CHAPTER FOUR
Pride and Falling
Three days east of Silverbrook, in a forest where the morning mist clung to ancient oaks like silver gauze, Commander Seraphel of the Queen's Guard faced her most formidable enemy yet.
Water.
The river stretched before her, perhaps forty feet across, its current lazy but deep. Sunlight sparkled on the surface in a way that might have been beautiful if it weren't so deeply, personally offensive.
"This is ridiculous," she muttered.
Seraphel was old. Not old by human standards—by human standards, she was incomprehensibly ancient, a being who had watched civilizations rise and crumble like sandcastles. She had commanded armies. She had stood against demons and dragons and things that had no names in mortal tongues. She had served three fairy queens before Neradok, and she would serve three more if necessary.
She could not swim.
It had never come up. Fairies flew. Why would a fairy need to swim? The very concept was absurd—wings and water didn't mix, everyone knew that. She had simply never learned, because there had never been a reason to learn, because she was a being of air and light and ancient magic, not some fish-blooded river spirit.
And now there was a river in her way, and the nearest bridge was a two-day detour, and she was losing time.
"I could fly over," she said to herself. "I am a High Fairy. I have crossed oceans on wing."
She spread her wings—magnificent things, gossamer-thin but stronger than steel, catching the light in patterns that human eyes couldn't quite process. She lifted from the ground, rose ten feet, twenty—
A gust of wind caught her. River wind, unpredictable and wet, the kind that came off water and didn't behave like proper air. She wobbled, overcorrected, and felt the horrifying sensation of her wings growing damp.
She landed heavily on the riverbank, dignity thoroughly compromised.
"Fine," she growled. "Fine. I'll wait for my wings to dry. Then I'll try again. Higher this time. Above the wind."
She sat down on a rock, crossed her arms, and glared at the river with all the fury of an immortal being who had just been personally insulted by geography.
The river continued flowing, entirely unimpressed.
"Your Majesty," Seraphel said to the empty air, "wherever you are, I hope you appreciate what I'm going through to find you."
Somewhere far to the west, the Queen of All Fairies was probably having a lovely time, completely unaware of her loyal commander's aquatic predicament.
Seraphel hated rivers.
* * *
"No."
"You haven't even heard what I'm going to say!"
"I don't need to hear it. The answer is no."
Vex Thornwood stood in the middle of the guild hall, blocking Orion's path to the quest board with the determination of a man who had never learned when to quit. His arm was in a sling—aftermath of the minotaur incident—but this had apparently done nothing to dampen his enthusiasm.
"It's a wyvern quest," Vex said.
"I know. That's why the answer is no."
"A solo wyvern! No mate this time! I checked! I read the entire quest description!"
"Congratulations on your literacy."
"It's been terrorizing a mining settlement in the hills. They're offering fifty silver! Fifty!" Vex's eyes gleamed with the particular madness of someone who had learned nothing from their previous mistakes. "This is my chance to redeem myself!"
"Redeem yourself from what?" Denna appeared at his elbow, looking like she'd been hoping to avoid this conversation. "The wyvern incident? The minotaur incident? The time you challenged that bard to a duel because you thought he was mocking you?"
"He was mocking me!"
"He was singing about a brave knight. You assumed it was sarcastic."
"The tone was sarcastic!"
"There was no tone. It was a ballad."
Orion attempted to step around Vex. Vex side-stepped to block him again.
"Look," Vex said, switching tactics to something approaching sincerity, "I know you think I'm an idiot."
"I don't think you're an idiot."
"Denna told me you called me 'aggressively optimistic' behind my back."
"That's not the same as idiot."
"It felt like the same thing!"
Nera emerged from Orion's pocket, wings fluttering. "I think you're very brave, Mister Vex!"
Vex pointed at her triumphantly. "See? The pixie believes in me!"
"I also think you should probably not fight wyverns," Nera added. "But in a supportive way!"
"That's... less helpful."
"I'm trying!"
Orion pinched the bridge of his nose. It was too early for this. It was always too early for Vex.
"Why do you want me involved?" he asked. "You're Gold rank. I'm Silver. By your logic, shouldn't you be too good to need my help?"
Vex's expression flickered—just for a moment, something vulnerable showing through the bravado. "Because you're good at planning. And Denna says I need someone who's good at planning or I'm going to get myself killed."
"I said you're going to get us both killed," Denna corrected. "Important distinction."
"Same thing!"
"It's really not."
Orion looked at Vex—really looked at him. Beneath the bluster and the one-sided rivalry, there was someone who genuinely wanted to be better. Someone who had apparently listened to feedback, even if his method of acting on it was deeply chaotic.
"Fifty silver?" Orion asked.
"Fifty silver. Split four ways, that's—"
"Twelve silver and fifty copper each."
"Yes! That! I was going to say that!"
"You were going to guess," Denna said.
"Educated guessing is a form of saying!"
Nera tugged at Orion's collar. "We could use the money. The roof needs repairs. And Pip could come! It would be good experience!"
"Pip is Bronze rank. This is a Gold-level quest."
"Pip is also standing right behind you," said a voice, "and Pip would very much like to come."
Orion turned. Pip stood there with their new sword at their hip, tail wagging hopefully, ears perked forward. They'd been practicing—he could tell by the new calluses on their hands and the way they stood slightly differently, weight balanced for a draw.
"How long have you been there?" Orion asked.
"Long enough to hear about the wyvern! And the fifty silver! And Mister Vex's redemption arc!"
"It's not a redemption arc," Vex protested. "It's a... a continuation of my ongoing heroic journey."
"That's the same thing," Pip said.
"It's really not."
"It kind of is," Denna said.
Orion was surrounded. Outnumbered. Outmaneuvered by a combination of enthusiasm and the inexplicable social dynamics of adventurers.
He sighed.
"Fine."
Vex's fist shot into the air. "Yes!"
"But I'm in charge of planning. You follow my lead. All of you." He looked at each of them in turn. "If I say retreat, we retreat. If I say hide, we hide. If I say run—"
"We run," Pip finished. "I remember! You told me that before!"
"Good." Orion turned toward the quest board. "Let's get the details."
* * *
The wyvern had made its lair in an abandoned mine shaft in the Ironridge Hills, about a day's travel north of Silverbrook. According to the quest posting, it had killed three miners, wounded seven more, and had developed a taste for the pack mules that carried ore down from the mountain.
"Wyverns are territorial," Orion explained as they walked, falling into the teaching rhythm that he still insisted wasn't teaching. "They claim an area and defend it aggressively. This one probably moved in after the mine was abandoned—dark, enclosed, defensible."
"Like a really angry bird in a cave," Pip said.
"...yes. Like that."
"A bird with acid spit," Denna added. "And a poisonous tail barb. And teeth that can punch through plate armor."
"Less like a bird, then," Pip amended. "More like a nightmare with wings."
"Now you're getting it."
Vex, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, spoke up. "The acid spit has a range of about twenty feet. And there's a tell before they use it—they rear back and their throat glows. You have maybe two seconds to dodge."
Everyone looked at him.
"What?" He shifted uncomfortably. "I paid attention last time. Eventually."
"Color me impressed," Denna said, and she actually did sound slightly impressed, which was more than Vex usually got from her.
"The tail barb is the real danger," Orion continued. "Wyvern venom causes paralysis within minutes and death within hours if untreated. Don't get hit."
"Don't get hit," Pip repeated, nodding seriously. "Very important. I'm writing that down mentally."
"Do you have a physical notebook?"
"I can't afford one yet."
"I'll buy you one."
"Really?" Pip's tail wagged. "That's so—"
"Don't make it weird."
"Right! Not weird! Just a normal mentor gift!"
"I'm not your—" Orion gave up. It wasn't worth the energy.
Nera, who was riding on Pip's head again, giggled. She'd been doing that a lot lately—the two of them had formed an unexpected bond, probably because they were both irrepressibly cheerful in ways that Orion found exhausting and endearing in equal measure.
They made camp that night at the base of the hills, the mine entrance visible as a dark spot on the slope above them. No fire—wyverns had excellent eyesight and would notice the light. They ate cold rations and spoke in whispers.
"The plan," Orion said, sketching in the dirt with a stick, "is simple. We don't fight it inside the mine—too cramped, too dark, too many advantages for the wyvern. We need to draw it out."
"How?" Vex asked.
"Bait."
"I volunteer!" Vex said immediately.
"I was going to suggest a mule."
"Oh." Vex deflated slightly. "That makes more sense."
"We don't have a mule," Denna pointed out.
"We have something that smells like food." Orion held up a bundle wrapped in cloth. "I bought salted meat at the market. Strong scent. Wyverns hunt by smell as much as sight."
"So we make a bait pile," Pip said, following along, "wait for the wyvern to come out, and then..."
"Then Vex and I engage from the front while Denna provides magical support. You stay back with Nera and watch the tail. If it tries to flank us, you call out. If anyone gets into serious trouble, you run for help."
"I don't want to just watch," Pip said quietly.
"Watching is important. Information wins fights." Orion met the young fox's eyes. "And if we fail, someone needs to survive to warn the settlement. That's not a small job."
Pip's ears drooped, but they nodded. "I understand."
"Good." Orion looked around the circle. "Questions?"
"What if there's a mate again?" Vex asked.
"The quest specified solo. But if we see signs of a second wyvern, we leave. No arguments."
"No arguments," Vex agreed, surprisingly. "I learned that lesson."
"Then we move at dawn. Get some sleep."
* * *
Far to the east, Commander Seraphel had finally crossed the river.
It had taken her the better part of a day. Three failed flight attempts, each ending in increasingly damp indignity. A brief consideration of walking downstream to find a shallower crossing, abandoned when she realized that would mean the river had won.
In the end, she had gathered fallen logs, lashed them together with vines, and essentially built a raft. A High Fairy of the Queen's Guard, ancient beyond mortal reckoning, had built a raft like some kind of common woodsman.
It had worked. She had poled her way across, landed on the far bank, and immediately set the raft on fire out of spite.
"Never speak of this," she told a passing squirrel. The squirrel chittered and fled. "Good."
Now, finally back on her journey, she consulted the traces of magic she'd been following. The trail was faint but clear—fairy magic of incredible potency, masked but not hidden from one who knew what to look for.
West. Still west. Toward the human city of Silverbrook.
"I'm coming, Your Majesty," she whispered. "Slowly, apparently. But I'm coming."
She spread her now-dry wings and took to the sky, leaving the hateful river far behind.
She would need to find a way around any future water obstacles. Perhaps she could learn to teleport. Or simply go around. Going around was acceptable. Going around wasn't losing to geography.
It definitely wasn't.
* * *
Dawn came cold and grey, mist rising from the hills like the breath of sleeping giants. The party moved into position with military precision—or at least, three-fifths of them did. Vex moved with enthusiastic chaos, which was close enough.
Orion placed the bait pile fifty feet from the mine entrance: a generous heap of salted meat that reeked even to human noses. Then he retreated to a rocky outcropping with Vex, while Denna found an elevated position with clear sightlines for her magic.
Pip and Nera hid behind a boulder further back, close enough to observe but far enough to escape if things went wrong.
They waited.
Morning light crept across the hillside. Birds called in the distance. A cool breeze carried the smell of pine and, increasingly, the smell of bait.
"Maybe it's not hungry," Vex whispered.
"It's a wyvern. They're always hungry."
"Maybe it's a well-fed wyvern."
"It's been eating pack mules. It's not—"
A sound from the mine. Scratching. Stone on stone.
Then, slowly, the wyvern emerged.
It was larger than Orion had expected. Fifteen feet from nose to tail-tip, its scales a mottled grey-green that blended with the rocky terrain. Leathery wings folded against its back. Its eyes—yellow, slitted, hungry—fixed on the meat pile with predatory focus.
"Gods," Vex breathed. "It's bigger than the last ones."
"Still just one. We stick to the plan."
The wyvern crept toward the bait, head low, tail swaying behind it. That tail ended in a barbed stinger that glistened with venom even from this distance.
Closer. Closer.
It reached the meat pile and lowered its head to feed.
"Now!" Orion shouted.
Three things happened simultaneously.
Denna's spell lanced down from above—a bolt of concentrated fire that struck the wyvern's wing, searing through membrane. The creature shrieked, rearing back in pain and fury.
Vex charged from the right, sword blazing with enchanted light, because of course he'd enchanted his sword at some point without telling anyone. He moved fast—faster than Orion had expected—and his blade scored a deep cut along the wyvern's flank.
Orion came from the left, slower but more calculated, aiming for the tendons of the creature's rear leg. A wyvern that couldn't move properly was a wyvern that couldn't fight.
His blade connected. He felt the resistance of scale and muscle, then the give as the edge found its mark.
The wyvern screamed—a sound like tearing metal—and whipped around, tail lashing. Orion threw himself backward, felt the barbed stinger pass inches from his face, and rolled to his feet.
"It's faster than I thought!" Vex yelled, dancing back from a snap of the creature's jaws.
"Adapt!" Orion yelled back.
Another blast of fire from Denna, this one aimed at the wyvern's face. The creature flinched, buying them precious seconds. Orion circled right while Vex went left, keeping the wyvern's attention split.
"The throat!" Pip's voice called from behind the boulder. "It's doing the glow thing!"
Orion looked. The wyvern's throat was indeed glowing, a sickly orange light building beneath the scales.
"Scatter!"
He dove behind a rock. Vex threw himself flat. A stream of acid hissed through the space they'd occupied, sizzling against stone and leaving smoking gouges in its wake.
"I hate that ability!" Vex shouted. "I really, sincerely hate it!"
"Save the commentary!"
Orion was moving again, circling while the wyvern recovered from its attack. The damaged wing was causing it problems—it couldn't take flight, couldn't escape. But a cornered wyvern was a dangerous wyvern.
Vex was back on his feet, pressing the attack with relentless energy. Say what you would about his judgment, the man could fight. His sword work was aggressive but not sloppy, keeping the wyvern's attention while Orion looked for an opening.
There.
The wyvern's neck extended as it snapped at Vex. For just a moment, the soft scales of its throat were exposed.
Orion didn't think. He moved—faster than he should have been able to, something inside him pushing him forward—and his blade found its mark.
Steel pierced through scale and muscle and the vital structures beneath. The wyvern made a sound that was almost surprised. Then it toppled, crashing to the ground with a finality that shook the hillside.
Silence.
Then Vex started laughing.
"We did it!" He punched the air with his good arm, his slung arm apparently forgotten in the rush of victory. "We actually did it! No acid burns! No near-death experiences! Just a clean, professional wyvern kill!"
"You're bleeding," Denna said, climbing down from her position.
Vex looked down at his side, where a shallow gash had opened beneath his armor. "Oh. I didn't feel that. Is it bad?"
"It's not great."
"But it's also not death! That's something!"
"Your standards are concerning."
Pip and Nera emerged from behind their boulder, the young fox practically vibrating with excitement. "That was incredible! The way you moved, Mister Orion—you were so fast at the end! How did you do that?"
Orion didn't have an answer. He'd felt it again—that surge of something, that moment where his body did more than it should have been capable of. He looked at Nera, who was watching him with an expression he couldn't quite read.
"Practice," he said, because it was easier than the truth.
"I'm going to practice so much," Pip declared. "Every day. Until I can move like that."
"It takes years."
"Then I'll practice for years!"
Orion was too tired to argue. The post-battle fatigue was setting in, the adrenaline fading, his muscles registering complaints they'd been too busy to notice during the fight.
"Let's harvest what we need and get back," he said. "Wyvern parts are valuable. No sense leaving them to rot."
* * *
The journey back to Silverbrook was significantly more pleasant than the journey out. They were richer, they were alive, and Vex had finally, genuinely won a fight against a wyvern. This last fact was celebrated at every opportunity.
"—and then Orion just appeared behind it, like he teleported or something, and stabbed it right in the throat! It was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen!"
"Please stop narrating my actions," Orion said.
"I can't! They were too good! They deserve narration!"
"He's not wrong," Denna admitted. "That last move was impressive. You're faster than you look."
"I'm exactly as fast as I look."
"You're really not."
Nera was being suspiciously quiet. She'd retreated to Orion's pocket and had barely spoken since the fight. Orion knew they'd need to talk about what had happened—about the impossible speed, about whatever was happening to him—but not now. Not with an audience.
Pip, meanwhile, had graduated from listening to Vex's retelling to providing their own additions.
"And I called out about the acid spit! I saw the glow and I warned everyone! That was helpful, right? I contributed!"
"You definitely contributed," Vex agreed. "Information is victory! I read that somewhere!"
"Mister Orion taught me that!"
"Then Mister Orion is very smart!"
"He is! He's so smart!"
Orion walked faster, trying to escape the mutual admiration society forming behind him. It didn't work—they just sped up to match, continuing their enthusiastic review of the battle.
"They like you," Denna said, falling into step beside him. "It's disgusting."
"I didn't ask for this."
"No one asks for Vex's admiration. It just happens. Like bad weather."
"You travel with him voluntarily."
"I have my reasons." She didn't elaborate, and Orion didn't ask. Everyone had their complications. "He's not wrong about you, though. That last attack was beyond normal. You're hiding something."
"Everyone hides something."
"True." She glanced at his pocket, where Nera's tiny form was just visible. "Some more than others."
There was something in her tone—not accusation, exactly, but awareness. The look of someone who noticed details that others missed.
"We all have our secrets," Orion said carefully.
"We do." Denna's expression was unreadable. "As long as they don't get people killed, I don't particularly care what they are."
It wasn't a promise of alliance, but it was something like respect. Orion would take it.
"The secrets I'm keeping won't hurt anyone."
"Then we don't have a problem." She dropped back to rejoin Vex and Pip, leaving Orion to walk in relative peace.
From his pocket, Nera whispered: "She's sharp."
"I noticed."
"I like her."
"You like everyone."
"Not everyone. Just most people." A pause. "We need to talk later. About what happened. About what's happening to you."
"I know."
"Tonight?"
"Tonight."
She squeezed his finger—a tiny gesture of reassurance—and settled back into the pocket. Whatever conversation was coming, whatever truth they'd have to face, at least they'd face it together.
That was something.
* * *
The guild hall erupted when they returned. Word of the wyvern kill had somehow preceded them—probably a message spell from the mining settlement—and a crowd had gathered to welcome the victorious party.
Vex, naturally, basked in the attention.
"It was a team effort!" he announced to anyone who would listen. "I couldn't have done it without my companions! Especially Orion, who delivered the killing blow with incredible style!"
"Please stop," Orion said.
"He's so humble! That's part of his charm!"
"I don't have charm."
"See? Humble!"
Mira Coldwell cut through the crowd with the efficiency of someone who had long ago stopped tolerating nonsense. "Quest completion forms. All of you. Now."
"Mira!" Nera flew up from Orion's pocket, brandishing a slightly wilted flower she'd picked on the journey. "I brought you another flower! This one's from the mountains!"
Mira accepted the flower with an expression that might, in the right light, have resembled fondness. "Thank you. Forms. Now."
The paperwork took an hour. Orion filled out his portion with meticulous care while Vex struggled through his, repeatedly asking how to spell "wyvern" and "victorious" and "unprecedented heroism."
"That last one isn't required," Mira said.
"I feel it's important for the historical record."
"The guild doesn't keep historical records."
"Then they should start! With this quest!"
Denna took his form and filled out the rest herself, her expression suggesting this was a common occurrence.
Finally, the payment was processed: fifty silver, split five ways (Pip had insisted on an equal share despite technically being there in a support capacity). Ten silver each—a significant sum, enough to keep them comfortable for weeks.
"Celebration!" Vex declared. "Tavern! Drinks! On me!"
"You just spent half your earnings on sword polish yesterday," Denna said.
"On me in spirit! You pay, I'll do the celebrating!"
"That's not how that works."
"It's exactly how it works if you believe hard enough!"
Orion was about to decline—he was tired, Nera was tense, and they needed to have that conversation—when Pip appeared at his elbow with those earnest amber eyes.
"You should come, Mister Orion. Just for a little while? To celebrate? You earned it."
"I don't really do celebrations."
"One drink," Nera said from his shoulder. She'd emerged again, and her expression was complicated. "One drink won't hurt. The conversation can wait a little longer."
There was something in her tone—a need for normalcy, maybe, before they faced whatever was coming. Orion understood that. Sometimes you needed to pretend things were simple before acknowledging they weren't.
"One drink," he agreed.
Pip's tail wagged. Vex cheered. Even Denna looked satisfied.
And for one evening, in a tavern full of laughing adventurers, surrounded by people he hadn't meant to befriend but somehow had, Orion allowed himself to relax.
The conversation could wait until tomorrow. The mysteries could wait. The strange power growing inside him, the questions about Nera's past, the old merchant who saw too much—all of it could wait.
Tonight, there was victory. Tonight, there was warmth. Tonight, there was Nera leaning against his neck and Pip hanging on Vex's increasingly embellished stories and Denna rolling her eyes while secretly smiling.
Tonight was enough.
* * *
Commander Seraphel reached the outskirts of Silverbrook as the moon rose over the hills.
She had made good time after the river incident—which she was never going to think about again, ever—and the trail of fairy magic was stronger here. Clearer. She was close.
The city sprawled before her, lights twinkling in the darkness like earthbound stars. Somewhere in that maze of streets and buildings, her queen was hiding. Living a life that Seraphel couldn't imagine—a mortal life, with mortal concerns, far from the eternal courts of the fairy realm.
Why had she left? That was the question that haunted Seraphel through the long years of searching. Queen Neradok had been beloved. Her rule had been peaceful, prosperous, joyful. There had been no conflict, no threat, no reason to flee.
And yet she had vanished. Left behind her crown, her kingdom, her people—left behind everything she was supposed to be.
For what? For whom?
Seraphel would find out soon enough. Tomorrow, she would enter the city. She would search, carefully and quietly, until she found what she was looking for.
And then...
She didn't know what came next. That was the terrifying part. Her duty was to find the queen and return her to her throne. But if the queen didn't want to return—if she had chosen this exile deliberately—then what?
Seraphel had served the fairy crown for millennia. She had never questioned her purpose. She had never needed to.
She was beginning to realize that she might have to.
"Tomorrow," she said to the distant city. "Tomorrow, I'll have answers."
She found a secluded spot in the hills, wrapped herself in her wings, and settled in to wait for dawn.
The city sparkled below, unaware of what was coming.
Inside it, in a tavern full of celebrating adventurers, the Queen of All Fairies laughed at a ridiculous story and felt, for perhaps the thousandth time, that she had made exactly the right choice.
— End of Chapter Four —