The Ring Thief - Chapter 3 - The Gathering

 Chapter 3 - The Gathering

“Woahhh there,” Han stepped back, shaking his hands defensively, “I didn’t mean any harm. I just…saw what happened. You alright?” 

Taenith snarled at the man with his wings extended outward. When his vision cleared, he got a better look at the stranger. His eyes were slightly angled, unlike the native humans of this region. His skin color was different too, neither white nor tan. Rather, it was an olive brown. Taenith was so fixated on examining the stranger, that he barely noticed him extend a hand outwards with a nervous smile. It was a strained attempt, however, as the tip of Taenith’s scimitar threatened to tear into his flesh.

“Get out of my way,” Taenith huffed, stowing his scimitar. He then folded his wings and pushed past the feeble human, nearly knocking him over in the process. 

Regaining his composure, Han noticed a pair of guards approaching through the gathering crowd of onlookers. One of them, who Han recognized from the gate, pointed to him, and shouted to halt. Though, his voice was drowned out by the sound of the crackling inferno taking over the inn, as well as the bickering crowd watching it. 

“Yeah. Not today,” he thought to himself before following after the dragon man, who took notice with a snarl. 

“Why are you following me?” Taenith snapped, as he kept an eye out for more guards. 

“Uh, well. You’re actually going the way I came,” Han spoke sheepishly.

Taenith huffed. 

“Where are you going?” Han asked.

“Home.” 

Han didn't reply. Clearly, he wasn’t interested in a conversation, and he didn’t want to lose his head by pestering. But even so, he couldn't help but be intrigued by the alien figure. Of course he knew about demihumans, but he’d never seen one in person before. His natural curiosity kept him glued to the stranger despite his instincts screaming at him to turn away. At least, until he heard the shouts of Gilan and Kenly return, and much closer than before.

"Stop!" Gilan's voice boomed over the heads of frantic citizens, who tumbled out of the way as the two guards charged to confront them.

Han's gut sank. "Dammit. Not these guys again."

Taenith ignored their warnings and carried on.

"I said stop!" Gilan spat, his sword drawn. Taenith finally stopped in his tracks and Han shot his hands into the air.

Kenly’s frown twisted into a perverted grin. 

Civilians within the surrounding homes perked up when they heard Gilan’s command. It wasn’t long before several noses were pushed up against their glass windows. Intrigue and terror painted their faces while they watched their noble guards confront the awful monster who'd invaded their town.

"Raise that sword and I'll take your hand," Taenith growled. 

Kenly snarled. "Teach this trash some respect, Gil."

Gilan took a step forward, but his hand began to shake when Taenith bared his rows of glistening razor teeth. He grew up reading stories about the fearsome dragon folk, and how they collected the blood and bones of innocent women and children for their demonic rituals. Only an apostle could stop their rampage, and they were blocks away putting out a fire.

"Dammit," Gilan bit his lip, his stoic bravery turning to mush. "Just get out of here." 

Kenly’s smile vanished, and his eyes nearly bulged out of his skull. "Wait what? But Gil-," Kenly began before Gilan cut him off. 

"Quiet! Let's go," he demanded. After a moment of hesitation, Kenly groaned, and they returned to the smoldering inn.

Taenith laughed as they hurried away, tails between their legs.

"Wow. That was awesome,” Han chuckled. “Gods, I wish we met earlier. Me and Griz could've avoided so much trouble.” 

“Leave me alone,” Taenith grumbled, and began walking again. Han followed.

"Hey, I'm just trying to thank the guy who saved my hide. I've never seen guards so scared before.” 

“Fine.” Taenith closed his eyes and sighed. “You’re welcome.”

“Oh,” Han held out a friendly hand, “My name is Han Goh by the way. But most people just call me Han.” 

“Han Goh?” Taenith’s face scrunched, “What kind of name is that?” 

“Rude,” Han said, furrowing his brows. “Like yours is so great.” 

Taenith grumbled. "Why are you really pestering me, Han Goh? Do you want money? What?" He clicked his tongue, scaled brows furrowing.

"Well yeah, but that's not why I-” he shook his head, starting over. “Like I said, I just wanted to say thanks. That, and, I’m meeting up with a friend soon. We’re heading out of town to loot some ruins. We could use someone who's more used to the land. Or you know... a dragon who can scare off people like those guards."

Taenith sighed. With Groa gone, he'd need a new source of income. Woodhurst was out of the question for future employment. And he was going in their direction anyway. 

Taenith huffed a breath through his nostrils. “Fine.”

“Oh,” Han was taken aback for a moment. "Really?" 

"Could use the coin," he mumbled.

"Fair enough. What was your name by the way?" Han asked.

"Taenith Gullmenthellesh,” he replied.

Han briefly paused in his tracks. He could barely discern the sounds, or the words they made. “Yeah. Yours is worse. Way worse.”

Taenith rolled his eyes. He looked back at the plaza and the mobs gathered there. A sense of forlorn longing rested in his chest. This small town, as harsh as it could be some days, was the closest he had to a home. The thoughts of leaving made his gut twist, but Groa was right. It would be unrealistic to stay. 

So, Taenith reluctantly agreed to join Han, and followed him, glancing occasionally to his sides to watch for bandits or slavers. He half expected to be led into a trap at any moment from his new “friend.” But once they reached the outskirts of town, without anyone bursting from the shadows to slay him, he felt his shoulders and wings relax a bit. That is, until he noticed a slightly tanned, yet still white-skinned man batting a marbled mace in the air like a child swinging a stick at a ball. Upon closer examination, he noticed the figure was dressed in white armor. The smooth metal plating bristled his scales and set his nerves ablaze.

“What the hell is this?!” Taenith seethed, bearing his fangs at the strange soldier, who seemed all too distracted by his own actions to notice them.

“What?” Han asked.

The draconian towered over the smaller human, who flinched backwards to avoid the maw that could easily tear him to shreds. Then, he looked over to Grizzel, and realization finally settled in. “Wait, no. Grizzel’s not like those other guys. I promise. As far as I know he doesn’t even serve a god.” He gulped and felt some regret. Having the draconian along would be great for the team, but he also wanted to keep his head long enough to return to Kanda.

Meanwhile, in the near distance, Grizzel began shouting in triumph as he pretended to smite the imaginary monster he was sparring against.  

“Do you think I’m a fool?!” Taenith snapped, his wings flaring with his agitation. “What kind of apostle doesn’t serve a god?”

Han backed away as the draconian loomed over him, smoke practically boiling from his nostrils. 

“I don’t know! I’ve never seen him pray since I’ve known him. He could worship himself for all I know. Probably wears the armor for the looks too,” Han said quickly. His eyes were wide and afraid, like the deer Taenith hunted in the plains at night. They certainly weren’t a killer’s. Or a liar’s.

Examining the apostle more closely, Taenith noticed there was indeed no pantheonic emblem bound to his pauldrons or any religious items dangling from his neck. Exhaling in the closest thing he could feel to relief, he stepped away from Han and tried his best to relax despite the deep scowl now resting on his features. 

“Can we please go five minutes now without you trying to eat me? If you really don’t want to come, we can just part ways,” Han said as Grizzel finally turned to notice them.

Upon seeing the draconian, his face lit up with surprise. He then jogged over to the two like an eager boy chasing after sugared candies. 

 “You really don’t know what I am, do you?” Taenith asked. 

Han shot him a confused glance. “No. Should I?” he asked.

Taenith pursed his eyes and breathed, relaxing the flames that boiled in his chest. And before he knew it, the apostle was in front of them. Grizzel’s build was decent, a little skinny for an apostle, but combat worthy. His face was clean and unscarred along with his armor, suggesting that he was fresh from whatever academy he hailed from. All these physical attributes screamed Kingswatch apostle to Taenith, but he seemed far too cheery for a murderer.

“Who’s this?” Grizzel asked, his smile unwavering as he looked over the much larger draconian. His maw was caked in patches of blood.  

Han sighed, “Taenith here said he’d help us,” he reached up and scratched his head, “Though he’s not one for apostles I guess.”

Nodding his head, Grizzel tied his mace to his side. “Well lucky for you I’m not really like those other guys,” he smirked. A droplet of blood fell from Taenith’s maw. “I’d shake your hand, but you look like you could use a towel first,” Grizzel reached into his back and pulled out a piece of cloth. He offered it to the draconian. 

Taenith eyed the man’s hand with a glare. 

After a few moments of awkward silence, Grizzel retracted his hand and shrugged. “Alright then,” he said, placing the towel back in his bag before pulling out a brown map.

“Well, it’ll be great to have you along. The more the merrier, right?” Grizzel smiled, nudging Han’s shoulder. “Did good ole’ Han here tell you where we’re headed?” he asked, flipping the map several times trying to figure out which way was true north. Covering the hastily made creation were several blotches of ink and blood scattered across what may have been previous landmarks they may have visited in the past.

“We didn’t really get far with that,” Han said, stealing a quick glance at the draconian. Despite his theatrics and threatening demeanor, he didn’t seem all that bad. Probably just a bit distrustful of people, judging by what happened at the bar. Due to his own past, he could certainly understand that mindset. 

Grizzel flattened out the crumpled map and pointed to a large red “X” plastered between Woodhurst and the mountains to the north. Beneath the large letter was a crude drawing of a treasure chest and gold pouring from its maw. “This is where we’re headed.”

Taenith eyed the poorly drawn map. There was only one “X” marked on it. From his experience, apostles carried pamphlets with the names of communities to raid, usually with their populace listed by race. However, none of that information was listed here aside from general illustration of the landscape. 

“He mentioned ruins and treasure. That’s all I know,” Taenith said. 

Grizzel smiled, “Yup! We overheard some archeologists in a town over just a few days ago talking about it,” he said. “And I don’t know about you but I’d like to beat those historian bookworms there. That way we can grab some loot before its stuffed into a glass box forever.”

Taenith nodded as he looked over the shorter human. Trust wasn’t something he usually handed out to complete strangers, but Han at least seemed rather innocent compared to other people he’d come across in the past. And Grizzel? Well, his brain seemed to be liquified. His eyes glistened at the idea of gold, just like the others of his kind. In a way he was like a child, yearning for toys. But judging by the lack of a deity’s emblem on his armor, he didn’t even have a god to serve, so at most he was just a sorry pretender. 

Rolling these thoughts around in his head and clicking his tongue, Taenith looked behind Grizzel and to the mountains in the distance. It wouldn’t be very far from his cave, so the risk was well worth the gold. Then again, it wasn’t likely he would return anyway. Woodhurst would never forgive him.  And besides, there was no reason he couldn’t just kill Grizzel if he turned out to be a problem.

Folding his map into a clumped mess, Grizzel pointed to the mountains in the distance.

“Up until now it’s just been me and Han, but hey, I'm glad you're with us big guy!” he said, turning away and marching towards the plains as if he were some sort of tour guide.

Taenith was left standing there with his tail hugging the ground. Did the man really not know who, or what, he was? Had it been so long that they forgot? More than a decade had passed. Then again, Gilan and the apostles at the inn certainly knew what he was. 

So maybe Han was right.

“Hey, uh you forgot something,” Han’s words shattered Taenith’s thoughts as he gestured to the bag Grizzel left behind. “I’m not your butler!” he yelled after the apostle. But his words were lost on Grizzel, who continued stomping his metal boots into the dirt. Extending his mace outward, he marched, whistling beneath the blistering sun to a nonexistent audience. 

Taenith curled his nails into his palms and raised his tail off the ground. “Seems like a great guy.”

Han gave a small sigh, “You get used to him after a while,” he said, looking down at the apostle’s leather pack, which was filled to the brim with loaves of bread, salted jerky, and what seemed to Taenith to be far too many unlit torches. At least seven cloth-wrapped and oil slathered sticks stuck out of the backpack, nearly threatening to fall out as their damp tops collected sand from the windy breeze. Why they were already soaked with oil so long before night was beyond Taenith’s comprehension.

“Does he know magic? Taenith asked. 

“Yeah, he knows a few Lux spells.” Han grabbed the bag and slung it onto his back. “Though, between you and me, he’s not very good.” 

“Then why the torches?” Taenith asked. Lux magic was known for its light spells, making the torches even more puzzling.

Han shrugged, “Maybe he’s scared of the dark.” 

“Scared of…. the dark?” Taenith thought to himself. 

Han tied the bag’s straps around his chest and pressed his gloved palms beneath the rope so it wouldn’t bruise or welt his shoulders. “Hey, everyone’s got their thing.”

Taenith rolled his jaw, “I suppose so.”

Craning his head backwards, Grizzel shouted, “Hey! What's the hold up? We’re burning daylight!” he shouted, waving his mace at them like a flag.  

Han hefted the bag and shouted, “If I’m carrying this you’re making dinner!”

Grizzel released another toothy grin. “You got it!”   

With that, Taenith followed Han and joined Grizzel, who continued his militant march across the golden plains. Together, they left behind the town and the black cloud of smoke that hung over it.  

Once the walls of Woodhurst disappeared into the distance, the group found themselves surrounded by herds of deer, and even elephants, grazing lazily over moist grass patches near small sparkling ponds scattered throughout the plains. Beyond the grassy flats, to the north, were snow-glazed mountains whose tips were hidden beneath blankets of bushy white clouds.

The silence between them was deafening to Grizzel, as they walked for most of the day without so much as a few words passed between each other. He’d never gone so far before without at least hearing himself speak once or twice. Clearing his throat, he nudged up close to Taenith’s side. The draconian hardly batted an eye at the apostle, whose nosy eyes beamed up at him, like a hungry pup’s. 

“What?” Taenith asked. 

Blinking, Grizzel smiled. “Where are you from? Can’t say I’ve seen a dragon...man before.”

Glancing at the white mace at his side, Taenith grumbled, “You’re the apostle. You tell me,” he said.

Grizzel laughed, smacking a hand on Taenith’s arm, to which the draconian shot him a boiling sneer. 

“Uh, sorry? Not much of a touchy guy?” Grizzel asked.

“Not with your kind,” Taenith growled.

“Humans?” Grizzel asked, his brows furrowed. 

Taenith clenched his jaw and practically spat on the man, “Apostles. Murderers.”

Grizzel chuckled, then raised his mace into the air. Its marbled handle was smooth and pale, and the glass orb that made up its tip was cushioned by ornamental dragon wings.

“Never murdered in my life!” he said, watching fractals of glowing magic dance inside the glass ball. Each sparkle that licked the inside of it seemed to be its own star or galaxy, swirling about, and bouncing into each other, erupting into tiny little explosions on contact. “I know others kill in the names of their gods but that’s not my style. Right, Han?”

The bowman, still carrying Grizzel’s overfilled bag over his shoulders, sighed. “What? Sorry. I was busy carrying your shit,” he said.

“Good ole Han!” Grizzel laughed, returning his attention to Taenith. “But if I’m being real, this mace was given to me by a goddess to spread peace. How could I do that if I was a murderer? Hmm?” he asked, pushing his face a little too close. 

“Depends on who you deem innocent,” Taenith replied. 

Grizzel laughed once more, nudging the draconian, who responded by baring his teeth. To this, Grizzel quickly returned his arm to his side.

“Well,” he began after a few moments, “I’m pretty sure the mace only slays chaotic beings. So, I don’t really need to do the ‘deeming,’” he smirked, batting the mace in the air, pretending to slay some poor soul. “They just die of their own sins, or whatever you want to call it,” he said. 

Taenith groaned. The term ‘chaos’ described everything and nothing. It was a fickle word, defined only to demonize what the Divines hated: freedom. And now, even thinking back on his mother’s killers, he could remember the weapons they used. They were simple steel swords stained brown from blood. Not maces like Grizzel's. And there was certainly no divine aura in them.

“If that were true, you wouldn’t need swords. Yet your friends seem plenty content with those,” Taenith said. 

Grizzel paused at the comment. He’d never really seen other apostles with enchanted weapons like his before. Maybe it was rare? It was something he’d never really paused to consider. Before he could think of a response, however, Han butted in.

“Hey Grizzel, do you ever talk about anything other than that mace?” Han asked.

Feeling his chest tighten from the draconian’s comments, Grizzel clenched his jaw. Looking into the distance, however, he noticed a stone tower sitting in the middle of nowhere. Though, it was difficult to get a good look because of the fading daylight. Stowing his mace, he reopened the map and paused. “Well that’s weird,” he said, squinting.

“What? Is that it?” Han asked, setting the bag down before plopping to the ground. 

Looking over the map, Grizzel bit his tongue.

“It can’t be. We haven’t gone far enough,” he said, flipping the clumsily folded sheet several times before looking at the strange construct sitting in the middle of nowhere.  

“We only had rumors to go off, Griz. Your map isn’t going to be perfect.” He said, laying on the grass, hands behind his head. 

“But…” Grizzel began, squinting at the foreign construct. It looked too intact to be an ancient ruin. That, and the stone was smooth. In fact, it glistened like the metal on his armor.

“Whatever it is, it's getting late. And we don't want to be traveling at night in these parts,” Taenith added.

Grizzel looked to the orange sky, watching as the sun slowly dipped behind the treelines in the west. With a sigh, he nodded.

“You’re probably right,” Grizzel said, facing the two. Han was nearly passed out on the ground already. 

“So I guess we’ll sleep here then hit the building in the morning,” Grizzel said, “Who wants first watch?”

Han groaned. 

“Thanks for volunteering, Han!” Grizzel smiled. 

Taenith couldn’t help but smirk at the comment as the bowman ran his fingers over his face and forced himself off the ground. 

“Why don't you do it?" he seethed. "I've been carrying your shit all day. I'm tired."

"I did it yesterday!" Grizzel retorted.

Han groaned again, taking a breath to calm himself before digging through the bag and pulling out a bundle of torches. “Better at least get me some food. I’m starving,” he said.  

“We’ll do rations tonight, then I’ll make us some hearty soup in the morning!” he smiled. Grabbing and digging through the bag, he pulled out several wrapped pieces of stale bread and dry, salted venison. 

“You said you would make dinner!” Han protested.

“I am! Jerky and juice!” He held up another piece of meat for the bowman.

“Sometimes I hate you,” Han sighed, sticking a torch into the ground.

While Han finished setting up for first watch, Taenith pulled out a small bedroll from his own travel bag, setting it along a soft patch of grass farthest away from Grizzel. He then opened a small pouch he carried at his side. Inside were a variety of rations, some sticks of salted beef, dried nuts, and a few citric fruit pieces. He munched on a handful of each before taking a swig of lukewarm water from his small, leather-bound canteen, quickly quenching his dry tongue. Han and Grizzel, too, ate their dinner as the evening faded into night, leaving Han’s small circle of crackling torchlight to fend off curious snakes and other nuisances of the dark. 

“You gonna just sleep in that armor?” Grizzel asked, bottoming a mouthful of sour juice from his canteen while he sat in his fluffy bedroll dressed in silky white pajamas. When he was done drinking and laid down, he made sure his mace was carefully cradled against his chest.

“Yes,” Taenith said, turning away from the apostle. He then took out a small, hay-stuffed pillow from his bag. Folding it in half, he laid his neck against it so his horns faced the ground, allowing him to watch as shooting stars danced above the clouds like fireflies. Resting beyond their playful banter was the moon, sprinkling the dark and nightmarish landscape with just enough light for him to watch the brilliant display. Flickers of flame licked the back of Taenith’s throat while he observed the cratered construct. It had been years since he had stared Lunas in her eye. Even now, it pained him knowing that she was above him, watching over the world like something to be manipulated and exploited.

“Have faith,” his mother’s words echoed in the back of his mind, as a gust of wind brushed over his armor. Closing his eyes, he tried to picture her face. But all he could remember was blood. 

Taenith took a breath, trying to clear his head. But every muscle in his body screamed at him to jump at the moon and vanquish it from the sky.

Grizzel fell dead asleep in nearly an instant. But Han, sitting beside a small fire he had thrown together, couldn’t help but notice Taenith’s grumbling and restless stirring.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked.

Blinking, Taenith turned to see Han facing him. “Not like this."

"Like what?" Han asked. The fire behind him crackled.

"Why do you care?” Taenith scoffed.

Han shrugged, looking into the night. “Not much else to do.” 

Taenith exhaled. “Sleeping outdoors is dangerous in these parts,” he muttered, taking in a breath of cold, dry mountain air, which suddenly smelled like rot and tasted like iron. The ground even felt like metal, as he felt himself slipping into memory. Annoyed by his thoughts, Taenith slowly stretched his wings and sat up. When he faced Han, just for a moment, a streak of blood poured from his eyes and hands. Then he blinked, and all he could see were the bowman’s friendly features.

“Eh, I’m sure it’s fine just for one night.” Han began drawing into the dirt with a stick. “But if you can’t sleep. I wouldn’t mind some company. I usually don’t make it through shifts if I’m being honest.” he glanced at Grizzel. "Don't tell him I said that."

Taenith glanced over to the apostle. He was busy snoring and mumbling, probably about his mace, in between soft breaths. “I would hate to wake him.”

Han snickered. “You’d think that mace was his pet or something.”

“Why do you travel with him?” Taenith asked.

“Eh, he’s not so bad,” he said, “We’re not really close friends or anything I guess. But he did promise to help me get enough money to return home. And he’s the only one who hasn’t looked at me like garbage,” Han shrugged as he finished carving a circle around the emblem he’d drawn in the dirt.

“I see,” Taenith said, looking down at the alien symbol. It was almost like a kingdom’s sigil, but the castles were strangely detailed with fine, rounded angles rather than the square blocky ones Taenith knew humans traditionally built with.

“What are you drawing?”

Han smiled, the moonlight above them highlighting his features with a subtle light that made his coffee colored face glisten, “The emblem of Kanda. It’s where I’m from.”

“Haven't heard of it,” Taenith said.

Han sighed, “I wouldn’t blame you. It’s far west. Over the ocean.”

“Why leave?” Taenith asked. "It can't be worse than here." He kicked some dirt. 

“I wish,” Han dropped his stick and laid on his back to face the stars, “There’s a civil war going on right now. My family was,” his voice cracked.  “...taken by slavers.” A barrage of flashing memories reminded him of the morning they were captured. His mother in chains. His father…bloodied. And his little brother… The buds of a few tears began to crawl out his eyes as he envisioned the maltreatment they were probably put through daily by people who only saw them as objects.

“I was the only one who escaped,” he said, “Took the first ship I could find off the continent. Now I’m here, trying to earn enough money to free them.” 

“If they’re alive…” the back of his mind mused. Han rubbed his sore eyes, collecting a row of tears on his thumb.

“Then I suppose we’re not so different, you and I,” Taenith said. His eye lids grew heavy.

Silence passed between the two for a few moments, interrupted only by the passing howls of distant wolves, the whispers of glacial winds, and the crackling of their fire, which reminded Han of the hot clay ovens his grandfather used to use for baking pastries.

Han grinned. “You know, my grandfather used to have a saying.”

Taenith raised a brow, “Oh?”

Scrunching his lips and plugging his eyes together, Han cleared his throat and put his hands on his hips. "A good crem isn’t made with perfect ingredients. You see, boy,” Han said, wagging his finger in the air, “A good crem is only as good as the heart it’s made with. Now, quit your whinin' or no good crems for you!” Han imitated his grandfather's gruff tone, his voice cracking ever so slightly. Then, catching a glance of the stern-faced draconian, he realized he probably said too much.

“Sorry, I… talk too much sometimes.” He rubbed the back of his head.

“It’s fine.” Taenith paused, offering a confused glance, “What is a crem?” 

Han gasped, “You’ve never had a crem before? Even cities like Kingswatch get them.”

Taenith shrugged. “I lost my home a long time ago,” he said. Even the sparkling streets and scaling towers of Lune were fading memories. Looking over the shadow-touched flats, he continued. “This is all I know.”

“Well,” Han closed his eyes and smiled, “It’s basically a cream filled cookie. They’re okay here, but in Kanda...” he said, wagging a finger at the draconian. “Man you’re just gonna have to come back with me so you can try one. Pa’s apprentice is a legend with the creamer.”

Taenith raised a brow, “I barely know you for a day and now you want me to go across the world with you,” he huffed, but amused. “Are all humans from Kanda this strange?” Taenith’s heart softened when he looked over the bowman’s features. His warm smile gave him hope that not everyone was as evil as he believed. The ‘crem’ analogy certainly offered a… unique perspective. Even if he didn’t quite understand it. Of course the ingredients mattered.

“Our culture values generosity, even to dragons that try to eat us…” he snickered.

Taenith couldn’t help but chuckle at the comment. “I never thought I'd meet a generous human." 

Han snickered, wiping his face again before pushing back his memories. “Not a high bar, but I’ll take it.”

Holding back a yawn, Taenith pulled out a piece of dried fruit from his satchel and chewed on its hard carapace. Sour flavors soaked over his tongue, electrifying his senses just enough so the growing weights on his eyes lessened. The sudden clarity was only eclipsed by the lingering sensation in his chest that angered him the most.

“Han,” Taenith said.

The bowman, imagining the sweetness of a crem through closed eyes, nodded. “Yeah?”

“Are you religious?” he asked. 

Han clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth. He’d never really considered the gods. Too much worship for no return, he always thought. “Not really. Why?” he asked.

Taenith hesitated for a moment. He had never really engaged in open conversation before, aside from small talk with Groa, and she was hardly a conversationalist. At least, no one had ever let him. But this moment felt safe enough. At least for now.

"Do you ever wonder…” he paused, collecting his words. “Why the gods allow suffering?” his muzzle dropped, replacing his vision of the night with the dirt, where he discovered a singular grub. Its pale, wrinkled skin shimmered beneath the moonlight while it slithered along to its home in the earth below. 

Han bit his lip and pondered the question for a few moments. “I guess I’ve never really thought about it before. But I'm betting you already have an answer. And that’s why you hate Grizzel. Right?”

Taenith clenched his jaw.

“Yes… My people were killed by apostles,” he said, looking up at the moon. Its pale, cratered face taunted him. “In the name of Lunas, goddess of peace.” His throat choked. “They killed them all.”

Han wasn’t sure how to respond to the draconian. At least now he knew where his distrust came from, but what could he say to that? “That’s rough, buddy?” Obviously not that. It was at moments like this when Han cursed himself for being an awkward conversationalist.

He took a deep breath and pushed his fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry to hear that,” Han said, offering a hesitant pat to Taenith’s shoulder. The sudden contact made the draconian flinch, but it was still a pleasant warmth, the likes of which he hadn't felt... ever. Even if it was just for a moment.

“For years I’ve wondered…Why would a god kill her own worshippers?” he asked, his voice raspy with the flames that roiled his lungs.  

Han watched the moon. Its glow, a bastion of hope in the darkness that surrounded them. “I don’t know. I mean, they’re not omnipotent. I think. Maybe they just can’t stop all the bad in the world?”

Taenith retracted his gaze and grabbed a stone. Its face was smooth, nearly blemishless.

“Kill them all,” Taenith said, dropping the stone. His tail twitched in the dirt. “Lunas commands it. Those were their words,” he choked. Taenith clenched his fists, digging his knife-like nails into his leathery palms.

Han wanted to offer him some solace. But, remembering his own past, he couldn’t disagree. And he did find some form of dark comfort in the comradery that came from their combined tragedies. 

A gust of wind raged over the camp, threatening to blow out the torches that surrounded them. Once the whistling sound of the plains subsided and the silence became overbearing, Taenith flushed with embarrassment. 

“Now I’ve said too much,” Taenith apologized.

“I guess we’re even then," he joked. Though his gut urged him to say something more. "...I'm glad we talked. Maybe after this, we can go fight Lunas, then eat some crems in Kanda afterwards."

Taenith smirked. “I wish it were that easy. But yes, that would be nice,” His wings settled behind him, and a soft breath left his nostrils.

"It’s nice talking with you, Han Goh,." Taenith said.

“Anything for my strange dragon friend,” Han said.

“Draconian,” Taenith corrected. The two exchanged short glances. Han shook his head and chuckled. 

"Are all draconians as stiff blooded as you?" Han asked with a playful smile.

Their evening conversation slowly faded into a peaceful quiet. While Han gazed up into the sky, basking in the watery moon light, Taenith investigated the darkness, watching for the eyes of predators. After what seemed hours of staring into oblivion, Taenith looked over to see Han’s eyes shut and the man fast asleep. Grabbing Han’s blanket, he covered his new companion before continuing his watch over the night.