Training with Matt quickly became a ritual.
Every morning before the city fully stirred, Alan would meet Matt on the top floor of Nelson & Murdock's building, a wide, open space cleared for "night work" as Matt called it.To anyone watching, it was a sparring session — but to Alan, it was war disguised as rhythm.
Matt's movements were sharp, efficient — no wasted motion, no mercy. His body flowed like a memory of violence polished into art. Alan, for all his height and draconic strength, was still learning to think with his body.
"Your reach is good, but you're fighting like someone who's never been punched before," Matt said one morning, sweeping Alan's legs with a smooth motion.
Alan grunted, hitting the mat. "In my defense, getting hit by a blind man hurts my pride."
Matt smirked faintly. "Then stop underestimating the blind."
Over the weeks, their sessions turned brutal — CQC, disarming techniques, balance under sensory pressure. Alan absorbed every bit of it, applying his draconic reflexes subtly, improving without showing the full extent of his power.And when he was alone, he trained his Claw Technique — his self-taught martial art that fused his growing draconic instincts with human form. He'd harden his hands with magic, condensing energy into claw-shaped extensions, slicing through wood and stone until control became second nature.
Matt noticed the difference."Your strikes are getting sharper," he said one night, panting after a particularly long bout.Alan smiled. "Let's just say I've got a few tricks."
A few weeks later, during a quiet evening on the terrace drinking and chatting with Matt, Alan decided to tell him about his magic.Alan flicked his wrist, and a blue flame — Bluebell Flame — bloomed in his palm, gentle yet alive.Matt froze, his senses instantly picking up the surge of warmth and energy.
"That's not… technology," Matt murmured, his voice calm but edged with curiosity.Alan leaned against the railing, letting the firelight dance in his molten eyes. "Magic, Matt. I'm a wizard."
Matt chuckled softly, shaking his head. "You're telling me this whole time I've been training a magician?"
"More like a half-dragon wizard who still gets punched by a blind guy," Alan said, smirking.Matt snorted. "You win the award for weirdest client I've ever had. But… whatever this is, it's part of you. Don't hide it. Just use it right."
Alan nodded quietly. "That's the plan."
Time flows by
Alan leaned back on the couch, phone pressed to his ear while Nyx curled around his neck like a scarf."Hey, Matt. Got a minute?"
A low chuckle came from the other end. "For you, kid? Always. What's the crisis this time—someone else bleeding in an alley?"
"Not tonight," Alan said, grinning. "I'm thinking of building something… a place that's mine. Somewhere between modern and fantasy, like a slice of another world dropped in New York."
Matt hummed thoughtfully. "You're serious."
"Yeah. I bought a patch of land near the edge of Hell's Kitchen. I want to build a tavern—warm, quiet, safe. Somewhere for people to breathe."
"That's poetic," Matt said with a faint smile in his voice. "You'll need permits, zoning clearance, and someone who can keep the city off your back when you start carving strange symbols into the walls."
Alan laughed. "That's why I'm calling you, Counselor. Think your firm can handle a few… eccentricities?"
"Consider it done," Matt replied. "I'll have Foggy draw up the paperwork and find a trustworthy contractor. We'll make sure no one asks about the glowing runes."
"Appreciate it, Matt. Drinks on me when it's done."
"I'll hold you to that," Murdock said. "And Alan?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't build something ordinary. Build something that feels alive. You've got that kind of touch."
The line went quiet for a second before Alan answered softly, "Yeah. That's the plan."
He hung up, eyes drifting toward the window where the city lights blinked like distant embers.
The property sat quietly on the edge of Hell's Kitchen — a forgotten strip of land fenced by rusted metal and weeds pushing through cracked concrete. The kind of place most people ignored, but Alan saw the potential.
Red Queen's voice hummed softly through his earpiece.
"Land acquisition confirmed. Title registered under your LLC. Construction permits approved through Mr. Murdock's firm."
Alan smiled faintly. "Good. Let's make something real this time."
With Matt's help — or Mutt, as Alan now jokingly called him — he'd hired a trustworthy architectural firm. They didn't ask too many questions about the peculiar symbols in the blueprints.
The vision was clear: a tavern that felt like stepping through a portal — a blend of modern New York chic and a fantasy hearth where time slowed down.
By day, it would blend with the city's rhythm — polished wood, brass fittings, an inviting glow spilling onto the sidewalk. But at night, when the magic truly pulsed, the runes carved along its frame shimmered faintly with golden-blue light, thrumming with warmth and protection.
The name glowed proudly above the door:
🜂 Caverna Draconis 🜂
🜂 Dimensional Tavern 🜂*Universal Magic Script*
Beneath the Latin name, faint script shimmered — a magical inscription written in Old Norse and Elder Futhark runes from his Ancient Runes textbooks. Each symbol carried meaning: comfort, hearth, protection, abundance, luck.
The building itself had been reinforced with enchanted runes — wards drawn from Ancient Runes years 3 through 7. Some strengthened the structure, ensuring it would never wear with time; others regulated temperature, keeping the tavern cozy in winter and pleasantly cool in summer.
Inside, magic braziers burned with soft Bluebell Flames, hovering inside crystal spheres mounted along the walls. Hermione's favorite spell had found new life here — their gentle, cerulean glow filled the air with a scent of cinnamon and warmth.
A corner hearth crackled with shifting hues — green, gold, and blue — adjusting automatically to the mood of the patrons.
Every table bore faint tracework of runic lines — subtle etchings that drew away fatigue and invited contentment. Red Queen called it "ambient emotional regulation." Alan just called it "good atmosphere."
When the final coat of lacquer dried, Alan leaned against the bar counter, exhaling softly. "Feels… right," he murmured. "Like a home that's waiting for stories."
Finding a chef had been harder than expected — until fate intervened during one of Alan's off days.
He'd gone to Chinatown to pick up rare ingredients when a commotion near a café caught his attention — a frail old man arguing with a younger man about an unpaid hospital bill. Alan didn't understand a word of Chinese, but Red Queen whispered translations in his ear as he approached.
"The younger one is his son. He owes a hospital in Guangzhou. The father's visiting."
Alan helped settle the dispute quietly, transferring enough to clear the bill. As the old man bowed repeatedly in thanks, Red Queen whispered, "Facial match: Chef Chu, from the film 'Cook Up a Storm'. Former five-star chef turned local teacher."
Alan blinked. "Wait — the guy from that movie?"
The AI chuckled. "Technically, yes. The movie was inspired by him."
Alan smiled. "Then I just found my chef."
Through Red Queen's translation protocol, he spoke with the man — explained his dream of opening a tavern that blended magic, warmth, and every flavor of the world. He offered not just employment, but partnership.
The old man laughed softly and clasped Alan's hands.
"If you wish to cook for souls, not customers… then I will teach you."
And he did.
Over the following months, Alan learned knife skills, balance, fire control — each motion blending with his wandless precision. Stirring soup with subtle levitation, adjusting flame intensity with minor spells — cooking became art, discipline, and meditation.
The Dragon's Den came alive soon after — stocked with ingredients from around the world, every spice and herb Alan could get his hands on. The basement cold room glowed with faint runic circles keeping ingredients perfectly preserved. Rows of bottles — sake, whiskey, elven-style fruit wines — lined the shelves behind the counter.
It was a tavern for travelers, mages, lawyers, and even blind devils alike.
Seven months had passed since he met Murdock.
In that time, Red Queen had been busy — trading crypto, handling stocks, coding small-scale AI tools for automated systems. With her algorithmic precision, Alan's assets quietly ballooned into a portfolio worth over two million dollars.
He chuckled once, sitting behind the counter and watching his cat, Nyx, bat lazily at a floating ember.
"From student-level magic to millionaire tavern owner," he mused. "Not bad for a kid who used to study Defense Against the Dark Arts under candlelight."
Red Queen purred in his ear, "Progress, Alan. Always progress."
The 'Cave of the Dragon' Tavern glowed behind him, warmth spilling through its doors like an invitation to all who sought comfort — mortal, mutant, or mage.
And in a city that never slept, Alan finally built something that didn't need to fight to matter.
Weeks later, with the tavern nearing completion, Alan began interviewing staff.
The first was a tall man with calm eyes, trimmed beard, and an aura that spoke of quiet lethality.He introduced himself as John Wick — ex-military, skilled bartender, seeking peaceful work."My wife's expecting soon," John said, tone polite but firm. "I need something steady. Somewhere that feels... normal."Alan smiled, offering a handshake. "You're hired. And don't worry — this place? It'll be as normal as I can make it."Nyx meowed softly in agreement from Alan's shoulder.
A week later came a woman in her late 40s, warm smile, kind eyes — May Parker. She'd heard of a "quiet tavern looking for reliable staff.""I used to manage small diners," she said. "Nothing fancy, but I can handle rowdy customers."Alan laughed softly. "You'll fit right in. Welcome to the team, Aunt May."
Together, they prepared the Caverna Draconis for its quiet opening — a home between worlds, waiting for destiny to knock.