In the one hundred and forty nine years that Ahn’rah Kirr had been alive, he had seen and overcome many obstacles, but never before had he quite felt so nervous. He had flown and navigated through several Aether storms, fought against powerful Fae mages, held his own in battles of wits, and managed countless strategies and plans for the Trove Divers. Through all of these, his talons and tail never quite stiffened the way they did now.

  He stared down at the stone slab in front of him, covered with maps and sheets of engraved slate. His father had entered the cave what must have been twenty minutes before, regaling his son with the treasures he had plundered in the past week and a half that he had been gone. Ahn’rah had tuned him out halfway through, eyes scanning over new reports that his anxious mind couldn’t quite read. He breathed deep, trying to keep a rhythm and stay calm.

  “You should have seen the flames that rolled off the fields, son! Pink smoke, rolling in the wind! Bright red flames with scents as crisp and sweet as an apple orchard! Who ever thought the Spring Court could grow such sweet tinder?” Hallath rasped out a hearty laugh, glowing with pride at the burning of some sort of Fae crop.

  Ahn’rah turned to look at his father, the first time he had since the larger Dragon had arrived. Hallath Kirr, head of the Trove Divers, had three new scars along the side of his neck, fresh and just barely done healing. The three equidistant lines had ripped out a small handful of his father’s dark sea-green scales, exposing the dull green skin underneath.

  “You’re hurt, Father,” Ahn’rah stated plainly, a wince in his expression. He had lost some of his own deep blue scales before, and the thought of it brought him no joy. “You should have someone look at it. It might not heal correctly. Scar tissue on your neck could impede its mobility.”

  Hallath’s grey-green eyes snapped to Ahn’rah when he spoke, his smile growing weak. “It’s not more than a scratch. A bipedal goat with some sort of farming implement decided it wouldn’t get bit without flailing.” The memory brought back the grin he’d had, serrated teeth almost gnashing. “I was curious if the whole of it would taste like goat, or just the parts with fur.”

  A slight shudder went down Ahn’rah’s spine and he curled his clubbed tail a bit closer to himself. He closed his eyes for a moment, steadying himself again before opening them again, attempting to steel his resolve in the face of his father. This is what he and Turimiil had been preparing him for, his chance to speak freely.

  “Father, have you ever thought about retiring the Trove Divers?”

  Barely a moment of silence passed before being disrupted by a loud guffaw from his father. Hallath’s raucous laughter filled the space and followed him as he stepped further in, settling himself down on the pile of straw on the other side of the stone table.

  “Retirement? And what else do you expect me and the others to do? Sit on our riches and pick our teeth with bones? Trim our claws and wait for death?” The scoff that left the pirate cut slightly at Ahn’rah’s confidence.

  “You are only in your late eight hundreds, Father, the only thing putting you close to death is the danger you put yourself and the others in.”

  “Ha! Danger? I come home with one little slice to my scales and you believe me to be in danger?”

  Ahn’rah hesitated, having to bite his tongue to not immediately reply that Hallath himself was the danger. His father noticed the pause and narrowed his eyes on his son.

  “I was merely joking. Is that truly what you think? That I’m somehow frail?”

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  “No! Not at all, Father.” The response was immediate. Familiar. Trained.

  “Then just what would have you bring up such a ludicrous concept such as retirement?”

  Ahn’rah took another deep, grounding breath, trying his best to tame the furious beating of all five of his hearts. For all the trained responses he had rolled over in his brain, he hadn’t imagined he would feel so weak in saying them.

  “I do not wish to keep arranging these trips. I would like to soon settle with Turimiil, to build a family with her, to find a proper nest where we can raise our brood.”

  Hallath simply stared at him, piercing eyes narrowing slightly. Ahn’rah could see how the scales on his father’s shoulders shifted, almost like a cat beginning to bristle. The younger dragon waited for a handful of seconds, anticipating some sort of response from his father, though he received none. The anxiety in him welled up fast, and soon it began threatening to overflow.

  “I-I know that you do not have another strategically inclined member of the Divers, but if you could allow me to train someone then perhaps they could take my place. I know that the Fae have been taking more precautions as well, and that the pacing of the trips is starting to wear on you. No dragon should be taking the trip around the cycle so fast, not even one with seven hearts such as yourself. You can’t-”

  “Do I seem tired to you, boy?” Hallath muttered in a deep, low growl.

  Ahn’rah froze, electric blue eyes growing wide. He couldn’t help the way his body shrunk a bit closer to the floor. It was instilled in him.

  At the lack of immediate response, Hallath bared his teeth, standing to his feet and slapping a taloned hand down on the slab. The force made his son flinch backward, a few of the slate reports beneath his hand now cracked and broken.

  “Answer me, dammit! You aren’t still in your shell, are you? Speak!”

  “No, Father!”

  “‘No’ you won’t answer me?”

  “No! I do not think you are tired!”

  Ahn’rah closed his eyes, waiting for an attack, a noise, something. But it never came. After what seemed like hours, he opened his eyes and looked up to his father. Hallath stood tall over him, both hands down on the slab now, staring him down. The piercing gaze and the dominant stance made Ahn’rah feel like such a coward. Never had he felt more cowardice than when his father stood over him.

  “You clearly aren’t thinking straight. That vast mind of yours has wandered into thoughts that make no sense.” Hallath hissed, slowly lowering himself from the table. His head, however, stayed angled to look down at the Dragon before him, displaying his authority over him. “You’re to go home. Now. Rest your head. Come back in two days, when you have something worthwhile to contribute to me.”

  Ahn’rah hesitated, frozen for a few moments before standing and slowly backing away toward the cave’s opening. He didn’t speak, instead bowing his head toward his father before turning and taking flight. He pushed through the cold night air up to the sharp rocky peak that sat above the cave’s opening.

  A shuddering breath escaped him as his talons gripped the stone, a few shivers leaving through his scales in waves. He did his best to escape the tension his body held over him, eyes scanning over The World Spine. Each equidistant peak seemed to glow dimly in the dark, sleek figures moving in and out of their own homes and hideaways. Despite the wonderful view, he much preferred looking down on Topavara rather than across it.

  With that thought, Ahn’rah pushed off of the peak, sending pebbles spraying behind him. He flew up and up into the sky until he passed through the clouds, cold condensation rolling down the webbing of his wings and making him feel more whole. He flew further and further until he broke through the mist and was met with the Aether.

  The slight scent of pine and cinnamon lingered over Topavara’s atmosphere, twinkling stars shining above him as wisping colors of the Aether drifted past. A little farther above him was home, a round rock with one lit opening, sitting in orbit just on the edge of the atmosphere. His wings beat harder on Aetherian air as he pushed his way higher above the planet, wanting nothing more than the comfort of Turimiil and the warm comfort of this moon, all their own.