Newly Broke Heroine! [Book One Complete, Cozy Fantasy Adventure]

She'd never felt such an awkward silence in the apartment, apart from the crackling of the firewood on the hearth. Tucker nestled up beside her, but was content to sleep in silence. It didn't put her at ease like it normally did.

"So uh…What do you think we'll find in your mother's estate?" she asked awkwardly.

"I don't know, Fiona. Not a single clue this time. If I had to guess? It might be something about you. Or Feo'thari." Doug wrinkled his snout, tapping the side of it gently with one claw. "Uh…you know, it's late. I do have a small place I've been staying."

"C'mon, this might be the quietest it'll be for a while," she said persuasively.

Wait, what am I doing? Am I asking him to stay the night? Nah, we're just chilling. This is what friends do. I mean, we can be that, I think. Right?

"Oh?" Doug raised an eyebrow at her proposal. "You know, you're responsible for about a good ninety percent of the lack of calm in my life."

"Pfft. Thirty percent, tops," she said with a dismissive wave. "You don't like calm. You almost looked like you were having fun with some of it." She let out a contented sigh and leaned back on the couch, arms stretched out.

He laughed at that. "You know something? You can be unsophisticated, loud, and utterly terrifying at times." She frowned at that, but she also knew…he wasn't entirely wrong.

She sensed he had more to say when his demeanor turned calmer. "But, you do keep things interesting."

"Yep. I keep routines when I need to, but I want every day to be a little bit different. Plus, boredom sucks," she groaned. "Let me tell ya, some days in retail were boring as sin. Sometimes I would have to go twenty minutes with no one in the store! Twenty minutes of bored Fiona!"

"I shudder to think of what ten minutes of a lack of stimulation would lead to," he quipped, wearing a smirk on his snout. "Hmm…since we're talking about it…there is something I've noticed about you. Your feelings are genuine, from what I've been able to see. Though sometimes quite unfiltered."

"Hey, I've spoken my mind for a long time, even if it lands me in a bit of trouble now and then. Especially with thieving kings."

Doug finally relaxed after seeing her lean back and unfurl his wings. One of them was draped over her shoulder, and he stammered. "Oops, sorry. They do take up a bit of space."

"Nah, you're good. So, what else have you observed?"

"Besides having a mean left hammer? You do care for people on a deep level. Even if your eccentricities befuddle all of us at times." He chuckled softly at that.

And then it got quiet between them again, while Fiona tried to figure out what to say next.

She kept drawing a blank. Why can't I find something to talk about? This is that awkward silence you hear between lovers! I've seen it in all my movies! I need to break this silence, or things might happen! Things I haven't given any thought to!

"Okay, I've got a question. What does a dragon do when they have spare time?" She asked.

He grunted at that. "You know, we aren't larger-than-life. We're very much the same as the rest of the folk. Just bigger. You recall my prior exploits? I travelled a bit. I loved meeting new people while gathering history. Not even for landmarks, mind you. I think there's something… intimate when I hear people share their stories, their histories. It's fuel for the soul."

"So, you just…flew places, and talked to people? No attractions, no bathing in hot springs, no attending tourist traps?" she asked earnestly. "You just chatted it up?"

"Well, when you put it like that? Then, yes. It was a lot of fun learning small slices of history. I would do that, you know." He pulled out his small notebook, showing sketches of various artifacts. All the sketches were meticulously detailed. "I also unearthed the history of others as an expert. There were others, but...I always seemed to glean a bit more. I must have found the answer to hundreds of families' past, lost members, missing heirlooms, and journals of the past unrealized. No two histories are the same."

She arched an eyebrow, smirking softly. "C'mon, that couldn't have been the only thing you did."

He nodded, wearing a wistful smile. "Okay, you know what? I have one weak spot. I love a good soaking in a hot spring. We can go into water temperatures that most other people couldn't, on account of the draconic body. For a while, anyway."

He leaned back in his seat, a contented sigh escaping him. "The dwarves in Arkantine have a lovely spa partway up the mountain. Beautiful view, by the way, but few people know about it. They don't advertise it much. But I knew about it when I flew over. You can't hide much from Folk who can fly."

"True that," she sighed contentedly. "Still got that dragon scepter in the closet. That'd be fun."

"It would likely polymorph you into a small forest animal. Don't try it," he said persuasively. "Hmm, I think we should melt that one down, in all honesty. That item is troublesome. Because there is a small chance it could transform a person into a dragon. Most likely, the wrong kind of person."

Then the silence returned, and she was stumped again. Why brain, why? Do I need to fill the silence?! Maybe I just like chilling with no sound at all!

Then, an idea occurred to her. Maybe it would stand to learn more about him?

"Hey, Doug. I have a question of a personal nature. What does your mark look like?"

A small hum of surprise escaped him, and he sat back up. "You want to know, huh? Why?"

"Well, I've seen Bonnie's, I've seen Greg's. Kali doesn't have one quite yet; he's still figuring out what he wants to do in life. Darla's is this cute frying pan with a paintbrush coming from the handle." She giggled at that.

"You know," Doug frowned, growing quite soft in tone, "In Cepalune, in many countries? Knowing and seeing someone's mark is a bit of an…intimate thing. Yet you put yours on display. Why?"

Why did she want to know, exactly?

Because he does interest me. Strip off the scales and short stature and baked in draconic pride, he's the same as every other Folk. And maybe despite our differences, I do see a little bit of myself when I see him.

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The conclusion of the thought was as simple as it was surprising.

She unfurled her sleeve, with Wingding almost seemingly napping with her wings tucked tightly over the jewel. She swore that the little gem was glowing slightly. It was the same as in the mine. It hadn't gone away since.

"Well…" Fiona trailed off, running a finger over one of the wings gently. Wingding twitched in response. "Maybe it's because…I don't want to hide anymore. So much of what happened over the past few months? Some of it could have been preventable if I'd been more open. If I'd just listened. I know I can't change that now. But it's good to…to realize the importance of the things you learn, and the people you meet along the way. The lessons you learn, that you don't forget."

She leaned in. "Doug. I never apologized to you. After the way we met? I never said I was sorry, and I need you to hear it. I'm sorry I didn't listen to you for five minutes. A lot of this could have been avoided if I'd been less starstruck with a strange new career."

He regarded her words, and strangely, smiled. "You know something? You didn't have to. Your actions have said a lot more than words can. I could have walked away after we met in the shop a few weeks ago. I didn't. Something gave me pause." He glanced at the small silver ring she'd noticed he'd been wearing ever since. "As unfortunate as the circumstances were? We can aim our ire at that deplorable tramp locked in a dungeon."

She smiled faintly. "So, what you're saying is, even I can see reason."

"I doubt our adventuresome shopkeeper would have kept running monster population control indefinitely, Barry's actions notwithstanding," Doug commented. She tilted her head and nodded at his insight. "Besides, you're not half-bad at shopkeeping. If you didn't have the skills for it, your mark wouldn't have formed in the way it did."

Doug ran a finger over her wrist, in the same motion she had. She didn't back away from it…though it was surprising. His fingers were surprisingly warm. "You know, there's a little something I've learned. Marks carry a history of our soul, in a way. And marks do change, just as well. If not mentally, then physically."

His eyes met hers, brow raised in curiosity. "If I may?"

"Sure." She leaned in a little, so they weren't stretching over half the couch. "You've never explained your mark fully."

"I'm not entirely sure I understand it myself, Fiona. Not all powers are known, even by their users."

She saw a faint image forming in her head. It felt like a tingle in her mind, and she saw…

She saw herself. It was that place that she'd clipped into, escaping the fire. She saw the old woman, smiling proudly on that wooden bench, set in a patch of grass and dirt that was the only sign of reality.

It was muted, as though watching a silent film. She saw her talking, getting agitated, and then, in that last moment...

She poofed out of existence. The woman straightened and brushed off her robe, though there was no dirt or dust apparent. Then, the sound came back on. The woman sighed softly. "Darling, you're going to need a lot more than sales to keep Fiefdala in one piece. At least you've got my daughter going down the right path."

Reality popped back into existence. She looked apprehensively at Doug, who had gone wide-eyed, and slowly slid his fingers away from her mark.

"Uh…well, that was something."

Fiona blinked and shook her head slowly, as if her head was still in a fog. "Yes, it was."

"Doug pointed a claw at her. "Who was that? I only caught part of that. Wait, when was this? I can't seem to get a bead on the time, other than...was this after we teleported from the burning forge?

Fiona fell silent. Oh fiddlesticks. I was hoping to have some time to think about this one. "This is…the other thing I'm still trying to figure out. I was a little, tiny bit comatose not that long ago."

His eyes slowly returned to normal, and he rubbed at his chin gently. "Well, knowing you…this actually happened. Somewhere. Though that somewhere you were in was very strange. Fiona, I must know, was it then?"

After a few seconds, she nodded. "It was yesterday. That old woman…who does she look like?"

Doug mulled the question. "Like you, almost. But not quite. Was that…a goddess? Was it Feo'thari?" he gasped, sounding almost…excited.

"I think it was," she replied wearily. "Or, maybe someone stuck in my head who is a simulacrum of her. It's a little fuzzy, Doug. That leads me to a question. Actually, no. A theory. This might be my craziest theory to date."

"I've heard many crazy ideas from you. But that doesn't make you crazy." She furrowed her brow, irked by that cocky smirk of his. He took the hint after a second. "Okay. What is this theory you have?"

He, too, leaned back and folded his hands on his lap, his clawed feet dangling just over the carpet in the living room, staring upward at the rafters. She did the same and scooted closer to him before she continued.

"I think the gods can hide within the marks on our bodies. I think that's how they get around. We're avatars for them. Some kind of hidden pact or bargain was made with the gods when the marks first appeared. And Feo'thari was the first."

She glanced at Wingding, fluttering lazily on her wrist, but not making any response to her words. "You're not the first person to hold that theory. And that place? The place you went? That was…well…it was something. I've heard a few mages talk about it. Something called the aether. A place between...well, everything and nothing. I'm not sure I grasp how it can be both true at once."

He has pretty eyes. She didn't know why that thought hadn't occurred to her before this. Before today, she might have recoiled at the idea.

Not today.

"But," he sighed, "There's another theory I have, if that one doesn't pan out. What's in there...she was a manifestation of your regrets. The old you. Wingding is your mark, reflecting something new, something different. With wings of freedom. I think she was talking about you."

"Or Wingding. She's the last remnant of her. Her last gift of fortune to Cepalune." Fiona rubbed erratically at her wrist. Wingding continued to glow, maybe even slightly brighter than before.

Doug sighed softly. "I think they're both good theories. There's a past you that has an awful lot of baggage. Enough damage that it's caused your mark to change on its own. Or, perhaps–if we go with your theory–if Wingding is a child of Feo'thari? Perhaps she changes when you do. Or her final form reflects on the choices you make."

"What makes you say that?" Fiona asked softly, leaning in.

The kobold glanced down at his arm, rolling up his sleeve. "When a person goes through an intense emotional event? It can affect their soul on a permanent or semi-permanent basis. A few examples of this include a great victory or a bitter failure. Or two people fall in love. Or someone loses a loved one. I don't pretend to understand why…

"But, I do know that our mark can change. Our souls can change. Before, my mark was just a simple tome, with symbols of the gods and other small historical symbols of interest." He narrowed his eyes, and his voice sounded increasingly strained.

"When my mother passed…the mark changed to show my mother, holding up the symbols of lost gods, like a collection trailing behind her. A shepherd of the fallen."

She saw a faint outline materialize on the scales of his wrist. An outline of a dragon, with large feathery wings. Slowly, the symbol resolved, and his eyes looked down with muted interest. "It changed again last night. And I don't know what to make of it, Fiona. Not in the slightest."

She peered at the outline of a dragon with bright red scales, a ghostly arch of old symbols she didn't recognize. Shattered anvils, the outline of a bull, a lightning bolt wrapped around a tree, and more. There was even a sigil of an ornate blade, with a dozen hands, from various species holding onto it.

But when she focused on the dragon herself, she saw the resemblance to Douglas, with golden eyes and a gentle expression. In her hands was a book. A tome with a metallic latch, and she clutched it tightly to her chest. But what she saw on the tome drew an emotion she didn't know how to think.

The symbol of Feo'thari–her mark–was glowing brightly on the cover of the book.

She held Doug's clawed hand gently, then the other.

And, without another word, she rested her forehead against his, while misty tears escaped her. But these didn't feel like tears of sadness. It didn't feel like a pall had been cast over the world.

This was something else. It felt like a bond had connected between them, something…something good, even.

"Doug…I think that's our sign."

She felt his wings wrap around her back gently, even while holding her hands. It was a nice touch that she wasn't expecting, and he gazed at her with…something more than respect.

"I think you might be right, Swiftheart." For the first time since she'd met him…he wore more than just a smirk.

It was an actual, heartfelt smile, as the two of them drew close, in the waning hour of the night. "So…what happens next?" he asked with a hopeful expression.

"I haven't the faintest. But we'll figure it out together," she whispered with a faint smile, and the distance between them on the couch disappeared.