Chapter Text
The smell of the ocean does not linger far, dissolved by two, three flaps of wings before it’s replaced by dense air, heavy enough to coat the inside of Freed’s lungs.
He can’t take this for much longer, stretched wide and catching wind at the wrong moments, he’s heading North when the breeze heads East, fighting the unnatural tide of air as his eyes focus in on the horizon.
He’s not sure why he’s doing this, really.
He breathes in, the air is feeling heavier, warmer. But Freed just wants to be a little bit closer— just enough to catch the sunset inside the warmth of a cave rather than the open plains.
But his joints are aching, he needs to flap his wings just a little more. The sandy blur of the Earth is losing its focus.
His sigh is all too defeated when pulls his wings in, and lets the glide draw him back to the ground. This warm air is stifling, and he’s still got a way long to go.
He settles beside a towering boulder, hoping it will protect him from eyes from above.
—•—
It takes three long and embarrassing days to land in Cerrus, contrary to the one and a half day Chief Makarov promised.
Freed lands in a pile a few kilometres out of the village, his scales dryer than leaves in the sun and the air in his lungs stifling.
A scout comes to find him minutes after his landing.
She’s half formed, scarlet and brown scales encasing her arms and a horned crown sitting upon her forehead, she stalks to Freed’s fully formed reptile, laying melted in the heated sun.
“Are you well, traveller?” Her voice has a boom to it that orders Freed to stand to attention, he lifts his head but feels it’s too heavy to bear.
He needs water.
Freed lays his head down and focuses his energy on shifting down, not to half form, but something closer to his draconic one. His body’s scales refuse to be ignored.
“I need water.” Freed responds. He’s crumpled slightly, his carry bag hanging off of his still present wings.
“We shall bring some for you.” A drink won’t suffice at this moment. Freed needs total immersion.
He shakes his head.
“A lake, or perhaps a river.” Freshwater is not his preference, but anything will do.
“Are you sure you can make the journey?” She has a good point there, Freed cannot.
“Perhaps… a flask would do me well.” She walks closer to Freed, keeping her palms open to show she means no harm.
“Do not worry, I will be back in a moment.” She says no more before she leaps and bursts into an enormous and fiery form, obscuring both sun and sky with the blaze of her wings, large talons and thick red scales leaving in a fiery bullet.
Freed feels utterly pathetic in the red dust, drying out like a toad in winter and almost entirely naked.
Not quite the best introduction.
It feels like he’s been in some sort of sleep by the time the Red Guard returns with another scout and a large container of water. Freed sits up with more vigour than he can spare and groans at the effort.
The other visitor is entirely human, tan and broad with shocking white hair and a stitched scar on his face. Quietly, Freed wonders why it healed so poorly, surely their healer knew an ointment or two to soothe it? Or perhaps they had none at the time.
The Red Woman hands him the… bowl? Vase? It is made of hardened clay and is surprisingly cool to the touch.
“Thank you.” Freed remembers his manners before dousing himself in the water. Half into his stomach before tipping the entire thing over his head, sighing in relief as his body absorbs the moisture finally. The next time he travels like this, he will bring the largest possible bucket with him and fill it along with his rests.
“Is that not a waste?” The newcomer asks the Red Haired woman, his tone indicating he is more of a juvenile age than the woman beside him.
“Let’s reserve questions for later, would you like directions to the Lake?” Freed ponders on it.
He’s already two entire days late, has shown himself to be completely weak under hot weather, and possibly stupid for landing so far out of town.
He can find this Lake after his reputation is fixed.
“No. I would like to enter the village.”
“Under asylum or as a visitor?” The Red Woman stands taller, a warning against any possible conspiracies Freed might harbour.
“I am here under working conditions? For a man named Dreyar requiring specialised healing assistance?” Freed should have brought a tablet of some sort. He sounded like a liar.
“Oh! Ms Justine?” While Freed was flattered she thought he was a woman based on appearance, he probably needed to adjust this now before it became an issue.
“Mr Justine.” The woman’s brows furrowed.
“Your message detailed you were a primary healer, are all healers not women?” Why would that be so? Medicine discriminated neither woman or man, and a wound would care not so long as it was cared for.
“Not where I am from.” His friend had mentioned cultural differences among Dragonkind, perhaps this was one of them.
“Hm. How interesting.” Everyone is still and silent for a moment.
“Well, I’m sure we’ll have a lot to learn from you. Are you able to fly?” Freed is able to but he does not desire.
“Are you amenable to a long stroll?” He asks meekly.
“It will be a three hour stroll, or a thirty minute flight.”
Considering his introduction was already quite the disaster, Freed chooses the stroll.
—•—
They arrive at the town past sunset and into the rise of the moon, the air dropping from a sickly sort of heat to cool air with a slight breeze, caressing and soothing Freed’s already drying scales.
The woman, known as Ezra Scarlet, is of little words but inquires upon Freed’s home territory, and is flummoxed when he simply responds, “The Sea”. The young one trails behind them both, quiet out of pure nerves rather than stoicism.
They stop once at a waterhole, where Freed attempts to drink water in a way that’s slightly more reserved than earlier.
The village has enclosures made of brick, tall as the statues of the Great Dragon of East, with ornate iron gates covering the front, some small, some impossibly large. The bricks come in all sorts of colours, greys and browns and the occasional blue, white or yellow. Homes are far between, several paces of the half form leg compared to perhaps a few of the lizards. Freed wonders who builds in such a place, where the daytime could sizzle moss on the dirt floor, and the grass and plants wilt under the weight of heat.
Finally they come to what is the town square, wide cobbled streets with market stalls lining either side, all covered with cloth to prevent sly hands. A giant bell towers over the tallest building thus far, high enough to cast a shadow in the eyes of the sun with sand coloured bricks that appear older than time, and stained windows with images of a kaleidoscope kind.
Erza simply remarks, “I suppose a stroll was a better idea in the end.” When she sees Freed look up at the windows of the centre of it all.
Freed nods, satisfied by his choice.
“Elfman you are dismissed, I’ll escort Miss—ster Justine to Chief Makarov.” The juvenile, Elfman, simply nods before departing.
Freed waves and sends him what he hopes is a reassuring smile, though he’s heard the sharpness of his kind’s canines are slightly terrifying to other dragon-kind. The juvenile seems not to mind, smiling nervously back.
With a sigh, Erza leads them up the stairs to the heavy door in the middle of the square.
“Welcome to Cerrus, traveller.”
—•—