The shop, once we stepped inside, proved to be considerably more spacious than its modest exterior had suggested. The interior was surprisingly vast, stretching back much deeper than seemed physically possible given the building's outer dimensions. Perhaps there was some architectural trick at work, or maybe it was simply an optical illusion created by clever design.
The proprietors had created quite an impressive array of displays throughout this expansive space. Every available wall surface was lined with carefully crafted wooden shelves, each one showcasing an extensive collection of jewelry made from gold and adorned with various rare gems that caught and reflected the light streaming through the shop's windows. The pieces had been meticulously organized by type—a system that made browsing easier and allowed customers to quickly locate the specific category of adornment they were seeking. Bracelets occupied one section, their circular forms arranged by size and design complexity. Necklaces hung in another area, ranging from simple chains to elaborate collar pieces. Rings were displayed in felt-lined cases, their stones glittering invitingly. Earrings dangled from specialized stands that showed them to their best advantage. There were even anklets—a form of jewelry I had rarely seen in the North but which apparently enjoyed considerable popularity in southern fashion.
Contrary to my earlier protests about not needing or wanting expensive jewelry, I found myself genuinely fascinated by the sparkling pieces surrounding me on all sides. The sheer quantity of designs available was truly vast, and what struck me most was how unique and intricate each individual piece appeared to be. These weren't mass-produced items stamped out by the dozens—each bracelet, each necklace, each ring seemed to be a singular work of art, crafted with attention to detail and creative vision.
It was like discovering an entirely new world I hadn't known existed. I found myself powerfully drawn to these gleaming objects, unable to tear my eyes away from their beauty. My gaze kept wandering from piece to piece, drinking in the craftsmanship, the way light played across different surfaces, the intricate patterns that had been worked into the gold.
"Wow, this would be excellent material for building my lair," I heard Aiona's voice suddenly chime in my mind. Her tone carried excitement beyond anything I had heard from her in quite some time. "Look at all this gold! Can you imagine how magnificent it would look piled up in great heaps? We could sleep on a mountain of it!"
I found myself nodding mentally in automatic agreement before her words fully registered. Then I suddenly paused, my thoughts screeching to a confused halt.
Wait. What? What lair? I wasn't actually a dragon—not completely, not yet. So why was I feeling this inexplicable attachment to these shiny metal pieces? Why did some primal part of my brain want to gather them all up and hoard them away somewhere safe?
"It's simply in our nature," I heard Aiona reply, apparently reading my confused thoughts. "This attraction to gold and precious things—it's fundamentally part of what we are."
She paused, and I could sense her indulging in nostalgia.
"Gold is something dragons have always loved," she continued. "I don't truly understand the reason—no one really does, as far as I know. It's just an intrinsic part of draconic nature, as fundamental as breathing. Back when I was alive, when I walked the world in my true form, the humans who served me built an entire castle specifically for me and filled it completely with gold. Every room, every surface, just piled with golden treasures. Ah, those were genuinely good times."
Her voice took on a wistful quality.
"So we're going to purchase everything here, correct?" she asked with renewed enthusiasm. "Buy it all! Every single piece! I desperately want to sleep next to all of this beautiful gold again! It's been so long since I had a proper hoard!"
"Absolutely not," I replied firmly. "I'm only going to buy one single piece, as I told Arvid."
"What?!" Aiona's mental voice practically shrieked with dismay. "Just ONE? One measly piece?! You must be joking! What am I possibly supposed to do with just one item? That's not a hoard—that's barely a trinket!"
She sounded genuinely horrified by this revelation.
"And this purchase is for me, not for you," I added, driving the point home. "You already have plenty of gold in your possession. You don't need more."
"You, me—what's really the difference?" Aiona protested. "We're becoming one entity! Your possessions are my possessions! I want to sleep next to a magnificent pile of gold like I used to! And it seems like that simply isn't going to happen!"
Her disappointment was palpable through our mental connection.
"Mhmm. You've got that exactly right," I confirmed, not budging on my position.
I could practically hear her sulking, withdrawing into a corner of our shared consciousness to nurse her wounded dragon pride.
"Have you found something you particularly like?" Arvid asked, approaching me as my hand reached out almost unconsciously to touch a golden brooch that had been crafted in the shape of a sunflower. The piece was exquisitely detailed, each petal individually formed and textured.
"Not quite yet," I answered honestly, though the sunflower brooch was certainly appealing. "I'm still looking."
A salesman had noticed our presence and quickly approached us, greeting us with polite professionalism. He immediately launched into what was clearly a well-rehearsed sales presentation, explaining the quality of their materials, the skill of their craftsmen, the exclusivity of their designs.
While Arvid engaged with the salesman, asking questions about specific pieces and techniques, my attention was caught by something else entirely. A particular sign positioned above a doorway in the back corner of the shop had drawn my eye almost magnetically.
*Antique Section*
The words were painted on a weathered wooden board hanging above a heavy door. For reasons I couldn't fully articulate or understand, I felt powerfully drawn to whatever lay beyond that door. The pull was almost physical, as though an invisible thread was tugging at my chest, urging me forward.
Without consciously deciding to do so, I found myself walking toward that door as though possessed or compelled by some force beyond my control. My hand reached out and grasped the handle, turning it and pushing the door open before rational thought could intervene and question what I was doing.
The room beyond was dimly lit compared to the main shop, with light filtering in through high windows rather than the broad front windows of the main display area. The first thing I noticed was an elderly man sitting in a worn but comfortable-looking chair positioned near a workbench-style table. His hair had gone completely white with age, creating a striking cloud around his head. He wore a jeweler's monocle over his right eye—the kind that magnified details for close inspection work—and was carefully examining some piece of jewelry held delicately in his weathered hands.
"Welcome, dear lady," he said, looking up at me with a polite smile as I entered his domain.
Then, in the same instant, he visibly flinched. His eyes widened dramatically, and his gaze wasn't directed at me specifically—it was focused on something behind me. Or rather, on something he could see that followed me like a shadow.
Oh no. Not this again. What was it with craftsmen and artisans possessing this ability to see things that remained invisible to most people? First Rahu with his artist's vision, now this elderly jeweler. Was it something about working with one's hands and creating beauty that opened additional perceptive channels?
"My, my, two Seers encountered in such a short period of time?" Aiona's voice dripped with sardonic amusement in my mind. "This is genuinely a record! I'm quite impressed!"
"And here little old me was under the impression that this particular bloodline had gone completely extinct!" she added with a sneer. "How delightfully surprising to be proven wrong."
I decided, as I had with Rahu, to feign complete ignorance about what the old man was seeing. But he apparently had very different plans about how this encounter would proceed.
He immediately stood up from his chair with surprising spryness for someone of his apparent age, and then he executed a deep, formal bow—the kind reserved for greeting someone of extremely high status or great spiritual significance.
"I have been waiting for you, Mistress Dragon," he said with absolute seriousness, his voice carrying none of the uncertainty or fear that Rahu had displayed. This man seemed completely certain about what he was seeing and unafraid of the implications.
He straightened from his bow and gestured toward a section deeper within the antique area, indicating I should follow.
"The object you've been seeking is located over there," he stated with quiet confidence. "It has been waiting patiently for your arrival."
He began walking with measured steps, clearly expecting me to follow. And I did, naturally, almost helplessly. Curiosity and that initial magnetic attraction I had felt were leading me forward, overriding any caution or skepticism I might have employed under other circumstances.
We walked deeper into the antique section, navigating between row after row of tall wooden cupboards. These storage pieces were quite beautiful in their own right—clearly antiques themselves, crafted with the kind of attention to detail that had become less common in modern furniture making. Each cupboard had glass-fronted doors that allowed viewing of their contents without requiring them to be opened, and I could see glimpses of various treasures as we passed. Ancient coins, ornate weapons, ceremonial objects whose purposes I could only guess at, jewelry that looked like it had been crafted centuries ago.
But I didn't stop to examine any of these fascinating items closely. Something ahead was calling to me more powerfully than these peripheral curiosities, pulling me forward with increasing intensity.
Finally, the old man stopped in front of one particular cupboard that looked no different from the dozens of others we had passed. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a ring of old keys, selecting one with the practiced ease of someone who knew his inventory intimately. The lock clicked open with a sound that seemed unnaturally loud in the quiet space.
"This particular piece has been waiting for its true mistress to return and claim it since I first discovered it approximately fifty years ago," he said quietly, almost reverently. "I've kept it safe all this time, knowing that eventually the right person would come."
He slowly, carefully reached into the cupboard and lifted something out with both hands, treating it with the kind of delicate respect usually reserved for sacred relics. Then he turned toward me, holding his treasure out for my inspection.
It was a crown—but not the simple circlet style common in many kingdoms. This was an elaborate piece of art, crafted in the unmistakable shape of a dragon. The main body of the crown curved and coiled like a dragon's sinuous neck, with carefully sculpted scales creating texture across its surface. Curved horns rose from the sides, positioned where a dragon's horns would naturally grow. And where the dragon's eyes should be, two magnificent diamonds had been set—perfectly matched stones that caught the sunlight filtering from the high windows in this section and threw it back in iridescent, silver-hued flashes of light.
My heart began pounding in my chest.
*Thump. Thump.*
This was, without exaggeration, the most beautiful object I had ever laid eyes on. The craftsmanship was beyond anything I had seen in the main shop, beyond anything I had imagined possible. This wasn't just jewelry—it was a masterwork, a piece that transcended its materials to become something approaching art.
I noticed two delicate gold chains attached to the crown's front, designed to drape across the forehead and help secure the piece in place when worn. The engineering was elegant, ensuring the crown would sit properly on the wearer's head without requiring uncomfortable tightness or risking slippage.
*Thump. Thump.*
Some deep, fundamental part of my being recognized this crown. This was mine. It had always been mine, had been created for me specifically, had been waiting across decades and centuries for me to finally arrive and claim it.
"Yes, it absolutely was ours," Aiona's voice confirmed, though her tone carried complex emotions I couldn't fully parse. "This crown belonged to me. That bratty young king commissioned it specially, had it made according to my exact specifications."
There was a pause before she continued.
"You should definitely acquire it," she said, though I could detect something like melancholy beneath her practical advice. "Those are enchanted magical stones serving as the dragon's eyes—they'll boost your presence and influence in others' perceptions, make you appear more regal and authoritative. And the entire piece was crafted by an elven artisan and then magically enhanced through elven enchantments. It's absolutely the genuine article, worth far more than any price they could possibly charge."
"You don't sound particularly happy about finding it," I observed, picking up on the undercurrent of sadness in her mental voice. "This was yours, something precious from your past. I'd think you'd be more excited."
"It's bringing back complicated memories," Aiona admitted quietly. "Not all of them pleasant. But you should still acquire it. If you're truly going to serve as empress of Selon, this crown will help your cause tremendously. The magical enhancements will assist in establishing your authority."
Even though she phrased it that way, attempting to sound purely practical and strategic, I could feel her lingering emotional attachment to the crown. This object meant something to her beyond its practical utility.
"He made it exactly to your preferences, didn't he?" I asked gently. "Whoever commissioned this—he knew you well enough to understand exactly what you would find beautiful. I wonder why that was?"
Aiona was silent for a moment before responding.
"That particular human—that king—was deeply, profoundly in love with me," she finally said, her mental voice soft with old grief. "The kind of desperate, consuming love that drives people to grand gestures and impossible hopes. You understand how it feels, being on the receiving end of unrequited love that you can't reciprocate. The guilt that comes with being unable to return feelings you never asked for in the first place."
She sighed, a sound like wind through ancient trees.
"But returning his love was completely impossible for me," she continued. "I had watched him being born, had seen him learn to walk, had heard his first words, had observed him growing from infant to child to young man to king. In my eyes, he was eternally just a child—someone I had helped raise, someone I felt protective toward, but never someone I could view as a potential mate."
Another pause, heavier this time.
"Most importantly," she added with finality, "he wasn't my destined mate. And dragons cannot love anyone except their true mate—not in that way. It's simply impossible. So despite his devotion, despite the beautiful gifts he lavished on me, despite his genuine affection, I could never give him what he truly wanted."
"I understand," I said quietly.
"But you should still purchase the crown," Aiona said, her tone becoming more businesslike again, retreating from the emotional vulnerability she had briefly displayed. "It was created for us originally, so in a sense we're simply reclaiming what was already ours."
So I carefully lifted the crown from the old jeweler's hands and carried it back to the main shop, finding Arvid still conversing with the salesman about various pieces.
"Arvid," I called, drawing his attention. "I found something."
He turned toward me, and then his eyes fell on the dragon crown I was holding. He went very still, staring at it for a long moment—far longer than seemed necessary to simply appreciate its beauty. His expression was difficult to read, cycling through several emotions too quickly for me to identify them all.
Maybe he thought it was too elaborate, too presumptuous for someone who wasn't yet formally recognized as empress? Maybe he worried about the message such an overtly draconic symbol would send?
"You should absolutely wear this when I formally introduce you to the people of Arpa," he finally said, and his voice carried genuine enthusiasm rather than concern. "This will look magnificent on you. It's perfect—it sends exactly the right message about your position and authority."
Relief flooded through me. I had been worried he might object.
When we brought the crown to the main counter to arrange payment, however, the elderly jeweler from the antique section emerged and firmly refused to accept any money for it.
"It was the Mistress's property to begin with," he stated with quiet certainty. "I was merely keeping it safe until she returned to claim it. One does not charge someone for returning what already belonged to them."
No amount of argument could sway him from this position. He remained absolutely adamant that the crown was mine by right, not by purchase.
So Arvid, clearly feeling that we couldn't leave without buying something after taking such a valuable piece, selected several other items from the main shop. He chose a delicate golden bracelet for me, along with a matching pair of earrings, insisting I should have at least a few pieces beyond the crown.
As we finally left the jewelry shop, I carried the carefully wrapped crown like the treasure it was, already imagining how it would feel to wear it, to claim that symbol of draconic heritage as my own.
It felt like another step forward in the transformation I was undergoing—another acknowledgment of what I was becoming, what I had perhaps always been destined to become.
And somehow, that felt exactly right.