Chapter 5 #2
The costume is breathtaking. A warrior priestess’s battle dress rendered in shades of white and silver, with intricate embroidery that catches the light when the fabric moves.
The bodice is structured like armor but made of some lighter material that will allow for movement, and the skirt falls in layers that suggest both practical battle wear and ceremonial significance.
A matching cloak is folded at the bottom of the bag, along with a pair of boots that have been modified to look like they’re made of the same material as the armor.
“Sunny,” I say, because it’s all I can manage. “It’s...”
“I know.” She runs a hand over the embroidery, her touch gentle. “Three months of work. Every stitch by hand.”
I help her into it. The costume requires two people to put on properly, with laces at the back and buckles at the shoulders that need to be fastened in a specific order.
As we work, Sunny talks me through the details: the symbolism in the embroidery, the research into historical battle dress that informed the design, the three different versions of the cloak before she settled on this one.
Her hands move with the same confidence I bring to a perfect julienne or a precisely folded dumpling. The particular skill of someone who’s put in the hours, who knows their craft inside and out.
The final piece is the headdress, a delicate construction of wire and fabric that sits across her forehead like a crown, with trailing pieces that frame her face.
With it in place, the transformation is complete.
Sunny Adlawan, Executive Assistant and high achiever, is gone.
In her place is the Warrior Priestess in Wyvern’s Dawn, ready for her final battle.
“You look...” I search for the right word. “Perfect.”
“Thank you. Really, for everything.” A moment passes between us. Years of built-up loyalty in one smile. She wields her sword. “Think this will go over well to carry into my office?”
I pretend to think it over. “Oh, the perfect accessory with a pencil skirt and red-bottom heels.”
We giggle, siphoning off the nervous energy that’s been built up waiting for this moment. Then Sunny straightens her shoulders and picks up her prop sword. “It would have been ideal if I thought to hire a dragon knight,” she says, all business again. “But this will have to do.”
“And don’t forget the video we put together. So you don’t have to say anything. Just be there. Speaking of which, let’s hustle over to make sure the AV guys have it set up. I was getting it all prepped so you didn’t have to worry. brB.”
We make our way through the convention, drawing appreciative looks and the occasional request for photos. Sunny handles it with the easy confidence of someone who’s comfortable in the spotlight, stopping to chat with admirers while somehow keeping us moving toward our destination.
She’s gonna be a shoo-in for a trophy.
We’re almost at the judges’ table when I spot him. Or rather, spot the space he’s clearing as he makes his way through the crowd. The Dragon Knight.
Impressive doesn’t begin to cover it. At seven feet tall, with the distinctive iridescent scales that mark him as dragonkin, he’d be noticeable anywhere.
In full Dragon Knight regalia (armor that gleams with the particular luster of actual metal, not the plastic or resin most competitors use), he’s a showstopper.
Whoever this dude is, he is one serious cosplayer. His costume legit doesn’t look like a costume but straight out of medieval times.
The Dragon Knight sees us. Or rather, clocks Sunny the Warrior Priestess. And something changes in his expression. Not the careful neutrality of a stranger assessing a crowd. But a very specific type of warmth aimed at my best friend.
“Ah, Sunny. Did you happen to order a Dragon Knight without realizing it in one of your hyperplanning, strategiary deep focus modes?”
Sunny turns and follows my gaze. “What are you—oh!” Then she grows pale. “Oh no.”
“What?”
“Khanner.”
“Oh.” I look the dragonkin over who is definitely on his way here. So this is her dreamy CFO boss that she totally doesn’t have a crush on.
Yeah. I believe that.
“You want me to run interference? What do you want me to do?”
“Go on and double check the AV. I need to face this like a grown up.”
I’m not fully convinced, but she gives me another bracing nod and I leave. Whatever’s happening between them looks serious, and I’m not about to third-wheel a moment that’s been building for months. Besides, Sunny’s right. She needs to handle this herself.
I check the AV and everything is cued up and ready to go.
The tech guy gives me a thumbs up, and I settle into a spot near the stage where I can watch without being in the way.
I use the time to grab food (convention pizza that tastes like cardboard with extra salt) and send Tovek periodic updates on the judging.
His responses are brief but engaged, asking questions that prove he’s paying attention to the details I’m sharing.
Tovek
And the dragon guy is her boss?
Mei
CFO, technically. And yes. Very much her “we’re so professional” boss who she has a massive crush on and who definitely feels the same way given how he locked onto her from across the convention floor.
Tovek
Sounds complicated.
Mei
You have no idea.
The costume competition starts up, and I hustle back to get a better view.
The other competitors are great, beautiful pieces and videos.
The judges all give respectful applause and cheers throughout each display.
When I see a glimpse of Sunny’s outfit backstage, I edge toward an unobstructed spot, phone ready to capture Sunny’s show.
A notification buzzes on my phone. Crimson Financing’s automated system, reminding me that another payment is due in a week. The number on the screen is larger than I expected, not just the minimum payment but a significant chunk of the total, enough to make my stomach drop.
I dismiss the notification and put my phone away, determined not to let financial reality intrude on Sunny’s moment.
We’re building something real, Tovek and I, but Rome wasn’t built in a day, and debt collection agencies aren’t known for their patience.
Sunny’s name is announced, and there she is. Gone is the frightened girl who got caught by her boss. She truly wields the sword well.
And then the Dragon Knight appears behind her, as if completely rehearsed, and the crowd erupts in applause. He poses in perfect sync behind her, and if I hadn’t been privy to her plans, I would have thought this entire thing was on purpose.
I cheer as loudly as anyone else when her set finishes, the flush on Sunny’s face so gratifying to see.
“Sunny Adlawan as Warrior Priestess and Dragon Knight!”
The applause for the Best in Show announcement is deafening.
On stage, Sunny’s face does something complicated (surprise, disbelief, joy) before she turns to Khanner with an expression so raw that I have to look away.
He says something I can’t hear, his face softening in a way that makes my chest ache, and then he’s lifting her.
Actually lifting her, her feet leaving the ground as he spins her in a circle, her laughter bright against the noise of the crowd.
I record it all: the lift, the spin, the moment when Khanner sets her down but keeps his hands at her waist, his wing curving around her back like he can’t bear to let her go. It’s perfect, exactly the moment I hoped to capture when I agreed to be video tech for this competition.
What I didn’t expect is the feeling that rises in me as I watch them.
Not jealousy, exactly, but something adjacent to it.
A longing, maybe. Or a recognition. The understanding that what I’m seeing isn’t just two people in costumes but two people who’ve found each other, who fit together in ways that transcend the characters they’re playing.
Sunny catches my eye across the crowd and grins, her free hand raised in a victory sign. I grin back, pushing the complicated feeling aside. This is her moment. I can examine my existential crisis later, preferably with a drink in hand and Tovek’s stupidly perfect noodles in front of me.
The rest of the ceremony passes in a blur of congratulations and photo requests.
Sunny and Khanner are everywhere at once: accepting their trophy, posing for pictures with fans, answering questions about construction techniques with the particular enthusiasm of people who love what they do.
I hang back, letting them have their moment.
Tovek
They won! I saw your story. Sunny’s crying?
Mei
Happy tears. Khanner looks like he might combust from pride, and I’ve taken approximately seven hundred photos.
Tovek
Send one?
I select the best shot (Sunny and Khanner with their trophy, his wing curled protectively around her shoulders, her face tipped up to his with an expression that makes my chest tight) and hit send.
Tovek
They look good together.
Mei
They do. It’s kind of disgusting, actually.
Tovek
In the best way.
Mei
Definitely in the best way.
We stay until the convention starts to wind down, the crowds thinning as people head for dinner or after-parties.
Sunny’s still riding the high of the win, her earlier nerves replaced by a glowing confidence that transforms her already striking features.
Khanner hasn’t left her side, his massive frame a counterpoint to her smaller one, his wing now a constant presence at her back.
Not quite touching, but close enough that anyone watching would know exactly what they are to each other.
“I’m gonna turn in and get my beauty sleep. I partied last night,” I say finally, checking the time. “Coffee before I leave tomorrow?”
Sunny pulls me into a hug, mindful of her costume. “Thank you,” she says, her voice muffled against my shoulder. “For everything. The video, the moral support, the eight thousand texts when I overslept.”
“Anytime,” I promise, meaning it. “That’s what best friends are for.”
“Even when they’re being dramatic?” she asks, pulling back with a grin.
“Especially then.” I squeeze her hand. “Now go enjoy your win. I expect a full report tomorrow at breakfast, including whether certain CFOs finally made a move.”
The next morning, I meet Sunny at the hotel lobby café. When she arrives, she looks simultaneously exhausted and radiant in a way that tells me everything I need to know before she even opens her mouth.
“So,” I say, sliding into the seat across from her and stealing a sip of her latte. “Scale of one to ten, how much dragon D did you get?”
She chokes on her coffee. “Mei!”
“That’s not a denial.” I grin, flagging down a server to order my own drink. “Come on. Spill. I earned this after spending forty-five minutes lacing you into that costume.”
Sunny’s cheeks turn pink, but she’s smiling as my absolutely high achiever executive assistant of a best friend dropped too much information about dragonkin anatomy.
“Sunny Adlawan, you absolute legend.” I reach across the table to squeeze her hand. “I’m so happy for you.”
“It’s terrifying,” she admits. “We work together. It could get complicated.”
“It’s already complicated,” I point out. “At least now you’re complicated and happy.”
She laughs, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. “When did you get so wise about relationships?”
“I didn’t. I’m a disaster. But I’m a disaster who loves you and wants you to be happy.” I pause as the server brings my coffee. “Besides, watching you two last night...it was pretty obvious you’re meant to be together. Even the judges noticed.”
We talk for another hour, Sunny filling me in on every detail of her life in Obsidian City while I gloss over all the things happening on the other side of town.
By the time we hug goodbye, I’m genuinely happy for her. And only a little bit envious of the certainty in her eyes, the knowledge that she’s found something real.
I check my phone one last time before leaving the hotel, smiling at the string of messages from Tovek. Each one a little longer than the last, as if he’s getting more comfortable with the back-and-forth.
The last one makes me stop, my breath catching in my throat.
Tovek
Don’t worry. You’ll find your own fantasy novel hero that looks at you like you hung the moon.
I stare at the words until they blur, something heavy settling in my chest. It’s not just the sentiment (though that’s part of it, the simple kindness of wanting happiness for someone else).
It’s the way he sees me, the understanding implicit in the message.
Not the Noodle Queen or the social media star or the woman with the spectacular failure, but just Mei.
Someone who might want to be looked at that way. Someone who might deserve it.
My thumb hovers over the reply button, a dozen responses forming and dissolving before I can settle on one. In the end, I go with the truth. Or as close to it as I can manage.
Mei
I think I might have already.
I put my phone away as soon as the valet drives up to the curb. I slide into my car trying to ignore the way my heart is pounding against my ribs or the warmth spreading through my chest when I see the three dots dancing on my screen.