"Once upon a time, around two weeks ago, the court asked of me a question: Do dragons exist? Such a question can only be answered in the telling of a story, and it is a question that has never needed answering more so than now."

Vickaam clears his throat, turning and looking upwards at the gathered council. "Such a tale that requires many words - there are a thousand stories here, and we will name but a few."

"Get on with it, old man," said one of the shadowed figures seated near the front. "We don't have all day."

The only response to the not-so-subtle jibe was Vickaam straightening his back. He continued to speak, as if they were a band of merry children gathered around a fire, waiting for an old grandfather to recount a fable filled with moral lessons and rightful heroes. "This will be hard for many of you to hear - but then, the truth always is. And are we not a city of invention and innovation, where the best and the bright reside? We must be the first to seek this truth."

"And the truth is, all you have been taught is a lie."

A roar rose from the rafters, academics looking sour-faced with lips pursed, wizards yelling over each other, a general torrent of fury and spitting. Nobles puttered about in their greatest finery, clanking and rattling as each stood up and tried to speak. The old, hunched man dressed in his simple brown robes only stared at the lot, impassive.

"Enough!" The duke, sitting in the middle of the room banged on his podium. He glanced across the room with cold steel eyes, glaring at any who opposed his authority. A hush fell over the seated, although the murmurs and harsh whispering soon started again. "Continue, wizard."

"Thank you, duke." He dipped his head a fraction. Then, meeting each of their eyes, he bared his teeth. "That may have been a bit of an exaggeration, but I wanted to see your true faces. It was... entertaining."

"Please, wizard."

"Apologies, my lord. Back to the topic. I have been asked to represent our band of travellers, of heroes, in front of the Court. A collection of our memories has been brought forth, to illustrate all the pieces of the puzzle that we've been struggling with."

"Struggling?" The dark haired man snarled. "Our city has been ravaged, our magic barely more than a sliver of its former self, and our people want answers!"

"If you want your answers so badly, Baric, I ask you to shut your mouth," said Vickaam. It's difficult to speak with your incoherent howls interrupting my every other sentence."

"The both of you be quiet or I will kick everybody out!"

Baric, though dressed as fine as any noble in his shining armour and a broadsword beside him, did not challenge the duke. He turned away.

"Yes, yes. Of course. Now, the lot of you, before you condemn me - I ask you to listen. For our story begins not in the lofty ivory towers of the capitol that you are all so familiar with; but in salty seaside ports, through the wild of southern forests, and down dark, criminal alleys..."

This would have been a lot easier without a gaping wound in her stomach.

“Honestly, move your arse!” Jaso gagged on the rusty taste of her blood, hacking up a glob of the stuff. “Unless you want those knights to move it for you!”

“I’m trying!” The broad shouldered boy stammered through his huffing breaths, his own wounds bleeding sluggishly.

The canvas sack slip-slapped across his back as he leapt from rooftop to rooftop. Jaso kept a hard pace to follow.

Swinging her own pack across her shoulder, the thief hissed through her teeth. “Useless country-boy.”

Geran was fresh from the steelworks, still too honest and too soft for life on the streets. Strong, but nowhere near quick enough. He’d have to learn fast, or risk getting thrown from the pack. Honour amongst thieves only went so far.

She shimmies down a metal pipe, hitting the ground with a thump.  Geran hesitates before moving his feet off the rooftops. He lands on the ground, shakily, and Jaso nearly groans in frustration. Instead, she waves him into the back alleys.

They disappear as quickly as their namesake rats.

—

The bazaar tastes like spice and alcohol, heady scents that paint rich tones across the storefronts and leave earth coloured streaks on the bodies of its inhabitants. It is a place where daylight mingles with the dust of alleys, where long-forgotten tunes are found in the humming of strangers, where the bright glint of wares stands side by side with the bright glint of knives. Wonders are commonplace, if you care to wander far enough. It is no matter, they will find you anyways. Tread carefully, tired traveller. Lest you find yourself leaving a pocket of gold lighter.

The sizzling of food draws you down an alley. The streets here are considerably less crowded. Probably the fault of the damp and shadows - magic prefers to nestle itself in the cocoons of red cloth that make up make-shift roofs, or in the warmth of lanterns adorning the main street. On some primal level, darkness has always meant danger to humans.

Not so much to cats.

—

 An aged man stands at the front of his shop, handling a pan over an open flame. Some concoction of ginger, coriander, and pepper wafts from the dish. He turns the flames low and lights a thick roll of chopped ash root with calloused, brown hands. The puffs of smoke from the wizard's cigar add yet another layer of smell.

(You are certain he is a wizard, even if he holds no hint of noble bearing in his hunched back. Cats know these sorts of things.)

“Ah - and what are you doing here, familiar?” says the crooked man as he thumps down in his rickety chair. “Not from around these parts, are you?”

You wind your way around his legs, purring all the while. It smells like the girl here, it smells like home. An offering of meat from the man is greedily gobbled down, and you let him scratch your neck.

“A beggar, are you?” He grins, revealing crooked teeth. “We’ve already got enough of those around here, don't need any more. Can’t afford them.”

It is said jokingly, but the threadbare shirt says otherwise.

(He is so different! So different from your girl, dressed in the gleaming armour of knights, bold and young and eyes bright with magic. But he is her father, he is her father. Cats know these sorts of things.)

So you lean up, place your paws on his knees. Solemn in the way that only cats and children can be. Offer him the message you’ve brought from another land.

“Something for me?” A pause.
And as he reads, he looks so old, so very old.

“I'll start packing.” There is a new weight in his eyes, in his back. Another scar, another wound.

(He already carries too many, but a cat is no use in this matter. You've already done all you can.)

A pause. The old man closes shop. He brings only what he will need. You wait, patient.

(But the old man is so slow, what use will he be?)

“Walk with me, won’t you?”

Cat and man set off in the summer heat.

—

Jaso sits beneath the eaves, slim form nearly shapeless in the dark. Drip drop. Goes the leaky pipe, cool droplets splashing across her chest. It is a welcome relief from the summer heat. Her partner huddles against wall, huffing and panting away. He fiddles with the edge of his trousers. They cling in all the wrong places, and running is a chore.

“Stop fidgeting, will you?” But fatigue took the sting out of her words. It came out more of a grumble than a sharp reprimand, and for once, Jaso was grateful about how new (and willing to follow orders) Geran was. The sting of guilt could be ignored.

His hands drop to his sides. They wait a little while longer, tending to their own wounds. Jaso drags her fingertips across her abdomen, wincing at the pain blooming beneath her fingertips. Thankfully, wasn't as deep as she originally thought. But it wouldn’t be there at all, if it weren’t for her irresponsible, clumsy, too new partner -

“When do we leave?” He glances up, voice barely a cracked whisper.

Her eyes sweep across the city roads, once, twice. Nothing but an ragged old man and his cat. And she glances at him, still panting, still tired, and settles back down. They can afford a little longer.

“Soon."

—

Ragged breathing fills the caves. It takes a while for her to regain her senses. In the meantime, little whimpers escape without notice.

(Is that coming from me?)

She grips the claymore tight. It’s cold handle is an anchor, she’s still alive still here still/breathing/just/keep/on/breathing

The first thing she notices is the light. It sears dull aches into her already pounding head.

There are no sun or stars underground. The hazy thoughts pauses briefly, then floats on by. Her head sinks down to her chest.

(i don’t want to die not yet not yet not yet)

 ---

This is the first thing new recruits are taught. There is never fire in caves.

When you hear scales over stone, run. When you hear hissing between killing teeth, run.

When you see fire, you are already dead.

(But she swipes a hand the colour of torch wood across her shirt, and the copper stains say otherwise.)

---

The knight curls up in the corpses of dragon and princess and dragon, too cold and numb to feel anything but her own ragged heartbeat.

Her hands have spilt blood across her chest, across the ground. She weeps.

Drip, drop. Another tear in the bucket. Another story told.

—

It is near nightfall now. The smell of big-city life still lingers in the alleys, but most denizens have already slipped inside their homes. The last one down this street, a fisherman smelling of his wares, spares a glance at the pair striding down the street.

“Tourists huh? You best be hustlin’ down to your hidey-holes,” said the man, wrinkles etched in by the light of street lanterns. “The dragons like times like this. Don’t feed ’em with pretty maidens anymore, they’d gobble up a big one like you in a hurry. Perhaps, I could guide you home? For a fee, of course."

His smile looks like that of a shark, all skin and teeth, and Geran couldn’t help but shiver.

“Thank you.”  said Jaso, smile a hard edge. "But we’ll be just fine. Now c’mon, Yan. Hurry up. We’ve got to get back to the nest.”

It wasn’t till they were well out of earshot that the unease began to wear off. He glanced at his partner, pausing on the words.

“Well go on. Spit it out.” She turns, dark curls forming striking shadows over her dark complexion. Distantly, Geran realized that this was the only time he had met her eyes, even if it was by accident. No wonder. Under the night lights, she looked like one of the big cats he’d read about. All sharp angles and bloody smirks. A predator.

He turned away.

“Was -“ It came out raspier than he expected. “Was he - you know?”

"Was he a magician?" She hums for a bit, hesitating a few times before continuing. "Yeah. It's the air that gives it away. I'll teach you how to spot them later."

Her eyes cut back to the road behind them, to check if anyone was following.

"Be careful around them, alright? I don't want to have to train up another partner."

He nods feverishly, head bobbing up and down, only stopping when Jaso raises an eyebrow in amusement. A little flustered now, he keeps his eyes on his feet.

They wind down the alleyways. At times, the walls come so close that they scrape Geran's chest.

Finally, Jaso glances over her shoulder and gives a rare grin. No hint of mockery behind this one. "Come on now."

Bending over, she shifted open the entrance. It was hidden by overgrown vines and had the windows tinted black. Geran had nearly walked right past it, and he flushed in embarrassment.

"Get in before the bugs eat you up."

---

Your nose scrunches up at the smell of the place. Dark, dingy, and wet, it looks exactly like the sort of place you wouldn't find any knight.  The old man sighs, back slouching under the weight of his belongings.

"I know, I know. Familiar like you, probably used to fancier places." He gave a half-hearted smile, accompanied by a shrug. "But it's the best I can do. The palace won't even open up to us commoners until tomorrow morning. We'll just have to wait."

A meow is the only reply he gets. Sniffing daintily, you shoot a look at him from the doorway. Come on, you mean. Hurry up, you mean.

We've got a girl to save.

---

In a cave as dark as night, in between corpses cold as stone, a knight in silver armour falls asleep.

---