The crowd buzzed happily in the marketplace, but to Luther, it all resolved into a clashing of sound. The laughter, the peddlers shouting about bread and fruit, even the melodious tinkle of a minstrel’s lute—all dissolved the moment Aithur’s gaze found him.
Grey eyes. Unwavering, piercing, like the blade of a knife against his throat.
Liliana nodded in greeting, while Airhur shrugged. His face blank bit Luther noticed an amusing smirk.
He was cooking something up. Luther looked around, trying to find an escape route.
Aithur opened his mouth and spoke.
Oh damn it... The rightful source is novel~fire~net
"Amusing thing, brat..." Aithur sneered, lip curling into a sneer-smirk. His gaze flicked to Luther’s ear, where the paler, glowing crystal hung. "I remember you confronting that dragon without a crystal. But now—" he jabbed a finger at the shard "--you’ve acquired a brand-new one. Want to explain to me how that came to be?"
Luther’s throat closed up. His stomach dropped like a stone, but his lips functioned on their own, masking panic with his favorite shield—sarcasm.
"Oh, this trash?" he added a patronizing palm slap to the crystal, hitting it with an actor’s exaggerated nonchalance. The biting ting rang out louder than he expected, almost mocking. "Yeah, special limited time. One sword slash, you receive a crystal for free. Sales, you know. It’s a thing that occurs quite often.".
Aithur’s expression never changed. His eyes snapped inward, piercing. "Promotions don’t cover for why I saw you doing magic with your bare hand."
The words cut like a whip. Luther’s chest tightened. He remembers. Of course he remembers. Shit, shit—
He heaved out a laugh, dry and cracked. "Pfft. You sure you weren’t seeing things? Maybe the dragon struck you more forcefully than you know. Bonk—on the head." He parodied being struck, jerking back and forth with overmuch drama, nearly tipping over.
Aithur did not smile. Not so much as a twitch of a smile. "I don’t forget things like that."
Luther swallowed hard. His palms were damp, his own back slick with sweat. His brain shouted at him to move, to get out of there, to disappear in the sea of faces. One step, just one—
And then Liliana’s voice cut through.
The single word froze him.
Her voice wasn’t as harsh as Aithur’s. It wasn’t playful either. Calm. Gentle, even. But the weight of her gaze was worse—it was unwavering, like she saw more than he wanted she did.
"How did we escape the dragon?" she asked softly. "We were unconscious. Master Mariana told us we were found in a lake clearing. She told... you sent us.".
Luther’s heart was racing. His lips curled up into a grin which appeared to be about to split his face. "Oh, that? Easy peasy. You two were as heavy as boulders, but hey—I’ve got muscles. I dragged your lumps across the forest, avoiding fire, claws, teeth, name it. Heroic stuff."
Aithur snorted in disgust. "Dragged us? Across a dragon lair?
Luther puffed up his chest, striking a fake heroic pose. "That’s right! Me and the forest, round two. Spoiler: I won." He flexed his arm, only succeeding in appearing foolish.
The sarcasm failed. The tension didn’t break.
And then—Liliana dropped her head so her hair fell to conceal her face. "Then... thank you."
The words hit him more forcibly than any sword. For the duration of a heartbeat, Luther just stood there, blinking. Thanks were not usual to him—not in this world, not in the one he’d come from. And from her, soothing and sincere, it almost made his sarcasm break.
Before he could stumble over an answer, she lifted her eyes again. "We came to say that before we left."
Leave? The term echoed through his mind. His gut knotted further. This was it—the waiting period he’d been anticipating. They’d leave their path, he’d leave his, no more getting sucked into the narrative of this abysmal book. He should be happy. He should be celebratory.
Something else pulled at him. Something agitated.
When they turned to leave, he felt his hand lifting, as if autonomously. "Wait."
The air rippled. A small lash of magic was awakened, invisible to everyone but cutting enough to cause Aithur to stiffen. His hand darted to the hilt of his sword. Liliana turned, one eyebrow rising.
Luther’s heart was racing. His whole body was screaming don’t do it. He could have been quiet. He could have let them recede, into the shadows of his life.
But his mouth... oh, his cursed mouth.
"Before you go..." he had told her, tone more carefree than he felt. His hands dipped into his belt, and he pulled out something.
Light danced upon the cobblestones, cutting into the dense din of the square. Words faltered. People looked around. Air itself seemed to vibrate.
A unique blade glowed in Luther’s hand. Silver and gold entwined upon its hilt, and the cutting edge glowed with holy light that sang within the soul.
Gasps surrounded them. Bodies came to a halt, attracted like moths to a fire they couldn’t understand. Its holy presence pervaded the air, unadorned, uncontainable.
And in the other hand, wrapped in frayed cloth but still emanating faint light, was the second treasure: the dragon’s plant, its green light pulsating with life and vitality.
Aithur’s eyes flew wide, revulsion blazing hot and fast across his face. Liliana’s lips parted, but nothing came out. The silence between them was constricting, thicker than any dragon’s flame.
Luther, of course, leaned into it.
He held both treasures roughly, as if they were toys, curving the sword as if it weighed nothing. And he smiled at them with his widest, stupidest grin.
"So..." he said, stretching the word out, his voice dripping with lilt and singsong. "I may or may not have stolen these from the dragon."
He saluted with the sword, the holy aura churning around him like a jest of a halo.
The silence that ensued was complete. The square halted breathing.