The Dragon's Trial
The hunters' town—once a place of danger and chaos—had grown strangely familiar, even as the weight of unfinished ambition lingered in every heart. Their time here was ending. The general had sent word: the path home would soon open.
Yet before they left, one final tale swept through the marketplace in awed, fearful whispers: dragons.
Ancient beasts roosting in the Skyfang Mountains, guarding treasures and crystals of unimaginable power. Few had seen them; none had returned. But the promise of strength was too tempting.
This would be their last hunt before going home.
Jane planned cautiously, as always. Cass grinned as she sharpened her blades, while Orion warned of the perils ahead—his fingers coaxing life from seeds and soil, ready to mend whatever wounds might come. And Solace… Solace kept his distance, watching Lyra laugh at Vaelen's jokes and lean on his guidance. Each time, a hidden bitterness stirred within him, and he buried his feelings in silence.
One night, beneath alien stars by an empty fire pit, Lyra finally approached him. She found him seated away from the group, his eyes fixed on the dying embers.
"Why do you always avoid me?" she asked quietly, her tone edged with concern and a trace of hurt.
For a long moment, Solace said nothing. When he finally murmured, it was curt and vague, "I... have my reasons."
Without another word, he shifted uncomfortably, turning away as though her very presence was a weight he could not bear. When Lyra stepped closer again, hoping to bridge the distance, Solace abruptly stood and walked off, leaving her to watch his retreating figure in silence.
Later that night, among the low hum of voices from Orion and Cass, whenever Lyra attempted to join him or linger near his solitary corner, he would stiffen and step away. His silence spoke louder than any words—an unyielding barrier that kept her at arm's length.
Tomorrow, they would leave for their last hunt before returning home.
The Skyfang Mountains loomed cold and merciless. Smoke twisted in the skies, black plumes marking a dragon's nest high above. In silence, the group ascended, hearts taut and minds focused. At the summit, the world seemed to still. Amid ancient bones tangled with gold and relics of forgotten ages lay a great dragon, coiled protectively over her hoard. Her scales shimmered like molten silver; her eyes, half-lidded with ancient wisdom and fury, regarded them indifferently. The glittering treasure beneath her massive wings could drive any hunter mad with desire, yet her gaze remained detached, as if she had seen it all before.
They could have turned back.
But Solace, driven by something darker than desire, stepped forward. His hand trembled as it reached toward the nest. In that daring moment, he stole a dragon egg—smooth, warm, and thrumming with life—from right under the beast's watchful eye.
The dragon's eyes snapped open. A low, furious growl rumbled from her throat, and the mountain shuddered as her roar split the sky with a sound that could shatter stone.
And then they ran.
Fire licked at their heels as Cass led the charge, her blades flashing through swirling smoke, while Orion's magic wove protective barriers of shimmering vines. The dragon's roar pounded in their ears. But from above came an even greater threat—a Rank 7 beast, a nightmare of scale and venom, drawn by blood and fury.
In the ensuing chaos, the group scattered. Solace and Lyra, bound by instinct and the fragile thread that connected them despite his distancing, sprinted together down narrow canyons. The beast's screech echoed as its talons scraped the stone behind them, drawing ever closer until the very earth beneath their feet cracked open.
They fell.
For a heartbeat, they were weightless—then darkness slammed into them. The impact reverberated through Solace's bones, yet even as pain surged, his grip on the dragon egg did not falter. Lying disoriented on cold, unyielding stone, he could barely hear his own blood roaring in his ears. Slowly, painfully, he rose.
Lyra was already on her feet, dust clinging to her cloak. Their eyes met briefly—a silent exchange of fear, regret, and all that had remained unsaid—but no words passed between them.
They had landed in a cavern of ancient stone. The faint glow of runes pulsed on the walls, casting long, eerie shadows. There were no visible exits, only the deep, impenetrable darkness surrounding them and one message carved high above: Only those who walk together may leave.
The inscription weighed on Solace's chest like a stone. In that moment, the silence between him and Lyra felt both like a refuge and a barrier.
For hours, they sat apart. Solace cradled the dragon egg in his lap, its warmth a small beacon amid the despair, while Lyra remained silent, her eyes fixed on the ancient runes as if seeking a hidden path. Finally, after a long, measured pause, Lyra spoke in a voice soft and unsteady.
"Why did you keep away?" she asked.
Solace's gaze drifted over the cold stone. "I... sometimes feel I'm not enough," he murmured, his voice low and rough.
Lyra shifted closer, her tone gentle yet laced with a quiet plea. "I never meant for you to feel that way. I was alone, too. I hoped someone would be there," she said, her words lingering in the dim light.
He closed his eyes, the silence heavy with unspoken regret. "I'm sorry," he whispered.
She reached out, her hand lightly touching his shoulder—a gesture that spoke of understanding more than words could.
They sat in quiet acknowledgment, neither offering bold confessions, only the shared truth that something in their silence needed mending—a truth they would confront in time.
After what felt like an eternity, they rose and fixed their eyes on a jagged opening high above. With quiet determination, Lyra climbed onto Solace's shoulders; her shadows stretching upward, coiling around the stone edge like living tendrils. Panting from exertion, she reached down.
"Give me your hand," she said softly.
Solace, still clutching the dragon egg, shifted it into one arm and reached upward. Her grip was firm, and slowly, deliberately, she hauled him from the abyss. They collapsed onto a narrow ledge—breathless, trembling, yet united in a silent, fragile resolve. Without another word, they began the long trek back to the town, the egg's gentle pulse a reminder of the strength and sacrifice that had carried them through darkness. Their silence, once cold and isolating, now held the faint promise of something that might, one day, bridge the gap between them—if only time allowed.