I watched my mother move through the dim, honeyed light of our hut, her hands steady as she folded her few precious belongings into the worn canvas of her rucksack. The scent of dried herbs—thyme and sage, hung from the rafters—lingered in the air, mingling with the faint metallic tang of the rain that had seeped through the thatched roof the night before. Fifteen years. Fifteen years since she had spirited me away from the chaos of two worlds—from the sorcerers who would have called me a curse, and the riders who would have seen me as a threat.

And now, I would never see the dragons.

The realization settled in my chest like a stone.

"Hello there, Kai."

Her voice was soft, the way it always was when she spoke to me—like she was smoothing the edges off something fragile. When I turned, her eyes met mine, and in them, I saw the same quiet sorrow that had taken root inside me. Her fingers brushed through my hair, calloused from years of chopping wood and stitching wounds, yet impossibly gentle. "You've become so big now," she murmured, her thumb tracing the line of my cheekbone. "I suppose you can go wherever you wish."

A lump rose in my throat.

She patted the bulging rucksack beside her, the leather straps creaking under the weight of provisions. "I've packed some food for you—enough to reach the nearest tavern." A pause, then the faintest clink of coins as she tucked a small pouch deeper into the bag. "There's money, too. To help you along the way."

Tavern. The word sparked something in me—an ember of excitement. Taverns meant travelers. Travelers meant stories. And stories meant dragons.

I hadn't known, not until recently, that my mother had once dreamed of riding them. That she had been trained among the elite of Basgiath, her name whispered with reverence before my father's death—and her disgrace—erased it all. She never spoke of it outright, but sometimes, when she thought I wasn't looking, I'd catch her staring at the horizon, her fingers absently tracing the old burn scars along her wrists.

Now, she smiled at me, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "You'll do great things," she said, as if she could will it into truth.

The rucksack was heavier than I expected when she passed it to me. The fabric was rough under my fingers, still warm from her hands. Inside, I knew I'd find hard bread wrapped in waxed cloth, dried venison, a wedge of sharp cheese—food meant to last. Practical. Thoughtful. Hers. Beneath it all, tucked between the folds, was a slip of parchment. I didn't need to read it to know what it said.

Her fingers lingered on mine for a heartbeat too long before she let go.

The air between us was thick with words unspoken—of the life she'd given up, the secrets she'd buried, the love that had anchored her here, in this forgotten corner of the world, for my sake.

I swallowed hard.

Then, before the weight of it could crush me, I slung the bag over my shoulder and stepped toward the door. The morning light spilled across the threshold, gilding the dirt floor. Behind me, my mother didn't move.

But as I crossed into the world beyond, her voice followed me, feather-light and fierce:

"Fly, Kai."

And for the first time in my life, I did.

SCENEBREAK

The tavern was a haven of warmth and noise after weeks of biting wind and empty roads. My boots dragged against the rough-hewn floorboards as I slumped into a chair, my muscles screaming from days of relentless travel. The barkeep—a burly man with a scar cutting through his brow—eyed me with a mix of pity and amusement as I slid a handful of coins across the counter.

"Something strong," I muttered, my voice hoarse from disuse. "And keep it coming."

The man grunted, pouring a generous measure of amber liquid into a chipped mug. The drink burned going down, but I welcomed the fire—it was the first real sensation I'd felt in days. Around me, the tavern hummed with life: the clatter of dice, the low murmur of traders haggling over goods, the occasional burst of laughter from a corner table. The scent of roasting meat and stale ale wrapped around me like a well-worn cloak.

I was halfway through my second drink when the chair beside me scraped back.

A man settled into it with effortless grace, his presence unsettling the air like a ripple in still water. Long, dark hair framed a face that was both striking and unreadable, his amber eyes glinting with something between curiosity and amusement. He wore simple traveler's garb, but the way he carried himself—the tilt of his chin, the deliberate stillness of his hands—spoke of something far more dangerous than a mere wanderer.

"It's much too perilous to be wandering these lands alone, my dear," he said, his voice smooth as aged whiskey. There was a lilt to it, a playful edge that didn't quite mask the steel beneath.

I stiffened, my fingers tightening around my mug. "I've managed just fine so far."

"Have you?" He leaned in slightly, his smile widening. "Then consider this less of a rescue and more of... an opportunity."

I studied him—the sharp cut of his jaw, the way his sleeves hid his wrists but not the faintest trace of ink curling up from beneath the fabric. A sorcerer's markings? Or something else?

"I don't even know your name," I said carefully, forcing my voice steady despite the unease coiling in my gut.

He chuckled, the sound rich and warm. "Ah, the formalities. My name is Suguru Geto." His gaze flickered over me, lingering just a second too long on my own golden eyes—eyes that had always marked me as something other. "And the band of friends I lead goes by the name of 'Sorcerers.'"

The word sent a jolt through me. Sorcerers. Not riders, not mercenaries. Sorcerers.

"You would surely take a liking to our friend, Yuji," he added, almost casually, as if he hadn't just upended my understanding of the world.

The air between us grew heavier, charged with unspoken questions. Who were they, really? Why approach me? And what did they want with a half-blood exile who couldn't even decide which world he belonged to?

But beneath the suspicion, something else stirred—a flicker of curiosity, of possibility.

I took another slow sip of my drink, buying time. "Suppose I listen. What's in it for me?"

Geto's smile deepened. "Oh, Kai Duskbane," he murmured, my name rolling off his tongue like a secret. "What isn't?"