Chapter ten: Shadows Within the Capital

The morning light crept through the shutters, pale beams slicing across the tavern floorboards like blades of gold. The hearth was dead, leaving only the faint smell of woodsmoke clinging to the air, earthy and comforting. Cid was already awake. His steps down the stairs were silent, practiced, the gait of a hunter who had learned long ago not to disturb those who slept.

Behind him, upstairs, Fenrona and the dragonlings still rested. He wanted them to have peace. He wanted her, at least, to have a morning without shadows.

At the counter, Jesika sat hunched forward, her face buried in her arms. Her shoulders trembled faintly. When she lifted her head at the sound of his boots, her eyes were red, swollen from crying.

“Jess,” Cid said softly, easing onto the stool beside her. His voice was low, carrying neither judgment nor surprise. “What happened?”

Jesika blinked, and then suddenly rose to throw her arms around him. Her embrace was tight, desperate, like she was clinging to the last plank in a storm.

“We had a fight,” she choked, her voice muffled against his chest.

Cid’s hand came up, resting gently between her shoulder blades. “About what?”

She pulled back enough to look at him, shame flickering in her gaze. “He… he wants to tell Bill. To make it official.” Her lips quivered. “I didn’t want to. I panicked. You know my father—he wouldn’t ever allow us to be together.”

Cid held her at arm’s length, his hands firm on her shoulders. His pale brown eyes studied her with that strange intensity of his, as though he were weighing her soul.

“Jess,” he asked, his tone quiet but unyielding. “Do you love him?”

Her eyes brimmed again, but she nodded. “Yes. Gods, yes. That’s why I don’t want to tell. I’m scared…”

“Then tell Bill,” Cid said simply. “If you love him, face it. I’ll stand beside you.”

She searched his face, as if afraid he might be mocking her. “You mean that?”

He brushed a tear from her cheek with his thumb. “If you think he’s the one, then yes. But first…” A faint smirk curved his lips. “…I’ll punish him for making you cry.”

Jesika let out a broken laugh, her tears mixing with a smile. “Thanks, brother.”

“Go get him,” Cid said, releasing her.

She nodded, wiped her eyes quickly, and whispered, “Love you, brother,” before slipping out the door.

Cid busied himself in the kitchen, stoking a small fire and cracking eggs into the pan. The sizzle of meat joined the smell of herbs as he worked. Cooking wasn’t something he’d ever admit he enjoyed, but it gave his hands purpose and his thoughts a rhythm.

By the time the eggs browned and the tavern filled with warmth again, Jesika returned—with James trailing behind her. The boy’s face was pale, his posture rigid, but there was determination in his eyes.

Cid didn’t turn immediately. He plated food, slid two dishes across the counter, and only then faced them.

“James,” he said evenly. “You made her cry.”

The boy swallowed hard and bowed low. “Sorry, sir.”

“Lift your head,” Cid ordered. “Eat. Both of you.”

Jesika glanced between them, then sat, her voice softer now. “Thanks.” James followed her lead in silence.

Cid turned back to the pan, speaking without looking at them. “Jess, we’re leaving in a week. Heading to the capital.”

The clatter of her fork hitting the plate broke the silence. “What?!”

Cid finally faced them, his eyes narrowing slightly on James. “Can you take care of her when I’m gone?”

The boy straightened at once. “Yes, sir. I’ll do everything in my power to keep her safe and happy.”

“Good.” Cid’s tone sharpened like steel drawn from a sheath. “Because if you make her cry again, I’ll kill you.”

Jesika’s breath hitched. “Why are we even talking about this? Why are you leaving?”

“I have to,” Cid said, quieter now, almost to himself. “And the capital… it’ll be a better place for my children—all of them.”

Her eyes softened at that, but tears welled again as she gripped his sleeve. “Then promise me you’ll visit. A lot. Because I’m your sister too.”

His expression eased, the hardness giving way to something gentler. He reached out, ruffling her hair like he had when they were children. “I promise.”

Jesika sniffled, trying to smile. “Then… okay.”

The tavern door opened. Bill stepped in, scanning the scene with one brow raised.

“What’s going on in here?” he asked.

Cid wiped his hands on a cloth and smirked. “Made breakfast. Told her I’m leaving in a week. Oh, and these two are dating.”

Bill’s eyes flicked to James. “Kid, what’s your name?”

“James Redes, sir.”

Bill studied him like a butcher inspecting a cut of meat. “How far are you willing to go for her?”

“As far as I need to,” James said firmly. “If it means protecting her, I’d die for her. But as long as I’m alive, I’ll do everything in my power to keep her happy. If it means marrying her, I will.”

Bill gave a slow nod. “Good answer.” He turned toward the kitchen, muttering, “But if you make her cry, I’ll kill you before Cid even hears of it.”

James let out a nervous laugh. “Everyone wants to kill me.”

Jesika nudged him playfully, her eyes bright now. “Don’t worry. I won’t. I’ll just tell them to.”

James smiled faintly, leaning close to press a kiss to her forehead. “I love you, Jesika.”

“Love you too,” she whispered back.

Bill reemerged, wiping his hands on a rag. His gaze turned to Cid. “About that house you want in the capital… what exactly are you looking for?”

Cid’s face hardened into something calculating. “Big. With a basement that blocks the feel of magic. No one outside should sense a thing.”

Bill raised a brow. “That’s no ordinary request. How big?”

“Big enough to fit three dragons,” Cid said without a trace of humor.

Bill gave a low whistle. “There’s no house that big, kid. But I’ll search.”

“Thanks.”

Cid gathered the last plate, meant for Fenrona. His voice dropped, gentler now. “She’s still sleeping.”

He climbed the stairs, pushing open the door with quiet care. The sight before him stole his breath for a moment—Fenrona curled on the bed, silver hair spilled across the pillow, one arm protectively draped over the bundled dragonlings. Their tiny breaths rose and fell in rhythm with hers, like a family dreaming the same dream.

Cid stood in the doorway longer than he intended, watching. For a man born cursed and hunted, mornings like this felt like stolen miracles. He set the plate on the table beside the bed and eased down to sit at her side, brushing a loose strand of hair from her cheek.

“I’ll make this work,” he whispered, more vow than promise. “For all of you.”

“Honey,” he said softly as he set the tray down.

Fenrona stirred, her eyes opening halfway. “Love?”

“I made breakfast for you three.”

Her lips curved into a sleepy smile. “You’re the best husband I could ask for,” she murmured, kissing him before sitting up.

The dragonlings sniffed the air, their tiny noses twitching. At the smell of food, they scrambled free of the blankets, their claws clicking against the wood as they scampered toward the plates.

“Don’t eat too fast,” Fenrona chided gently, her voice carrying both warmth and authority.

The little ones chirped in response, devouring the meal with a zeal that made Cid chuckle. For a brief moment, the world outside—its curses, its wars, its kings—felt far away.

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When the last crumbs were gone, Fenrona turned to him. Her silver hair caught the light as she tied it back loosely. “Love, I’ll handle the lessons today. Go rest a while.”

“Thanks, honey.” He kissed her forehead before crouching to meet the dragonlings’ wide eyes. “Don’t give your mother trouble while I’m gone.”

They all nodded solemnly, though their twitching tails betrayed their excitement.

Downstairs, Bill was already waiting by the door, arms crossed, face unreadable.

“Good timing, kid. I need you to watch the bar.”

Cid raised a brow. “Alright. How long?”

“Until I get back.” Bill’s mouth tugged into the faintest grin. “I’m going to look for that house.”

“Thanks, Bill.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” He slipped out before Cid could ask anything more.

Days passed. Fenrona and Nyx worked tirelessly with the dragonlings, teaching them the language word by word. The little ones listened intently, their eyes bright with curiosity, repeating syllables with earnest determination.

Cid split his time between helping at the bar, sharpening blades, and preparing for the long road to come. The village whispered about his departure, some with sorrow, some with relief.

When Bill returned, his boots were dusty and his expression sly.

“Kid,” he said, tossing a card onto the counter. “I found your place. But it’ll cost you.”

“The price doesn’t matter,” Cid replied without hesitation.

“Good,” Bill smirked. “Because I already paid for it.”

Cid blinked, reaching for the card. “When did you take this?”

“The day I left.” Bill’s grin widened. “Congratulations—you’re a capital citizen now.”

Cid let out a low laugh, shaking his head. “You never change, old man.”

Bill’s tone sobered. “There’s more. When you arrive, the guards will bring you to a man named Roly Logfer. One of the king’s men. He’ll take you to your house—and then to the king himself.”

Cid’s gaze hardened. “The king?”

“Yeah. Wants to meet the only NT-rank hunter in his kingdom. Wants to thank you for saving the capital from that dragon.” Bill leaned in slightly. “Don’t worry. Only a handful know about your rank. To everyone else, you’re just another outsider hunter.”

“Good,” Cid said with a slow nod. “I prefer it that way.”

Bill leaned back against the counter. “And one more thing—there’s a tavern called Hunter’s. Ask for Ker. She’ll be your new job-giver.”

Cid tucked the information away silently, the way he did with every detail that mattered.

The final days passed quickly, each one heavy with unspoken farewells.

Finally, the morning came. The air outside was crisp, and the village stirred with quiet anticipation.

“So,” Cid asked, tightening the straps on his coat, “are you all ready?”

“We are,” the dragonlings chirped in unison before slipping under his coat, their small bodies warm against his chest.

Fenrona approached, her hand drifting to her belly. Her eyes glowed with quiet strength. “I’m ready, love.”

“You look beautiful, honey,” Cid whispered. His gaze softened as it lingered on her. “I see he’s growing fast.”

“Yes,” she said, a small, radiant smile touching her lips. “I can already feel him. In five months, our family will grow even more.”

“I love you,” Cid murmured, pulling her close for a long moment, letting the warmth of her presence burn away the cold dread of leaving.

They stepped outside. The villagers had gathered—faces both familiar and distant. Some offered blessings, others only silence, but all watched as the cursed hunter and his family prepared to depart.

Jesika stood near the front, her hand clasped in James’s. She waved with tearful eyes. Bill raised a hand from the tavern steps, his weathered face unreadable but proud.

Goodbyes were spoken, promises exchanged, and with Fenrona at his side and the dragonlings tucked close, Cid turned his gaze toward the horizon.

Together, they set their path toward the capital.

A few hours passed on the road, the journey eerily quiet. The dragonlings stayed hidden beneath Cid’s long coat, warm and still against him, their tiny breaths steady against his ribs. Fenrona walked close by, her silver hair catching the pale daylight, the soft crunch of her boots the only sound to break the silence between them.

By midday, the capital came into view. Massive walls rose from the earth like a fortress carved by gods, black stone layered with veins of white marble that gleamed in the sun. Towers speared into the sky, their banners snapping in the wind. The sight carried both majesty and menace—home to thousands, prison to just as many.

At the gates, a long line of humanity stretched—merchants with wagons, beggars clutching rags, travelers haggard from the road. The guards stood rigid at their posts, but their eyes were red, shoulders slouched, as though they had not known sleep in days.

Cid ignored the line. He strode straight to the front, Fenrona beside him, and handed the nearest guard his identification card.

“Hey! Wait in line!” voices barked from the crowd. Someone hurled a chunk of stale bread. Another spat. The noise swelled, anger bubbling from those forced to wait.

The guard glanced at the card, then at Cid—and straightened at once, fatigue washing from his posture. His jaw tightened. “Come with me.”

Cid felt Fenrona’s hand tighten around his.

“Love,” she whispered, her voice a tremor beneath the crowd’s mutters. “Are you sure that was wise?”

“Yes, honey,” Cid said calmly, eyes never leaving the guard. “We’re not like the others.”

They were led through a narrow stone corridor into a chamber just inside the gate. The air was cooler here, heavy with the scents of parchment, ink, and oil. A man sat behind a desk, poring over a thick book, his quill scratching steadily across the page.

He didn’t look up until the guard cleared his throat.

“So,” the man said, his voice low, carrying faint amusement. His gaze swept over Cid, then lingered briefly on Fenrona. “You must be Cidolfus. And this must be your beast-human wife.”

“You’re Roly Logfer,” Cid replied evenly.

“Indeed.” The man closed his book, setting it aside. His dark uniform was pressed and immaculate despite the faint stubble on his jaw. “General of the Wall Protector Team. And one of the king’s men.” He waved the guard away, leaving the three alone.

“I’m Cidolfus Lynvern. And this is my wife, Fenrona Lynvern, daughter of the late King of Linter,” Cid said, his tone deliberate.

At the name, Roly’s expression shifted—less dismissive now, more measured. “Then I owe you both proper thanks. But first—before we head to your new home—there’s a stop I insist on making.”

Minutes later, they left a shop with Roly carrying a dark glass bottle of whiskey. He gave it a casual shake. “Every housewarming deserves a good bottle,” he said simply.

They followed him through winding streets until their destination appeared—a tall iron gate framing a sprawling estate of white stone walls and polished marble trim. A wide balcony stretched from the upper floor, overlooking a garden that glimmered with the light of a small lake.

“One of the largest houses in the capital,” Roly said as he handed Cid the key. “Fitting, for the kingdom’s strongest hunter.”

Fenrona’s lips parted, her eyes wide with awe. “It’s beautiful…”

Cid gave a faint smile. “He actually listened to what I asked for.”

Inside, the house was grander still. The living room opened into a cavernous space, a roaring fireplace casting golden light across plush couches. The kitchen gleamed with polished stone and steel, every tool and pan neatly in place. A dining table of dark oak stretched long enough to seat fifteen comfortably.

Through glass doors lay the garden alone tree shading a small lake, the leaves whispering softly in the breeze.

Upstairs, seven bedrooms waited—six modest, and one massive chamber fit for a lord. Another stairwell spiraled down into a training hall of reinforced stone, built to withstand strength and sorcery alike.

“It’s good,” Cid said at last, his voice carrying quiet satisfaction. “You can come out now.”

The coat rustled, and three small heads poked free. The dragonlings spilled onto the floor, their eyes wide with wonder.

“Wow! Our house is huge!” Adel shouted, spinning in circles. “We can play here forever!”

“Adal don’t be reckless,” Nyx said sharply, folding her arms.

“Let her,” Dalin muttered with a smirk. “Adel, let’s fight.”

“You two, stop it,” Nyx snapped, exasperation already blooming.

Fenrona laughed, shaking her head. “Come on, you three—your father has a guest.”

Roly’s jaw nearly dropped. “You’ve got to be kidding me… three dragonlings? And they call you father?”

“Yes,” Cid said, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Long story.”

Roly pinched the bridge of his nose. “You know what—never mind. I don’t want to know.” He straightened and gestured toward the door. “Come on. We’ve still got one more stop.”

Cid crouched, looking at the dragonlings each in the eye. “Don’t give your mother trouble while I’m gone.”

“We won’t!” they chorused brightly.

The palace wasn’t as vast as Camelot’s, but it carried an older gravity. Its weathered stone walls had been patched with black obsidian, giving the halls a sheen both ominous and enduring. Each step echoed through the vast chamber, swallowed by the height of its vaulted ceiling. At the far end, two thrones carved entirely from obsidian loomed like shadows against torchlight.

“My king,” Roly said, falling to one knee. Cid bowed as well, shallow and restrained—enough to acknowledge, but not to bend.

The man upon the throne leaned forward. His voice was deep, edged with command. “So. You are the NT-rank hunter.”

“Yes, my… lord,” Cid replied carefully. “What gives me the honor of standing here?”

“First,” the king said, “you are the first of your kind in my kingdom. Second—you saved my capital. That includes my queen.”

Cid’s bow deepened a fraction. “It was my honor.”

“Lift your head, boy,” the king said, amusement flickering in his eyes. “And don’t call me ‘lord.’ Call me Feng.”

“Yes, my lord,” Cid answered without thought.

Feng chuckled, a low rumble. “What is your name?”

“Cidolfus Lynvern.”

“A fine name.” The king studied him for a moment that stretched like steel under heat. “Do you have a woman?”

“Yes. My wife. She is pregnant.”

“A shame,” Feng murmured with a faint smile. “I had thought to offer you my daughter as thanks.”

Cid didn’t flinch. “There are better men for her, Feng.”

The king’s smile widened, genuine this time. “And is there anything you desire?”

“No,” Cid said simply.

“Then let me say this—Cidolfus Lynvern, thank you for saving my capital. From this day, you are a hidden hero of my kingdom.”

Cid inclined his head. “That is more than enough.”

“You may go.”

Outside the palace, the air tasted cooler, freer. Roly walked at his side.

“So,” Roly asked quietly, “what now?”

“First, I’ll help my wife settle into the house. Then…” Cid’s gaze turned inward, heavy. “…I’ll find my sister.”

Roly gave a small nod. “I hope you do.”

He left Cid there, at the crossroads of the capital, where stone streets stretched like veins through the living heart of the city. For a moment, the hunter stood alone, the king’s words already fading beneath something more personal.

Emy… I’ll see you again soon. Two years have passed, and everything’s changed.

When Cid opened the door to his new home, warmth struck him first. Three dragonlings rushed to greet him, their claws tapping against polished stone. Fenrona stood just behind them, her smile steady, her silver hair glowing in the firelight.

“Welcome home, love,” she said, her voice carrying a warmth that cut through every cold stare, every sharp word he had endured that day.

The door closed behind him. The dragonlings crowded around—Nyx with quiet dignity, leaning against his leg; Dalin tugging at his coat; Adel leaping high until Cid caught her in his arms.

He chuckled despite himself. “Miss me already?”

“We didn’t like you being gone,” Nyx whispered.

Fenrona crossed the space between them, her hand finding his cheek. “Neither did I.”

Cid bent his forehead to hers, breathing her in. “It’s a big house, honey… but without you in it, it’s just walls.”

Her tail brushed against his leg, slow and certain. “Then we’ll fill it—with life, with laughter, with our family.” She glanced at the dragonlings, who were now tumbling over each other across the vast living room. “And maybe with a little chaos.”

“Chaos I can live with,” Cid murmured, a faint smile softening his face.

They settled before the fire, Fenrona curled into his side, the dragonlings sprawled about like overgrown cats. The crackle of flames, the muffled heartbeat of the city outside—it made the house feel alive, claimed.

For the first time since he had fled Moonlight, since he had borne curse after curse across endless blood and loss, something stirred in Cid that was not rage, or guilt, or survival.

It was the feeling of a man beginning to build a home.

Tomorrow there would be plans to make, work to find, and a sister to search for. But tonight, he let himself rest—with the woman he loved, the children they had chosen, and the fragile, steady certainty that for all his scars, he had taken one step closer to peace.