A tavern sat carved into the mountain’s belly, its walls rough stone lit by lanterns burning with faint silver flame. The air was thick with smoke and sweat, the press of bodies louder than the crack of mugs on wood. Refugees had poured in as soon as the gates opened, and the place had swollen with their voices.
Lucian pushed the door open, his hood shadowing his face. Lucy followed, calm as ever, her cloak brushing the floor. Karl ducked his head low, smirk hidden but not gone, the smell of spilt ale already curling in his nose.
The tavern stilled for half a breath when they entered. New faces always drew eyes now. But the weight of exhaustion was stronger than suspicion. The crowd soon turned back to their drinks, to their hushed arguments and raised voices.
They found a corner table. Lucian sat with his back to the wall, Lucy across from him, Karl sprawling half-sideways, his claws tapping against the table wood. A serving girl came with three mugs, her ears twitching nervously as she set them down, her eyes darting as though she feared even glances could draw curses.
Karl lifted his mug and drank deep. "Hells," he muttered, wiping his mouth. "Water would taste better. But at least it burns."
Lucy’s fingers tapped lightly against her mug, untouched. Her gaze had already moved to the crowd. "Listen."
The tavern was alive with whispers and roars. At the long table near the hearth, boars in cracked armor argued, tusks clashing as they snarled.
"I saw it myself! Wings wider than the sky, flames that melted stone! You think any beast but a dragon could do that?"
Across from him, a scarred wolf bared his teeth. "Or it’s a lie. Taragon and Fenral fell because they were weak. Maybe the King wanted them gone. Maybe this is his purge."
The boars slammed their mugs down, foam spilling across the table. "Blasphemy! The King does not burn his own!"
From another table, a foxkin laughed bitterly, tail flicking. "You say that now, but what happens if he tires of you next? Dragons eat what they want. Always have."
The wolf spat on the floor. "You don’t know a damn thing."
The noise rose, arguments splitting into snarls. Then another voice broke through, sharp and panicked.
"My cousin swore he saw it from the hills—its scales were black, glowing like molten rock. It was no dragon of the King’s court. This one was different. Older."
The tavern fell into uneasy quiet. The foxkin leaned forward, eyes wide. "Older? How much older?"
The wolf sneered. "Old enough to make you piss yourself, clearly."
But the unease didn’t fade. The word older settled over the room like smoke.
At a side table, a vulture with ragged feathers whispered low, voice hoarse. "Some say it was no dragon at all. They say it was a shadow that took shape, wearing scales it stole. A curse given life."
The foxkin at his side laughed sharp, though her eyes were nervous. "And I suppose next you’ll tell us it drinks the blood of kings, too?"
The vulture didn’t answer. He only pulled his cloak tighter, gaze fixed on the table.
Karl leaned back in his chair, a grin tugging at his mouth. "Listen to them. Half think it’s the King himself. Half think it’s some cursed shadow. Either way, they’re shaking in their skins."
Lucy’s eyes narrowed. "They’re afraid because they’ve lost faith. Nations burned in days. To them, nothing’s impossible now. Even the wildest rumor feels true."
Lucian hadn’t touched his drink. He sat still, eyes half-lidded, listening as the voices built again.
At the bar, two serpents hissed as they argued, their coils sliding across the floor.
"It was Kael’Thar," one whispered, tongue flicking. "The old dragon, the one buried by gods. He’s risen again. Who else could do this?"
The other shook his head. "Kael’Thar is myth. A story to frighten hatchlings. No dragon like that breathes anymore."
"You think myths don’t walk? Taragon thought so. Now he’s ash."
The first serpent’s words drew another hush. More eyes flicked toward them, ears straining.
Karl chuckled under his breath. "Kael’Thar. They’ll start praying to shadows soon."
Lucy finally sipped her mug, the bitterness sharp against her lips. She set it down without a sound. "Don’t laugh. Fear turns rumors into weapons. If enough believe, it won’t matter what’s true."
Lucian spoke at last, his voice quiet, almost drowned in the tavern’s noise. "They won’t believe one thing. They’ll believe everything."
His eyes slid to the vulture, still hunched over his drink, then to the serpents, still hissing low, and back to the wolves and boars bickering near the fire.
"All the theories, all the whispers—they’ll spread together. Until the truth doesn’t matter."
Karl grinned wider. "And when they find out the truth?"
Lucian looked down into his untouched mug, the faint ripple of liquid bending as space itself shifted. His lips curved faint, a smile without warmth. "They won’t live long enough to care."
At the next table, a foxkin slammed his paw down, shouting over the noise. "Mark my words! It’s not just one dragon. It’s a brood. They’ve come back to take the world again!"
The tavern erupted—some roaring in agreement, others laughing it off, more growling that if a brood truly had returned, no fortress would save them.
Lucy leaned back, her eyes flicking across the room. "If your father’s court hears this, they’ll act fast. Rumors like these eat at order. They’ll tighten the gates. They’ll search every corner for shadows."
Karl tilted his head, smirk sharp. "Good. Let them. The tighter they grip, the easier it’ll be to choke them."
The tavern roared again, mugs slamming, arguments spilling into shoves. A wolf snarled at a boar, tusks and claws clashing until guards at the door stormed in, their spears glowing faint. The crowd split, snarls turning to mutters, but the fear didn’t leave. Official source is novel(ꜰ)ire.net
Lucian finally pushed his mug aside and rose. His cloak fell silent around him, his hood still shadowing his face.
"We’ve heard enough."
Karl smirked as he stood, rolling his shoulders like he’d hoped for a fight. "Shame. I was just starting to enjoy the music."
Lucy followed, silent as she adjusted her cloak. Her eyes lingered once on the crowd, on the fear burning behind every argument, before she turned back to Lucian.
They left the tavern behind, the noise spilling out into the street as the door shut. Outside, the night air was cooler, the silver flames of the city’s lanterns bending faint against the wards that wrapped every tower. The city still looked strong, proud, but its voice inside told another story.
Rumors had teeth now.
And the word dragon bit hardest of all.