Three days passed with barely any rest.
At last, through the thinning mist, they saw it—
a scattering of small wooden houses standing in quiet isolation.
Felharn Village.
A northern settlement, unnervingly peaceful
compared to the harsh road they had just endured.
They stopped at a modest inn in the heart of the village.
The wooden structure was old but sturdy,
and the scent of hot food drifted warmly from within.
Richard took out a small pouch of coins and handed it to Ryn.
"Here. Your first payment."
Ryn accepted it, startled.
"Th-There's… payment?"
Richard replied plainly,
"You're working, not sightseeing. Of course there's pay."
"I don't need it,"
Ryn quickly offered the pouch back.
"Master, you should keep it."
Richard shook his head.
"That money comes from the Council, not me."
His tone grew slightly more serious.
"The reason I brought you there was for this very thing.
Work deserves compensation.
Use it however you wish—
before the day comes when you no longer have the chance."
With that, Richard left the inn,
leaving Ryn standing there alone.
Ryn stared at the pouch in his hand.
This was the first money he had ever earned.
Not charity.
Not mercy.
But payment for his own labor.
He clenched it tightly,
wondering how he should spend it.
Ryn stepped outside to wander through the village.
Rows of houses and shops stretched in every direction.
Children and villagers moved about energetically,
their laughter and chatter filling the air with life.
At various corners, bards stood playing their instruments—
some sang old folk songs,
others recited ancient legends passed down through generations.
Music and words mingled in the air.
As Ryn passed by an elven bard,
he heard a song being sung…
A song about a dragon.
The Dragon's Last Sigh
In ages past, dragons walked beside humankind—
not as judges, nor as exalted gods,
but as companions of sky and soil,
sharing their flames to warm the night.
Their scales reflected the morning sun,
their wings sheltered the people from harm.
Humans called them friends,
so long as hearts remained true.
But one day, greed whispered softly:
Such power should belong to those who rule the world.
Oaths became snares,
and friendship turned into sharpened blades.
Dragon blood fell upon the earth.
The heavens wept, yet mankind rejoiced.
From that day on, the sound of wings faded,
leaving only ashes of beautiful lies.
The dragons did not curse.
They did not rage.
They simply turned away,
choosing solitude over betrayal.
They vanished into nameless skies,
into lands no one would ever seek,
leaving humanity behind—
with power that could never fill the heart.
And if one day, you see a shadow in the clouds,
do not reach out.
Do not seek to possess it.
Just remember—
once, we had a friend…
and we were the ones who lost them.
Ryn stood there until the song ended.
A strange, restless feeling stirred within his chest—
something he could not understand,
and could not put into words for anyone else.
He took a single coin from his pocket
and dropped it into the wooden cup before the bard,
then walked on, trying to bury that feeling deep inside.
Along the way, Richard approached him,
noticing his distant expression.
"Ryn, what's wrong? You look lost in thought."
Before Ryn could answer, Richard continued,
"We'll be staying here for today.
But a new Calami nest has formed west of the village.
We need to deal with it first. Let's move."
Ryn nodded in response
and hurried back to his room to prepare.
After that, the two headed toward the newly formed nest.
The number of Calami was still small, so the battle ended quickly.
Before long, every last one of them had been eradicated.
When the dust finally settled, Richard moved in to release the female beast that had been used as a vessel.
He then burned the nest to the ground, leaving not a single trace behind.
At dawn, they continued their relentless march northward.
Along the way, more Calami nests emerged, and each one was swiftly destroyed by Richard and Ryn without exception.
By the time the sun sank beyond the horizon, Richard lit a campfire to illuminate the darkness.
Ryn took out two wrapped meals and handed one to him.
Richard unwrapped it and began eating immediately.
Ryn, however, only brought a small portion to his lips.
His thoughts were still tangled in the tale of dragons—
the elven bard's song from the previous day echoing endlessly in his mind.
Richard noticed his distraction.
"Something wrong?" he asked.
Ryn remained silent, and Richard did not press the matter.
A short while later, Richard finished his meal.
Ryn had barely eaten half of his.
At last, he spoke.
"Master…"
Richard turned his head toward him, even as he leaned back to rest.
"Dragons."
Just that single word.
Richard's relaxed posture stiffened slightly.
His expression hardened, though he tried to conceal the shift.
Ryn hesitated, as if weighing whether he should continue.
But curiosity overcame his restraint.
"They say humans can use the power of dragons… Is that true?"
Richard fell silent.
"Where did you hear that?" he asked.
"From a bard's song," Ryn replied.
"What does it really mean?"
Richard exhaled quietly, brushing away the unease before answering.
"It's true… but that was a long time ago.
Now, as you can see, there are no dragons left."
Ryn said nothing.
"And if I were to search for them?" he asked.
Richard's voice remained flat.
"That's your choice.
But whether you'll find anything—no one can say."
"It might all be a waste of time."
He spoke as if deliberately ending the conversation.
"Don't chase after things that may never be real.
Focus on what's in front of you instead."
That night, Ryn tried to force himself to sleep,
though images and words of dragons refused to leave his mind.
And when the first light of a new morning broke across the land,
the two of them set out once more—
this time toward the northwest,
without stopping at a single village along the way.