The anxiety pressed upon them like a mountain, but the pair of Priests stepped away to drink and eat their fill, allowing the others to enjoy their meals without their dourness. Little Kizwolima stuck beside Bael, who drew a myriad of eyes upon him, from those wondering who this half dragon was, to others wondering if he was actually a dragon in disguise. There were many half dragons in the capital, but how many were dragons and how many were half dragons were unknown. There were many known dragons, but at the same time, there were an unknown number of unknown dragons, with various merchants, adventurers, and all manner of other figures and roles who may have been dragons in disguise. 

“Excuse m-me,” a young child called out, much to the chagrin of his parents, staring up at the half dragon whose eyes fell down to the young boy, perhaps seven or eight years old, with skin like bronze, hair that was almost blonde, with hints of copper, and eyes which were chestnut, and slightly almond shaped. “Are you a dragon?”

Bael grinned wide, causing the child’s father to rush over, almost tackling his own son. 

“Forgive him, my Lord!” the father exclaimed, his voice filled with desperation, like the kind of an ant who was facing up a tiger. “My son is a little troublemaker, Noor take him! Always too curious for his own good!”

Bael’s laughter echoed through the restaurant, causing many to quieten their voices, for none would dare to speak when a half dragon, who was potentially a dragon, laughed so terribly. “Am I a dragon?”

The father’s heart pounded violently in his chest, closing his eyes as he sweat profusely, not because of the searing noonval heat, which did not dare to tread within the restaurant, but because of the great fear within his heart, which was so great, it certainly must have been supernatural.

“It does not matter if I am a dragon, all you should know is that the dragons you know, the giants, the mermen, they all fear me!” Bael’s laughter continued to echo through the restaurant, joined by another, a little girl who sat right beside him who laughed with the half dragon. 

‘Eh?’ Adam thought. ‘He speaks Aswadic too?’

As he laughed, a half dragon stepped within, tall, dark, beautiful, red scales falling from the back of her neck, adorned in a breastplate made of what appeared to be glass, engraved with all manner of designs. At her side she wore a blade, the hilt intricately detailed, made of what appeared to be ruby. Contrasting her red scales was a silver tag which hung around her neck, the beautiful half dragon’s eyes falling upon the laughing figure, who stopped, catching the new half dragon’s gaze, his grin even more wild. 

The Dancing Sword of Fire, Melek, remained completely focused on the half dragon before her, who glared at her with such delight. Her own lips began to curl into a vicious smirk. “Is there… a problem?”

Bael could hear the threat within her words, which tickled his ears, his eyes narrowing as his smirk widened.  “You are too young for me, girl.”

“In this land, no one can dare to call me girl,” the woman replied, reaching for her blade, and as she did, she paused, glancing back, waiting and waiting, until he finally appeared. 

He stood taller than anyone within a mile, and yet she was short, shorter than even his greatsword. His eyes remained sharp, annoyed, his greatsword’s hilt peeking over his back, the slab of metal swinging lightly behind him. He wore a breastplate, but his name and reputation were a greater defence. 

“Move aside, girl,” he said threateningly, stepping within the restaurant, walking right up to the girl, and even into her, though she pulled aside. 

“You have been gone for so long, cousin, that you do no-,” Melek began, only to find his green eyes glaring back towards her over his shoulder, with such a viciousness, she had drawn her blade, her hair standing on end. 

Isam turned, sauntering his way towards a particular table, causing one of them to sweat, his breathing falling heavier as the small man approached. Isam completely ignored the half elf, his eyes glaring towards the Priest. “You can buy me drinks.”

“Of course, ahm,” Dunes replied, waving a hand towards a worker, ordering bottles of wine for the half dragon. 

“You can leave us,” Isam said, his eyes pressing upon the half elf, who quickly stood up and took that as permission to step away. He wasn’t going to argue, not when his heart was thundering within his chest. He had beaten Isam, but there was no doubt within his mind that he had been extremely lucky, and that Isam was one of the few in this entire land that could one shot him in return, perhaps even more so than the dragons. 

The atmosphere remained heavy, until someone clinked their cup upon their table, a figure with dark skin, handsome, wearing cream clothing, and who sat beside a pair of blades wrapped in scarves. “What good fortune that I have met such wonderful guests today. The Dancing Sword of Fire, and even the Poison Sword Dragon.”

Yasmin glanced aside towards her mentor, who beamed so brightly as he reached into the scarf wrapped around his shoulders, and placed down a small gem upon his table. 

“A cup of wine for everyone,” Scholar Muh said, sliding the gem towards the edge of the table. “Lady Melek, may I ask for your company?”

Melek narrowed her eyes towards Scholar Muh, but even if she was the Dancing Sword of Fire, she was only in the same league as him through her father. “It is a pleasure to see you again, Scholar Muh.”

“It is my honour,” Scholar Muh replied. “How many years has it been now?”

“It must be ten,” Melek replied, approaching his table, settling herself opposite him, though she paid keen attention to the… ‘Did he have azure scales?’

“Then you were Steel, but I see the glint of silver. Allow me to treat you today to celebrate such good news!” Scholar Muh motioned with a hand, and a moment later another worker stepped up to take his order, for everyone rushed at Scholar Muh’s request. 

The father quickly dragged his son away, since not even a half dragon, or a dragon disguised as a half dragon, would dare to speak up against the likes of Scholar Muh, not because Scholar Muh could kill any of them, but because Scholar Muh held no enemies, outside, of course, Sayf adh Mashi’aya, due to the rumours sprung around them. 

As the restaurant returned to normal, with the half elf meekly feeding Kizwolima, and the half dragons returning back to their own matters, a certain father praying to Noor to take his son away so that he could live a long life, one particular Iyrman poured a young man a drink. 

“This is the world you have stepped within,” Nirot stated, pouring herself a drink after filling John’s cup. 

John stared down into the liquid, slowly nodding his head, understanding that it would be difficult for him to step away now. He could, of course, but what would he do? Suffer from the nightmares of the monsters he now knew existed? Aswadasad was a land of a thousand hidden dragons, and at first he thought it was a joke, but within the few days he had spent within the land, he had already met how many? Even today, there was Scholar Muh, a legendary figure even he had heard of, the Poison Sword Dragon and the Dancing Sword of Fire, either of whom he had no idea existed up until today, and also Bael and half the Iyrmen in his company, each related to monsters themselves, even the likes of the Gaks, who were considered among the most unfortunate families in the Iyr. Then, of course, there was the Black Lion, who had been half ignored by both half dragons, though would have stepped forward if the situation escalated. 

Wouldn’t he?

“Even if you reach Expert, there are those who could defeat you within a blink of an eye,” Nirot said, sipping her wine, feeling the warmth of the alcohol flow through her. “With your talent, you are one of the few who could reach the rank of Paragon. Beside Adam, you could reach the Peak, like many of us will.”

“The Peak?”

“It is the state in which one had mastered the mortal domain of power. It is the domain King Merryweather has reached, though he may not have revealed it.”

“King Merryweather?” John asked, feeling something grip within his heard, good or bad, he knew not. “I do not have the greed to aim so high.”

“It is not about greed, but your will,” Nirot stated, her voice firmer, almost admonishing John. “Your talent is such that you can reach such a height. It is your choice whether you wish to grow so powerful that not even the Lords will be able to sneer at you, or if you will remain under their heel, chewing on the dirt.”

John was surprised to hear the viciousness within her words, the woman staring at her drink, thinking deeply upon her own words, perhaps speaking to herself too. 

“You wish for your sons to lead honourable lives and to marry,” Nirot said, sipping the rest of the wine. “Under the care of the business, they will survive. Under the care of we Iyrmen, and my cousin, they will thrive. If you wish for it, if you care for it, they will reach the Peak too.”

A darkness tickled at John’s heart. 

He swallowed. 

From what he had seen, those who grew stronger also held greater issues than someone like him. However, who was a Master or a Grandmaster that led a worse life than those who were commonfolk? Then… what was the life like of someone who had reached the rank of Paragon? 

Someone who had reached the Peak?

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Don't worry too much.