The return journey was harder. The sun was already sinking toward sunset when Aerius reached the borders of Erlingor Forest. Long shadows from the trees stretched for miles, and beneath the griffin's wings, the nocturnal life was waking. Somewhere in the distance, werewolves howled. A few Demon Eyes flickered below, but did not rise to this height.
Aerius was steering Goldcrest southwest when he noticed smoke.
A thin grey wisp rose from one of the giant trees — the very one he had seen that morning. The smoke was faint, clearly from a campfire, not a wildfire. Someone had lit a fire.
Aerius frowned. He knew the Forest. There were no settlements here. Lizardfolk and hermits lived deeper in, and they did not light fires in open places — too dangerous.
He hesitated only a moment. The King's orders had been clear: "Make contact with no one." But this smoke could mean Crimson scouts had set up camp in the heart of the Forest. To ignore it would be to leave a potential threat in the rear.
Aerius pulled the reins, and Goldcrest, understanding the command, began to descend.
---
Aerius landed at the edge of the clearing. Goldcrest settled softly onto the grass, folded his wings, and gave a threatening click of his beak, sensing the stranger. Aerius dismounted, resting his hand on his sword-hilt but not drawing the blade.
The man by the fire sprang to his feet, grabbing an axe. Aerius quickly sized him up: young, worn-out, with cracked lips and dark circles under his eyes. A chestplate — plain iron, rather crudely made. The axe, too, was simple, unadorned. His feet were bare, covered in dried mud and scratches. And…
Aerius let his gaze drop for a heartbeat. The man had no trousers. None at all. Only short, tight-fitting underpants made of a thin, distinctly un-local fabric. The cut was strange, but the quality suggested this item had not been made in the Forest, nor in any workshop familiar to Aerius. Nobles might wear such things beneath their armour — but no noble in his right mind would wander the deadliest forest in the world dressed in them.
Aerius suppressed his bewilderment and forced himself to look the lad squarely in the face.
"Are you all right?" he asked in a businesslike tone. "Where are your clothes?"
The lad glanced down at his own legs, then back up — and his expression showed not embarrassment, but the weary indifference of a man who had stopped worrying about propriety days ago.
"Burned," he answered shortly. "Had trousers. Tried to start a fire. Didn't go well."
Aerius processed this.
"You're telling me you set fire to your own trousers?"
"I'm telling you I nearly set fire to myself," the lad corrected. "The trousers were collateral damage."
Aerius was silent for a moment. The situation was, to say the least, unusual for a scout of twenty years' experience. Then he pulled a spare cloak from the saddlebag — rough wool, with a slit for the head — and tossed it to the lad.
"Here. Wrap it around your waist. You can't walk around like that. It's… improper."
The lad caught the cloak, inspected it, then wrapped it about his hips, knotting it awkwardly at one side.
"Thanks," he said. "My name's Arthur."
"Aerius," the messenger replied shortly. "I'm a courier. Listen, my orders are to return immediately. You've clearly been here more than a day, and by the look of you, the Forest isn't safe right now. If you want out — come with me."
Arthur glanced at Goldcrest once more. The griffin stood at the clearing's edge, wings folded, watching the stranger with unblinking amber eyes. He was an immense beast — a lion's body covered in short golden-brown fur, and an eagle's head with a great hooked beak. His forelegs ended in talons the size of a human palm, capable of piercing metal. The creature was both magnificent and terrifying.
Arthur stared at him, transfixed. In his gaze there was not only fear and wonder — somewhere deeper, almost invisible, something else flickered. Calculating, appraising. The way one looks not at a miracle, but at a tool. A weapon. A resource that could be used.
But in an instant, the expression was gone, replaced by the same mask of weary indifference. If Aerius noticed anything, he gave no sign.
"That's a real griffin?" Arthur asked quietly.
"Goldcrest," Aerius introduced the beast with a faint smirk. "Real. And he probably won't eat you. Probably."
Arthur shifted his gaze from the griffin to Aerius. In his eyes gleamed something akin to a sharp, almost painful hunger. Not for food — for people, for voices, for the world beyond this cursed Forest. He had starved for company so long he was ready to leave with the first stranger who crossed his path, without even asking where.
"I'm in," Arthur said, rising. "Just let me grab my things."
He ducked into the root-shelter and reappeared a minute later with a hide backpack and something wrapped in a rag.
"What's that?" Aerius asked.
"Stars," Arthur answered shortly. "Fallen ones."
Aerius raised an eyebrow but offered no comment. If the lad had survived here with fallen stars and no trousers, he'd earned if not respect, at least forbearance.
"Get on," Aerius said, nodding at the griffin. "Hold onto my back. And try not to jerk around."
Arthur clambered awkwardly onto Goldcrest behind Aerius. The griffin snorted in displeasure at the extra weight and strange smell, but obeyed his master. Arthur wrapped his arms around Aerius's waist — his grip was firm, but his hands trembled from tension.
"Taking off," Aerius commanded, and Goldcrest, thrusting with powerful lion's paws, surged into the sky.
---
High up in the canopy, in a hollow, two emerald eyes watched the man fly away on the great bird-beast.
Veridis did not understand what was happening. She had seen the stranger land. Seen her human speak with him. Seen him climb onto the beast's back. And now they were rising into the air, leaving the tree behind. Leaving her behind.
She froze for a moment, paralysed by conflicting feelings. Fear of the unknown. Anger at the stranger taking her human away. And something else — something she had no name for — a panic at the thought that she would be alone again.
Then instinct took over.
Veridis launched herself from the hollow. Her wings — still not fully strong, but capable of bearing her — spread, caught the air. She flew after them.
She did not try to catch up. She kept far behind, at the edge of visibility, hugging the treetops. Her green scales blended with the foliage, and she was nearly impossible to spot. But she saw them — two specks in the sky, heading southeast.
---
Aerius did not notice the movement at the edge of his vision right away. Perhaps a quarter of an hour into the flight, when they had already left the giant tree behind and were heading for the Forest's border. He glanced back to check on his passenger — and froze.
Far behind, against the sunset sky, a silhouette flickered. Large. Winged. It was moving after them, matching their course.
Aerius narrowed his eyes, but the distance was too great to make out details. He could only see the general outline: a long tail, broad wings, a size roughly that of a small dragon or a very large eagle.
He did not know what this creature was. But he knew Erlingor Forest held many dangerous things.
"Hold on tighter," he said over his shoulder to Arthur. "We're speeding up."
Goldcrest beat his wings faster, shifting to cruising speed. The headwind whistled in their ears. But when Aerius looked back again, he saw that the distant silhouette had also quickened.
Pursuing. Whatever it is — it's pursuing us.
He clenched his jaw and ordered the griffin to climb higher, into the clouds, hoping to lose the pursuer in the grey shroud. But before they'd gained a hundred feet, the situation sharply worsened.
Shadows dove at them from the clouds.
There were four — no, five of them. Aerius recognised them at once: Crimers — flying creatures of the Crimson, a cross between giant bats and shapeless lumps of flesh studded with claws and maws. Their hide was crimson-brown, slickly gleaming in the sunset light. Five of them, and they had clearly lain in ambush.
"Hold on!" Aerius shouted, drawing his sword.
Goldcrest, trained for aerial combat, gave a battle-screech and turned to meet the first Crimer. Aerius hacked with his sword, aiming at a tentacle reaching for the griffin, and severed it. The thing shrieked — a high, ear-splitting sound — but did not retreat.
The second Crimer came from the side. Aerius couldn't turn in time — Arthur, acting on reflex, snatched his axe and swung. The blade bit into yielding flesh, and the creature recoiled, spraying black blood.
"Not bad!" Aerius called, blocking a third attack.
But the fourth Crimer dove at the griffin from above, aiming not for the riders but for the wing. Its claws raked through feathers and hide, and Goldcrest, roaring in pain, began losing altitude.
"Damn it!" Aerius knew the air battle was lost. "We're landing! Hold on to me!"
He steered the wounded griffin down toward a gap in the trees. The Crimers pursued them to the very edge of the Forest, then, as if obeying a silent command, wheeled sharply and vanished back into the clouds.
Goldcrest landed hard in a clearing, skidded on his talons, tearing up the turf, and came to a halt, breathing heavily. Blood was running from the wound in his wing.
"Both in one piece?" Aerius asked, turning to Arthur.
Arthur nodded — pale, still gripping his axe in a death-grip.
"What were those?"
"Crimson," Aerius answered grimly. "They clearly didn't want us leaving. And they were waiting for us right here, on our route. That was an ambush, not a random encounter."
He dismounted and pulled bandages from the saddlebag.
"We need to dress Goldcrest's wound and find shelter before dark. I saw a rock overhang ahead — there might be a cave or a nook. We'll make our way there, light a fire, and wait for dawn."
He glanced at Arthur, standing barefoot on the cold earth, in nothing but a chestplate and a clumsily wrapped cloak.
"And, perhaps, along the way, you'll tell me who you really are, and why the Crimson is willing to stage an aerial battle to keep you from leaving the Forest."
Arthur looked at the wounded griffin, at the bloody gashes on his wing, at Aerius who was watching him expectantly. And he made a decision. Not to tell the truth — he didn't trust a complete stranger that far. But to give enough that they'd consider him useful and not abandon him here.
"I don't know," he said, looking away. "I lost my memory. I came to at that tree a few days ago. No clothes, no memories. Just the axe and this chestplate. I don't know who I am, where I came from, or why I'm here. And I don't know why the Crimson is hunting me. Maybe you do?"
Aerius studied him for a long moment.
"Lost your memory," he repeated flatly. "Convenient."
"True," Arthur met his gaze. "I'm not an enemy. I'm just trying to survive."
Aerius paused, then sighed and tightened the bandage on the griffin's paw.
"All right, memory-loser. Help me with the fire. And keep that axe ready. Night in the Forest is no place for conversation."
---
They had barely gotten the fire going. The rock overhang Aerius had spotted from the air proved to be a jutting slab of sandstone forming a natural nook — deep enough to shelter two men and a wounded griffin from wind and prying eyes. Goldcrest lay at the entrance, licking his bandaged wing. Aerius sat by the fire, sword across his knees. Arthur sat opposite, gripping his axe. The conversation was not flowing yet; each was thinking his own thoughts.
At midnight, the creatures came out of the forest.
First came a rustle, too rhythmic for wind. Then a wet squelching, as if something were crawling across rotting leaves. Aerius was on his feet first, sword drawn. Arthur rose after him, peering into the darkness beyond the ring of firelight. Goldcrest gave a low warning growl but did not rise — his wounded wing would not allow it.
There were four of them. Four Crimson beasts, emerged from the trees on different sides. Arthur did not know their names — Aerius did. Ground-type Crimers, stockier and slower than their flying kin, but no less dangerous. Their bodies resembled shapeless lumps of raw flesh on crooked legs, studded with bony growths. One of them, the largest, dragged a forked tail behind it, cutting a deep furrow in the earth. Crimson slime oozed from their maws, hissing where it touched the grass.
"Arthur," Aerius said quietly. "Hold the left. I'll take the one on the right and the one in the centre. The others — as best you can."
The creatures attacked without warning. The first Crimer sprang at Aerius, lashing out with a clawed limb. Aerius met it with his sword, severed the limb, but the thing did not even slow — black blood gushed from the wound, and it lunged again. The second Crimer circled the fire to the left, aiming for the griffin. Arthur lunged to intercept, hacking with his axe at the creature's neck — or whatever served as its neck. The blade sank deep; the creature hissed and reeled back, but a third was already crawling out of the darkness.
Aerius was fighting two at once — and clearly losing on speed. His sword flickered through the air, but the creatures pressed him with sheer mass, driving him toward the rock wall. Arthur tore his axe free from the carcass and moved to help, but the fourth Crimer, the one with the tail, blocked his path.
The situation became critical. The enemy's numbers were telling: Aerius took a tail-strike to the shoulder and was thrown against the rock. Arthur was left alone against two creatures. Goldcrest wheezed, trying to rise, but could not.
And then a cloud descended from above.
It was not fire. It was green, dense, choking — it covered the largest Crimer, the one with the tail, like a shroud. The creature stopped mid-step. Its flesh began to bubble where the toxic gas touched open wounds. The Crimer let out a gurgling, drowning squeal — and collapsed, twitching convulsively. Within seconds, it went still. The poison had eaten its breathing passages from within.
The remaining creatures froze. They had not seen what attacked, but instinct told them: the predator above was more dangerous than the ones below.
Aerius raised his head. On the edge of the rock overhang, directly above their shelter, she sat.
A dragoness.
Slightly larger than the griffin — about two meters long, with a long neck and a powerful tail wrapped around the stone. Her scales were green, with darker mottling, perfectly camouflaging her against the foliage and moss. Her wings were half-spread, ready for another strike. But most striking were her eyes. Two emerald fires, burning in the darkness. They were staring directly at Aerius — coldly, appraising.
Aerius froze. He had seen dragons before, in the sky above the Forest, but never this close. He did not know whether this was a friend or a new enemy. His hand tightened on the sword-grip.
Arthur followed his gaze, and recognised her. The very eyes that had watched him from the hollow each night. He did not know what she was — an animal, a predator, something he'd been feeding rabbits, something that could have devoured him at any moment but for some reason had not. And now this something had just killed the creature threatening them.
"Hold," Arthur said quietly, touching Aerius's shoulder. "Don't touch her. I… I think I know her."
"You know her?" Aerius did not take his eyes off the dragoness.
"I've seen her before. In the forest. She lived… near me. Never attacked. I don't understand why she's here, but she just saved us."
Aerius slowly exhaled. His mind, honed by years of reconnaissance, was feverishly assembling facts. A dragon following a man. A dragon defending him. A dragon that did not attack.
He had heard stories — old ones, nearly forgotten. Legends of the Dragon Riders who had once served the Human Empire, centuries ago. It was said they could fly above the clouds and battle whole armies. It was said their bond with their dragons was not magical, but something else — based on trust and ties that could not be broken. But the last Rider had died, by all accounts, some two hundred years ago, and no one had repeated the feat since.
Aerius glanced sidelong at the lad — barefoot, in a makeshift loincloth, with an axe and a crimson glint in his eye. He did not look like a legendary hero. Yet the dragoness sat on the rock and did not take her eyes off him.
The remaining Crimers, having lost their largest, backed away. The dragoness let out a low, vibrating sound — not a roar, more a warning. Poisonous breath still wreathed her nostrils, tinged with green. The creatures, obeying instinct, turned and fled into the forest.
Veridis did not leave. She jumped down from the rock, landing softly on four paws, and remained at the edge of the firelight — far enough to be out of sword-reach, close enough to be seen. Her gaze was fixed upon Arthur. She did not growl, did not threaten. She only watched. And waited.
"Do you know the old legends?" Aerius asked, still watching the dragoness. "About the Dragon Riders?"
Arthur shook his head.
"No. Like I said — I don't remember anything."
"Right. Memory loss." Aerius sighed. "Once, before my grandfather's time, the Empire had warriors who rode dragons. They didn't tame them by force — they formed a bond. The legends say the dragon chose its rider. And the dragon would follow him anywhere."
He nodded toward Veridis.
"This looks very much like what I read in the old chronicles. She followed us all the way from the forest. She fought those creatures to protect you. And she's not leaving, though she could."
Silence stretched for a few moments. Arthur looked at the dragoness; she looked back at him. Then he slowly crouched, placed his axe on the ground, and extended an empty hand palm up — the way one might try to coax a stray dog. He had no idea how to communicate with dragons. They didn't exist in his world. But animals did, and the logic was simple: no sudden movements, show you hold no weapon, let the creature grow accustomed to your scent.
"Hey," he called softly. "You… come here?"
Veridis did not move. Her nostrils flared, drawing in his scent. She watched the outstretched hand, and tension was written in her eyes. Arthur inched forward.
The dragoness stepped back.
Arthur froze. Then slowly withdrew his hand. The dragoness stopped. Her tail lashed side to side — nervous, like a cat unsure whether to flee or stay.
"Fine," Arthur muttered, straightening. "Don't want to — don't."
He dusted off his knees and, careful not to make sudden movements, returned to the fire. Veridis watched him go, but did not stir from her spot.
Aerius observed the scene in silence. When Arthur sat down by the fire, the scout grunted.
"She won't let you near. But she won't leave either."
"I noticed."
"You know what that means? A wild dragon — especially a young one — will either attack or fly away. This one stays close. That's not predator behaviour. That's… guardian behaviour. Or sentinel behaviour. Or…"
He trailed off, as if unwilling to finish the thought.
Arthur said nothing. He was too tired to puzzle out the subtleties of dragon psychology. He threw more branches on the fire, checked that his axe was at hand, and, wrapping himself in what remained of the cloak, lay down on the ground near the griffin. The warmth of the fire and the nearness of a living creature — even a strange one — were soothing.
Sleep crashed over him fast, like falling into a pit. He did not even notice when the darkness closed over him.
Aerius sat for a while longer, glancing between the dragoness and the sleeping lad. Then, satisfied there were no more creatures nearby and the guest showed no aggression, he too shut his eyes. Goldcrest was already asleep, his beak tucked into his paws.
The dragoness waited.
She sat at the boundary of light and shadow, motionless, watching the sleeping man. Her nostrils flared — she drank in his scent, mixed with the smell of smoke, iron, and the strange griffin. The man was vulnerable. Helpless. Just as she had been on the day she lost everyone.
Something inside her — that old, nearly forgotten thing — demanded action. Not rational, not thought-out — instinctive. The way adult dragons coiled around their eggs, shielding them from cold and predators. The way her mother had once coiled around her in the nest. It was not a decision. It was body-memory, laid into her long before she had hatched.
Slowly, silently, she rose.
Her paws moved across the earth almost soundlessly — she knew how to stalk; it was part of her nature. She circled the fire in a wide arc, keeping to the edge of the light, and drew near to the sleeping Arthur. Aerius did not wake. Goldcrest twitched an ear, but did not open his eyes.
She stopped a step away from the man. Looked down at him. Then, slowly and carefully, she lowered herself to the ground beside him. Her body curved, coiling around him like a bracket — her ribcage along his back, her tail at his feet, her head level with his shoulder. She did not press down on him — she only covered him, like a living shield. Her scales, still holding the warmth of the day, lay against his skin.
In his sleep, Arthur shivered — but did not wake. His breathing remained steady.
Veridis closed her eyes.
For the first time in many nights, she fell asleep not in an empty hollow, but beside a living being. And she did not dream of vines.
When the first rays of sunlight broke through the canopy, Aerius opened his eyes. And went still.
By the dead fire, coiled around the lad like a giant cat, the dragoness slept. Her tail was wrapped around Arthur's legs. Her head rested on her own paws, inches from the back of his neck. She breathed evenly and deeply, and the vapour of her breath rose in the morning air.
Aerius slowly, very slowly, reached for his sword. Then just as slowly pulled his hand back.
"Well, damn me," he whispered.
Arthur stirred. His eyes opened. He felt the warmth before he saw her — heavy, living, wrapping around him on every side. He went still, then slowly turned his head.
Their eyes met.
The dragoness's emerald eyes widened. For one brief moment, something flickered in them — not fear, more like bewilderment, as though she herself had not expected him to wake so soon and catch her in this pose. Then instinct took over.
She recoiled — sharply, in one motion, slipping out from under her own tail. Her wings involuntarily spread, grazing the rock edge. A few wingbeats — and she was on the other side of the clearing, twenty meters from the fire.
But she did not fly away.
She landed on a moss-covered boulder at the forest edge, folded her wings, and stayed there, staring at Arthur from afar. Her flanks rose and fell with rapid breathing. Her tail wrapped nervously around the stone. She was tense, but she did not retreat further.
Arthur slowly sat up, making no sudden movements. He looked at the dragoness; she looked back at him. The distance between them held, but neither grew nor shrank.
"You know," Aerius said quietly, pulling his hand away from his sword, "in twenty years I've seen a lot of strange things. But a wild dragon sleeping curled around a man and then pretending it was an accident in the morning… That's a first."
Veridis let out a short snorting sound — either indignant or embarrassed. She turned her head away, pretending to be interested in something in the forest. But the corner of one eye stayed fixed on Arthur.
"I think she cares about you," Aerius observed. "And I think she's not too happy about it herself."