Chapter 02

As Arlena and Aron walked towards the village center, their steps quickened with anticipation. The air hummed with a mixture of excitement and apprehension as elves from all corners of Florishside converged to witness the unexpected arrival.

Arden though didn’t seem to share their excitement, on the contrary, his face set in an uncharacteristic frown. "Dragons," he said, his voice low and urgent. "They are the dragons we heard about." His green eyes darkened as he glanced at the gathering crowd. "The ones who started the OceanSide war."

Arlena's breath caught in her throat. Tales of the dragons' fearsome reputation had reached even their peaceful corner of the world. Yet, curiosity outweighed her trepidation. "What are they doing here?" she asked, searching Arden's face for answers.

Arden's jaw clenched, a flicker of worry passing behind his eyes. "I don't know," he admitted, his gaze fixed on the approaching procession.

The dragons moved slowly through the village. Surprisingly for Arlena, none of them looked the way she imagined from the stories she had heard. Travelers always described them as beasts, some type of bad animals, if the animals could be bad, with black, metallic skin, bat-like wings, and breath of fire. She scrutinized the riders more closely, trying to discern heavy claws, fangs, or wide animal-like paws, and a lizard-like tail. Yet, there was nothing like that. The dragon resembled an elf, only bigger, taller and heavier, clad in a weighty, black-metal uniform with engraved bat-like wings on the back and a substantial helmet with a few pointed horns. Maybe their metal skin is hidden under that thick outfit? she thought.

“Well,” Aron took a step forward towards the upcoming cavalcade, followed by the infantry. “Whoever they are, we need to welcome them into our community.”

“Wait,” Arden tried to stop Aron, but he was too late. The moment Aron got closer to one of the riders, the dragon raised his hand with a scrappy metal sound and hit Aron on the head.

“Father!” Immediately, Arlena and Arden ran to her father, who fell to the floor motionless.

“Why did you do that?” someone asked from the elves' crowd but fell silent instantly.

With trembling hands, Arden helped Arlena lift her father, who was barely moving after a heavy blow, and rush him to the healer’s tree.

When they finally reached the tree, Arlena could barely breathe. She helped to lay her father on one of the tree’s roots, which served as a kind of bench beneath the long, woven branches forming a wall that shaded the moss-covered space beneath from sun and rain.

"How are you feeling?" – she asked Aron right after he settled down.

“It’s fine,” he mumbled, clearly wobbling from the hit.

At the same time, the healer entered the tree. “I saw everything,” she said and hastened to put some moss on Aron’s bleeding wound. “The rumors were true. Dragons are made of darkness.” With a brief gesture, she signaled Ardena to hold the moss as she went to the nearby table covered with colorful vials and dry plants.

“Why did he do that?” Arlena asked, pressing the moss harder.

“It’s just their nature,” Arden hastened to explain. He left the side of the bench and went to the small gap between the branches that served as a window to watch the rest of the army getting deeper into the village. “They’re heading to the high priests’ tree,” he said thoughtfully.

“Nature?” Arlena hesitated. “Aren’t we all of the same nature?”

“Not them,” Arden replied, frustration coloring his voice. He crossed his arms tightly over his chest. “I heard they enjoy burning cities to the ground.”

“No one could enjoy something like that,” Arlena insisted, refusing to believe him, even as her father’s blood dripped down her wrist.

“Here,” the healer handed a tiny, dwarfs-made vessel to Aron, decorated with beautiful silver ornaments and amethyst inlay. “Drink it,” she guided, and Aron took a sip of a dark green liquid that made him cringe his face. Yet he thanked her for the treatment. “You should lay down,” she said and prepared a pillow and a blanket stuffed with dry grass for him. “Stay for tonight here, I’ll take care of you.” She helped him to lie comfortably on the bench.

“Thank you, Arola.” Arlena touched the healer’s hand. She wanted to stay with her father and Arola, but she had to go back home and prepare some clothes for her father.

Arlena put her hand on her father’s face, “I love you.” She kissed him on the forehead and gently caressed his cheek. “I’ll be back soon.”

“I love you too, petal. Please be careful.” Slowly, Aron was taken by the dreams induced by the remedy.

“Is he going to be alright?” Arlena asked the healer.

“Most probably,” she replied, placing a warm hand on Arlena’s arm. “Do you remember a few years ago when a falling rock hit Arnamon during the honey collection? It’s just like that. Let’s just give Aron some rest. I’ll take care of his wound, and in a few days, he’s going to be like new.”

Arlena tightly smiled back and, giving her father one more look, she left the tree followed by Arden.

“I’ll go with you,” he said. “I’ll help to pack his clothes.”

“Thank you,” Arlena smiled at him and felt a warm liquid coming from her eyes. She wiped her tears and looked at them with curiosity. Why was she crying if she was not happy? Elves only cry when overwhelmed with happiness. Even if any creature was dying, elves cry because they are celebrating the beauty of life the creature had. The end of one cycle always signifies the beginning of a new one.

“He’s going to be fine,” Arden placed his hand on her shoulder and also wiped his tears in bewilderment.

As great leaders, the high priest and his wife, high priestess, went outside their tree to welcome the dragons. They had already heard about an accident in the village and were prepared to accept an apology from strangers.

“Are you the leaders of this community?” a deep and thundering voice from the first rider in the cavalry reached the priests. The rider towered over them as a dark cloud.

“Yes,” the high priestess replied calmly. “And you?”

“My name is Boren. I’m a general of this army, and from now on, you’ll obey me.”

Both priests looked at each other in bewilderment. “We’re elves,” the high priest replied. “We don’t obey; we cooperate. If you need a place to rest, supplies, or a healer’s assistance, we will happily provide it to you. A living creature is a gift from nature to support and enrich it.”

The rider took off his heavy helmet and looked him in the eye. “I’m a dragon, and you'll obey me, or I'll grind this village into powder.” He passed the helmet to one of his riders and dismounted. “Water the horses and prepare dinner. —My cook will help,” he said to the ex-leaders. Then, he leaned toward the high priestess and drawled slowly, “I'm so hungry that I'm ready to eat an elf.”