitchen, taking in the scene. He lingered for a moment, his gaze narrowing. “How did you get in?" he asked. Eyes flicked to the window, then to the door, but there was no sign of forced entry.

Seraphina's smile widened mischievously as she straightened up, a hint of playful challenge in her gaze. “Oh, I may have picked the lock." she said with a casual shrug, then immediately reached for a spoon filled with a rich, reddish-brown sauce.

“Axton…I don't think I like you hanging around with her anymore."

“Oh, relax," Seraphina interrupted, stepping forward with the spoon outstretched. “Trust me. Just a taste, Pyretalon. You won't regret it."

Pyretalon hesitated but finally dipped his beak, tasting the sauce. His eyes widened as the burst of flavor hit his senses—a balance of sweetness from the mangoes, the unmistakable flavor of chilies, and a blend of spices that sang through each bite.

He paused, chewing thoughtfully as the warmth from the chilies spread through him, though he could not feel the heat as a human might. He hummed with approval, his sharp features softening. “Good," he groaned, wagging a paw at the pleased horse woman. “But next time ask."

Seraphina grinned, a glint of satisfaction in her eyes, “You can bet your bottom sugar cube." she teased, though Axton knew her better, she would do no such thing.

Axton, who had been standing by the door, finally spoke, his gaze flicking between the gryphon and the Ceullus. He chuckled softly, stepping forward. “I'm guessing you two have this routine worked out. I'm curious, Seraphina… how did you know we'd be down here so early?"

“Oh, you two are always early risers, aren't you?" she replied, turning back to the pot with a knowing smile. “And I had a hunch that my breakfast would be just the thing to lure you out of your lair."

Pyretalon made a low, rumbling sound of amusement, his wings shifting as he sat down at the table. Axton joined him, eyes still lingering on Seraphina as she moved gracefully about the kitchen. She was in her element—completely at ease in this space, where every ingredient, every action seemed to flow seamlessly into the next. The kitchen hummed with energy, and it was clear that Seraphina wasn't just cooking; she was weaving a spell with every slice, every stir, every taste.

Seraphina, with a flourish, began to plate the meal, setting down two steaming dishes in front of Axton and Pyretalon.

For Pyretalon, she had prepared a generous serving of thick, hearty spiced stew. It was made with slow-cooked meats, hearty vegetables, and just the right amount of chilies to complement the gryphon's hardy palate. She had added a dollop of creamy goat cheese on top, a cooling contrast to the stew's fire. Next to it was a warm, crusty roll, perfect for dipping.

For Axton, she placed a smaller plate—still substantial, but more delicate—featuring a spiced egg frittata with a side of roasted peppers. The dish was topped with fresh herbs—parsley and a sprinkle of fiery chili powder. Alongside the dish, a bowl of chilled mango and chili slices.

Axton's mouth watered at the sight of the steaming plates, but he hesitated for a moment, eyeing the bowl of fresh chilies with a playful grin. “What's the fun in that?" he said, poking at the mango and chili slices. “I thought I could handle anything."

Seraphina, her eyes twinkling with mischief, shook her head as she gave him a stern look. “Trust me," she said, a hint of mockery in her voice, “if you try the peppers in the back corner, you might just end up regretting it. Those aren't the friendly kind. They might kill you."

Axton chuckled and waved it off, but there was a touch of caution in his eyes as he pushed the spicier dish aside. He took a bite of the mango and chili mix on his plate, the sweetness of the fruit balancing the warmth of the peppers.

As they dug into the hearty meal, the atmosphere, though light and casual, was brimming with a sense of purpose. Seraphina moved gracefully around the kitchen, checking the contents of a nearby pot and adjusting the heat under the simmering sauce with a flick of her wrist. Her presence was calm but filled with undeniable energy that made the air around her hum.

Axton, still savoring the last bite of his frittata, glanced up at her with a curious expression. He knew that Seraphina wasn't one for idle chatter, especially when it came to her cooking. Every movement she made had a quiet determination to it. He couldn't help but admire the way she worked. She was a force of nature, her confidence and competence evident in every dish she prepared. It was no wonder that she wished to be the best chef in the land.

Seraphina, catching the glint of curiosity in his eyes, leaned against the counter, her amber eyes twinkling. “So, sugar cube."  she said, her voice light but laced with expectation, “today's the day we really push the boundaries, don't you think?"

Axton raised an eyebrow. He'd been half-listening while he dug into the last of the mango and chili slices. "What do you mean? Push the boundaries?"

She flashed him a grin, already moving to grab an armful of fresh ingredients off the counter. “Well, if we're going to experiment, I'll need your magic to really bring it to life. I was thinking something along the lines of a savory custard, with just a hint of firefruit, maybe with an enchanted glaze that changes color as you eat it. But I'll need some spells to really get the texture right. What have you prepared for the day?"

Axton, who had been considering the myriads of spell scrolls he kept tucked in his bag, paused for a moment to think. “I've got a few things," he said, swallowing the last bite of his food and reaching into his bag. “I've got a couple of transmutation spells to adjust the consistency of certain ingredients. A touch of evocation to heighten the flavor profile without adding more heat, and I can always use a binding spell if we need to hold something in place. Though you'll have to give me at least an hour to prepare them."

“Perfect! We'll need the consistency just right, but I'm counting on your spells to help amplify the flavors—make them sing, really. But we'll also need to make sure everything is contained so it doesn't run away on us. These ingredients have a bit of a mind of their own, sometimes."

“You're not going to let me slack off, are you?"

She shot him a sly grin, crossing her arms as she leaned in, clearly enjoying the banter. “Afraid not sugar." She blew him a sultry kiss, “You're my assistant today, Axton. And I expect nothing less than excellence."

“If it's anything like this, I look forward to it!" Pyretalon squawked happily, his crown feathers springing up, “Though Lyra might object in you fattening me up."

“Noted." The ceullus woman chuckled, bending down to lean against the table. She batted her eyes to Axton, “Alright, first we'll need the alchemical spices from Korrik's shop, you know the one with the chocolate-colored centaur?" she began, pulling out a small, folded parchment from her apron pocket. Her eyes scanned the list, her brow furrowing slightly as she read. “I'm looking for that rare saffron blend he's been talking about, but we'll need to make it quick. Korrik's got a bit of a reputation for, well, being a bit chatty—The centaur's a brilliant apothecary, but his stories? I swear, we'd be there for hours if we let him. Short and sweet, just grab the saffron and get out."

Axton nodded, already preparing himself for the inevitable lengthy tales about Korrik's travels and his grandiose discoveries. He didn't mind the man's enthusiasm, but Seraphina's plan sounded better—swift and focused.

“Next," Seraphina went on, “we need to swing by the Temple of Sartren to pick up some of that rare, enchanted salt they've been harvesting." She glanced up from the list, her face lighting up with an almost mischievous smile. “You know, Roran he's usually at the temple in the mornings. You can say hello, if you'd like." Her voice dropped into a teasing tone as she tilted her head toward him. “I know how you like cheery disposition."

He rolled his eyes, though there was a faint smile tugging at his lips. He wasn't sure why Seraphina enjoyed teasing him about Roran, the wolven paladin. He had no interest in the man, but Seraphina clearly swooned over his every movement, particularly when he went on about his training practices or his dancing.

“Right, well, I'll avoid being swept away by his charms," Axton said, grinning. “We're just there for the salt."

Seraphina's smile softened as she placed her hands on her hips. “If you must," she teased. “But you'll be missing out on some serious eye candy."

He nodded before her ears splayed, her nostrils flaring.

“There's one last thing," Seraphina began, voice low, “Might want to avoid my dad."

Axton raised an eyebrow. “Your dad? What about him?"

“Well," she said with a slight wince, “he's been asking you to enchant his cookies again. You know, to get them to dance."

“I told him it was a one-time thing. That kind of magic is not meant for cookies." He ran a hand through his hair. “I've got more important things to focus on, Seraphina. Serious things."

“Don't go telling him that, you'll hurt his feelings."

“Wait…" Pyretalon mumbled through his food, “Are you not using your spells to help with cooking? Surely that's not-" The gryphon clamped his beak shut under the scathing glare by the ceullus woman.

“Look." Axton sighed, put on the spot, “Cooking is a work for us."

Seraphine squealed, plucking up the wizard and giving him the biggest of hugs, “Oh sugar cube that's why I like you!"

He tried to pluck her off, but it was rather useless. She was far larger and muscular than he, such, he was forced to endure her affections; until it reached the point she was squeezing the life out of him. “Seraphina, you're crushing me!" He gasped.

“Oh right, sorry." She laughed, putting him down, “Fragile things you humans are." She rubbed the back of her neck, “Just nice to hear is all, dads being dad again."

“Still?" Axton asked, “You'd think he'd get over you not wanting to get into the family business."

“Daddies got a thick head is all." She huffed, “Thick as the dwarven mines I reckon, but he won't ever admit it. No matter how many times I tell him, all I get is an angry whinny and lecture."

“What do you mean not in the family business?" Pyretalon cocked his head, “You're trying to be the best cook in the land."

“Yea, that's the problem!" She tossed up her hands, “Cooking ain't the family business, it be bakin. You know, treats, cookies, cakes, all that sweet stuff!"

“Doesn't your family also sell sausages?"

“Not the point." Axton said softly.

“Point being cooking isn't bakin." Her arms crossed, ears pinned as she averted her gaze to the window with a huff, “Least not where he's concerned."

“Have you…I don't know, tried talking to him about it?" Winced Axton, never knowing quite what to say in situations like this, especially when his own adoptive mother and father, both dragons, supported him in every decision. “Maybe he'll listen."

“I've tried that, hoofer thinks it's a phase. I'll grow out of it." She plopped down with a sigh, “Why can't he be as cool as your mom?"

He gave a nervous laugh, blushing as he thought to the black scaled dragoness, “Don't think it's all rainbows and sunshine, some days she blows blue flames."

“Yea, she can have a rightful temper." Pyretalon quipped, “Firey and all scratching about, like a dragon some might say."

The mage gave a nervous laugh, it wasn't a normal thing to tell that his mother was in fact a dragon. She always still thought of him as her little wyrmling, even though he'd moved out years ago. That didn't stop her from visiting in her gryphon form, to start fussing how he should come home, move back in and be her little angel all over again.

Seraphina sighed, her shoulders slumping as she flopped down on the table. For a moment, defeat darkened her snout, but a spark flared behind her eyes. “Suppose you're right, but still." She straightened a new fire in her gaze. “That's why we gotta get out there and get cookin'! No sense mopin' about, feelin' sorry for how things are. If I wanna show my daddy it ain't silly, I gotta prove him wrong! Then that stubborn ol' stallion won't have a lick of words left in him!"

She clapped her hands together, her eyes twinklin' like starlight. “But enough 'bout little ol' me." She leaned closer. “How's trainin' with the queen goin'? Bet it's all sorts of interestin."

“Well enough," Axton lied, but there was a hint of hesitation as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Nivra's just... particular with her expectations. Some days, no matter how hard I try, it feels like I can't ever please her.

“She means well." Pyretalon assured, waving a paw dismissively. “Only wants the best for ya, even if it means ridin' you hard."

Axton's brows knitted together, a hint of frustration creeping into his tone. “Still, it doesn't make me feel better. Not my fault she was a prodigy."

Seraphina snorted, crossing her arms with a firm clop of her hooves against the floor. “Now that sounds like you're sellin' yourself shorter than a hare's whisker." Her tail flicked sharply behind her. “Why, you're one of the best mages I know, sugarcube! What's got into ya, thinkin' like that?"

The tension in the room hung thick as Pyretalon's mocking grin met Axton's unamused glare. “Axton just has..." The gryphon let out a soft, raspy chuckle, a flicker of mirth dancing in his amber eyes. “Performance issues under pressure. It's alright—it happens to plenty of men his age."

“Stuff it!" Axton snapped with a biscuit sailing from his hand. The soft pastry struck the gryphon square on the beak. Pyretalon jerked back, feathers ruffled, more from surprise than pain.

And there it was, the unspoken question that had been gnawing at his insides. Why was his magic faltering? Why did everything he once commanded with ease now feel like grasping at smoke? The frustration boiled up inside him, a pressure he couldn't seem to release, no matter how hard he tried. His powers, once a torrent, had been reduced to a trickle, leaving him fumbling in the dark. It wasn't that his ability to wield the weave had been reduced, it was something else, something inside him that no matter how much he tried he couldn't figure out what it was. “Dunno." His reply came out sharper than he intended, and he immediately regretted it when Seraphina's ears flicked back slightly, her concern deepening. But she didn't press him. She never did. She simply waited, giving him the space he needed.

The air seemed to freeze as the table beneath them groaned ominously, the wood creaking like an ancient tree bending under the weight of a storm. The smooth surface began to warp, twisting, trying to tear itself apart from the inside. Pyretalon's feathers flared out in alarm, and Seraphina's amber eyes widened, her snout drawing into a confused grimace.

“What in tarnation—?" Seraphina's words were cut short as the polished wood splintered, revealing a grotesque visage bursting forth from the heart of the table. The face that emerged was not that of a monster, but a familiar one — though distorted in the striations of the oak. Queen Nivra Graysword's stern features seemed carved in wood, her eyes cold knots, her lips creaking open as if to bark orders.

Axton stumbled back, his breath catching in his throat. It was as if his master had been trapped within the very wood, trying to break free. But before he could process the sight, Seraphina's instincts took over. With a fierce cry, she snatched up a cast iron pot like a warrior grasping her shield. Without a moment's hesitation, she swung with all her strength, the heavy metal colliding with the wooden face in a resounding clang. Splinters flew, and the apparition's nose cracked under the blow.

“Die, demon!" Seraphina shouted, “Quick, Axton, hit it with fire!"

“Oh, blast it, where did I come out this time?" came Nivra Graysword's voice, as stern and unyielding as ever.

Seraphina's ears splayed back, her face flushing with mortification as she dropped the pot with a loud clatter. “Uh... Your Majesty, I-I didn't know it was you," she stammered, retreating a step, tail tucked as though she'd been caught raiding the grain store.

Pyretalon, ever the master of decorum, immediately bowed his head so low his beak nearly scraped the floor. “Your Majesty," he said, his voice smooth as honeyed wine. “Pardon the mess... but it appears your nose has gone and..." He hesitated, glancing at the splattered remnants of their breakfast strewn across the table. “...well, made a travesty of our humble kitchen, I'm afraid."

Nivra sighed, the sound heavy with the weight of her own exasperation. “One of these days, I'll master where I emerge." Her sharp gaze swept across the room, her eyes narrowing when they landed on Axton, who bowed his head in respect, his face flushed with embarrassment.

“What need do you have of me, Master?" Axton asked, trying to muster his usual composure despite his racing heart. “I was going to be busy… cooking today."

“Oh, my dear apprentice," Nivra's voice carried the weight of silk brushing against polished marble, each word as precise as a jeweler's cut. “Do you truly not recall the significance of today? Or is it that you've deliberately chosen to abscond from your duties, seeking refuge among simmering pots and trifling confections? Surely, Axton, you jest — for such forgetfulness would wound the very heart of my efforts to mold you."

Axton tried to hold her gaze but found it as daunting as staring into the heart of a storm. “Forgive me, Master," he said, his voice wavering like a candle's flame. “I... may have, in my eagerness to—"

“Eagerness?" Nivra interjected, “Eagerness, you say? To dabble in the kitchens, amusing yourself with the art of bread and sweets? Alas, I had hoped I was fashioning a mage of substance, not a confectioner of courtly delights. Surely you see the matters of magic beckon with far greater urgency than pastries."

Axton's mind scrambling to piece together what he could have forgotten. Normally, his obligations to the queen were confined to Moonday through Fireday, leaving the weekends blissfully free for his personal endeavors. Yet, as he stood there, grasping for some explanation, he could only offer a vacant stare, the answer slipping through his fingers like sand.

Nivra released a weary sigh, her displeasure radiating like heat from a forge. “Axton, you were to present yourself early this morning. Today there was to be a test of your skills, a competition against Lord Olas Mysticfeather's apprentice from Whitedell. A golden opportunity for us to demonstrate your progress and, perchance, for me to claim a year's worth of boasting rights as the superior master."

The words hit him like a hammer. His heart dropped into his stomach, and a roaring filled his ears. How could he have forgotten? Panic seized him, his breaths coming in quick, shallow gulps as he bowed his head low, nearly pressing his forehead to the table. “A thousand apologies, Your Grace," he stammered, “I never intended to make you look a fool."

“Of course not," she retorted, her tone edged with frost. “You never do." Her eyes narrowed into slits, and the weight of her gaze pinned him where he stood. “Now, will you at least salvage what remains of this day? The good Lord Olas will no doubt prattle on about his 'companion' — though he believes he's fooled the court with that tired ruse. We've long seen through his charade."

Pyretalon fluffed his feathers, seizing the moment to interject. “Ah, the best way to handle Lord Olas is to drown him in paperwork or, better yet, to distract him with a conversation about horses. He's utterly obsessed—"

“Yes, yes, I'm aware, Pyre," Nivra cut in with a groan, her patience worn thin. “The man is more slippery than an eel in buttered oil."

Axton swallowed, his voice a whisper. “Your Majesty… I might require time to prepare the spells you had instructed me to master for this challenge. Unless, of course, you would prefer I appear unready, to disgrace your name further."

For an agonizing moment, the air itself seemed to thrum with the tension between them, as though it might burst into flame. Finally, Nivra relented with a reluctant sigh. “I suppose you are correct, Axton. Do not tarry in your preparations, for I cannot endure another year of Lord Olas's incessant boasting."

With that, her face melted back into the wooden surface with a sharp pop, leaving behind only the faintest trace of her presence. Axton wasted no time; he sprang to his feet, bolting toward his quarters where his robes and spellbook awaited. He would need every precious second to engrave the required spells into his mind and body — an hour's effort that would be far better than arriving unarmed to this competition.

“I take it that means no cooking today?" Seraphina's voice cut through the air, tinged with dismay.

He paused, glancing back with a look of regret. “I'm afraid so, Seraphina. Queen's duties take precedence."

“Fine, but ya owe me, sugar." she called back.

“I'll make it up to you, promise!" he shot back, disappearing down the corridor, his heart racing, how could this day get any worse?

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