Chapter Text
There’s unease in the air. People flee the city in fear, hunter parties form and reform all around, whispers of rumors from “overreaction” to “certain death” bounce between friends and strangers alike. All the uncertainty as of late has been weighing down like an iron whale, so I took a small trip down the road to the Dragon City Inn, somewhere I know remains unchanged.
The square is as lively as ever: the merchants shouting from stands, the old lady telling stories to small children, the old man conspirator by the monument, the usual. Off to the side, I can spot the local dragon rider, Royal Margarine, flirting with some women who are cooing at his dragon which is really a wyvern.
Off to the side, some travelers catch my eye. A lady with pink hair adorned with dragon hunting gear—Sweet Pinkyberry, if memory serves me right—, a tough-looking guy with a hefty gauntlet, and a caped individual with a lot of white hair flecked with spots of black. The former two are chatting amongst each other, while the caped one seems to be tuned in to the dragon rider. The person narrows its eyes at the wyvern and cracks a wry grin. Then, with a sound that sends chills up my spine, glowers at the wyvern, sending the poor creature into a panic.
The crowd around Royal Margarine gasps as he scrambles to save face, awkwardly comforting his wyvern as the caped person watches with a sardonic grin. Gauntlet Man turns to them with an unpleasant expression, but whatever he says is lost to me as I turn into my destination.
The old innkeeper greets me as I walk in, taking my order of a single fireade as I sit at the bar. Waiting is short and before I know it, a mug of fresh fireade is in my hands. Refreshing spiciness instantly calms my nerves, and the first mug is down in an instant. I go ahead with a mug of something lighter and sweeter from elsewhere down some road when the door to the inn opens.
To my surprise, in comes the traveler group from earlier. The innkeeper greets Pinkyberry like an old friend, sharing banter while Gauntlet Man wears a face of bewilderment. Caped One is scanning the room as I’m scanning the group when my gaze meets theirs.
Instantly, something strikes me as odd. Their eyes—those aren’t normal eyes. Black sclera, and white pupils in place of irises that expand when our eyes meet, then contract when I don't back down. Something under their cape rustles right when the ladies finish their conversation, Pinkyberry walking off for a table with Gauntlet Man behind her. The Caped One takes one more glance back at me before they tail the others. I turn back to the counter, mind counteracting the drinks unraveling possibilities.
Is that a dragon? Contacts? What's with the cape?
I glance back and find the mess of white hair gleefully inhaling some Dragonhead Stew whilst the arrogant dragon rider from before hits on Pinkyberry. Below the Caped One, something is moving their cape about. Their feet remain still and their hands are preoccupied, so what?
I squint my eyes to look closer, likely looking incredibly odd in the process, but now I want an answer. This Caped One has captivated my attention. They reacted when I noticed something odd about them, so surely there must be something to hide, right? And who else would have those strange eyes if not a dragon?
I shake my head clear of thoughts and opt to put distance between me and this point of interest. After all, I need to be clear-headed and alert for the Dragon Hunters' meet later this evening. Paying and thanking the innkeeper, I chanced one more glance at the mysterious individual before making my way out.