The soup was surprisingly good. Rina's simple, hearty concoction warmed them from the inside out, chasing away the last of the bone-deep chill. The storm still raged outside, a constant, drumming roar that made the small firelit circle of the cave feel like the entire world.
As they ate, a comfortable silence settled, broken only by the crackle of the fire and the clink of wooden spoons against bowls. It was Rina, of course, who broke it.
"You know," she said, her voice soft and wistful, "this reminds me of home. We'd have big feasts after the harvest, and everyone would sit around the fire. It was... simple." She smiled, a genuine, happy memory lighting up her face. "I was the girl who was always tripping over her own feet, spilling cider on the mayor's shoes. I love my village, but I always wondered if there was more to the world than just... well, more of the same."
Her simple, open honesty seemed to unlock something in the others.
Lyra, who had been staring into the fire, spoke next, her voice barely a whisper. "I had a friend once. A dragon rider, like Talia. We were inseparable. We promised we would fly together forever." She paused, her gaze distant. "But he was chosen for a special squadron. He went to the capital... and he never wrote. He never came back. He just... forgot." She looked at Aiden, her dark eyes filled with that old, familiar pain. "People forget. It's what they do."
The weight of her words settled heavily in the cave. All eyes turned to Talia.
"What about you, Talia?" Rina asked gently. "You're a dragon rider. You must have some exciting stories."
Talia stiffened, her spoon clattering into her empty bowl. "Not much to tell," she said, her voice suddenly sharp and defensive. "I was a sellsword. Hired sword. Flew with a mercenary company for a while. Got tired of it. End of story." She stared into the fire, her jaw set, daring anyone to question her.
Aiden watched her. He saw the lie in the tension of her shoulders, the way her hand instinctively went to the spot on her side where the tattoo was hidden. The Sky-Fallen Clan. She wasn't just a mercenary. She was running. He felt the urge to press her, to call her out, but he held back. This wasn't the time. He would let her keep her secret for now.
"My story is less... emotional," Eira said, her voice as calm and measured as ever. "My village is isolated. Our leader is wise, but... resistant to change. We are fading. I am here to learn, to gather knowledge and magical resources, to return and show them that the world has evolved. We must evolve with it, or we will vanish."
They all looked at Seraphine, the final piece of the puzzle. She was elegantly sipping her soup, a picture of aristocratic calm.
"Oh, I'm just here for the blood," she said with a wry, delicate smile.
They all stared.
Rina choked on a piece of carrot. "The... the blood?"
"Of course," Seraphine continued, her violet eyes twinkling with mischief. "Royal blood is so terribly rich and gamey. Commoner blood is a bit bland. But a half-dragon? An elf? A dragon rider? The variety is simply exquisite. I'm conducting a palate test." She took another delicate sip. "So far, Rina, you're delightfully sweet."
Aiden wasn't sure if she was joking or not, which was, he decided, the entire point. She was hiding, just like Talia, but with a wall of dark humor instead of silence.
The conversation lulled, and now all eyes were on him. It was his turn.
"Aiden," Rina began, her voice hesitant. "Why... why did you say no to all those princesses? The Queen said you rejected fifty of them. They must have been very beautiful."
Aiden felt his old, familiar armor of sarcasm rising. "Oh, you know. The paperwork was a nightmare. All those marriage contracts. And the endless poetry. I have an allergy to bad sonnets."
But no one laughed. They had all shared a piece of themselves, and they were waiting for him to do the same. Lyra was watching him with that unnerving, expectant devotion. Talia was looking at him from under her brows, her expression unreadable.
He let out a long sigh, the sarcasm deflating out of him. He looked into the fire, watching the flames dance.
"It wasn't about them," he said, his voice quiet, stripped of its usual cynical edge. "It was about me. It was about... sufficiency."
He looked up, meeting their confused gazes. "Every single one of them—a princess from the Sunstone Empire, a queen from the Silver Isles, a duchess from the Western Marches—they were all... happy. They came from thriving kingdoms. They had loving families, powerful courts, full lives. They didn't need me. They were already whole."
He paused, trying to find the right words. "Marrying me would have been like... adding a spare, unused wing to a perfectly finished castle. It's unnecessary. It's redundant. I would have been an accessory. A political trinket to be displayed at banquets."
He looked at each of them in turn. "But Granite... he needed someone. Lyra... you needed someone who wouldn't forget. Eira, you need knowledge. Talia..." he hesitated, "you need a place where you don't have to run." He even managed a wry glance at Seraphine. "And you, apparently, need a diverse menu."
He leaned back, the confession leaving him feeling strangely exposed. "For the first time in my life, I feel like I might actually be... useful. Needed. Not for my title, not for my lands, but for me. And I have no idea what to do with that feeling."
The cave fell silent, save for the drumming rain. The fire crackled. In that moment, the cynical prince and the five misfit maids were no longer a master and his servants. They were just six people, adrift in the storm, bound together by the things they had lost and the desperate, fragile hope of what they might find.
The fire had died down to a bed of glowing embers, casting long, dancing shadows that made the cave feel both vast and intimate. The storm outside had softened from a furious roar to a steady, drumming patter against the stone. The soft, even breathing of the others filled the small space—Talia's was a steady rhythm, Lyra's was almost silent, and Seraphine's was unnervingly still.
But sleep wouldn't come to Aiden. The ground was hard, and his mind was a whirlwind of tattoos, vampire politics, and prophecies. He shifted on his bed of pine needles, his eyes scanning the dimly lit cavern.
That's when he saw her.
A small figure was kneeling near the cave's entrance, a silhouette against the silvery, rain-streaked moonlight. It was Rina. Her hands were clasped together, her head bowed, her lips moving in a silent prayer. She wasn't praying to the gods of the old pantheon his mother favored. She was facing the sky, towards the sliver of moon visible through the clouds.
Quietly, so as not to wake the others, Aiden got up and walked over to her. He stood a few feet behind, not wanting to intrude, but captivated by the sight. The cheerful, clumsy girl looked so small and earnest in the pale light.
"Please, Great Dragon in the sky," he heard her whisper, her voice trembling slightly. "Watch over us. Keep us safe on the path ahead. And... and please, if you can... look after my grandmother." Her voice caught on the last word. "Give her strength. Let her wake up."
Aiden waited until she was done, his own heart feeling strangely heavy. "Your grandmother?" he asked, his voice a low murmur.
Rina flinched, spinning around. Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and she quickly wiped at her eyes. "A-Aiden! I'm sorry, did I wake you?"
"No," he said softly. "I couldn't sleep. You mentioned your grandmother. Is she unwell?"
Rina's cheerful facade crumbled, replaced by a deep, weary sadness. She looked down at her hands. "She's... sick. A sleeping sickness, the village healer calls it. For years. She just... never woke up one day."
Aiden frowned. "Years?"
Rina nodded, a fresh tear welling up in her eye. "That's the strange part. She doesn't age. My grandfather, he grew old. His hair turned white, his back bent... he passed away ten years ago. But my grandmother... she still looks like she did the day she fell asleep. Young. It's like she's trapped in a dream, and we can't wake her up."
The story hung in the air, a mystery wrapped in a family's grief. It was another piece of the strange, magical tapestry that made up his new companions.
A single tear finally escaped, tracing a path through the grime on Rina's cheek. She made a small, choked sound and quickly tried to wipe it away with her sleeve.
Acting on an impulse he didn't quite understand, Aiden pulled off one of his leather riding gloves and held it out to her.
Rina stared at the glove, then at him, her confusion evident. "Oh! I couldn't! I'll... I'll wash it for you. As soon as we get back. I promise! It'll be good as new!"
"Keep it," Aiden said, his voice gruff. He pushed the glove into her hand. "It's... cleaner than your sleeve."
Rina looked down at the dark leather glove in her palm, then back up at him. Her eyes were wide, shimmering with unshed tears. She clutched it tightly, as if it were a precious jewel. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.
The moment felt too intimate, too raw. Aiden gave a short, awkward nod and turned back towards his own bedroll. "Get some sleep, Rina. We have a long day tomorrow."
He lay down, pulling his cloak around him, but sleep was even further away now. He could hear her softly settle back down, the rustle of her clothes a small sound in the vastness of the night.
He closed his eyes, but the image of the girl, praying to a dragon in the storm for a grandmother trapped in time, was burned into his mind. Each of them carried a burden, a secret sorrow. And he was beginning to realize his mission to the Spine Mountains was about more than just avenging a dragon. It was about carrying the weight of all their hopes with him.