No echo. No shuffle. Just gone.
He strained his ears. Heard nothing but the distant drip of water. Then another. Like something was breathing, far down the tunnel.
Not out of fear. Just instinct.
He let his fingers hover near the hilt of his sword instead, body low, breath quiet.
Behind him, Ren moved like a ghost. Ardan stayed where he was, anchoring the others with silence and posture alone.
The cave didn't creak again.
But the weight of something unseen hung in the air like a coat he didn't remember putting on.
Lindarion squinted into the dark.
But the steps had been real.
Something was down there.
The tension continued to crack like a dropped plate.
Not from an attack. Not from screaming.
From the soft, very deliberate click of tiny claws against stone.
The darkness ahead wasn't threatening anymore. It was… waddling.
A small shape emerged from the edge of the shadows, no taller than his knee, with wings tucked tight against its sides and stubby horns sticking out like someone had glued them on as an afterthought.
The creature blinked up at them.
Big eyes. Shiny scales. Tail twitching like it was trying out emotions for the first time.
Behind it, Lira stepped into view.
Her arms were folded. Her expression was unreadable, which for her meant she was probably thinking why do I live .
The baby dragon sneezed.
A tiny puff of smoke curled out of its nostrils. It looked very pleased with itself.
Meren, blanket still half over his face, squinted. "Am I hallucinating a lizard with delusions of grandeur?"
"Yes," Lindarion muttered. "But it's real."
Ren took two slow steps forward, then crouched. "Oh my gods. Look at it. It's got toes."
The dragon puffed its chest. It was a very small puff.
Lira finally spoke. "It followed us in."
"Did you invite it?" Ardan asked, voice flatter than the cave walls.
"No," she said. "It was alone."
Ren extended one hand, palm up.
The dragon waddled closer. Then tripped.
Scrambled back up with a squeak like it had just remembered it had dignity.
Ren made a noise that might have been a laugh or a barely-contained scream of joy. "We're keeping it."
"No," Lindarion said immediately.
"Yes," she shot back.
"It could be dangerous."
"It fell over trying to blink."
Lira crouched beside the dragon now, one hand resting just above its tiny head. "It hasn't shown aggression."
"It's a dragon," Ardan said. "That's the definition of future aggression."
Lindarion sighed and stepped closer.
The dragon turned toward him.
Its eyes were too big for its head. Its scales shimmered faintly in the firelight, like someone had spilled glitter across obsidian. It blinked once. Then waddled straight toward him and sat on his foot.
Like it had claimed him.
"Oh great," he muttered. "I've been chosen by the world's smallest death machine."
The dragon sneezed again.
More smoke. Less menace.
Ren grinned. "You're a father now."
"Too late. You've imprinted."
Meren finally pulled the blanket off his head. His eyes went wide. "Wait. Is that an actual dragon? Are we all about to die or be knighted or something? Because I'm not emotionally prepared for either."
"No one is dying," Lira said calmly. "It's young. Maybe weeks old."
Ardan raised an eyebrow. "And we're just ignoring the fact it's here. Alone."
"Clearly it has good taste," Ren said. "Look at us. Who wouldn't follow?"
Lindarion didn't move.
The dragon leaned against his boot, let out a high-pitched chirp, and closed its eyes.
"Fantastic," he said. "I'm a mattress now."
He glanced at Lira. "Any reason it picked me?"
Her lips twitched. Not a smile. Just the ghost of knowing something she wasn't going to share.
Ren was already whispering names to herself.
"Ember? No, too basic. Spitfire? Hm. Maybe Pudding."
"Do not name it," Lindarion said.
The baby dragon snored.
It sounded like a kitten hiccuping.
Meren whispered, "We're going to die and it's going to be cute the whole time."
Lindarion didn't argue.
He wasn't sure if they were blessed or doomed.
The dragon was drooling on his boot.
Not metaphorically. Not a little.
Actual, honest-to-mana drool. Warm. Viscous. Slightly shimmery, like someone had melted down a pearl and decided it belonged on his foot.
Lindarion stared at it.
The dragon snored louder. Its tail gave a lazy flick like it was dreaming about setting something on fire. Probably him.
"Lira," he said flatly. "Why is this thing trying to adopt me?"
She didn't look up right away. Her eyes stayed on the dragon like she was cataloging it for a mental bestiary. Only when she finished whatever mental checklist she was running did she speak.
"Could've fooled me."
She tilted her head slightly. "It's imprinting."
"That doesn't explain anything."
"It means," she said slowly, "you were the first one it felt safe near."
Lindarion stared down at the glorified lizard snoring on his foot.
'Sure. Because nothing says security like a slightly annoyed eleven-year-old with abandonment issues and a core that hums louder the more tired he gets.'
He didn't move. Not because he wanted the dragon to stay. But because he was ninety percent sure any sudden motion would wake it up. And then they'd have a very awake, very confused mini dragon with emotional baggage.
"I didn't do anything," he said.
Lira's eyes flicked up, unreadable. "Exactly."
That felt like it meant more than she was letting on.
He frowned. "You're saying me doing nothing made it trust me."
Ren leaned in from the side, arms folded on her knees like she was watching a soap opera. "It curled up on you like a housecat. That's powerful energy, Lindarion."
"Don't say that like it's impressive."
"You get impressed by shiny rocks."
"Some of them are really shiny."
He pressed two fingers to his temple. The dragon shifted slightly in its sleep, curling tighter around the side of his boot. Its tail wrapped around his ankle like it was anchoring itself.
He glared down at it.