Page 6 of Eluvonia (Rift of Ages #1)

Smoke drifts lazily from the last of the morning fires, carrying the scent of damp earth and charred wood. Somewhere, the rich aroma of cooking venison still lingers.

I weave through the crowd, nodding to those who acknowledge me, though I don’t linger. My mind is still tangled in the remnants of my dream, the heavy press of my father’s rejection, the firelit image of the Dragon—

Something leaps out from behind a stack of crates.

I jerk back, my heart slamming into my ribs as my hand flies to the dagger at my hip. But then I catch the glint of mischievous green eyes beneath a mop of short blonde hair.

“Gotcha!” Esra crows, doubling over in laughter, her whole body shaking with delight.

I release the breath I was holding and drop my hand from my weapon.

“One of these days, I’m going to stop falling for that. ”

“Oh, Aer,” she sighs, wiping a fake tear from the corner of her eye. “You’d be so lost without me.”

I huff, trying to hold onto my annoyance, but Esra is practically vibrating with amusement, and it’s impossible to stay mad when she looks like she just won a game I didn’t even know I was playing. Instead, I settle for a light punch to her arm.

She gasps, clutching at the spot like I’d just driven a dagger through her. “Oh no, my arm! How will I ever practice medicine again?”

I cross my arms. “If only there were some kind of… I don’t know, trained healer around to help you.”

“Tragic,” she sighs, shaking her head dramatically. “Guess I’ll just die.”

I snort, but before I can reply, Esra’s eyes light up.

“Speaking of trained healers,” she starts, launching into an enthusiastic ramble about some new herb she’s found—King’s Wort, or something like that. Apparently, it’s useful for fevers, infections, wounds—everything short of bringing the dead back to life.

“Not that you’d know,” she adds sweetly, “considering, you know… your incident .”

I nod absently, letting her words wash over me, but my mind is elsewhere. She’s talking about the time I nearly killed a scout by mixing up Banesbreath and Verdance. It had been an accident—a mistake anyone could have made—but Esra never lets me forget it.

“Oh, you remember, don’t you, Aer?” she says, her voice dripping with false innocence. “That poor guy was coughing up foam for hours! So scary!” A smirk tugs at the corner of her lips, barely hidden behind an exaggerated shudder .

I try to listen, I really do, but healing was never my strong suit. And Esra knows that.

“So where have you been?” Esra finally asks, breaking through my distraction. “You and Leyley disappeared after bringing that deer—amazing, by the way. Come on, let me get you some stew. You look like you could use it.”

Before I can protest, she tugs me toward one of the fires. I let her. Sitting on a worn log, I absently kick at a loose stone near my foot.

Esra ladles thick venison stew from a large cauldron into a wooden bowl, her movements swift and practiced. “The twins told me about the Dragon sighting.”

My jaw tightens.

Esra pauses, handing me the bowl. “I assume he turned you away again?”

I nod stiffly, fingers clenching around the warm wood. The fire in front of me flickers, the twisting embers casting jagged shadows across the cavern walls. My glare is fixed on the flames.

“He wouldn’t even let me finish,” I grit out. “We saw a Dragon, Esra. A real Dragon.” The words tumble out, my frustration spilling over, sharp and uncontained. “But no, of course, what I say doesn’t matter.”

Esra hums, stirring her own bowl absently. “He’s just… set in his ways.”

I shake my head, the anger bubbling hotter. “He’s blind,” I snap. The loose rock beneath my boot is the unfortunate target of my rage. I scoop it up and fling it hard. It clatters loudly against the stone, skipping across the cavern floor—

And nearly hits a Fae hanging wet clothes nearby.

She turns, her glare sharp as a blade .

“Sorry!” I call, raising a hand in apology. The Fae huffs, her expression icy, and returns to her task.

Esra bursts out laughing, the sound bright and unbothered. She elbows me, her grin widening. “Aer, you almost brained her! I swear, you’ve got terrible aim when you’re mad.”

I groan, rubbing the back of my neck. “Didn’t mean to throw it that hard.”

Still chuckling, Esra hands me a spoon. “Here. Eat before you throw something else and start another war.”

The stew is thick and hearty, the tender venison melting on my tongue. I eat quickly, savoring the warmth as it settles in my stomach, as it dulls the edges of my frustration just enough.

When I finish, I pass the empty bowl to a nearby Fae collecting dishes, offering a quiet word of thanks.

Esra watches me as I stand, her eyes soft but shadowed with something unreadable. “Don’t let it get to you too much, Aer,” she says gently. “He’s… well, you know how he is.”

I force a small smile, barely lifting the corners of my mouth. “Yeah. Thanks, Esra.”

She gives me a tiny wave as I turn toward the darker tunnels, her voice carrying after me. “Aer. Don’t punch anything, okay? Or anyone. You know how that turned out last time.”

I roll my eyes, pretending not to hear the barely contained laughter in her voice.

I don’t answer. My thoughts are already spiraling.