Epilogue - The Past and the Future
Tariel
His conversation with Cassian had eased his pain, just enough for him to finally stop crying. A smile had even found its way onto his lips.
“I wasn’t afraid of it back then. I was… curious. I can summon anything and everything, so I thought to myself: why not a dragon? I have this tendency to want to succeed where everyone else fails.”
The elf paused, lost in thought. He looked up at the other man, who seemed to be serenely savoring the breeze.
A mischievous idea suddenly took root in his mind: he gently circled around him, making a point of being loud so as not to alarm him, then jumped onto his back without warning, clinging to him with feline agility.
Cassian caught him immediately with a calm, confident reflex, holding him firmly against himself. He didn’t look surprised. Tariel giggled, resting his head on the mercenary’s shoulder.
“Let’s go!”
After a moment, he continued, still perched on top of Cassian:
“I love gold and jewels, too. Who knows—if I hoard enough of it, maybe I could convince the dragon to join my little army of familiars!”
He didn’t believe a word of it, of course, but the idea amused him too much not to share it. Cassian, for his part, replied with quiet amusement:
“To hoard gold, you’ll have to find treasure or get rich beyond reason. A cave full of gold coins, a hidden treasure, something like that. And if he agrees… it might be because he’s hungry. You might just lose a familiar or two.”
Tariel chuckled softly. He pictured Brynjar grumbling, completely unflappable, in the face of a hungry dragon. The image made him laugh. But something in Cassian’s words brought him back to seriousness. The mercenary’s gaze had clouded over for a moment as he was lost in his memories.
Cassian lifted Tariel a little higher on his back, making him jump slightly, as if to bring him back to the present moment.
“You’d like Drakensyl, even with the Malveth occupying it,” he said. “For your library… maybe that’s what will tip the scales. All the libraries in the kingdom have burned down.”
The elf smiled, touched by the thoughtfulness. He then ventured a question:
“I thought Drakensyl was deserted… Are there still people living there?”
“Of course,” Cassian replied. “People have never stopped fighting. There’s a resistance movement. Maybe I’ll join them. Maybe I’ll give my life for the kingdom… or for a dragon.”
Tariel pouted, nestled against the mercenary’s shoulder. He didn’t like that idea. Not at all.
He whispered against his skin, mumbling, “I don’t want you to have a better adventure with another elf… Ours is the best! Well… relatively speaking, considering how many times we’ve nearly died. But that’s what a real adventure is, isn’t it? Maybe one day, we’ll be able to tell our story.”
He then raised his arms so Cassian could see them, adopting a mysterious and theatrical tone:
“This is the story of the High Mage of Caelendor and the Alchemist Mercenary who found the Last Dragon… Ooooh, I like that!”
Cassian’s soft laughter echoed through the woods.
Cassian
Cassian felt a light weight settle on his shoulders, followed by the elf’s crystal-clear laughter.
He hadn’t expected such boldness, much less for Tariel to jump on his back with such childlike spontaneity.
In a fluid reflex, driven by a vigor that betrayed his draconic nature, he slipped his hands under the elf’s thighs to steady him.
This sudden familiarity both bewildered and soothed him. Feeling the warmth of Tariel’s body against his own, his breath still short and tinged with emotion, finally swept away the heavy melancholy that had weighed on their hearts just moments earlier.
The relief of no longer seeing him cry was almost physical, as if a weight had lifted from his own chest.
Soon, the faint smile on the mercenary’s lips faded, his expression growing more pensive. His gaze drifted for a moment toward the horizon, where the sky met the distant peaks.
As he listened to the elf’s chatter, his mind drifted to the kingdom he had left so long ago.
This journey was finally beginning to bear fruit, and every day spent away from his people was a necessary sacrifice to learn, understand, and, ultimately, turn against those who were trampling his land.
He had promised himself he would return, break the Malveth’s chains, and awaken the ancient dragons.
“Drakensyl is not the land of ashes described in the tales,” he continued in a deeper, almost nostalgic voice.
“The volcanoes have been dormant for centuries. It is a fertile land, a symphony of green plains framed by dizzying peaks. Dragons are not the monsters of legend; they rested high in the mountains or sometimes in the middle of fallow fields. We have a saying back home that a farmer who finds a sleeping dragon on his land will see his next harvest double. In times of peace, they are beings of absolute serenity.”
He paused, feeling Tariel’s light weight on his shoulders anchor him in the present.
“The dragons—those that weren’t shifters—patrolled the coasts.
It wasn’t uncommon to see them gliding above the harbors; their mere shadow was enough to deter invaders.
The shifters mainly reigned over the highlands.
Drakensyl was a free land, envied by all its neighbors, especially the Malveth.
That is why they eventually betrayed the kingdom, shattering the Alliance of the Four to seize what they could not match. ”
He hoisted the elf upright, startling him just as he seemed to be hanging on his every word. He snorted briefly, then sighed.
“Today, it is a land of desolation, struggling alone in the shadows. But my people refuse to be broken. There is a coalition—a resistance movement—that refuses to bow down to the Malveth, even after the fall of our king and the disappearance of the Drakensyl line. Hope is what sustains them. And I’m sure you’d like the kingdom, despite the scars the occupation has left.
As for that dragon… your knowledge might be your best bargaining chip.
All of Drakensyl’s libraries were burned during the invasion.
A book is worth more there than a diamond. “
He turned his head to meet the elf’s gaze over his shoulder, glad to see that spark of life in his eyes once more.
“As for the future, Tariel… I never like to think that far ahead. I live each day as if the sun might not rise tomorrow. I’d like to change things in Drakensyl, to join the coalition… Maybe I’ll have already given my life for the kingdom—or for a dragon—before we can settle down. Who knows?”
Cassian felt Tariel’s slender fingers venture onto the nape of his neck as the elf began to run them through his hair; his light, exploratory movements let his brown locks with reddish highlights slide between his fingers, the motion soothing.
The mercenary found himself breathless, an unfamiliar wave of heat rising up his spine.
Against his ear, the elf let out a soft, pensive “hmm”—a muffled sound that was neither approval nor denial, but a sign of complete attention.
He savored this moment of grace, this unexpected tenderness that swept away the last vestiges of the pain that speaking of his homeland still caused him to this day. Eventually, he continued, thinking back to the elf’s earlier teasing:
“You’re the only elf I actually like, even if you reek of honey,” he teased softly. “And don’t worry: I won’t have any other adventures, and I don’t want any others. This one is already full of enough twists and turns. Our story will be told, Tariel. I’ll make sure of it myself.”
A silence fell, heavy with thoughts and unspoken words.
Cassian decided to break the tone, which had grown too solemn, and bring back a little lightheartedness: in a playful burst, he pretended to slip, suddenly loosening his grip beneath the elf’s thighs while still holding him firmly by the waist.
He caught him immediately with a calm, confident reflex, holding him close. The elf let out a little cry of surprise and clung to him with feline agility, his arms instinctively tightening around his neck. A soft, quiet laugh shook the mercenary, his own voice echoing merrily among the tree trunks.
“I’ve got you, everything’s fine!” he called out in a murmur, steadying his grip, an amused smile on his lips.
“What a brute, you heathen! Ugh, I almost died…,” Tariel grumbled, without much conviction.
A light breeze picked up, making the flowers dance across the plain that stretched out before them and carrying the mercenary’s soft laughter, soon joined by the elf’s.
Cassian eventually stopped and gently set Tariel down on the ground, his hands lingering for a moment on his arms to make sure he was steady on his feet.
“We should take advantage of this break to rest… and train. I know you hate steel, but if you combine fencing with your magic, you’ll be invincible.
However, you’re going to have to do your part.
I saw you cheating with Lyara, you little smart aleck.
Tomorrow, I’ll be the one training you. Just give me a day to regain my strength, and I promise you won’t recognize your own movements. ”
Tariel smoothed out his tunic with renewed dignity, though his cheeks were still a little flushed from his “near” fall. He cast a pitiful glance at the mercenary, desperately trying to make eyes at him to get out of another training session.
“But… I’m in a state of psychological distress!” he pleaded in a whiny, exaggerated tone. “Couldn’t we skip training for a few days, just until I recover from all these emotions?”
Cassian rolled his eyes, a smile playing at the corners of his lips that he no longer even tried to hide.
He placed his large, warm hand on the elf’s lower back—a natural, guiding gesture that left no room for escape.
He gently nudged him toward the Olyar camp, whose sounds of life—singing, laughter, and the clinking of cauldrons—rose toward them with comforting warmth.
“Ahh, Tariel… Fine. A little rest, a little sunshine… we both need it before facing what lies ahead.”
As they walked side by side toward the clan’s colorful tents, Cassian’s hand still resting like a protective anchor against Tariel, the future seemed a little less bleak, and the road to Malveth, a little less lonely.
To be continued…