He stood. Stretched. Immediately regretted it.

    Ashwing snorted in his sleep and rolled toward the wall, claws twitching like he was chasing something in his dreams.

    ''Hopefully not a child this time.''

    Lindarion shuffled toward the small wash basin. Splash. Cold water. Regret. That about summed it up.

    He dressed in silence. His coat was stiffer now, too many nights of wind and cave-walls and not enough laundering spells. He pulled the strap of his pack over one shoulder. It still bit into the same cursed spot.

    Naturally.

    He looked at Ashwing again.

    The dragon cracked one eye.

    "Get up."

    Ashwing did not.

    "Fine. I''m leaving without you."

    Ashwing yawned and rolled further into the blankets like a burrito made of ego.

    Lindarion walked to the door, opened it—

    Ashwing was at his heels before he''d even stepped out.

    "Of course."

    The hall was quiet. A little too quiet. The kind of quiet that meant someone was either plotting breakfast or murder. Possibly both.

    Downstairs, the inn''s common room was lit with a low orange glow. Someone had rekindled the hearth. And someone else had left what could only be described as a plate of effort on the nearest table.

    Bread. Cheese. A questionable fruit.

    Ren was sitting cross-legged on the bench, chewing like it owed her money.

    She looked up.

    "Morning, Royalty."

    He sat across from her. "I will throw this fruit at you."

    "It''s probably not ripe."

    "Good. Extra damage."

    Meren stumbled down the stairs a few seconds later. Hair still a mess. Shirt half-tucked. He blinked at the food like it might disappear if he looked too hard.

    "Bless the elves," he mumbled, grabbing the cheese.

    "You''re welcome," Lindarion muttered.

    Ashwing hopped onto the bench beside him. Immediately started chewing on the table leg.

    Ren poked at a small cup of something steaming. "Tea. Maybe."

    "Maybe?"

    "Could be soup."

    "Could be poison."

    "I''m drinking it anyway."

    Ardan emerged a moment later, fully armored like he''d just finished fighting the dawn itself. He nodded once, sat down, and started eating with the solemn focus of a monk.

    No one asked him where he''d been.

    Lira arrived last.

    Because of course she did.

    Hair tied back. Boots clean. Expression neutral. She looked like someone who had already sparred, bathed, and solved a regional dispute before breakfast.

    She sat beside Ren.

    Said nothing.

    Picked up her bread.

    Bit into it like it had personally wronged her.

    Lindarion watched them all for a moment.

    The chaotic blend of sarcasm, stoicism, murder potential, and fire hazards that somehow passed as his group.

    Ashwing bumped his leg once. Settled in beside him like this was perfectly normal.

    He reached down and scratched the dragon behind the horns.

    Just once.

    Quiet.

    He didn''t say anything.

    Didn''t need to.

    It was going to be a long day.

    —

    The door creaked open.

    Not in a dramatic, thunderclap way. Just the kind of slow, deliberate creak that said someone had lived long enough to stop rushing anything, especially conversations.

    Lindarion didn''t look up at first. Mostly because he was halfway through a piece of bread and making the crucial decision of whether to add jam or continue enjoying the only edible part of the meal.

    Ashwing, however, perked up. The dragon''s head shot up like someone had whispered free bacon into his soul. His tail thumped twice against the bench. Hard.

    Ren leaned sideways to look past Lindarion. "We expecting guests?"

    "Not unless someone invited a tax collector," Meren muttered.

    Ardan didn''t turn around. He just said, "Someone''s armed."

    That got Lindarion to glance over.

    It was Raleth.

    Warden. Village leader. Bear impersonator. He stood at the edge of the common room, cloak dusted in snow, hands clasped behind his back like a man who''d tried breakfast once and never forgave it.

    His beard had new frost in it. His expression had the same careful neutrality as yesterday, which was impressive considering Ashwing had burned his welcome mat and probably a chunk of his soul.

    Lira nodded once. "Warden."

    "Lady Tirnaeth," Raleth returned calmly.

    His eyes moved across the group. Paused briefly on Meren, who was now trying to butter his bread with a spoon.

    Then shifted to Lindarion.

    "Prince."

    Lindarion chewed, swallowed, and offered the most noncommittal nod in existence. "Still alive. Still grateful for the roof. Still not doing speeches."

    "Good," Raleth said. "I don''t like speeches."

    He stepped further into the room, boots thudding softly on the wood. He didn''t sit. Didn''t lean. Just stood there like an old statue that occasionally filed tax reports.

    "I''ve been told," he began, "that one of your party cured a sick villager last night."

    Lindarion lifted his tea. "That''s a strong word. I prefer ''accidentally fixed someone with minimal side effects.''"

    Raleth didn''t blink. "People talk. Fast. Especially when you bring divine magic into a town where the temple''s been closed since the collapse."

    Meren looked up. "What collapsed?"

    "The roof. The clergy. Take your pick."

    Ashwing chirped. A sympathetic noise. Probably. Or just gas.

    Raleth''s gaze settled again on Lindarion. Calm. Measuring.

    "You used divine affinity."

    Lindarion nodded. "I did."

    "You hiding it?"

    "I was. Poorly."

    Raleth didn''t sigh. But he did make the sort of face someone makes when they realize they might have to mediate a holy dispute with a teenager and a lizard.

    "There''ll be talk," he said. "There already is."

    Lindarion shrugged. "I''ve lived through worse than gossip."

    "Good. Because you''ll get it."

    Ren leaned forward on her elbows, smiling like she had popcorn. "Are we talking angry pitchfork gossip, or the ''he might be a saint'' kind?"

    Raleth gave her a slow look. "Yes."

    Lindarion set down his tea.

    "I''m not here to lead a revival," he said. "Or start a new religion. Or convert your sheep. I helped a child. That''s it."

    Raleth looked at him a moment longer. Then nodded.

    "Keep helping. Or don''t. But don''t pretend it didn''t happen."

    Then, with no ceremony and less flair than a burnt biscuit, he turned around and walked out.

    The door shut with the soft finality of a man who didn''t waste energy on goodbyes.

    Meren blinked. "He''s like if a tree decided to lecture you."

    Ren looked impressed. "He reminds me of my aunt. The scary one who made stew and war threats in the same sentence."

    Lira stood. Took the last piece of bread from the plate like it owed her money.

    Ardan muttered, "Three days. That''s all."

    Lindarion sat back again.

    Ashwing flopped onto his lap with a satisfied grunt.

    The day had officially started.