The night after the banquet should have been quiet.
Peaceful.
Dignified.
It was not.
Because the guild hall currently contained:
one runaway snow dragon
one visiting noble lady in a silver dress
and three broken chairs
—and Eira hadn't even arrived yet.
---
Iris stood in the middle of the guild lobby, hands folded politely, posture perfect, expression calm.
Behind her, a massive white dragon was attempting to lick spilled wine off the floor.
"Stop that," she whispered.
The dragon paused.
Looked at her.
Then continued licking.
"I said stop."
It sneezed.
A burst of frost shot across the tiles and froze the wine into a glittering patch of purple ice.
The guild receptionist slowly lowered her pen.
"…Lady Iris."
"Yes?"
"Why is there a dragon."
"He followed me."
"…From another dimension."
"Yes."
"…Without permission."
"Yes."
"…And he is drinking."
Iris glanced back.
The dragon had now shoved its snout into a nobleman's abandoned goblet on a nearby table.
"He is… curious."
---
Five minutes earlier.
A very rich noble guest — visiting to discuss trade contracts — had decided to rest in the guild lounge and sample his imported wine.
He had not expected a scaled snout to rise from below the table and inhale half the bottle in one breath.
He stared.
The dragon stared back.
They regarded each other in silence.
Then the dragon hiccupped.
Snow fell from the ceiling.
---
Back to present.
The dragon swayed.
Its pupils unfocused.
It lifted one paw.
Missed the ground.
And slowly tipped sideways like a collapsing statue.
THUD.
The floor shook.
Someone upstairs screamed, "EARTHQUAKE?!"
---
Iris crouched beside it, concerned.
"…You cannot hold alcohol?"
The dragon blinked at her.
Then—
blew a gentle puff of snowflakes at her face.
She blinked.
Snow clung to her lashes.
"…I see. You are drunk."
The dragon made a proud noise.
---
The guild doors opened.
Eira stepped inside.
He stopped.
Looked at:
the unconscious noble on a chair
the frozen wine puddle
the receptionist clutching a broom like a weapon
Iris kneeling beside a dragon
Silence.
"…I was gone," he said slowly, "for two hours."
Iris brightened immediately.
"Eira."
The dragon's head lifted.
Its eyes locked onto him.
It wagged its tail.
The tail hit a table.
The table flipped.
A vase shattered.
Eira stared.
"…Why is he here."
"He wanted to see you."
"I left him in another realm."
"He insisted."
"…How did he get here."
Iris pointed upward.
There was now a dragon-shaped hole in the ceiling beam.
---
The dragon stumbled toward Eira.
Tried to walk straight.
Failed.
Veered sideways.
Corrected too hard.
Slid.
Bonked into Eira's chest and collapsed against him like an oversized affectionate cat.
Cold scales. Snow breath. Wine smell.
Eira sighed.
"…You drank."
The dragon made a pleased rumble.
---
Iris clasped her hands behind her back, smiling innocently.
"He also drank a noble's wine."
"…Of course he did."
"He challenged the bottle."
"…The bottle?"
"He won."
---
Eira looked down at the dragon.
The dragon looked up at him with glassy, proud eyes.
Then it sneezed.
A tiny snow cloud puffed between them.
Eira stared.
Then—
for the first time since the banquet—
he laughed.
Not polite.
Not forced.
Real.
---
Iris watched him, satisfied.
Mission successful.
She stepped closer. "I came because I must return to guard my land tomorrow. I wanted to speak to you before I left."
Her silver dress shimmered softly under the lantern light. She looked elegant enough to attend a royal ball.
Standing next to her—
Eira in travel clothes.
A drunk dragon leaning on him.
And shattered furniture.
The contrast was ridiculous.
Eira smiled faintly.
"You crossed realms… for that?"
"Yes."
"…You could have sent a message."
"I preferred this."
The dragon snorted approvingly.
---
From behind the desk the receptionist muttered:
"…I'm charging someone for the ceiling."
---
Eira patted the dragon's head.
"Next time," he said gently, "we drink water."
The dragon considered this.
Then very solemnly nodded.
Immediately fell asleep.
---
Iris tilted her head.
"He is wise."
"He is drunk."
"Both can be true."
Eira huffed softly.
For the first time that night—
his chest didn't hurt.