Tomas stared at the crack in Sera’s blade for a long moment longer, then let out a slow breath and rubbed the side of his face, “I have not forged in some time,” he admitted, “Not properly.”
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Sera leaned one shoulder against the wall near the broken table, arms folded under her chest, “You should’ve stayed where forging was hot. You were a master, as far as I remember.”
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Tomas gave a tired little snort at that, “And miss the thrill of mountain farming?”
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“That depends. Is the thrill mostly rocks and disappointment?”
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“Mostly, yes.”
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Even with the exhaustion still hanging over him, Tomas looked different now. He was standing straight. His eyes were brighter. Not cheerful exactly, but more present. He looked down at Sera’s cracked blade again, thumb brushing near the split, “When Mira was younger I thought it would be better to be here. Safer. Steadier. I could work crops, keep closer to home, and stay with girl more. The cooler air made the forge easier on me too, once I got older.”
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“You say older like you’re ancient,” Sera scoffed.
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“I feel ancient.”
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“That’s because you farm.”
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That got a breath of amusement from him, then his expression settled again, turning toward the ogre horn on the floor and the blade on the table, “Either way, it is the least I can do.”
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Sera nodded once toward Elias then, and only then, as if she had been waiting for the right moment to say it, “Well. He’s the one who did it.”
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Tomas followed her glance. He looked at Elias, really looked at him, not as some strange child who had arrived in the middle of a bad night, but as a person standing there in the room. It was a small thing. A simple thing. Yet Elias noticed it at once because he had spent the whole day being looked over, around, or down at.
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Tomas put one hand over his chest and said, plainly, “Then thank you, Elias.”
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No laugh. No disbelief. No talking around him like he was a child. Just a thank you.
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Elias stood a little straighter before he realized he was doing it. The words sat oddly in his chest. Not heavy. Not even uncomfortable. Just unfamiliar in the way good things sometimes were when you had gone long enough without them.
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Elias had done good. Not stumbled into surviving. Not scraped by. Not just been present while something happened. He had done real good. And the fact Tomas said it like Elias mattered, like he had a place in the room, did something quiet to the edges of his cynicism that Elias did not have time to fully inspect before Tomas spoke again.
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“You wanting to be an adventurer?” Tomas asked.
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Elias answered at once, “Yes,” as his mind immediately followed with, I already was one, but that was clearly not worth saying aloud.
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Tomas nodded, eyes dropping briefly to Elias’s belt, then his empty hands, “Then you need a weapon.”
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That made Elias perk up faster than he cared to admit, “Definitely a necessity,” he said with more eagerness than dignity.
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Tomas gave a tired little smile at that, “It’s important that you can protect yourself out there. But,” Tomas continued looking around the room, “I do not have the materials to simply make something from nothing.”
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Elias deflated inside enough to be annoyed. Of course the world would hand him an olive branch and then snap it in two. As he tossed his shoulders forward accepting his loss, he felt the weight he had forgotten. His hand moved to the inside of his shirt. The dragon scale.
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No one else had taken him seriously with it. The merchant laughed. The guild would have laughed. Selling it clearly was not working, and while Elias did not love the idea of parting with the last physical trace of Kheledryn, this was at least a use for it. A real one. Better than carrying it around under his shirt.
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He pulled it out and held it up, the blue scale catching the room light with that same impossible inner depth, “How about this?” Elias asked.
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Tomas took the scale carefully. His brows rose before he even fully turned it in his hands. He tested the edge with one rough finger, then the weight of it, then the surface. Even dim, it had presence. More than worked bone. More than a polished shell. More than any other creature part would have carried.
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“Well,” Tomas said slowly, “That… should work.”
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Sera’s eyes flicked from the scale to Elias, then back again. She said nothing, but Elias noticed the twitch of interest immediately.
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Tomas kept examining it. Not with suspicion, but with the focused attention of a man who knew materials and respected them, “It’s definitely a scale. Very durable. Very strange,” then finally he looked up, “What kind?”
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Elias expected the usual. A laugh. A joke. The polite version of, ‘sure kid’. So, he said it flatly, already braced for disappointment, “Dragon.”
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Tomas’ eyes widened instead. Sera’s too, but then narrowed with curiosity more than surprise. She still did not speak.
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Tomas looked back down at the scale. Then at Elias. Then at the scale again, “You know,” he said after a moment, “I’ve got no real reason not to believe you at this point.”
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That almost made Elias smile. Tomas set the scale beside the cracked blade and nodded to himself, “I’ll get started once morning comes. Better light. Better head for it too.”
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Sera rolled one shoulder and stretched as if the decision settled something in her bones, “Fine with me,” she looked toward Tomas, “Got a room we can crash in?”
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That solved another problem so abruptly Elias almost missed it as Tomas was already nodding, “Course. Use mine. Hasn’t been used much in some time anyway.”
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“Comforting phrasing.”
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“It’s clean enough.”
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“That’s about all I ask.”
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Tomas began gathering a few things while speaking, moving around the house much easier now. He set a clay pot of clean water on a small tray, added a cup, then found a cloth and handed both toward Elias.
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“For wiping up,” Tomas instructed as Elias took them, nodding once.
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Tomas pointed down the short hall, “Room’s there. I’ll do a little prep for the forge, then probably fall asleep in that chair,” he said, pointing at one near the hearth with the air of a man fully resigned to it, “Truth be told, I’m more used to it now anyways.”
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Sera clicked her tongue, “Sad life.”
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“Says the woman who came in here dressed for summer.”
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“I was dressed for winning.”
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That ended the conversation, apparently, as Sera grabbed the tray with one hand before Elias could object and headed toward the bedroom. Elias followed, less because he had nowhere else to go and more because standing in Tomas’ main room pretending not to notice Sera’s existence had become harder now that he knew they were both sleeping in the same place.
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The room was simple. A bed against one wall, a narrow chest, a mirror with slight clouding at the edges, one chair by the corner, and a shuttered window that let in the faint last blue of night. It smelled a little stale from disuse, but not badly. Just closed up.
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Elias stepped inside and felt an immediate awkwardness creep up his spine. He was in a bedroom. Alone. With a woman. But honestly couldn't remember the last time on that one. A child’s body should have made that less strange. Somehow it only made it stranger.
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Sera set the tray down with casual ease and kicked off her boots first. Elias, deciding the mirror was suddenly the most important object in the room, took the cloth and dipped it in water. Then he saw himself again. There was that face. That stranger’s face.
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Dark navy hair falling around sharper features than he remembered from childhood, yellow-tinted eyes too bright to be natural and a leaner body shape under the dirt and dried blood. He was not the boy he had once been. Not even close. But this was him now.
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Elias frowned at his reflection and began wiping grime from his face and neck. Behind him, cloth shifted. He heard Sera’s belt hit the floor. Then her pants. Then the softer drop of the top.
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Elias kept his eyes forward with such determination it almost hurt. He did not peek and he was not going to peek. There was no version of this situation that improved if he acted like an idiot. When he was done cleaning himself as best he could, he wrung the cloth out and looked around for somewhere to sleep.
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The chair in the corner would do. Probably... He was small enough now to fit in it, which was a thought Elias resented on principle. He took one step toward it.
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“What are you doing?” Sera asked.
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“Going to sleep?”
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“In the chair?”
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“Yeah...?”
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“Don’t be stupid.”
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Elias turned halfway, but kept his eyes politely elevated above blanket level, “I think this is exactly the sort of situation where being cautious is smart.”
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Sera was already under the covers, red hair spilled across the pillow, one arm behind her head. Her expression held mild amusement and none of the concern he might have expected, “You’re a kid.”
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“So I’ve heard.”
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“You need proper sleep.”
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“The chair is proper enough.”
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She stared at him for a second, then patted the empty side of the bed, “Get in.”
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Elias opened his mouth to argue. Closed it. Opened it again, “I don't… This is strange.”
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“No, it isn’t,” Sera stated, giving him a look like she was about one breath away from grabbing him by the ankle and depositing him there herself, “I’m not worried about you, Eli...”
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“My name is Elias.”
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“It’s too late at night for that many syllables. Get in the bed.”
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Elias stood there for another moment, deeply aware this was ridiculous and somehow felt impossible to refuse without making it more ridiculous. Finally, with all the dignity of a man being cornered by hospitality, he set the cloth aside and climbed in.
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He stayed on top of the blanket at first, but eventually got under it because the room was cold and she was a living furnace. Elias faced the wall with his back carefully turned in her direction.
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His whole body felt tense. Aware. Wrongly aware. Elias could hear Sera shift once behind him, then settle. A few breaths passed, then a faint snore. Elias waited another moment to be sure. Then another. Sera was already asleep. Of course she was.
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Some of the tension bled out of him all at once. Elias let out a slow breath through his nose, sank a little deeper into the bed, and realized with mild irritation how comfortable it was.
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The last thought he had, before sleep took him, was that today had contained far too many developments for one lifetime, let alone a second one.
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── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──
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Morning came with warmth in the room. Draemharrow was still Draemharrow and frost still held the windows at the corners. But a warmth in the sense that Elias woke in an actual bed, under actual blankets, without stone under him, wind on him, or some immediate danger lurking.
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He opened his eyes slowly. Sera was already gone. Elias sat up, rubbed one eye, and listened. He could hear voices outside. Metal shifting. Someone moving in the yard. The house had that lived-in sound again as he got up and went into the main room.
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Mira stood there with a cup in both hands. She looked better enough that it startled him. Still pale from the last few days, still thin, but alive in the face now. Awake. Clean. Wearing a plain house dress with a wool shawl wrapped around her shoulders. Her dark blond hair had been brushed and tied back. More importantly, she was standing and breathing on her own.
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She blinked up at Elias, then smiled, shy but real, “Papa said you helped save me.”
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Elias stopped short, suddenly more uncomfortable than he had been in the woods with a frostfang, “I… assisted.”
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“That means yes,” came Tomas’ voice from outside.
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Mira came a little closer and, before Elias had time to work out what she meant to do, rose on her toes and kissed him lightly on the cheek. It was quick, innocent, and entirely sincere, but Elias froze.
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Mira stepped back smiling, “Thank you.”
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Elias, whose life experience had not prepared him for receiving gratitude, stood there with one hand halfway raised and no immediate response ready.
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Sera, from the back door, laughed. Not meanly. Just because apparently the whole moment had been entertaining for her, “Look at that face,” she said, leaning on the frame.
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Elias glared at her, which only made it worse. Tomas was outside in the yard and Mira went to him after a moment, cheerfully, so soon after nearly dying. Together they were clearing off the old forge out back. Elias stepped outside after them and saw what had once clearly been a proper working smith space, even if time and neglect had dulled it. An anvil. Rack tools. Bellows. Stone hearth. Coal bin. Enough there for a man to remember his trade quickly.
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Tomas was already remembering. His motions had changed. Less the stiff uncertain movement of a farmer and more the old rhythm of someone who once knew metal better than sleep. He still moved slower than a younger man might, but not clumsily. Mira carried smaller tools, proud to be helping. Tomas shooed her away from the heavier things every few minutes, and she ignored him every other time.
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Sera watched for a little while, then jerked her head toward the street, “Come on.”
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Elias looked at her, “Where are we going?”
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“The guild.”
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He stared in confusion and hesitation, “The same guild that refused me?”
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“The very same.”
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“Why?”
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Sera raised a brow, “Because I said so.”
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The walk back through Draemharrow felt different in daylight. Less grim than the night before, though not by much. Smoke rose from chimneys. Wagons creaked over black stone roads. Vendors were already calling prices in the market. Sera walked like she owned any street she stepped onto, not hurried exactly, but direct in a way that made people shift around her as Elias followed as best he could.
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When the guild doors opened this time, the hall was noisier than before, full morning rush in full effect. Adventurers crowded tables and the request board. Someone was already arguing over reward splits. Another person was trying to drag a sack of something dead across the floor.
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Maelin Sorth stood behind the counter again, ledgers arranged in the same pitiless stacks. She looked up when Elias and Sera approached. Her eyes moved from Elias, to Sera, then back to Elias. Something in her face twitched toward understanding, “Really?”
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Sera rested one forearm on the counter like she belonged there, “Morning, Maelin.”
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“That does not answer my question.”
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“Oh, him? I’m his guardian.”
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Maelin looked down at Elias. Then back at Sera. Then down at Elias again, clearly remembering yesterday’s conversation in perfect detail, “This child here?”
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“This adventurer,” Sera corrected.
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“That is a child.”
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Sera shrugged, “Yes. The one I'm the guardian of.”
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Maelin exhaled slowly through her nose as if preparing to process a new kind of headache, “You are aware guardianship means responsibility.”
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“Yup.”
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“Legal responsibility.”
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“Probably.”
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“Field responsibility.”
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“More than likely.”
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“Liability if he gets himself eaten.”
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Sera smiled, “I don’t plan to let him let that happen.”
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Maelin looked like she wanted to argue on moral principle and paperwork principle simultaneously, but rules were rules, and apparently Sera had just satisfied them all. She pulled a registration ledger forward, “Name.”
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Elias opened his mouth, but Sera beat him to it, “Eli.”
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He turned at once as he had never gone by that name, “Uh, What?”
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She did not even look at him, “I said Eli.”
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“My name is Elias.”
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“Nah. That sounds like an old man who complains about the weather and a hole in his sock.”
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“I do complain about the weather and would complain about a hole. Who wouldn't?”
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“Exactly,” She pointed at the ledger, “Anyways, Eli.”
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Maelin glanced between them without comment, quill hovering. Elias stared in disbelief as Sera folded her arms.
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Finally Elias sighed, because apparently losing age had also cost him naming rights, “Fine.”
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Maelin wrote it down, “Eli Varkassa it is then. Last name is non-negotiable if by guardianship.”
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Sera nodded, satisfied, “Oh that's rough. But Eli, that's much better at least.”
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“It is shorter, not better,” grumbled Eli.
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“That is what better means. It'll save so much time.”
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Elias scoffed, but said nothing else as Maelin continued with the formalities. A few questions. No family present. Guardian sponsor, Seradene Varkassa. Temporary probationary registration through her. Limited rank. No restricted contracts.
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Elias, now apparently Eli, listened with the surreal feeling of becoming an adventurer again while still having to look up at the desk. When it was done, Maelin slid a small token across the counter. Guild issue. Simple metal, stamped with the branch mark of Draemharrow.
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“Don’t lose it,” Maelin warned.
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Elias took it carefully. That little piece of metal should not have meant anything. Yet it did. It allowed him to earn money and that in itself was a start at least.
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Sera pushed off the counter, “Good. Now clothes.”
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Eli blinked, “I just got these. What is wrong with my clothes?”
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Sera turned and gave him a long look that began at his hair and ended at his boots, “Hmmm. Do you want the list alphabetically or in order of embarrassment?”
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The answer, of course, was that she did not wait for one as shentook off and Eli begrudgingly followed. They made their way into Draemharrow's tailor district. Eli followed Sera into a modest, but clearly competent clothier’s shop where bolts of fabric hung in orderly rows and finished garments lined the walls.
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The shopkeeper, a thin woman with quick hands and quicker eyes, took one look at Sera, then at Elias, and immediately understood who would be making the decisions.
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Sera pointed like a general planning a small war, “He needs proper clothes. Adventurer clothes. Something sturdy, fitted, and not depressing.”
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“That is subjective,” Elias muttered.
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“No, it isn’t.”
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What followed was twenty miserable minutes of being measured, turned, assessed, and dressed like a doll by the thin woman. Eli endured all of it with the final result being annoyingly excellent.
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He stood before the mirror in a layered outfit of deep blue with gold trim worked clean along the edges and seams. The shirt and outer tunic fit close enough to his frame to stop him from looking like a vagrant wrapped in spare curtains. A broad wrapped sash bound the middle neatly. Dark fitted trousers sat right under the drape of the upper layers, and black light armor had been added in practical places, along the forearms, belt rig, and lower legs, shaped for movement rather than bulk. The boots were black as well, reinforced and trimmed in gold, built light enough for travel and solid enough for bad ground.
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It was nicer than anything Elias had ever worn in his first life. He looked at himself in the mirror for a long moment. The navy hair. Golden eyes. New clothes. Smaller body. That stranger’s face… Yet, somehow, for the first time since waking in the mountain, the person staring back looked like someone who might be able to accomplish things.
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Sera grinned from behind him, “There. Now you look like a proper pain in the ass.”
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“I don't think that is the compliment you think it is.”
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Sera chuckled and bought the clothes before Eli could object about cost, waving off his attempt at protest with a single look, “Consider it an investment.”
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“In what?” Eli questioned.
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“In you. And whatever you do,” she retorted, simply, in a strange kindness.
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By the time they left the tailor, Eli's old clothes had been bundled away, his guild token tucked safely in place, and the morning had climbed high enough to warm the streets by a small amount.
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Sera glanced toward the lane leading back to Tomas’ house and stretched her shoulders, “Come on. Let’s see how the forge work’s going.”
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Elias’s hand brushed unconsciously toward the place where a weapon would soon sit. He missed having a sword at his side, but if Tomas could truly work the dragon scale then Eli could really see a future ahead of him.
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There would no longer be a wall of people looking down at him, but a road he could walk much easier now. Thanks to Sera. He followed her back through Draemharrow toward the sound of hammering steel echoing in the air.
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and then Add to home screen.