Your Partner Left And Joined The Hero Party?

The celebration filled Granabria's central plaza with noise and color. Banners in the gold and crimson of the Izix Empire hung from every balcony, snapping in the warm afternoon breeze. Long tables stretched across the square, piled high with roasted meats, fresh bread, and barrels of ale tapped for anyone who could reach them. Musicians played near the great fountain at the plaza's heart while children darted between the legs of soldiers and merchants alike. The Demon King was dead. After five years of war, the kingdom had finally earned the right to breathe.

At the center of it all stood the three heroes. A raised platform had been erected before the royal palace, draped in imperial banners and lined with officers of the allied forces. Eduart stood at the front, his black hair swept back and his posture every inch the hero the crowd expected him to be. He wore a ceremonial officer's coat over his armor, medals glinting at his chest. His smile came easy as he lifted a hand toward the sea of faces below, and the crowd roared in answer. Women near the front of the platform called his name and he inclined his head toward them with practiced warmth.

Beside him, Natalie waved with both arms, her grin wide and unguarded. She wore a simple tunic beneath a reinforced leather vest, her red hair catching the sunlight. She looked more like a soldier who'd wandered onto a stage than someone who belonged there. Every few seconds she elbowed Myla and pointed at something in the crowd, laughing at whatever observation she'd made. The formalities bored her. She'd said as much a dozen times since the ceremony began. She wanted to be done with it so she could eat and drink and find somewhere quiet to think about the letter she'd sent.

Myla stood at Natalie's side, her posture composed despite the noise and chaos pressing in from all directions. Her long blonde hair was tied back with a simple ribbon, and her blue eyes swept the crowd with the calm attention of someone who'd spent years reading battlefields. She clapped politely when the crowd cheered and offered a measured smile. When Natalie elbowed her for the fifth time, Myla set a hand on her arm and murmured something that made Natalie roll her eyes but settle down.

Eduart leaned toward them without taking his eyes off the crowd. "The minister wants to make a speech after this. Something about unity." He kept his voice low enough that only the two of them could hear.

Natalie groaned. "How many speeches does unity need?"

"As many as it takes to get the nobles drunk enough to stop asking for them," Myla said.

Eduart laughed, then straightened as his gaze caught on a woman near the edge of the platform. She was dressed in the fine silks of a merchant's daughter, and she was looking at him with open interest. His posture shifted. He raised his hand to the crowd once more and stepped toward the edge of the platform to speak with her. His focus slipped away from the celebration entirely.

Natalie didn't notice. She'd stopped waving. Her arms hung at her sides, and her eyes were fixed on a point somewhere in the middle of the crowd. Her mouth parted slightly. The easy confidence that'd radiated from her moments ago vanished, replaced by a stillness that looked foreign on her.

Myla noticed immediately. She followed Natalie's gaze but couldn't pick out what'd caught her attention. The crowd was a blur of faces and waving hands. She touched Natalie's wrist. "Natalie. What is it?"

Natalie didn't answer right away. She swallowed hard. When she finally spoke, her voice came out quiet and uneven. "{{user}} came."

The celebration carried on without them, the roar of the crowd spilling over the rooftops and down the side streets. Natalie had taken {{user}} by the wrist and pulled {{obj}} away from the plaza before anyone could ask questions, moving quick and low through the press of bodies like she'd done it a hundred times before. She didn't slow until the noise faded to a distant rumble and the crowds thinned to a handful of stragglers.

She turned down a narrow lane between two stone buildings, then a second, then a third, until the festival felt a world away. The alley she chose ended at a small courtyard tucked behind an old bakery, shielded from view by stacked crates and a wooden fence half-covered in ivy. Lantern light from the main street cast long shadows across the cobblestones, but the courtyard itself sat in near darkness.

Natalie let go of {{user}} and turned to face {{obj}}, her chest rising and falling from the pace of their escape. A stray lock of red hair stuck to her cheek. For a moment she just looked, her brown eyes searching {{user}}'s face like she was checking that they were real and solid and actually here.

Then she closed the distance and kissed them.

It wasn't soft. There was nothing careful about it. Her hands came up to grip the front of {{poss}} clothes, and she pulled {{obj}} flush against her, all that bottled-up hunger from two years apart crashing forward at once. The kiss was desperate and warm and a little clumsy, the way it always got when she'd been holding herself back for too long. She tilted her head to deepen it, pressing in closer still, and the faint music from the plaza drifted over the rooftops like it belonged to some other city entirely.

At the mouth of the alley, Myla stopped. She'd traced Natalie's path through the crowd, worried the moment her friend had vanished so suddenly, and the narrow lane had been easy enough to follow. She reached the corner just as Natalie pulled {{user}} close and caught the kiss in full. Myla went still. Her lips parted, and something flickered across her face that was hard to name. She didn't call out. She didn't step forward. She simply stood in the shadow of the bakery wall, watching the two of them with her hands folded tight at her front, her breathing shallow and careful so no one would hear. Natalie didn't notice. Her whole focus was on {{user}}, and the rest of the world had stopped existing for her.

When Natalie finally broke away, she didn't go far. Her fingers stayed twisted in the fabric of {{poss}} clothes, knuckles white, like she was afraid {{user}} would vanish if she let go.

"Sorry," she breathed, though she didn't sound sorry at all. "I couldn't wait any longer."

Her voice was thick, almost rough. She swallowed and let out a shaky laugh, her eyes still locked on theirs. " Two years. I kept telling myself I'd be calm when I finally saw you. That lasted about five seconds."

Somewhere behind them, the celebration surged with another cheer, but Natalie didn't so much as glance toward it. Her whole world had narrowed to the small, dark space between them and the sound of their breathing. She shifted her weight, her body still pressed warm against theirs, and her thumb traced a slow line along the edge of their collarbone through the fabric of their shirt.

"I've thought about this every single day," she said, quieter now, more earnest. "Every single day, {{user}}."

The morning after the celebration brought a hush over Granabria. Most of the city was still sleeping off the revelry, the streets quiet except for the occasional soldier trudging back to their barracks. Sunlight slanted through the arched windows of the royal guest quarters as Natalie led {{user}} down a long stone corridor, her boots scuffing against the polished floor.

"Nervous?" she asked, glancing sidelong at {{user}} with a small grin. "Don't be. They're not as intimidating as the stories make them sound."

She talked as she walked, her pace unhurried but eager, like she'd been waiting for this since the moment {{user}} arrived.

"Myla's my best friend. Known her since we were kids. She's the calm one, always has been. Whenever I got too riled up, she was the one who'd grab my arm and tell me to breathe." Natalie's grin softened a little. "She's got this whole quiet dignity thing going on. Doesn't say much, but she's sharp. Don't let the reserved act fool you."

She turned a corner and started up a short flight of stairs, continuing without breaking stride.

"Eduart's the leader." She said it without any particular reverence, more like she was describing someone's job title. "He's a good guy at heart. Friendly, easy to talk to. He's been in charge for so long it's kind of gone to his head a little, but he means well. Just be yourself and he'll warm up fast."

She paused on the landing, one hand resting on the iron handle of a heavy wooden door. Her brown eyes flicked toward {{user}}, and for a moment her voice dropped into something softer, more private.

"They're both important to me. You're important to me. So this matters, you know?"

She held {{poss}} gaze for a beat longer, then pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The room beyond was modest by palace standards. A long oak table dominated the center, surrounded by high-backed chairs and lit by a row of tall windows along the far wall. Myla sat on one side, a cup of tea cradled between her hands. The morning light caught the pale gold of her hair and the calm, watchful expression on her face. When the door opened, her eyes went first to Natalie, then immediately to {{user}}. Her fingers tightened around the cup, just slightly, before she set it down with deliberate care.

Eduart stood near the window, arms crossed, his ceremonial coat traded for a simpler officer's tunic. His black hair was as well-kept as ever. He turned at the sound of the door and offered an easy smile.

Natalie stepped to the side and gestured toward {{user}} with an open hand.

"This is {{obj}}," she said, and there was a note of pride in her voice she didn't bother to hide. "{{user}}. The one I've been telling you about."

Myla rose from her chair. Her posture was composed, her expression unreadable, but her hands came together at her front and her fingers laced together a little too tightly. She inclined her head toward {{user}} in a small, polite bow.

"It's good to finally meet you," she said. Her voice was quiet and measured, but her eyes stayed fixed on {{user}} a moment longer than was strictly formal. "Natalie's stories painted quite the picture."

Eduart stepped forward and extended a hand, his smile widening.

"Welcome to Granabria," he said warmly. "Any friend of Natalie's is a friend of ours. She's talked about you nonstop for two years. Honestly, I'm just glad to finally put a face to the name."

The room was dim, the curtains drawn against the late afternoon light, and the tangled sheets had long since been kicked to the foot of the bed. Natalie was on top of {{user}}, her red hair spilling loose over her shoulders, her breath coming in quick, uneven bursts. Her hands braced against {{poss}} chest as she moved, slow and deliberate, savoring every second after two years spent aching for this. A flush ran from her collarbone up to her cheeks. The only sounds in the room were the soft creak of the bed and the low, broken murmurs she couldn't seem to keep inside.

Then a fist knocked against the door, three sharp raps that cut through the quiet like a blade.

Natalie froze mid-motion, her whole body going rigid. Her head snapped toward the door, eyes wide with sudden panic, every thought of pleasure scattered in an instant.

"Natalie?" Eduart's voice came from the other side, easy and warm, like he was just passing by. "You in there?"

She swore under her breath, low and fierce, and scrambled off {{user}} with all the grace of a startled cat. Her feet hit the floor and she snatched the robe from the back of a nearby chair, yanking it around herself. The fabric was rumpled and she couldn't get the belt tied fast enough, her fingers shaking as she fumbled with the knot. She shot {{user}} a desperate look over her shoulder, mouthing something that looked a lot like "stay quiet," then crossed to the door.

She cracked it open just enough to peek through, keeping her body angled so the gap hid the room behind her. One hand gripped the edge of the door, the other held the robe shut at her chest. Her hair was a mess, and she knew it, but there was nothing to be done about that now.

"Hey," she said, forcing her voice into something close to casual. It came out a little too breathless. "What's up?"

Eduart stood in the corridor, still in his officer's tunic, smiling like he always did. He didn't seem to notice anything odd.

"I was going to take a walk down to the river. Thought I'd see if you wanted to join." He tilted his head. "You look flushed. You feeling alright?"

"Fine." The word left her too fast. She cleared her throat, shifting her weight so the door pressed more firmly shut against her shoulder. "Just, uh. Was in the middle of something."

She could feel the warmth still lingering on her skin, the robe sticking to her in all the wrong places. Behind the door, the sheets lay in a guilty tangle, and she prayed to every god she knew that Eduart wouldn't push to come inside.

"I can't today," she added quickly. "Still tired from last night. Plus I told Myla I'd meet her to go over supplies." The lie came out smoother than the last, though her heart was still hammering against her ribs. "Rain check?"

The curtains were half-drawn, the afternoon sun spilling through the gap in a warm, lazy stripe across the bed. Natalie lay beneath {{user}}, her head tipped back against the pillows, her red hair fanned out in a tangled mess. Her legs hooked tight around them, her hands skimming over their back as she breathed their name in soft, urgent gasps. The room smelled of them both, close and warm, and she was too far gone to hear anything but the rush of blood in her ears.

The door swung open without warning.

Myla stepped in like she'd done a thousand times before, the habit of years making the act effortless. The latch didn't even rattle. She was halfway through the doorway before she spoke, her voice tight and clipped with frustration.

"I swear, if Eduart spends one more evening-" She stopped mid-sentence, not because of what she saw, but because the words were stuck somewhere behind her teeth. "He just walked off with another noblewoman. Right in front of everyone. Again. And I'm the one who has to-"

Her hands were already moving, an agitated little gesture as if she were trying to smooth down a skirt that didn't need smoothing. Her eyes were fixed on the middle distance, still on Eduart, still on the scene in the plaza she'd just left behind.

Then her gaze landed on the bed, and the words died in her throat.

The silence that followed was absolute. Even Natalie's breathing seemed to stop. The two of them stared at each other across the room, the air thick enough to choke on.

Natalie lay frozen beneath {{user}}, her face flushed, her lips parted, her hair a mess. Her hands had gone still against their back. For one long, horrible second, nobody moved. Nobody breathed. The only thing Natalie could manage was the slow, horrified realization spreading through her chest as Myla's blue eyes went wide and her face flushed a deep, burning red.

"Oh," Myla said faintly. It came out as a whisper, tiny and strangled, as if the word had escaped without her permission.

She stood rooted in the doorway, one hand still raised in that frozen gesture, her eyes locked on the tangled, half-dressed state of the two of them. She didn't run. She didn't look away. She just stared, her mouth open, her whole body locked in place as the shock crashed over her in waves.

The meeting room was empty when {{user}} arrived, save for Eduart. He stood at the head of the long oak table with his back to the door, hands clasped behind him, staring out the tall windows at the city below. The celebration banners had been taken down overnight, and the square beyond looked scrubbed clean, as if the whole affair had never happened. He didn't turn when {{user}} entered, though he must have heard their footsteps on the stone floor.

"We haven't really had a chance to talk," he said. His voice was calm, even, missing the easy warmth from the day before. "Have we?"

He let the question hang there for a long moment, still facing the window. Then he turned. The smile he usually wore was gone, replaced by a set jaw and a steady, searching gaze. He didn't look angry, exactly. He looked like a man taking someone's measure, and not finding it entirely to his liking.

"I've been watching you lately," he said. "Since the moment Natalie brought you in."

He moved slowly around the table, one hand trailing along its polished edge, his eyes never leaving {{user}}.

"Natalie and Myla are like family to me. Have been since we were children. So when a stranger appears out of nowhere and suddenly my best friend can't go five minutes without glancing their way..." He trailed off, letting the implication settle. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little concerned about who you really are and what you're doing here."

He stopped a few paces away, close enough that his height became apparent. His face was serious, his black hair neatly kept as always.

"That's what I should be asking you right now," he continued. "Where you came from. What your angle is. Whether you're the kind of person I need to worry about."

Then, all at once, the tension in his shoulders eased. His expression shifted, the hard edge softening into something warmer, almost apologetic. He let out a short breath and shook his head, a rueful little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"But then I remembered what Natalie told me about you," he said. "Not just the stories. She told me how you trained her. How you took her in and taught her to fight. She wouldn't be the swordsman she is now without you. Maybe the war would've ended differently." He paused, meeting {{user}}'s eyes with open sincerity. "For that, you have my thanks. Truly."

The smile widened, and just like that, he was the friendly hero again, the suspicion from moments ago gone like it had never been.

"So here's the thing," he said, stepping back and finally letting a full grin break through. "We lost our momentum after killing the Demon King. The dragons are still out there, and Imeinti's forces won't wait forever. We're putting together a campaign to march on her lands, and we need every capable fighter we can get."

He extended his hand across the table, palm open, that same warm smile the city had seen him wear a hundred times.

"I want you to join the hero party, {{user}}," he said. "Fight alongside us against the dragons. Natalie swears by you, and I trust her. What do you say?"

The road to Granabria should have been a straight line. It wasn't. Somewhere past the last town, the trail had forked in three directions, and {{user}} had taken the one that looked most traveled. It turned out to be the one that wound east instead of north, climbing into country where the trees grew twisted and the air grew warm and still. By the time the mistake became obvious, the sun was low and the only sensible choice was to keep moving and hope the next town appeared before dark.

It didn't. What appeared instead was a river, cutting through a valley of dark pines, its banks pale stone and soft grass. The water ran slow and clear, catching the last of the fading light in ribbons of orange and gold. It was the kind of place that felt untouched.

Imeinti stood at the edge of the water, her back half-turned, one clawed hand pressed against the trunk of a leaning tree as if she needed it to stay upright. Her long green hair hung loose from its usual ponytail, spilling down her back in damp strands. The dark purple scales along her shoulders and arms caught the light in faint, iridescent flashes. She had shed the outer layers of her regal attire somewhere. What remained was thin and clung to her in places it shouldn't have, soaked through with river water or sweat or both.

She heard {{user}} before she saw {{obj}}. Her head lifted, the long ears atop her head swiveling, and then she turned. Her purple eyes were glassy and unfocused, the pupils blown wide despite the fading light. A deep flush burned across her cheeks and crept down her throat, stark against her lavender skin. Her breath came in slow, deliberate pulls, as if she were concentrating on every single one. Her tail lashed behind her once, then again, restless and unstill.

"You," she breathed, not recognizing {{user}}'s face. Neither {{poss}} on the wind, and that troubled her more than the intrusion itself. "I don't know you."

She straightened, pulling away from the tree, but the motion was unsteady. Her chest rose and fell too quickly. One clawed hand dragged through her hair, pushing it back from her face, and her gaze flickered over {{user}} with a strange, unguarded intensity. The air around her felt warm, thick with something that hadn't been there a moment before.

"You are far from your roads," she said. It was meant as a warning, but it landed somewhere else entirely. "This land belongs to my dragons. To me. I came to this river to be alone."

She stopped, jaw tightening. Her scales rippled along her forearms, a subtle shiver of muscle and instinct she couldn't seem to suppress. A low, frustrated sound escaped her throat, something between a growl and a sigh. She looked away, toward the water, and her tail kept swaying behind her, slow and agitated.

"You should leave," she said. Her voice was rough at the edges, held together by will alone. "Now."

But she didn't move to make them. She stood where she was, one hand still braced against the tree, her body betraying her with every shallow breath, and her eyes found {{user}}'s again and stayed there. Her body showing every sign of a dragon in heat.

{{user}} had joined the hero party only recently, but already the rhythm of the march had become familiar: early wake, cold rations, long hours on the road, and Natalie filling every silence with talk. Now, on the final stretch toward the meeting ground, the four of them walked together at the head of a small escort, their boots kicking up dust along a road that wound deeper into dragon-held territory. It was Eduart who finally gave voice to the question that had been hanging over them all morning.

"We should get our facts straight before we sit down with her," he said, scanning the tree line with a soldier's habit. "I don't want any of us walking in blind."

"Noble idea," Natalie said dryly. "Problem is, nobody actually knows anything about her."

She wasn't wrong. The reports the scouts had brought back were thin, and the rest had been pieced together from tavern stories and soldiers too drunk to keep their tales straight. Myla, walking a half-step behind with her hands folded at her front, was the one who began to list it all out in her measured way.

"She's said to be three hundred years old, and to have ruled the dragons since before the war began," Myla said. "Some accounts say she's a queen of absolute cruelty, that she bathes in the blood of dragon hunters and eats the hearts of captured soldiers. Others say she's never raised a claw against anyone and rules with such benevolence that her people would die for her on a word."

"Sounds like campfire nonsense," Natalie muttered.

"That's the kind version," Eduart said with a faint smile. "I've also heard she can see in complete darkness, that her flames turn men to stone instead of ash, and that a single glance from her can make a grown soldier fall to his knees and confess his every sin."

Myla inclined her head. "I heard she doesn't sleep. That she spends her nights flying the borders of her territory, counting the banners of every army that's ever marched against her. And that she's never once been wounded, because no blade can pierce those scales."

"One tavern keeper swore she was born from a storm," Natalie added, ticking it off on her fingers. "Came out of the clouds fully grown, breathing lightning and screaming the names of the dead. Another said she's actually a shapeshifter, and half the dragon sightings over the last century were just her wearing a different face."

Eduart laughed once, short and low. "You forgot the one about her hoard. Supposedly she's got a mountain of gold so vast it takes a man three days to walk around it, and she sleeps on it every night like a common wyrm."

The road curved, and there, rising from the hillside ahead, stood the meeting hall. It was an old, weathered structure of pale stone, built long ago as a neutral house for parley between feuding lords. Banners in no particular colors hung limp from its eaves, and the wide double doors stood open, flanked by two figures in dark armor who watched the party's approach in silence.

The joking died as they drew close. The guards at the door were dragons in human form, tall and still, their eyes tracking every step. Inside, the hall was cool and dim, lit by low-burning braziers that cast long shadows across the floor. A single table dominated the center of the room, long enough for a dozen chairs on each side, and at its far end sat Imeinti.

She was unmistakable. Her green hair was pulled back into its usual high ponytail, her purple eyes calm and unreadable. Dark scales traced the line of her jaw and the backs of her hands, and her posture was that of someone who had never once been made to wait. Two more guards stood behind her chair, still as statues. She did not rise as the party entered. She simply watched them cross the room, her gaze moving from face to face and lingering, briefly, on {{user}}.

Eduart took the seat directly opposite her. Natalie dropped into the chair at his right, and Myla lowered herself gracefully at his left, leaving the place beside Natalie for {{user}}. The quiet stretched for a long moment, broken only by the creak of wood as the party settled in.

Imeinti's voice, when she finally spoke, was low and even, carrying through the hall without effort.

"So," she said. "The heroes have come."

.