"You're going to get me killed, you scaly little furnace."
Kael sprinted through the forest, ducking low branches, jumping over roots, cradling the warm, sleepy dragon like it was a loaf of bread on fire, which, to be fair, it was.
Behind him, the horn blew again.
Three short blasts. That meant searchers. Soldiers. Trained men in black cloaks who patrolled the Wildergrove and didn't ask questions before drawing swords.
Kael didn't need questions. He already knew the answers:Found beyond the boundary? Treason.Caught with a forbidden creature? Execution.
Sweat dripped down his brow as he raced toward the village, heart hammering like a war drum. The dragon snuggled closer against his chest, letting out a tiny "hrrmppf!" of contentment and—Kael swore—smirking.
"You're enjoying this," Kael muttered.
His home came into view—if you could call a half-rotted shack with a leaky roof and one working window a home. Tucked behind the tannery, Uncle Rurik's place always smelled like boiled leather and regret.
Kael skidded to a stop, pushed the door open with his shoulder, and slammed it shut behind him.
Inside, the dragon blinked and looked around like it owned the place.
"You are not staying here," Kael whispered. "Uncle Rurik will skin both of us and make matching boots."
The dragon tilted its head. Smoke curled from its nostrils.
"Also, you're not breathing fire in here. I like my lungs un-crispy."
BOOM!
A knock like thunder hit the door.
Kael nearly jumped out of his skin. "Stormborn!" came a deep voice from outside. "Open up!"
Sergeant Varric. Great. Just great.
"Coming!" Kael called, stuffing the dragon into a burlap sack filled with old laundry. "Don't move," he whispered. "And no sneezing."
The dragon sneezed.
A puff of smoke curled from the sack.
Kael kicked it under the table, tried to look innocent, and opened the door.
Varric towered over him—broad, scarred, and very much not in the mood for nonsense. "You were in the woods," he growled.
"I was chasing a grouse."
"You crossed the boundary."
"I got lost chasing a fast grouse."
Varric narrowed his eyes. Behind him, two guards stood with crossbows.
Kael tried not to sweat.
"Anyone else out there with you?"
"Nope. Just me and… my laundry." He pointed vaguely behind him.
Varric grunted, sniffed, and then stepped inside.
Kael's heart froze as the sergeant walked right past the table.
The dragon chirped.
Kael coughed—loudly—to cover it. "Crazy birds these days, huh? Sound just like… sacks."
Varric raised an eyebrow.
Kael smiled like a lunatic.
After an agonizing pause, Varric finally grunted again and turned away. "If I catch you outside the stones again, Kael, I won't bother with warnings. Understand?"
Kael nodded. "Crystal clear, Sergeant."
The door slammed shut behind him.
Kael exhaled like a dying horse and dropped to his knees. He pulled the sack out.
The dragon poked its head out, blinked, and then licked its nose.
"You are so much trouble," he whispered.
It chirped again.
He stared at it for a long moment.
"…You need a name."
The dragon tilted its head.
"Something that doesn't scream Hey! I'm illegal! Maybe... Ash. Or Cinder?"
The dragon burped a tiny spark.
Kael grinned. "Cinder it is."
But in the back of his mind, he knew this was just the beginning. Hiding a dragon in a village like Ember Hollow? Impossible.
And once the egg hatched, someone would come looking.
Probably someone with a blade.