Chapter Text
Chance followed the narrow trail winding through the forest, boots pressing softly into the damp earth. The path was barely there at all, half-swallowed by moss and time. Brambles tugged at the edge of his cloak, and low-hanging branches brushed against his shoulders as if urging him to turn back. It was just as the villagers had described, a path forgotten by most, traveled only by those brave enough or foolish enough to seek the thing that waited beyond.
He paused for a moment, letting his fingers graze the scarred bark of a tree. Burn marks, old but unmistakable, spidered out across the trunk like black veins. Another clue.
The rumors had reached him long before he arrived at the sleepy village nestled at the forest’s edge. Whispers of a dragon who lived alone, hidden away in the dense woods. A creature who had once been human, or maybe still was, depending on who you asked. Some said it protected the forest. Others claimed it had destroyed the last village foolish enough to disturb it. But none of the stories ever agreed on one thing: why the dragon had stayed.
Chance pressed on.
He wasn’t here to kill it. He wasn’t even sure if he believed the more dramatic rumors. But something in the way the innkeeper had lowered his voice when he mentioned the creature had stuck with him. Not fear. Not anger. Just caution. As if the dragon wasn’t a beast to be hunted, but a secret to be respected.
And Chance had always been drawn to secrets. That curiosity was what led him to study the wonders of their world. From goblins to fae, he had been captivated by every piece of the land he called home. Even the dangerous ones.
He had spent his youth buried in books, poring over old scrolls, listening to travelers' tales by firelight. The moment he was old enough to travel, he left home with a journal in hand and a promise to record what others had only whispered about.
This, though, would be his greatest discovery yet. A living dragon. Not a fossil in a cave or an embellished legend passed down through frightened generations, but a breathing, thinking creature.
No one had documented one in centuries. Most believed they had vanished from the world entirely. But Chance had never accepted that. He always believed that somewhere, in the wild places just beyond the edge of the map, something ancient still waited.
And now, at last, Chance reached the end of the overgrown path. The forest gave way to a small clearing, and at its center stood a stone dragon perched atop a weathered pedestal. Its wings were curled protectively around its body, head bowed as if in mourning. Moss clung to its surface in soft patches, but unlike the trail that had led him here, the statue itself was clean. Cared for.
Chance stepped closer, his boots crunching gently on the forest floor. At the base of the statue was a small shrine, quiet and reverent. Half-burnt candles stood in uneven rows, their wax melted down into the crevices of the stone. Ash clung to the edges like old memory.
Someone had been here recently. Someone still came here.
He knelt beside the pedestal, brushing his fingers over one of the wax pools. It was still soft.
A sudden crack of a branch nearby made his head snap up. Instinct took over. He scrambled to his feet and ducked behind a nearby shrub, heart pounding. He didn’t know what kind of creatures might roam this forest or how dangerous they could be. His hand settled quietly on the hilt of his dagger, just in case.
Then he saw someone step through the trees.
What emerged from the forest was nothing like he expected. A man that must have been around his age walked into the clearing with a woven basket hooked over his arm. He was tall, his hair a striking blend of blue, green, and purple that caught the sunlight in soft glimmers. Chance stared, unable to look away.
The man’s clothes hung loose on his frame, worn and faded in places, as though they had been patched and mended more than once. He moved with an easy familiarity, the kind that came from returning to the same place time and time again.
He knelt in front of the statue and whispered a quiet incantation. A small flame sparked to life at his fingertip, which he used to light the surrounding candles with practiced care.
Chance leaned forward slightly, intrigued. Magic wasn’t unheard of, but it was uncommon—something passed down through bloodlines, only accessible to those born with the gift.
He himself had a trace of elven or fae ancestry, just enough to learn a few simple incantations. Watching the stranger, he couldn’t help but wonder how deep the man’s magical lineage ran, and just how much he was capable of.
Chance shifted his weight, a branch cracking under his boot. The sound drew the other man’s attention. His head turned sharply, fiery blue eyes locking with Chance’s. For a moment, the forest felt still.
The man’s hand drifted toward his waist, hovering near something unseen. “Who are you?” he asked, rising quickly from where he had been kneeling.
Chance stepped from the trees, keeping his movements slow and his hands visible. “I didn’t mean to intrude,” he said, voice even. “My name’s Chance.”
The man eyed him, wary. His posture was tense, like he wasn’t sure whether to flee or fight. “Then why are you sneaking around out here, Chance?” he asked, his voice cool but not openly aggressive.
“I wasn’t sneaking,” Chance replied. “Just trying not to disturb anything. I heard there was a shrine deep in the forest and… I wanted to see it for myself.”
The man didn’t respond right away. His eyes flicked to Chance’s boots, then to the satchel slung across his shoulder, before returning to his face. “People don’t wander out here without a reason.”
“I guess I’m no exception,” Chance said. “I study places like this. Forgotten things. Old stories. But this shrine doesn’t feel forgotten.”
The man turned back to the statue, watching the candles flicker. “It isn’t,” he said quietly. “But it’s not meant to be found by just anyone.”
“If you want me to go, I will,” Chance offered, taking a careful step back.
The man was quiet for a moment, then gave a slight shake of his head. “You’re already here.”
Chance stepped forward again, just enough to close the distance slightly, but not so much as to intrude. “Is this place yours?” he asked, then hesitated. “Sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”
“Parker,” the man replied without looking at him. “And it belongs to my family.”
Chance gave a quiet nod. “I didn’t mean any disrespect.”
Silence settled between them, the sounds of the forest distant and muffled. The man crouched again and adjusted one of the candles.
“You lit them with magic,” Chance said, not as a question but an observation.
The man’s shoulders shifted. “So?”
“It’s just… rare. Not many still know how.”
“It’s just something my parents taught me,” Parker said. He seemed a little more at ease now, his hand drifting away from whatever weapon he might have been reaching for earlier.
The forest around them had started to dim, the light thinning as dusk settled in. Parker glanced at the treetops, then let out a quiet sigh.
“It’s not safe to camp out here at night,” he said, voice low. “Do you need somewhere to stay?”
There was a slight hesitation in his tone, like the offer came with some caution.
Chance paused, weighing his options. He didn’t know much about this man, but something about him pulled at his curiosity. “I’d appreciate that,” he said with a small nod. “Thank you.”
Parker nodded and picked up his basket, taking a quiet moment to blow out the candles before stepping away from the shrine. Without a word, he began leading Chance down a narrow path through the trees. The trail was worn just enough to show signs of use, pressed into the dirt by repeated steps.
For a while, neither of them spoke. The forest filled the silence for them, humming with the rhythmic calls of cicadas. The late summer light filtered through the canopy, casting flickering shadows on the ground.
“It’s really beautiful out here,” Chance said eventually, his voice soft as if afraid to disturb the peace.
Parker glanced back at him, his expression unreadable. “It’s dangerous.”
“That doesn’t mean it can’t be beautiful,” Chance replied with a small smile.
A beat passed. Then Parker looked ahead again, but not before the corner of his mouth lifted slightly. “That’s true, I suppose.”
The trail began to open, revealing a small clearing nestled between the trees. A modest stone cottage stood at its center, smoke curling gently from the chimney. Neat rows of crops filled the space around it, the kind of small garden that spoke of self-reliance and long seasons spent alone.
As they stepped past the edge of the farm plots, Chance let his gaze linger on the cottage. “Do you live out here on your own?”
“I do,” Parker answered, stepping up to the door. “I try to live off the land. But I’ll make trips to the village when I need to.”
He opened the door, holding it just long enough for Chance to follow before disappearing inside.
The cottage was small, clearly old, but well cared for. The wooden floor creaked under Chance’s boots as he stepped inside. It was simple—just one main room with a hearth built for both warmth and cooking, a worn table surrounded by a few mismatched chairs, and a handful of cabinets along the wall for storing food and supplies.
“It’s not much,” Parker said as he shut the door behind them, “but you’ll make it through the night.”
“Make it through?” Chance raised a brow.
“I told you it was dangerous,” Parker replied. He crossed to a bucket on the counter and dipped his hands into the cool water. “Plenty of creatures roam these woods after dark. Bandits, too, if you’re unlucky.”
Chance took another look around, his eyes lingering on the thick shutters over the windows and the iron latch on the door. “I guess I’m lucky I ran into you first, then.”
Parker didn’t answer right away. He dried his hands on a cloth and turned toward him with a neutral expression. “That depends who you ask.”
Chance tilted his head at the answer but chose not to push further. He took a slow step around the small room, letting his eyes wander over the cozy space. A shelf along the far wall caught his attention, crammed with books and—unexpectedly—games. Nearly half of it was filled with small boxes and hand-carved sets of various strategy and dice games.
His gaze landed on one in particular, and his expression lit up with recognition.
“You have Hearthbinder?” Chance asked, turning toward Parker. The other man was crouched by the fire, sorting through a handful of herbs and root vegetables beside the bubbling stew pot.
Parker looked up, his expression shifting with interest. “Of course I do. It’s only one of the best games in the realm,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
Chance watched the way his face softened and found himself smiling too. “I haven’t played since I was a kid.”
Parker stirred the pot, then slid the chopped vegetables in with practiced ease. “I haven’t had someone to play with in a long time,” he admitted, not quite meeting Chance’s eyes. “Would you like to? After dinner.”
“I’d like that,” Chance said, his voice a little quieter.
After that, the conversation flowed more easily. They talked about the games Parker had collected and the ones Chance used to play back home. Both spoke with the kind of passion that made the small cottage feel a little warmer.
“Any dice-based games are far superior to the parchment ones,” Chance said confidently over dinner. Parker had poured them both some mead, and they were beginning to loosen up.
Parker gave him a mock-offended look. “Excuse me? Strategy and resource games take actual skill. Not just luck.”
Chance grinned. “You’re just saying that because you have terrible dice rolls.”
“Careful,” Parker warned playfully, raising his mug. “I can still kick you out into the forest.”
“Then who would you play Hearthbinder with?” Chance shot back, raising an eyebrow.
Parker smirked, taking a slow sip of his drink. “Good point.”
After they finished eating, Parker cleared the dishes while Chance began setting up the board. They each took a set of carved tiles used to build a small homestead around a shared hearth in the center. The goal was simple, keep your fire burning. Each round, players had to gather and spend resources, like wood and food, to expand and protect their home while also managing the needs of the hearth. The longer your fire stayed lit, the more points you earned.
Parker settled across the table from Chance, carefully arranging his starting tiles. “I haven’t been able to play this in ages,” he said with a smile that lit up his face. There was an eagerness in his tone that felt refreshingly unguarded.
Chance found himself smiling back, warmed more by the moment than the mead. It was a far cry from the wary man who had nearly drawn a blade on him earlier. “Same here. I don’t even remember the last time I got to sit down and enjoy a game like this,” he said, taking another sip from his mug. The mead was strong, and the gentle buzz it brought made the room feel cozier.
They got started, and it didn’t take long for Chance to realize he was a bit outmatched. Parker played with an ease that only came from years of practice—or a lot of time alone with a game board. Still, Chance held his own well enough, managing to stay in the game even as his resources dwindled.
Eventually, his fire sputtered out, and Parker’s home remained warm and bright.
“Yes!” Parker shouted, throwing a fist in the air. “In your face!” He grinned and reached for his mug, downing the last of his mead in one victorious gulp.
Chance laughed, shaking his head. “Alright, alright. I admit defeat. That was brutal.”
Parker smirked and leaned back in his chair. The sleeve of his shirt tugged up slightly, revealing a small patch of blue, scale-like texture along the inside of his forearm.
Chance’s laughter faded just a little as he glanced at it. His smile lingered, but his eyes sharpened.
“You’ve, uh… got something on your arm,” he said casually, gesturing.
Parker blinked, then looked down. His expression flickered. Quickly, he tugged the sleeve down to cover it again. “Just a burn. From a while ago,” he said, a little too quickly.
Chance didn’t press the issue, though curiosity still lingered in his mind. Whatever was on Parker’s arm, it didn’t look like any burn he had ever seen. Still, he let the moment pass in silence before speaking again.
“Do you want to play another round?” he asked, voice hopeful.
Parker hesitated, eyes flicking to the game pieces. He looked like he wanted to say yes, but shook his head instead.
“No. It’s getting late,” he said with a sigh. “I’ve got chores to tend to in the morning.”
Chance nodded, trying not to let his disappointment show. “Maybe we could play again tomorrow?”
Parker glanced over at him, one eyebrow raised. “You planning on staying?”
Chance felt a flush rise to his cheeks. “Well… if you’ll have me. This forest is full of things I’d love to study. It could be the perfect place to continue my research.”
Parker looked at him for a long moment, then down at the game board, and finally to his empty mug.
“This is the most fun I’ve had in a long time,” he said quietly. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to have a bit of company.”
Parker began gathering the game pieces, tucking them back into their wooden box. “You can stay in the guest room,” he said, nodding toward a door along the far wall.
Chance returned the nod. “Thank you.” He dipped his head slightly and helped Parker finish packing up the game before heading to the room.
It wasn’t large, just enough space for a bed and a small wooden desk tucked beneath the window. Chance rolled his shoulders as he stepped inside. The room was simple, but the desk was a welcome sight. He had plenty to write about.
He sat down, pulled his leather journal from his satchel, and flipped it open. With a worn pencil in hand, he began to write, carefully recording the day’s events. He added a rough sketch of the dragon statue from memory, noting the placement of the candles and the quiet reverence that lingered in the clearing.
It wasn’t long before his eyes grew heavy. He closed the journal, setting it aside on the desk, and made his way to the bed. As he lay down, the quiet of the cottage wrapping around him like a blanket, his thoughts drifted back to Parker. There was still so much he didn’t know.
Sleep took him quickly, his last thoughts lingering on the curious man in the woods and the strange feeling that their paths were meant to cross.