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For a while, the others couldn’t stop asking Ketal questions. They wanted to know who he had met at Kalosia’s holy land, what he had done in the City of Merfolk, and what he had experienced at the elven sacred ground. Each time Ketal answered, a look of disbelief, awe, or outright shock would cross their faces. The more he explained, the more they began to understand just what kind of person Ketal was.
By the time their curiosity had been sated, the party had arrived at the mountain said to house the dragon’s lair.
***
“This is it,” Seraphina murmured. They stood at the foot of a vast, forested mountain—the entrance to the legendary dragon’s lair. She glanced at Spellweaver. “Can you sense anything?”
Spellweaver stroked his beard, focusing for a long moment before shaking his head.
“Nothing at all. Not a trace,” he replied. His expression was grave.
Bloodedge narrowed his eyes, scanning the mountain as well. “Same for me. If there was a dragon here, I’d expect to feel its aura rippling through the place. But it’s as silent as the grave. My own senses feel muddled, like something’s interfering with my perception.”
“So the rumors were true after all,” Seraphina said quietly.
The existence of the dragon’s lair was one of the continent’s worst-kept secrets. Everyone agreed that somewhere, such a place existed. Yet,...
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