The clearing felt profoundly empty after Bastian's dramatic, thunderous departure. The sheer scale of the dragon's true form had left an imprint on the night, a silent testament to the ancient and powerful forces now stirring at the edges of Delores's small, adventurous world. For a long while, the trio simply stood in the wind-whipped aftermath, staring up at the empty, star-dusted sky where a dragon had been moments before.
Barin was the first to finally shake off the awe, letting out a heavy breath. "Right," he grunted. "Fire's nearly out. Best we get some rest. Long walk back tomorrow."
They spent the night in the clearing, taking turns on watch, though the forest remained unnervingly silent. Delores's sleep was fitful, her dreams a chaotic swirl of glittering dragon scales, Valerie's name whispered on the wind, and the heavy, unreadable gaze of The Ram. They set off at first light, beginning the trek back to Oleg's homestead. The journey, which had been filled with tense anticipation on the way to the bandit village, now felt different. It was quieter, more contemplative. The immediate threat of The Ram was neutralized for now, but in its place was a host of new, more complicated worries.
As they walked, the full weight of her new reality began to press down on Delores. Just a few short months ago, her greatest concern had been perfecting a complex musical arrangement or avoiding the disapproving glares of a stuffy Guild tutor. Her world had been one of stone walls, structured lessons, and the predictable rhythm of academic life. She had craved freedom, a chance to escape the rigid path her parents had laid out for her.
Now, she had it. And it was overwhelming.
She looked at her companions. Barin, striding ahead, a silent, armored mountain of reliability. Rael, walking beside her, quietly consulting his tome, his mind likely wrestling with the cosmic implications of dragons and imprisoned magical beings. Ozin was a warm, silent presence at her side, a living tattoo holding ancient secrets of his own. She was their leader. A Baroness. She was responsible for them, for Oleg, for a whole valley she hadn't known existed a few months ago. A sharp pang of longing, so intense it surprised her, shot through her. She missed the Guild's predictability. She missed the simple camaraderie of her fellow students. And, most shockingly, she missed her parents.
She could almost hear her father, General Jerome, his voice a stern baritone, lecturing her on logistics and supply lines. "A leader without a secure base and a clear objective is merely a wanderer leading others to their doom, Delores." She thought of her mother, Admiral Mary, her sharp, tactical mind always three steps ahead. "Assess every threat, my dear. The one you see is rarely the one that kills you. It is the one you underestimate."
Their lessons, once sources of teenage rebellion and frustration, now felt like invaluable, unattainable wisdom. They had trained her for a life of command she had actively rejected, and now, thrust into a position of leadership by sheer, absurd chance, she found herself desperately wishing for their guidance. What would they tell her to do now? How would they handle a dragon who works for a mysterious prisoner? How would they fortify a fledgling barony against unknown threats with only a handful of mismatched allies?
"Yer quiet, Baroness," Barin's voice rumbled from ahead, pulling her from her thoughts. He had slowed his pace to walk beside her. "Somethin' troublin' ye?"
Delores managed a small, tired smile. "Just… a lot to think about, Barin. Being a Baroness isn't exactly covered in the Bard's Guild curriculum."
He grunted, a sound of understanding. "Nah, reckon not. But ye handled yerself back there. Kept a cool head. That's more'n half the battle." His gruff praise was a small, welcome comfort.
The journey continued. They walked, ate their simple rations, and made camp under the stars, the rhythm of travel a temporary distraction from the complexities awaiting them. But for Delores, every step back towards Oleg's homestead felt like a step towards a future she was in no way prepared for, a title she didn't know how to bear, and a responsibility that felt as heavy as Barin's armor.
By the late afternoon of the second day, the familiar landscape of the Green River Valley opened up before them. The sight of the gentle, rolling hills and the distant, reassuring curl of smoke from Oleg's chimney brought a wave of relief to the weary travelers. The mental and emotional weight of their encounter with Bastian had made the return journey feel much longer than their initial trek into the woods. They followed the dirt path, which was becoming more defined, a sign of Oleg's regular use. Soon, the simple, sturdy wooden bridge that crossed a small, bubbling creek leading directly to Oleg's land came into view. Delores stopped at its edge, holding up a hand to halt the others.
"Alright, before we go surprise Oleg," she said, looking pointedly at her side, "it's probably best that he doesn't have a giant flame leopard suddenly appear in his front yard. Ozin, if you would?"
"As you wish, little spark," his mental voice replied, tinged with amusement. "Though I imagine the old one has seen stranger things."
A brief, intense flare of heat emanated from Delores's side, and Ozin materialized beside her in a silent flash of orange light. He yawned, a magnificent display of deadly fangs, and then began to stretch languidly, his powerful muscles rippling under his shimmering orange pelt.
Just as he finished, another sound reached them, carried on the gentle breeze from the direction of the homestead was a sharp, rhythmic sound of wood striking wood, punctuated by the occasional grunt of effort and faint, cheerful voices.
Delores frowned, her head tilting. "What is that?"
Barin's keen ears had already picked it up. He nodded, his expression shifting from travel-weariness to professional curiosity. "Sounds like practice drills. Wood on wood. Sparring."
"Sparring?" Delores repeated, confused. Who would Oleg be sparring with?
"Let's go check it out," she decided, a new sense of urgency in her steps. She started across the wooden bridge, but Barin, Rael, and Ozin, with their much longer strides, easily outpaced her.
"Hey! Wait up!" she called out, annoyed, as she pumped her short legs to keep up, their long-legged advantage a constant, minor frustration.
They quickly crossed the bridge and made their way up the small, grassy hill that overlooked the main yard of the homestead. As they crested the hill, all four of them drew up short, stopping in their tracks at the scene unfolding below.
In the center of the yard, where Oleg usually kept his chopping block, two figures were locked in a surprisingly intense sparring match, their wooden longswords clacking together with speed and precision. One was Amiri, her movements fluid and powerful, a warrior in her element.
The other was Oleg.
But it was an Oleg Delores barely recognized. He had shed his usual thick, long-sleeved tunic and baggy trousers. Now, he wore a sleeveless, hardened leather jerkin and practical leather pants, and the change was staggering. The comfortable, chubby farmer was gone. In his place was a man whose arms and shoulders were thick with the dense, powerful muscle of a lifelong labourer or warrior. The size she had first observed was not fat, but a solid wall of formidable strength, now fully on display. He moved with a grace and balance that belied his age and size, parrying Amiri's swift strikes and countering with powerful, controlled blows of his own.
Sitting on the steps of the farmhouse porch, watching the spar with rapt attention, were Thorn and Rose. They weren't huddled in fear; they were idly chatting, occasionally calling out words of encouragement, looking for all the world like two children watching a familiar, everyday practice. The entire scene was one of startling, peaceful domesticity and unexpected martial prowess. Delores stared, dumbfounded. The kindly old farmer who had summoned them for help was, apparently, also a highly skilled swordsman capable of going toe-to-toe with a warrior like Amiri.
Barin let out a low whistle beside her. "Well, I'll be," he muttered, a look of grudging respect on his face. "The old man's got some moves."
Just as the words of admiration left Barin's mouth, the dynamic of the spar below shifted. Amiri, with a burst of explosive speed, parried one of Oleg's powerful overhead blows. Instead of meeting it head-on, she angled her wooden blade, deflecting his sword wide and sending it spinning harmlessly into the grass. Not wasting the opening, she dropped into a fluid roll, tumbling past him as he stumbled off-balance. She popped up behind him in a single, graceful motion, the tip of her wooden longsword coming to rest gently but firmly on his shoulder.
"Yield," she said, her voice steady but breathless.
Oleg, breathing heavily, raised both hands in surrender, a wide grin spreading across his face despite his defeat. "Alright, alright, I'm tapped out for today, you young'ns! You win this round."
"Amiri wins again!" Rose cheered from the porch, clapping her small hands, with Thorn offering a more reserved but equally enthusiastic nod beside her.
It was then that Oleg, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, caught sight of the group approaching from the hill. His grin widened even further, his blue eyes sparkling with genuine delight.
"Delores! You're back!" he boomed cheerfully, his voice echoing across the yard. He cut his sentence off, his gaze sweeping over Barin, Rael, and the magnificent, silent flame leopard padding at Delores's side. "And all in one piece! Wonderful, wonderful!"
Amiri lowered her sword, a warm smile replacing her focused warrior's expression as she saw them. "Welcome back, Baroness."
Oleg bustled forward to meet them, his earlier display of martial skill completely replaced by his usual, warm, fatherly demeanor. "Thank you for sending such fine folk my way, Delores! Amiri has been a godsend, helping with chores and keeping these old bones sharp." He gestured towards the large, well-kept barn. "In fact, we've been busy. Cleared out a large section of the loft in there. It's not the Citadel, Master Strongsunder, but we've made it into something clean and livable for you and Master D'Gar. Figured you'd need a place to call your own, since my guest rooms are spoken for."
Rael, who had been quietly observing the scene, bowed his head slightly. "Any shelter is appreciated, Master Oleg. We do not mind where we stay."
Barin just grumbled something agreeable, though Delores saw a flicker of something like gratitude in his eyes. Having a designated space, even in a barn, was a step up from the road.
Oleg then looked down, his gaze finally settling on Ozin, who had sat down patiently, his flaming tail twitching lazily in the grass. The old man's eyebrows shot up in pure, unadulterated curiosity. He leaned down, his joints creaking slightly, and extended a friendly, open hand towards the flame leopard's nose, as one might greet a large, unusual dog.
"Well now," Oleg said, his voice filled with wonder. "And who, and what, exactly are you, my fiery friend?"
Ozin simply tilted his head, his green eyes blinking slowly, making no move to sniff the offered hand, clearly not understanding the gesture was meant for a simple beast.
Delores quickly stepped in. "Oleg, this is Ozin," she explained. "He's a Flame Leopard. And he's fully sentient. And he can talk."
Oleg froze, his hand still outstretched. He slowly straightened back up, his eyes wide. He looked from Ozin, to Delores, and back to Ozin. The grin returned, wider than ever. "Oh," he said simply. Then he let out a hearty laugh. "Well, shit. Good thing my fireplace is rather large, then! He'll enjoy the hearth on a cold night, I'm sure."
The old man's complete and cheerful acceptance of a giant, talking, magical fire cat was, Delores thought, perhaps the most surprising thing she'd seen all day.
As Oleg turned to lead them all towards the house, promising a fresh pot of stew, Ozin's mental voice, laced with dry amusement, echoed in Delores's mind.
"I like this one's boldness, little spark. He has no fear. And he offers a warm hearth. A most sensible person."
The warmth of Oleg's farmhouse felt like a sanctuary after the tense journey and the adrenaline of the last few days. The air was filled with the promise of a hot meal and, for the first time in what felt like an eternity, a sense of genuine safety.
"Alright," Delores announced, stretching her arms above her head with a weary groan. "I am covered in forest grime, bandit filth, and an alarming amount of sweat. I'm going to get cleaned up before I even think about dinner." She offered a tired but sincere smile to the others. "You all get settled."
As she turned to head upstairs, she heard Oleg's cheerful, booming voice behind her. "An excellent idea, Baroness! Rose, Thorn, come now. Why don't you tell Master Rael and Master Barin about the big frog you found by the creek this morning?" She heard the hesitant patter of small feet and Rael's soft, slightly flustered response as she closed the door to the stairwell, a small smile touching her lips.
Ozin, who had padded silently into the house behind her, followed her through the main room. He looked around with an air of regal curiosity, his fiery paws making no sound on the wooden floorboards. Delores led him to the large stone hearth where a low fire still crackled quietly.
"You can relax here, Ozin," she said softly. "It's warm and safe."
The flame leopard regarded the hearth, then Delores, then the hearth again. He let out a low, rumbling purr of approval and curled up on the warm stone before the fire, his own inner flames mingling with the firelight, creating a mesmerizing, dancing display of orange and gold. For a moment, he looked less like a dangerous magical beast and more like a spectacularly oversized housecat.
Leaving him to his rest, Delores continued up to her familiar guest room. Closing the door behind her, she leaned against it, letting out a long, slow breath. Home. It wasn't the Citadel, it wasn't the Guild, but in the few short days she'd known it, Oleg's homestead had begun to feel more like home than either of those places ever had. The feeling brought with it a sharp, unexpected pang of longing. She missed her parents. Not the stern General and Admiral who sent curt, demanding letters, but the mother who had once, long ago, taught her a lullaby, and the father whose rare, gruff praise had felt like winning a war. What would they think of her now? A Baroness, allied with a half-orc dwarf and a tiefling cleric, with a flame leopard sleeping by her hearth. They would likely find it all highly illogical and tactically unsound.
With a weary sigh, Delores snapped her fingers. A small, precise burst of sorcery, and the intricate braids in her hair came undone, her vibrant red locks tumbling freely around her shoulders. She kicked off her sturdy, mud-caked traveling boots and peeled off her socks, wiggling her toes in relief. Her gaze fell on the leather-bound book with the 'V' on the spine, sitting innocently on her nightstand. The urge to open it, to write, to see if Valerie would respond again, was strong, but she resisted. First, a bath.
She then made her way to the small washroom, complete with a large wooden tub. As she filled it with water from the pump, she smiled to herself. Drawing on the new, subtle connection she felt with Ozin, she focused on the heat emanating from his essence, now a permanent part of her. With a gentle push of her will, she sent a wave of warmth into the tub. The cool water instantly heated to a perfect, steaming temperature. It wasn't the flashy, explosive power of a fireball, but a controlled, comforting warmth. A small, useful power.
She sank into the hot water with a sigh of pure bliss, letting the day's grime and tension soak away.
Later, wrapped in a simple, comfortable nightdress, Delores sat cross-legged on her bed, the mysterious book resting in her lap. She hadn't written in it yet, just held it, tracing the gilded 'V' with her finger, contemplating the mysteries of Valerie, Bastian, and her own strange, unfolding destiny.
A soft knock came at her door.
"Baroness?" Oleg's voice called gently from the hallway. "Just wanted to let you know, supper will be ready in about half an hour. Amiri is helping me with the preparations."
Delores jumped, the knock at the door startling her slightly from her reverie. "Thank you, Oleg!" she called out, her voice clear. "I'll be down in a few minutes!"
She heard Oleg's footsteps retreat down the hallway, leaving her once more in the quiet solitude of her room. The silence felt charged now, filled with unanswered questions. Her gaze returned to the leather-bound book in her lap. The smooth, worn cover seemed to invite her, to promise secrets. The time for hesitation was over.
Feeling a flutter of anxiety in her stomach, she leaned over to the small bedside table and picked up the quill and inkpot. She paused for a moment, the tip of the quill hovering over the blank, cream-colored page, trying to find the right words. Finally, she took a breath and began to write, her script a little less steady than usual.
"Well… Valerie. I have to admit, I didn't expect you to have a pet dragon. While the idea that someone like Bastian is so completely subservient to you is… incredibly terrifying, it has also made me insatiably curious. About you. And about why you seem to be so interested in me and this accidental barony of mine. I don't feel like it was just by chance that I found this book after we dealt with Grok."
She finished the last word, the ink still wet and dark on the page. She leaned back slightly, rereading what she had written, a flush rising on her cheeks. It felt bold, almost impertinent, to be so direct with a being that a dragon was afraid of. As her eyes scanned the second line of her own writing, she saw the ink begin to waver, the letters blurring at the edges as if disturbed by a heat haze. She furrowed her brow in mild confusion. Then, the words began to fade, sinking back into the parchment until the page was, once again, completely blank.
She stared, amazed, her heart beginning to beat a little faster. A few seconds passed in profound silence. Then, with the same impossible grace, new words began to fade into existence on the page, the script elegant and flowing, seeming to form from the very fibers of the paper itself.
"I do quite enjoy my flying lizard, Delores. He is a most useful collector of information. And do not feel singled out; almost everyone's first impression upon learning of my existence is one of pure, unadulterated terror. It is a side effect of… power. You will grow accustomed to it."
Delores read the lines, a shiver running down her spine. The tone was amused, almost conversational, yet held an undercurrent of immense, casual power that was more intimidating than any overt threat. More words began to flow onto the page.
"As for chance… no. It was not entirely by chance. Let's call it a calculated risk on my part, one that you have proven to be a most satisfactory investment thus far. You possess a unique essence, Baroness. One that has the potential to alter the very fabric of things."
The final lines appeared, the shimmering ink seeming to hold Delores's gaze.
"Perhaps, in the near future, we can arrange a more personal meeting. Then you can hear my story, and I, yours. There is much to discuss."
Delores sat staring at the message, a thousand questions rolling through her mind. A calculated risk? A unique spark? What did it all mean? Who was this Valerie, and what did she want with a runaway gnome musician turned accidental Baroness? The mystery only deepened, pulling her further into its enigmatic embrace.
Just as she was about to try writing another question, a loud yell from downstairs shattered the quiet intensity of the moment.
"SUPPER'S READY!" Oleg's voice boomed up the stairwell. It was immediately followed by a sound that could only be described as Barin enthusiastically slamming his fist on the table in agreement.
Delores blinked, pulled abruptly from the world of ancient liches and talking books back to the simple, comforting reality of a hot meal with her friends. She carefully closed the book, placing it back on the nightstand, her mind still buzzing. The meeting Valerie promised felt both like a tantalizing promise and a terrifying inevitability. Shaking her head to clear the thoughts, she stood up, the smell of Oleg's cooking a welcome anchor to the present. The mysteries could wait. For now, there was stew.