Judge's voice croaked out like a rusty hinge being nudged open, which, frankly, wasn't too far off from how he felt. His enthusiasm might've been lacking, but the volume was just enough to reach Seraphis.
Seraphis turned towards him, her hand slick with grease and who-knows-what remnants of her culinary attempt. She gave it a mighty shake, and behold! The meaty leftovers scattered as though fearing for their very existence. Even the grease— that slippery traitor that usually clings on through soap and water— surrendered and fled.
"Get over here, you whining lizard." She leaped over, grabbed him by the collar like a scolding mother cat, and dragged him back to the pathetic excuse for a campfire. Judge found himself unceremoniously seated and handed what appeared to be... meat. Blackened. Burnt to a crisp. Seasoned with enough salt to rival a sailor's vocabulary.
Judge stared at it. It stared back. His stomach, sadly, voted for survival over dignity. With a dramatic sigh, he bit into the charred offering, the crunch echoing like gravel underfoot.
"What?" Seraphis finally asked, her voice as sharp as the seasoning on that monstrosity.
"I think I remember something," Judge mumbled between bites, his tone almost hopeful. "I'm pretty sure I've got a better handle on swords now."
Seraphis raised a skeptical brow, inspecting him as if he'd just announced he could tame a chimera with a stick and a smile. "You don't just learn to wield a weapon. You stumble, fail, and probably lose a few teeth, and after all that suffering, you might stop being an embarrassment."
Judge frowned but wisely didn't argue. He wasn't suicidal, after all. "Alright, fine. Whatever. So… what was the target again? Night dress? Evening gown? Pajama specter?"
"It's called a night cloth," she said, sighing as if she were dealing with an idiot. Which, to be fair, she was. "Are you sure you haven't hit your head recently?"
"Night cloth. Got it." Judge ignored her patronizing tone and pushed on. "Let's hunt it down, then! Let's march onward!"
"Sit." Seraphis rolled her eyes so hard they practically did a full rotation. "The night cloth is a nocturnal monster. Nocturnal, as in, it only comes out at night. Right now, it's probably napping underground, dreaming of spooking idiots like you. So sit down and stop wasting my oxygen. How dumb are you, idiot Lizard? It makes me curious how you survived till now."
"Hey, don't insult dragons! We're majestic creatures of— "
"You're just a lizard. A dumb one at that."
Judge puffed up indignantly. "For your information, dragons are not lizards. In fact, aren't phoenixes technically a subspecies of dragons? Like cloud striders?"
"What?" Seraphis squinted at him, her confusion palpable. "That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard, and I've met goblins who think spoons are hats."
In fact, both knew that phoenixes are subspecies of dragons... like cloud striders, but Seraphis Just seemed to not like saying it.
Seraphis put out the fire and jumped up the nearby tree in order to wait for nightfall. Judge just sat below, contemplating on his life choices once more, he felt dumber as time passed, but he could not just go on .
Both leaned on the tree and watched as the sun went down the horizon. Well, Seraphis did, Judge could not see much because he was below.
Night fell, and the pair prepared for battle. Seraphis handed Judge a gleaming silver blade, its edge was polished to perfection. Judge looked at it, then at her, eyebrows raised. "Uh, isn't silver for, like, werewolves or vampires or... something?"
"You really are hopeless." Seraphis groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Silver isn't just for werewolves, and I don't know who gave you the idea it works for vampires. It's a universal wrecking ball for all ghost-type nasties. Ghosts, spirits, shadow monsters, and yes, your fancy night cloth. It disrupts their etheric essence or whatever mumbo jumbo the scholars like to spout. Basically, silver says, 'I see your creepy supernatural nonsense and raise you obliteration.' Got it?"
Judge blinked. "So, it's like the garlic bread of weapons. Everyone likes it, but monsters hate it."
"... strange, but let's go with that."
The duo ventured more into the forest, the shadows thick and oppressive. Then, a soft rustling emerged from the bushes, followed by a low, eerie hum. Seraphis stepped forward confidently, silver blade glinting in the moonlight.
The night cloth emerged— a swirling mass of inky fabric that moved as if it had a life of its own. Its edges shimmered with an otherworldly glow, and its "face" was an empty void, save for two glowing slits for eyes.
"Uh, it's a sheet," Judge whispered. "A spooky bed sheet."
"It's about to be your shroud if you don't focus."
The night cloth lunged, faster than expected. Judge yelped and swung wildly, his blade passing through the creature with a sizzling sound. The cloth screeched, retreating slightly.
"See? Silver works," Seraphis smirked, darting in to deliver a precise slash that tore through the creature's form.
Judge, emboldened, tried a fancy spin move. Instead, he tripped over a root and landed flat on his back. The night cloth, sensing an opportunity, loomed over him.
"Hey, I'm not laundry!" Judge shouted, flailing his blade.
"Focus, you clumsy gecko!" Seraphis yelled, slashing through the cloth's midsection. It screeched again, fragments of its fabric disintegrating into mist.
After several chaotic minutes of dodging, slicing, and Judge providing unintentional comedy relief, the night cloth let out one final wail, and the cloth dissolved completely, leaving a small blob of who knows what.
Seraphis stood over Judge, who was still sprawled on the ground. "Congratulations. You survived. Barely."
"Teamwork," Judge wheezed. "I distracted it while you finished it off. Great plan."
"Sure, let's call it that." She offered him a hand, hauling him to his feet.
As they trudged back to camp, Seraphis muttered, "Next time, try not to trip over your own tail."
"Next time, maybe cook something that doesn't try to fight back," Judge retorted.
Seraphis snorted. "Next time, maybe try 'using' a sword."
Before Judge could whip out a witty comeback— he swore it was on the tip of his tongue— Seraphis froze mid-step, her sharp gaze darting to the side. Judge's scales prickled. There it was again— a sound, faint but deliberate, like a leaf crunching underfoot. Someone, or something, was moving through the woods. Slowly. Steadily. Almost trying to be inconspicuous, but he sure does not know about dragons.
Seraphis' instincts kicked in immediately. No assessing, no debating, just act. She swooped down, snatched up the remains of the night cloth, and turned toward Judge with a look that screamed "Don't argue."
"What now—" Judge began, but Seraphis grabbed his collar with one hand and launched them both into the nearest tree.
"Not this again…" he muttered under his breath as they ascended like a very ungraceful pair of squirrels.
Up they went, past branches and through a maze of leaves, until they perched at the very top. Judge gracefully sat on the branch, feeling too much like an assassin on steroids. Seraphis crouched like a predator, her crimson eyes glowing faintly. Probably some fancy ethercraft to help her see better.
"What happened to your..." Seraphis raised a hand to show him a quotation mark, " I've got a better handle on swords now."
"Should I remind you that it is dark? And maybe I don't have the skills to see in the dark?"
Seraphis just looked at him, baffled, "Don't you know that all dragons could see in the dark?"
Now Judge looked confused, "What?"
His master sighed, "Just imaging the night being lit up, imagine that there is no darkness."
Judge nodded seriously, he looked down and imagined it being lit up. Slowly, the darkness started to vanish, and he could see everything as good as day, even without the glare. "I can see!" He exclaimed.
Judge turned his attention back to the ground, "Can't you just, I don't know, fight whatever or whoever it is?" He asked, clinging to the trunk as the tree swayed. His voice carried more hope than sense.
Seraphis didn't even glance at him. Her eyes stayed fixed on the ground below, her voice low and serious. "Didn't your mother ever teach you that no matter how strong you think you are, there's always someone stronger?"
Judge nodded quickly. He wasn't about to argue. Not when she looked like she was ready to toss him out of the tree for backtalk.
"Good. Here's your next lesson: don't fight enemies unless you know and understand what you're up against."
Judge thought about cracking a joke, but decided against it. The last thing he needed was a lecture about how his sense of humor was weaker than his swordsmanship. Instead, he lampooned inwardly: I get it, but you're more of a monster than most people anyway.
"Do you know why?" she pressed.
Judge shook his head, pretending to focus on the forest below.
"Of course you don't. Dumb lizard."
He bit his tongue. Silence was his safest weapon right now.