A village came into view just past midday—half-hidden in a shallow basin where pine trees grew in tight clusters, their tops brushing the sky like whispering sentinels. Mist drifted through the evergreens, soft and silver, clinging to low stone walls and narrow footpaths that wound like veins through the hills. From a distance, Hollowmere looked like something forgotten by time—a place where the world moved slower, where things like war and prophecy and dragons did not belong.
And yet, here they were.
Calypsius stopped at the edge of the hill overlooking the valley, one hand resting on Ashwing's back as she peeked out from under his cloak. The little dragon squinted into the sunlight, then let out a small chirp of curiosity, nose twitching at the unfamiliar scents wafting up from below.
Behind him, Ellara studied the village with cautious eyes. "Quiet place. Too quiet."
He glanced at her. "You think it's dangerous?"
"I think any place where people know less than they let on is dangerous."
"Comforting," he murmured, adjusting his cloak over Ashwing's head as they started down the path.
The journey into Hollowmere took them through overgrown hedgerows and past a series of crumbling statues lining the road—weather-worn and half-swallowed by moss. Each figure was faceless now, arms raised toward the hills like supplicants. Whatever god or guardian they had once honored was long forgotten.
The village itself was no more than forty homes, clustered close around a central square with a well, a baker's stall, a blacksmith's lean-to, and an old chapel half-covered in ivy. Wooden signs creaked in the breeze. Smoke curled lazily from chimneys. A few townsfolk moved through the market, speaking in low tones and casting long, measuring glances toward the newcomers.
They didn't shout. They didn't approach. But they noticed.
Ashwing felt it too. She drew deeper into Calypsius's cloak, her claws gently gripping his shirt as her golden eyes scanned every face that passed.
"She doesn't like it here," he muttered.
Ellara matched his pace, voice quiet. "Neither do I."
They made their way toward the only inn—The Silver Petal, its painted sign faded but still legible. A carved rose drooped from its post, its wooden stem chipped and worn. Inside, the warmth of a fire met them, along with the scent of roasted root vegetables and stale ale.
The innkeeper was a round woman with sharp eyes and a braid of silver-streaked hair that fell over her shoulder like a length of rope. She gave them a slow look from behind the counter, eyes flicking from Calypsius to Ellara to the lump wriggling beneath the cloak.
"No dogs," she said.
"She's not a dog," Calypsius replied calmly. "And she doesn't bite."
"That a fact?" The woman arched an eyebrow. "What is she, then?"
"A companion," Ellara said, stepping forward. "Quiet, clean, and very well-behaved."
The innkeeper looked unconvinced but didn't press further. "Two nights, coin up front."
Ellara slid a few silver pieces across the counter. "We won't be any trouble."
"Guests never think they are," the woman muttered, tucking the coins away. "Room at the back. Warm. Quiet. Don't let her scratch the bedding."
They climbed a narrow staircase and entered a small room at the end of the hall. A single bed, a rickety table, and a hearth with a pile of cold ash. Calypsius struck a flint and coaxed a flame to life while Ashwing made a few slow circles on the blankets before curling into a tight spiral, her tail tucked under her chin.
Ellara closed the door and leaned against it, arms crossed.
"She watches everything," she said softly. "That innkeeper. And the way the villagers moved? Like they've seen strangers before and didn't much like the results."
"They didn't panic," Calypsius noted, sitting beside Ashwing. "That's something."
"No. They didn't." She paused. "That worries me more."
He nodded slowly, his gaze falling to Ashwing, who had already drifted into a light doze. The weight of her warmth against his thigh was grounding, familiar in a way he never would've imagined just weeks ago.
"We'll be careful," he said.
That evening, they returned to the square for supplies—bread, salted meat, and dried berries. A few villagers offered polite nods but didn't smile. A boy selling carrots stared openly at Ashwing before his mother pulled him away with a sharp whisper.
Calypsius noticed it then—etched into the stone of the well at the center of the square.
A carving. Faint, but deliberate. A serpentine figure wrapped around a flame, wings unfurled.
"Ellara," he said quietly, pointing.
She studied it. "Old symbol. Draconic."
"Why would a village like this have that on their well?"
She didn't answer.
Later that night, just as they were finishing dinner in the room, there was a knock at the door.
Calypsius tensed. Ellara's hand went to her dagger.
He opened it carefully, revealing a small girl—barefoot, cheeks smudged with flour, a woven basket cradled in her arms.
"Miss Mira says you looked tired," she said, holding out the basket. "And you have a baby."
Ashwing poked her head out sleepily at the word.
The girl's eyes lit up. "She's beautiful. I brought honey oat rolls."
Calypsius smiled despite himself. "That's very kind of you."
"I won't tell anyone," the girl whispered, stepping back. "About what she really is."
Then she disappeared down the hall before they could ask her name.
Inside, Ellara pulled one of the rolls apart, steam rising from its center. "That one's smarter than half this village."
"Or braver," Calypsius murmured.
They ate in the golden quiet of the firelight, Ashwing curled between them. She lifted her head only once—when Ellara gently offered her a bit of the bread. She sniffed it, took a bite, then laid her head across Ellara's thigh and purred.
The warmth in the room settled deeper then. Not just fire, but belonging.
"I think she's starting to trust you more than me," Calypsius said.
"She likes whoever feeds her the most," Ellara replied, but her voice was soft.
Calypsius leaned back, his eyes on the dragonling between them. "Do you ever wonder what we'll do when she's grown?"
Ellara didn't answer right away.
"I wonder what kind of world she'll grow into," she said finally. "And whether we'll be here to help shape it."
He looked at her. "I want to be."
Their eyes held for a moment longer than either meant them to.
Ashwing stirred, letting out a sleepy chirp before curling tighter into the space between them.
Calypsius didn't know what tomorrow would bring. But for tonight, he let his hand brush against Ellara's, and when she didn't pull away, he let it stay.
Outside, the village was quiet.
But the fire inside them—slow-burning, steady—was only just beginning to grow.