SSS Rank Dragon Tamer: Unleashed

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Fenna gave a small nod, then leaned in toward the woman. "If I ever see you again, you won't be lucky enough to die from fire."

The woman looked away, her face was pale.

Zephyr turned back to the rune-rod wielder. "Tell your client," he said, voice cold, "I'll see him in five days. In the arena. And I'll make sure he regrets not trying harder tonight."

He grabbed the man's burned crest and crushed it underfoot. The rogue flinched.

Zephyr turned to Star and pointed to the scattered weapons nearby. "Melt them all."

Star snorted a thin plume of fire and swept one wing low. A few sparks later, the rogue gear began to blacken, sizzle, and warp.

The rogues looked away.

Zephyr spat on the ground saying, "Let's go."

Fenna's gaze flicked to Star. "And they might send more."

Zephyr nodded. "Then we move, now."

Muse turned the cart with a tired groan. Star took rear guard, wings cloaking the haul. Aurora flitted above, a small comet in the almost darkening sky. Fenna walked point, arrow ready.

They slipped into the ember lit woods, leaving the defeated rogues bound among smoldering trees and a warning written in scorch marks for anyone else who thought to hunt them.

The ember-lit woods pressed in from every direction. Orange bark glimmered like banked coals, and the air smelled thick of scorched moss and distant sulphur. Every few steps, the loaded cart creaked in protest, its wooden joints squealing like old hinges on a furnace door.

Muse trudged at the yoke, head low, horns tipping forward in the dim light. Her breath steamed with each exhale; her hooves left shallow craters in the ash-soft loam. The cart's weight had doubled since morning—Dire Emberjack cuts alone were heavier than an entire basilisk tail—and Muse made sure everyone knew it.

"Mmmmmm—Hhrrrrr—Ooooo," she groaned, an elongated bovine monologue that translated (to Zephyr's ear) as: I was born to graze, not lug molten steaks for ungrateful bipeds.

Zephyr reached forward and patted her sweat-slick flank. "I know, girl. Two more valleys, then camp. We'll unload and give you three salt stones."

Muse swished her tail and sent a shower of ash onto his boots—her way of replying, Make it four.

Star padded along at the rear, wings half-unfurled across the cart like living armor. Every so often he glanced forward, rumbling, as though gauging Muse's stamina. Aurora darted overhead, casting cone-shaped beams of gold light that flickered across twisted trunks. Fenna took point, arrow nocked but not drawn, her posture tense and silent.

For fifteen minutes no one spoke, the party moving to the cadence of the cart's creak-groans and Muse's periodic harrumphs. Only when the distant glow of their crater campsite peeked through a gap in the canopy did Zephyr break the stillness.

"Five days," he said quietly, matching Fenna's stride. "Arena duel's so close I can smell the dust around the ring."

Fenna didn't look back. Her jaw flexed. "Ayan plans to spill blood before the duel ever starts—yours or mine."

Zephyr adjusted the core-padded satchel on his shoulder. "He's always been arrogant, but I thought he had some honor left."

Fenna let out a brittle laugh. "Honor? The man collects fire beast ashes in lockets, and sells them as trinkets. He thinks beasts are trophies, not partners." She kicked a chunk of ember-root from the path, sparks scattering. "He wants to parade me like a prize bird. Tonight proved it."

Zephyr's hand hovered near hers for a moment, then settled lightly on her wrist. "He'll learn what happens when you threaten us. I'll teach him that lesson in front of every guild master in the city." His voice hardened. "And I'll enjoy it."

Fenna drew in a slow breath, shoulders trembling. "I don't want you fighting my battles."

"I'm fighting ours," he corrected softly. "When we stand in the arena, he'll feel every bruise he's tried to lay on you—on all of us."

Something unclenched behind Fenna's eyes. She squeezed his fingers once, then released. "Then I promise you this, Zeph: I'm taking the first strike. One arrow in his perfect crest helm before you even draw."

Zephyr grinned despite the tension. "Deal. I'll finish it."

From behind came an aggrieved lowing. Muse had slowed, throwing a dramatic sideways glare. Star huffed in response and nudged the cart's rear axle, pushing a meter until the cow regained momentum. Aurora zipped down and chirped scoldingly—Keep moving, drama-queen.

Zephyr chuckled. "She'll milk this for weeks."

"Milk her? She'll charge us cart-rental fees," Fenna muttered, but her shoulders relaxed.

They crossed the first of two small ridges—a narrow basalt ledge overlooking a sea of ember-fern. Twilight deepened to velvet purple, flecks of violet mana drifting up from hidden geysers. The last of the day's heat bled from the rocks; every footfall left faint after-glows.

By the time they reached the second valley lip, Zephyr and Fenna had fallen into quiet conversation, weaving around low-hanging branches.

"Your arrow earlier," Zephyr said, "the one you lit without phoenix-flame powder. That was pure True Fire?"

Fenna nodded. "I'm still learning control. It drains me faster than any normal fire spell, but the burn is …clean. No lingering taint."

"It was beautiful." His tone warmed. "Terrifying, but beautiful."

A blush ghosted across her soot-smudged cheeks. "Thank you." She hesitated, then asked, "When you fought in the town last year—why did you throw the match?" (A fight before their awakening ceremony.)

Zephyr's steps slowed. "I didn't throw it. I held back. There's a difference." He frowned at the memory: people's taunting grin, the farmer's applause of politeness, the weight of an unwanted victory in the air. "You were in the stands, and I'd have had to risk my life to win that mock battle. I felt your eyes on me. Couldn't do it."

Fenna tilted her head. "The battle was a set up. I better you that you gave. One day when we return to our city. We will take revenge."

"I know," Zephyr murmured. "That's why next time I won't hold back."

Silence stretched, alive with everything they hadn't said for months. Ahead, Star snorted softly—perhaps impatient, perhaps approving.

They descended a short slope, reaching the familiar crater rim. Muse stopped dead. She shook sweat from her withers and bellowed a single, resonant MOO that echoed off distant rocks.

Zephyr jogged around and patted her cheek. "We're here. Promise."

Muse responded by letting her head sag, tongue lolling in dramatic exhaustion. Then she hip-checked the cart, rattling it violently.

"Easy!" Zephyr steadied the load. Fenna laughed for the first time since the rogue attack. "She wants tribute," she said.

Zephyr rummaged in a side sack, produced a salt-lick rock the size of his fist, and tucked it under Muse's nose. The cow sighed blissfully, drool already forming.

"That's one," Muse's body language seemed to say.

Zephyr groaned but tossed a second block in front of her hooves. "Two and a half days' ration, greedy beast."

Muse snorted, satisfied, and began licking.

The crater clearing looked tranquil compared to the forest—black basalt walls, a half-circle of dismantled lean-to poles, and the faint glow of remaining coals in the central pit. Fenna went straight to the drying racks, stringing fresh rope between two boulders. Star busied himself digging a shallow trough for side-pit smoking. Aurora fluttered down, plucking stray feathers off the raptor carcass to line her perch.

In teams of two they unpacked:

Star heaved the Dire Emberjack haunch onto a cleaver stump.

Zephyr sectioned ember boar legs into medallions, salting each slice.

Fenna threaded Emberjack-wolf strips onto skewers for smoke-curing.

Muse lay in soft ash chewing salt, occasionally swatting flies with her tail.

By full nightfall racks of meat swayed above low fires, dripping fat onto stones with hissing pops.

Zephyr stoked an outer ring flame, then tossed broken rogue gauntlets on top; they hissed, metal warping. "Might as well melt his pride."

Fenna sat on an overturned crate, unlacing her bracer. "We'll be training tomorrow— spear forms for you, aerial combos for Aurora and me."

Zephyr plopped beside her. "Star needs mid-air wrestling drills. We have to teach him to grab and twist winged beasts without biting through bone. It will make skinning easier."

She elbowed him playfully. "Always thinking ahead."

"Someone has to plan beyond the next fireball," he teased.

She rolled her eyes, but her smile lingered. They sat shoulder-to-shoulder, heat from the smoking pits warding off the night's chill. Star settled behind them, curling tail and wing like a heated wall. Aurora hopped onto Fenna's knee, chirped twice, and tucked her head under one wing—tiny ember heartbeats pulsing against Fenna's thigh.

Zephyr glanced at Fenna's profile—the sharp line of her jaw softening in the firelight, lashes casting long shadows.

"Hey," he whispered.

She turned.

He brushed a strand of ash-white hair off her cheek, fingers lingering. "I meant what I said. Ayan will bleed for this."

She clasped his hand, eyes fierce. "I intend to make him taste his own fear."

"Together," Zephyr said.

"Together."

She leaned in—hesitant, testing—and for a breath the camp fell away: the crackle of meat fat, Muse's satisfied licking, Star's low rumble. Only their heartbeats remained, thrumming in tempered sync.