"Previous attempts have tried everything," another counters, an Alpha with gray hair pulled back in a severe bun. "Fire clearly doesn't work since they breathe it themselves. Poison has proven ineffective. Brute force has killed more warriors than dragons."
"What about magic?" the Beta man asks. "Surely there must be some spell or enchantment that could—"
"Dragons are inherently magical beings," the woman interrupts. "Trying to use magic against them is like trying to drown a fish. Their resistance to it is part of what makes them so formidable."
I swallow back a laugh as I move my attention to the table next to them. A group of fortune seekers are sharing stories, each trying to outdo the others with increasingly implausible tales.
"I heard that the dragon hoards are so vast that entire kingdoms could be built from the gold alone," a Beta claims, a young man with more enthusiasm than sense.
"Gold is nothing compared to the magical artifacts they supposedly possess," another Beta adds. "Ancient relics from before the Great Divide, items of power that have been lost to history."
"Assuming any of it's real," a third, an Alpha, says skeptically. "We've all heard the stories. But has anyone actually seen proof? Real, tangible proof?"
The question hangs in the air as I notice that none of them has an answer.
An older Alpha leans back against the bar, a tight smile on her face as she looks between the two tables. "You youngsters and your dreams of glory. You want to know how many groups have gone up into those mountains in the last decade alone? Hundreds. You know how many have come back with dragon gold or magical artifacts? None. Not a single one."
"Then where do they go?" the young Beta demands. "If the dragons kill them all, where are the bodies?"
The woman shrugs. "Maybe the dragons eat them. Maybe they fall into ravines. Maybe they just get lost and die of exposure. Some make it back, but their only goal is to return to their kingdoms, from wherever they come. Does it matter? The result's the same. They go up, they never retrieve what they set out to get."
"Someone has to succeed eventually," another voice chimes in from across the room. I recognize him as one of the warriors from the procession, the weathered man who sat his horse so well. "The law of averages alone suggests that eventually, someone will get lucky."
"The law of averages also suggests that you're all fools," the local woman retorts. "But far be it from me to stop you from throwing your lives away. Your money spends the same as anyone else's."
Laughter ripples through the room, though it has a dark edge to it. These people know the odds. They simply choose to believe they'll be the exception.
I lean close to Kaia so I can speak without being overheard. "Most of what they're saying is speculation or outright fabrication. But some of it might be true. We should be careful about what information we trust."
She nods, her eyes scanning the room. "The locals seem to know more than the newcomers. But everything feels so cheap, here. I mean the emotions. There’s some fear, but mostly bravery and strength and greed…” Her nose scrunches up adorably.
Before I can respond, a commotion near the door draws everyone's attention. A group of three Alphas stumble in, their armor dented and scorched, their faces pale with shock or pain. One has his arm in a makeshift sling. Another is limping badly, supported by his companion.
The owner moves quickly, directing them to a table as she brings water over to them. The room has gone quiet, everyone watching the new arrivals with morbid curiosity.
"What happened?" someone finally asks.
The warrior with the injured arm laughs bitterly. "We found the dragons. Or rather, they found us."
"You survived an encounter with a dragon?" One of the researchers stands, his expression full of glee. "You must tell us everything. What did it look like? How did you escape?"
"We didn't fight it," the warrior admits, shame in his voice. "We were scouting the lower mountain passes, looking for systems that might lead to their lair. One of them flew overhead, close enough that we could feel the wind from its wings. We hid behind some rocks and prayed it wouldn't see us."
"Did it attack?"
"No. It circled once, twice, then flew off toward the higher peaks. But the heat coming off it was intense. That's what scorched our armor. We weren't even close to it, and it felt like standing next to a forge. The wounds are from those nasty Shadowland creatures."
The room erupts in questions, everyone talking over each other. The warriors look overwhelmed, clearly not prepared for the attention. The owner eventually shoos everyone back to their own tables, giving the injured men some space.
I watch the exchange with interest. The warriors saw a dragon and lived to tell about it. That alone is noteworthy. But what strikes me most is that the dragon didn't attack. It simply flew past, close enough to be noticed but not close enough to engage.
"They're not mindless killers," Kaia murmurs, echoing my thoughts. "If they were, those men would be dead."
"Unless the dragon simply wasn't hungry," I counter, though I don't really believe it. The pattern is becoming clearer. The dragons attack those who attack them. They defend theirterritory. But they don't seem to go out of their way to kill every human who ventures into the Shadowlands. I also don’t believe they have alair.That seems too… easy.
We finish our meal before returning to our room. The noise from downstairs continues late into the night, but eventually it fades as people drift off to their own beds. Kaia strips down to that thin dress of hers again, melting against me the moment I slide in beside her.
"Are you feeling all right?" I ask, pressing my hand to her forehead. "You're burning up again."
