Day 45 of the Suns season, year 2447

When possible, the group stopped at villages in search of food and a comfortable place to sleep. Azéna did not own a single coin despite her nobility status. Vigoth's generosity had paid for everything despite the ridiculously high price, due to the disturbing rumours about barbarians running amok in the area.

When they arrived in Gilat, a poor village, Tyrath and Karia had gone hunting. This was for the best, as the villagers might have panicked if they had seen them. They whispered that a great conflict was coming to Aerinda.

“It's true,” insisted the butcher. “Dètmor keeps expanding its army. There must be a reason for it.”

“Calm down,” replied his customer, who slipped him a silver coin in exchange for fresh meat. “You know that wolves are always hungry for blood.”

“Not like this. Aerinda is restless. Maëkan said so. He feels it in the earth.”

“You mean the shaman? Don't mind him. He’s crazy like the rest of his kind.”

Often native to other territories, shamans, beings with the ability to contact the spiritual realm, were rare in Daigorn. Some small villages were guided by one of them. Most people in this region did not believe in them. Instead, they offered their faith to the clergy who were devoted to the pantheon.

“Hey, look! We have visitors!” the same man exclaimed.

The two villagers followed the group with their suspicious gaze. The butcher stammered nervously, begging the customer to leave.

The latter obeyed, intrigued by the intruders. He pointed at them, a devious grin on his face. Feeling uneasy, Azéna snuck up beside Vigoth.

“What did he mean by bloodthirsty wolves?”

“Stay close to me,” the grandmaster ordered.

He was talking to her, but his attention was fixed on the man with the aggressive attitude, his fingers resting near his sword. The latter let out a grotesque laugh and put his hands on his huge belly. His bald head gleamed under the rays of the two suns and his clothes were caked with dirt and sweat.

“Is she yours, warrior? Just looking at you, I'd probably have to call you Lord or Sir.”

Vigoth did not answer. He continued on his way cautiously, but the man did not give up the hunt. He stared at Azéna, undressing her with his hungry eyes.

“I like her hips, although I hope that with age, they will be more developed. She would give me several sons, that I am sure of.”

He stepped forward. Vigoth drew his sword and pointed it toward him.

“She's not for sale.”

“All right, all right,” said the man. “I'll leave her to you.”

He left, grumbling as he went. It was only when he was out of sight that Vigoth put his blade away and continued on his way. He hurried the group out of the village, denying the possibility of stopping at the local tavern to get a meal.

“Sorry about that. Men are pigs sometimes.”

“Oh, I know that all too well,” sighed the blue-eyed teenager. “You know, sometimes women act like that. It’s so stupid. And then they cry that they're pregnant.”

Vigoth laughed.

“Very true! To answer your question, the king of Dètmor is known for his treacherous temperament. He seems calm and kind, but he can prove to be violent as well. He tried to take over the dragon riders, but he failed. Terenas and I are too smart to be fooled by his sly words.”

Meanwhile, Karia and Tyrath returned satisfied from their hunt.

When the group reached the edge of the kingdom, the dragoness gave a warning growl.

“We are entering new territory,” she said.

Azéna spotted a flag hoisted atop an iron post ahead of them. The material that danced in the gentle breezes was sandy in colour and lacked an emblem, which, in her opinion, was odd.

“Where are we?”

“We are in the territory of the Great Crossroads,” Vigoth explained. “It's a neutral place with no king, no coat of arms, no crest, and no rules except that harm to others is forbidden. It is like a kind of sanctuary where different nations meet. As the name suggests, this is the main road that connects all the regions. The edge of Nëowalds is not far from us, which explains the frequent presence of moon elves. Nëowalds is also called the magical kingdom of the Blue Gryphon.”

“Magic? No way!”

She didn't believe in it. There was no such thing as magic, of course. It was impossible!

The group was distracted by the singing of a pair of moon elves who passed by them. Both the woman and the man had pointed ears, exquisite beauty and a voice as sweet as a bird's song. Their cloaks swayed elegantly to their gracious movements.

Hear our tribute, O great griffin of the skies

Your wings shine under the twins

Your song is more than any spell

High as the sky, high as the mountains

Your spirit is the wind, your soul is time

Hear our words, bring us far

High as the sky, high as the mountains

To meet the seasons

The rest of the song was lost to them because they went too far away for Azéna to hear them, but she was impressed.

“They sing like professional bards... No, even more than that. Their voices are different... And their skin colour is similar to yours, Vigoth. It’s a strange shade between morning blue and milk white.”

The grandmaster laughed and pointed straight ahead.

“Here we are, in the heart of the Great Crossroads.”

There stood a gate, the details of which were so meticulous that you could lose yourself in them. In front of it, wide as the dirt road, stood four guards. They were all armed with medium-sized shields and one-handed swords. Chain and plate armour protected their supple bodies. On top of them had a tabard in the same style as the flag. Azéna couldn't make out the details of their faces hidden under their helmets except for their small, stern-looking eyes and their mouths.

“Halt!” exclaimed one of them with authority.

Vigoth signalled to the others that the situation was under control. The group interrupted their march at the guard’s request as he approached them. He stopped in front of the accomplished dragon rider. His eyes were a deep pale blue that no human could ever hope to possess, just like those of the grandmaster.

“You bring back new faces.”

“Indeed,” Vigoth replied. “We have a recruit for the Archlan academy.”

“You are good to your rivals, bringing them such a gift. The human kingdoms are in great need of people like you.”

“It's easy to make up for it, especially in skotar games.”

“Skotar is not a game,” Leith contradicted. “It's a challenging technique that provides physical and mental training for the apprentices who wish to participate.”

Vigoth ignored her comment.

Tyrath had been annoying Karia ever since she arrived. Despite his consecutive defeats, he refused to be beaten by the adult dragoness. It was obvious from Karia's reactions that she was just having fun with him and did not take him seriously. This time, tired of him hanging around, she opened her mouth from it, a thin concentrated beam of light breathed out. It struck Tyrath with such force that he was pushed far away and crashed heavily against the flagpole, which bent under the pressure. Stunned, he lay motionless on his back. The flag of the Great Crossroads fell lazily on his stomach.

“This kind of behaviour would be an insult to the kingdom of Nëowalds,” said the guard who had been talking to Vigoth. “Have you not taught your dragons to respect the property of others? Fortunately for you, the Crossroads is understanding and tolerant.”

His face turned purple and tightened slightly in irritation. A whistle escaped his mouth and out of nowhere came a troop of four archers of various elven and human races. All the guards drew their weapons and prepared for battle.

Vigoth's calm expression remained intact.

“Hadrynhtel, calm down. We just want to get through on our way to the academy.”

“We respect dragon riders, but not those who can't train their dragons.”

“This grey dragon is still young. He will be taught accordingly at the academy.”

The grandmaster had raised his voice when he said the word “academy”. Hadrynhtel reflected for a moment and then signalled to the other guards to let them pass.

“Thank you,” Vigoth said as he stepped through the gigantic gate.

Tyrath, who had sprained his right wing, was forced to walk. As he passed next to the guards, he curled his upper lip in an inaudible snarl. Karia flew over the wall and landed next to her dragon rider on the other side.

When they were far enough away that the guards could not hear them, Vigoth broke the silence. His voice had regained its calm.

“I'm sorry about all this. The moon elves are very suspicious and don't want any trouble. They are so strict because of their native learning. The Blue Gryphon kingdom is very disciplined and reserves the right to refuse visitors and immigrants who do not meet their

requirements.”

“That's understandable,” Leith said with a slight smile. “We're in a period where a war is lurking on the horizon. The tension is high.”

Azéna and Fayne approached to join their discussion.

“Are you a moon elf, sir?” the redhead asked politely, addressing Vigoth.

“Yes,” he replied. “I am originally from Nëowalds. More precisely, from Füyr, the capital.”

Azéna felt herself being stared at by him. She did not dare to meet his eyes.

After a moment, as discreetly as possible, she glanced at him. His hair was a dark blond and perfectly straight, devoid of imperfections. It fell to the middle of his solid back. His ears were slightly longer than a human's and pointed. His eyes were as sharp as an eagle's. He had a playful glow in his features and manner. But what was most striking was the perfection of his majestic face.

The rebel girl's attention was drawn to the sky by a strong breeze.

Karia was having fun performing the most delightful, but dangerous acrobatics she saw while flying. Tyrath was also staring at her, but with jealousy and contempt. He was about to turn away when Vigoth stopped him by putting his hand on his shoulder.

“Don't compare yourself to her. You have your own unique potential. You'll get to her level, and even better than her, eventually.”

The drake pouted and reluctantly listened to the grandmaster's advice.

“And you, Lady Kindirah, were born in Nothar?” the elf inquired.

“Umm?” murmured Azéna, unfocused “I-I don't know… s-sir.”

“What do you mean?”

“She is adopted, sir,” Fayne interrupted, taking her friend's side, knowing that this was a sensitive subject for her.

“She is the adopted daughter of the lord of Daigorn, according to her name. Am I wrong?”

“No. That's exactly right.”

Leith met Vigoth's gaze, her features stern. He smiled, amused by

Archlan's former loyalist, and simply continued on his way.

“It's getting late. There is a village nearby and it's where the supplies for a dragon rider's training year can be found. So, I suggest we spend the night there and do some shopping.”

“But I don't have the money for all that,” Azéna grumbled sadly, looking down.

“Don't worry, I'll pay. One day, just give it back.”

“Thank you very much, sir,” she beamed with a smile.

“Oh, call me Vigoth. It's younger and more personal.”

Leith rolled her eyes. Azéna, on the other hand, found him amusing for a man of such high rank or prestige.

They usually are all so serious.

After a brief tour of the place, they came across the gigantic tavern known as the Heart of the Crossroads. It was divided into compartments. Each wing provided an essential aspect of daily life and allowed a hundred people to live there comfortably. Weapons had to be surrendered to the staff before entering to ensure the safety of visitors. 

The group stopped only to eat and continued on until they reached a small, rudimentary village. It had a reassuring atmosphere. Still in neutral territory, it was on the outskirts of Dètmor, the ancestral realm of the Wulfkyër, which was mainly inhabited by humans.

In front of the group was a wooden sign with runes etched around the edges. At the bottom was written: Welcome to Agmeath, where dragons and riders will find everything they need.

Vigoth invited the group to accompany him. He followed the stone path that cut through the village. In the distance, atop a tall house, stood proudly a green dragon. It looked tiny on the horizon, but Azéna suspected it to be gigantic. It towered over every house. The vines that decorated the buildings were all interconnected and seemed to originate from its perch, as if it were the heart and they were the veins. Their growth was aggressive, but it provided a delicate beauty to the village.

A young blonde woman stopped in front of one house and picked a flower that was growing on the vines. Each flower was perfectly healthy and as vibrant a colour as Azéna had ever seen. The dragon and the woman greeted each other like old friends.

“This is all because of the influence of a green dragon,” the grandmaster explained. “When they are present for a long time, nature around them begins to flourish. Before him, Agmeath was rather grey and simple. Now it glows. And the best part is that if the green dragon leaves, what is left in its wake remains intact, but continues to grow at a normal rate since the energy of the dragon is no longer present.

“It's so beautiful,” Fayne whispered.

Azéna almost stepped on a hen she hadn't seen, distracted by the scenery. Then a second and a third. Finally, she realized that the chickens were walking through the streets like the people. They were even ignoring Tyrath who was staring at them ravenously.

“They are so comfortable!” the rebel exclaimed. “It's amazing. They're not afraid at all, even with the predators around.”

Vigoth smiled proudly and reached into one of the pockets of his cloak.

“They are not afraid because this green dragon is the protector of the village. Not many people or predators dare to challenge a dragon and the chickens sense that. Now... let's see…”

He took out a slightly crumpled piece of parchment.

“Ah, here is the list of items you'll need for your training.”

He handed it to Azéna. The list was as follows: three uniforms with the Isriss emblem, a dragon saddle with reins, a weapon of your choice, a set of armour of your choice, a pocket knife, a basic first aid kit, a backpack, a sleeping bag, a quill, parchment, ink, and the following books: Dragonnology for Beginners, Basic Elements Mastery, General History of Aerinda, Anatomy for Beginners, Self-Psychology Part I, and Basic Draconic.

The future apprentice was stunned by this huge list. Even her father, who was a wealthy lord, would never have agreed to pay for all this equipment.

“Are you sure you want to pay me for all this?”

Vigoth smiled broadly.

“I told you not to worry. Besides, we're lucky you've already bonded with your dragon. So, we know which saddle to buy. Normally, apprentices have to return here after the binding ceremony. Now…”

“The binding ceremony?” interrupted in Azéna.

“Potential apprentices are introduced to dragons in the hope that they will bond with one of them. You know, this bond is even more powerful than marriage. Divorce is not possible.”

The image of a wedding made the young dragon rider wince.

“Are they volunteering?”

“Dragons and potential apprentices, yes. Now let's go get your uniforms.”

The group walked toward a small wooden store that looked as if the other houses. The sign in front of the building was also made of wood and on it, in carved lettering, was written: Grusa Lingerie. Inside, there were racks of clothes of various styles. A small, plump woman came to greet them with a smile.

“Miniga Grusa!” exclaimed Vigoth, opening his arms at the sight of the newcomer.

“Vigoth!” she replied in an optimistic tone. “What are you doing here?”

She came over and hugged him, then turned to Azéna and looked at her from head to toe.

“Isriss apprentice, I’m guessing?”

“Sadly, she is not,” Vigoth chuckled happily. “She's a recruit for my brother's academy.”

“Oh, Archlan, then. Come here, young lady. We'll measure you.”

Miniga was a short human in her forties with a lot of energy. She quickly took the measurements of the teenager's torso, hips and height and then disappeared into a room, motioning for them to wait.

When she returned, she brought back a uniform for Azéna to try on. It fit her perfectly, as if it had been made especially for her.

“Perfect! You look great!” exclaimed the tailor, her face lighting up.

Azéna felt like a doll and she hated it. She gritted her teeth in silence as the tailor brushed her hair.

“She'll need three,” Vigoth said.

“As usual,” giggled Miniga. “I could have guessed.”

She hurried off to get the other two uniforms that were identical to the first one. The grandmaster took some copper and silver coins out of his pouch and handed them to her.

Meanwhile, Azéna looked at herself in the mirror. Honestly, she thought she looked great. A greyish-blue hooded cloak with a round metal pin attached to it fell to the ground behind her. On the back of it was engraved the emblem of the Archlan Academy, which consisted of a brown dragon's tail snaking protectively around the letter A in its centre. She wore a unisex short-sleeved tunic and brown pants.

“See you next time!” greeted Vigoth as she exited the store. “Azéna, come on!”

The Kindirah had lost track of her surroundings. How much time had passed, she couldn't tell. She hurried to catch up with Vigoth. The others were waiting for her in front of the store across the street. She read "Accessories and Dragons" engraved on a wooden sign in front of the building. On the roof, the young green dragon was dozing. His right shoulder was a mess. He wasn't that big after all, but he was still impressive.

“We'll be waiting for you outside,” Leith said.

“You look great,” Fayne complimented her friend's new outfit.

She walked around Azéna with her eyes sparkling with interest. It was obvious that she envied her, wanting to join her in her studies.

“Oh, that must be the academy's coat of arms on the cloak,” she continued with admiration. “It's really great.”

Azéna almost felt pity for her. But then again, she also wanted her there.

“Better than a cute little white flower that represents peace,” she replied sarcastically, referring to the Daigorn emblem.

“Oh, stop!”

Vigoth coughed to get the teenage girls' attention.

“Here you will find all the necessary equipment you require.”

Azéna simply nodded and followed him closely. He entered the store illuminated by the suns' rays that penetrated through the many windows. Inside, there was a multitude of shelves on which rested various objects that the teenager did not recognize. A young adult moon elf with pale blue eyes came to meet them. He looked a bit like Vigoth, but his body was shorter and frailer.

“Great Master,” he greeted with pride.

“This is one of my former apprentices,” Vigoth explained, greeting the merchant in turn. “He makes all sorts of useful inventions for the dragon riders. Édredon, meet Azéna Kindirah, Daughter and Lady of Daigorn.”

The skinny merchant smiled as he bowed to her:

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Azéna. I specialize in making saddles for dragons. I imagine that's why you come here.”

“Indeed.”

“By the way, where is your partner? We’re going to need him.”

“Oh, he's outside," the rebel replied, pointing to Tyrath who was on the other side of a window.

The drake was blocking the road, sitting in the middle of it. Passersby were walking around him, giving him irritated looks. A boy turned the corner of an alley and ran toward him. He pulled on one of his scales. Tyrath hissed and wagged his tail. It nearly hit the rascal, who ran back into the shadows of the alley with a scale in his hand. Leith managed to calm him down while Édredon left his store with his visitors.

“Sorry,” said the draconic saddle maker. “This boy is very poor and a dragon scale is worth a lot. He's always trying to get one from visitors.”

“Doesn't he have fun ripping off the scales of yours too?” asked Azéna.

“Vhargg knows him well enough not to be fooled. That little thief is intelligent. He may be a pest, but he's part of this community.”

He broke eye contact with her and took Tyrath's measurements who remained quiet, but watched his every move.

“He has beautiful eyes,” he complimented. “I've never seen a grey dragon with purple eyes.”

“Is that rare?” asked Azéna.

“Actually, I've never seen a dragon with that eye colour, so I guess so. From what I know, it’s virtually unheard of.”

“Lucky me then,” the rebel said lazily, surprised that she found herself worrying about it.

She knew what it was like to be different and it rarely felt good. 

Édredon looked at the results he had written on a scroll and smiled in satisfaction.

“Tyrath is exactly two hundred and sixty-eight centimetres tall. Then you'll need a small saddle in the G model. Please follow me.”

He returned to his store. This time, the entire group followed him except for the dragons who were too big to enter.

“G model?" asked Azéna, intrigued. “Small? But Tyrath is gigantic.”

“Yes,” Vigoth explained. “It's a specialized model for grey dragons. Grey, G, do you see the connection? And Tyrath is small, trust me.”

“I guess... Next to Karia. Are each flight so different from the other?”

“Oh, they are. Some dragons are frail, some skinny, some muscular. Long, short and other details. It even drags down to the pattern of horns and spikes. It's kind of like they are draconic sub-races. I guess the creators decided it to be so.”

“I'll never be able to remember all this,” whined Azéna.

“Don't worry. Study and everything will be fine! Now we need to get the rest of your equipment.”

He gathered up supplies of ink, an inkwell, a bunch of parchments, a pocket knife, a backpack, a sleeping bag and a basic first aid kit.

“Pick out some quills to write with.”

Azéna glanced at the quills. They were all different shades. A few in the back had a purple hue that reminded her of Tyrath's eyes and

caught her eye. She took them to Vigoth.

A moment passed and Édredon emerged from a room with a huge saddle, bridle and reins in his arms.

“There you go! Tyrath and your behind will thank you for this purchase,” he guaranteed with a wholehearted laugh.

“That's right,” replied Vigoth, who was just as amused as his former student. “Scales… well, they hurt.”

Azéna could figure out why they were master and student. They were a perfect match and had the same sense of humour that Leith found to be rude. Vigoth paid for everything and left. It had cost him a fortune, but he didn't care. He exited and from his balcony, Édredon greeted them.

“You owe it to yourself to act like a professional and speak more politely,” Leith growled.

“That wasn't necessary,” Vigoth replied.

Azéna paid no attention to the discussion and hung back. She watched the green dragon curiously. Her gaze filled with bitterness as it stopped at his mangled shoulder. She didn't notice Édredon who had approached.

“The world is cruel,” he sighed, "but I'm not teaching you anything with this wisdom.

The rebel girl stared at him; her eyes wide.

“What?” he continued. “You seem surprised.”

“No,” she replied. “Well, yes. I've never really…”

“If you're not familiar with Aerinda's brutality, I suggest you don't get used to the peace and safety of the academy. Trust me, because I made that mistake and look what happened to my dragon. This is also why I became a simple merchant. I am not made for the life of a warrior. Fortunately, Grandmaster Vigoth is a good person. He let me go.”

“He let… you go?”

She swallowed and listened with as much attention as fear. She felt as if she crossed a line. It was too late to take it back. Anyway, she needed to know. Couldn't the other dragon riders do as they pleased?

“Go join your companions,” the elf advised. “You will be safer with

them.”

“What is there to fear here?”

“Oh, you know, you never know when a band of robbers will show up. Fortunately, I have my trusty Vhargg to watch over our little village.”

He smiled and went back to his store, nonchalant as ever.

Azéna stared at the green dragon for one last time. He grunted in his sleep, stretched, then let out a high-pitched whine. He raised his right foreleg like a wounded beast and glanced at his shoulder, twitching in pain.

She wanted to help him, but she didn't know how to heal a dragon. So, she turned around and caught up with her companions. Leith, still annoyed, and Vigoth, still at peace with himself, were arguing.

Kindirah ignored them and read "Snow Daffodil Bookstore" on the sign of the third store. The interior was flooded with books. Once he noticed that the teenager had disappeared, Vigoth rushed to help her find the books she needed to escape Leith. 

The books were all huge. But the worst of them was the one called "Dragonology for Beginners”. That one was twice as thick as the others. 

The shopkeeper was a moon elf with white hair and a young face. She spoke to Vigoth in a rather seductive way, and he looked uncomfortable. With a hurried step, he left the store as if it were haunted. His anxiety turned into a smile as he spotted a fourth building, a large, dusty forge. The tools and equipment were of high quality unlike the rest of the shop.

“Ah!” exclaimed Vigoth. “Our last stop before going to the inn. Welcome to the Arm of melèriar.”

“Melèriar?" asked Azéna.

“It's a special iron, infused with mana. Few can make it, and even fewer can forge armour and weapons from it.”

“Wait? She can’t know how to do that, can she?”

Inside, the group was greeted, to Azéna's great surprise as she was not used to seeing female smiths, by the owner who was a young adult of the moon elf race. She was protected by a dirty brown leather apron. Her appearance was untidy, nevertheless, the rebel looked beyond her appearance and felt admiration for her. This was not an accepted profession from a woman, at least where she came from. The moon elf's long silver hair was tied back in a ponytail and big blue eyes hadn't escaped the grandmaster's notice either. He approached her and opened his arms.

She sighed, crossed her arms hardened over time by her arduous work and looked at him sternly.

“Keep your affection to yourself.”

Azéna was surprised at the way she treated Vigoth, but her attitude made her smile. He stopped in front of her.

“Has your legendary patience deserted you?” he asked sarcastically.

The blacksmith played for a moment with the ring she wore proudly in the centre of her lower lip, as if she was thinking of a strategy to bring him harm.

“Did you come to court me or to buy things, Vigoth?" she asked in a dry tone.

“A little of both,” replied the dragon rider whose face was buried in a wide smile.

“Don't waste my time.”

“All right, all right. This is Melanh'tash Vlèkhamnan. I've—”

“Don't introduce me without my consent, you rude man! Who told you I wanted them to know my name?”

“The weapon and armour of Lady Kindirah here, who is starting her first year at the Archlan Academy," Vigoth continued, avoiding the confrontation. “Also, could you remove the shackles from the paws of her young dragon.”

“So, we're favouring our rival now?” she teased with a subtle mocking smile.

“You don't know me very well, my dear.”

She watched him for a moment, savouring her victory.

“Please,” he added.

“I can do that for you, I suppose.”

Again, Leith shook her head in disappointment at the

grandmaster's behaviour. Azéna let out a small laugh. The blacksmith approached Tyrath and bent down to look at his paws.

“These shackles are old and worn. We're fortunate. They won't be hard to break.”

She took a hammer from her belt, asked Tyrath's permission to strike the shackles. He nodded. Then she asked Karia for help. The dragoness agreed, aimed at the body of the first shackle and opened her mouth slightly. A narrow, but powerful beam was projected from it. As the metal reddened and began to melt, the blacksmith gave a blow with her hammer. The shackle shattered on impact. They repeated the procedure for the other three shackles.

Once freed, Tyrath stretched, shook himself and patted the ground like a happy kitten.

“Is that better?” asked the artisan.

The drake let out a reassured roar. She smiled.

“Why did he have those shackles on his legs?” Azéna asked. “He was chained. It's noklyssing horrible!”

“Terenas will explain it all to you,” Vigoth replied. “If he asks, tell him I agreed to have them removed.”

“Who?”

Before he could answer, the blacksmith cut him off:

“Do this later, you two. I don't have all day. The first sun began to set. Now, come.”

She entered her forge and invited everyone in. She talked with Azéna for a long time, trying to decide what was best for her and Tyrath. The Kindirah insisted on sturdy armour and a powerful two-handed sword, claiming that she would build up her strength and wield it after some time thinking of Argent. Melanh'tash did not approve.

“Grey dragons are quite fast and favour agility,” she explained, ignoring Vigoth's admiring smile. “Besides, Tyrath is still young and small. I will thus advise you to wear light armour so as not to encumber him. As for your weapon, I would suggest using a bow, since grey dragons have a tendency to move all over the place.”

“An excellent choice,” agreed Vigoth.

“I think that would be better too,” supported Leith.

“Let's go with the leather armour and the bow,” concluded Azéna, feeling a bit of disappointment.

“Would you prefer a longbow or a short bow?”

“What is the difference between the two?”

“If you were riding a horse, I would recommend a short bow, but since the distance between you and your enemies will probably be great, I would recommend the longbow. It will be difficult to master at first, but it will come with time and will develop your muscles… Eventually you might be strong enough to learn how to handle a two-handed sword, just like you wanted.”

“That sounds good to me,” the teenager smiled.

“You always have a way with words," Vigoth complimented. Even when it's not positive.”

The blacksmith nodded and took her client's measurements.

“Everything will be ready tomorrow morning. I'm not too busy at the moment.”

Vigoth paid and stayed behind. He was obviously expecting something, but nothing happened.

“They're waiting for you, you know,” said the blacksmith, who put her hands on her hips in anticipation.

“I know,” said Vigoth in a soft, romantic voice, “but I just want to see your radiant eyes one last time before I leave you.”

“Go on, disappear. It's not like we won't see each other again.”

She kicked him in the ass. The dragon rider was thrown backwards out of the forge. He almost fell, but regained his balance at the last moment.

“Women,” he murmured in despair.

Then, without a word, he and his companions walked through the village to the largest building in Agmeath. In big golden letters, at the top of the main doors, was written "At the Inn of Dreams". Azéna found the name amusing. The old inn's round wooden walls had been gnawed by time.

“Yah… they sure are selling dreams…”

To her surprise, the interior was the opposite of what she had

expected. The decor was elegant and on the first floor, there was carpeting, feather-upholstered chairs and a fireplace to warm up around. There were even waitresses bringing food to the guests.

“I have a feeling that I'm gonna sleep well,” she murmured in satisfaction.

Vigoth paid for the service and they all went up to their rooms. It was huge and in the centre were four clean beds. Tyrath, Karia and Shirah were forced to sleep in the stable, which had the capacity to accommodate several adult dragons.

After enjoying a freshly prepared meal, everyone quickly fell asleep under the heavy and warm woollen blankets.