Seadre-0727-11 Facebook ad: “The scraping sound of a blade being drawn…”

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The scraping sound of a blade being drawn pierced the market's clamor. Ezara tossed aside her herb basket and whirled to draw her sword. Tomazzi. Wasn't defeating her last time enough? And the time before that? Of course not—today he had an audience. Sensing the approaching fight, people retreated to the stalls displaying scallion rings, wood carvings, and hats, clearing a circle for Tomazzi and Ezara. In the distance, painted silk scarves fluttered in the breeze. Tomazzi lunged. Ezara countered with a feint. In a flash of sword light, he cornered her against an apple cart. The same old trick. He loved to overpower his opponents. "Five to one for Tomazzi," the tall man shouted. Coins clinked as the bet was placed. People always favored her brother. With a whistling sound as the blade grazed her face, Ezara spun sharply, the wind of the blade kissing her cheek. Too close, too dangerous. As he thrust again, she ducked, leaping out of his reach. The two grappled through the colorful fabric. Thomas thrust to the right, and she, dodging, crashed into a table, sending the entire piece of cloth flying. "Hey, my cloth!" old Bill roared, Ezara leaping over the scattered fabric, Thomas hot on her heels. Ezara faced her brother directly. Perhaps it would distract him. "Did you see any pretty girls today?" she mockingly thrust at his opening. "Look, there's one behind you." His sword answered for him. He was stronger. Faster. Etienne's arm went numb from the impact as she parried. Thomas's blade grazed her—he was so certain of his victory. Ewensha deliberately slowed her pace, feigning exhaustion, and staggered to one knee, crying, "Ouch!" Thomas panicked immediately: "Ewensha, are you alright?" The blade swiftly reached his armpit, and Ewensha lightly touched his clothes with the tip of the sword: "Got it!" She jumped up joyfully, "I beat you." The crowd erupted in cheers. Lofi shouted, "Well done, Ewensha!" A man yelled, "Thank goodness she's not a Saruk, Thomas, or you'd be a pile of minced meat." A chill ran down Ewensha's spine. Thankfully, there were no Saruk in Verdant Valley. "Ugh, I'm defeated," Thomas muttered, sheathing his sword and wiping the sweat from his brow. Avensa looked directly into his emerald eyes: "You chose this place to compete with me." The clinking of coins jingled around them. Lofi suddenly leaned in, pulled her close, and kissed her lips, their warm, wet lips pressed tightly together. The crowd hissed and jeered. Avensa pushed him away abruptly. Old Bill slammed a handful of filthy coins into Lofi's palm, and Lofi triumphantly punched the air. Outrageous! Her first kiss—had become this bastard's sordid game for a wager? Avensa's cheeks burned. Half the village stared in disbelief. She grabbed her basket: the market, open only a few days a month, was supposed to be a pleasant respite for her and her mother after practicing medicine, and Lofi had ruined it all. A roar exploded: "Those twins causing trouble again?" Klaus strode through the dispersing crowd. He was a head taller than most, as strong as a draft horse, and served as the village's arbitrator. Lofi had already vanished. Coward. "Thomas, Ewensha," Klaus said, hands on his hips. Some villagers feigned busyness while stealing glances, others stared openly. "It was my fault," Thomas straightened his back. "I challenged her." "In the very middle of the market?" Klaus glared. "You almost blinded a child!" "Oh no, she hadn't thought of the children." Ewensha raised her sword: "Our swords have cork-covered tips and unsharpened blades." Klaus examined the blade with his thumb and forefinger: "Even so, you shouldn't—" "She cheated to defeat Tomaz," old merchant Bill shouted, "a treacherous fight, just like a dragon knight." As despicable as a dragon knight? Why was Bill suddenly mentioning dragons? Especially in front of Klaus. Was he trying to frame her? Klaus whirled around, staring intently at Bill: "I allow you to trade here on the condition that you follow the rules. If I hear you mention those filthy winged killers and stinking riders again, you'll be keeping them company in jail." Old Bill's sinister gaze settled on Ewensha, and she shuddered. This man terrified her. Klaus pointed at Tomaz with his short, stubby fingers: "Fighting is prohibited in the market." "Sorry, sir, it won't happen again," Tomaz replied. Evansha offered a vague apology. "They knocked over my fabric," old Bill protested. "Clean it up for Bill," Klaus gave them one last glare before returning to his leatherwork. Old Bill rubbed his hands together. "Oh, so Lofi kissed you, huh?" Evansha wrinkled her nose at his foul breath. The faster the better. Thomas glared at Bill with disgust. "Unbelievable that you encouraged Lofi to do something like this. He's had a crush on my sister for so long, and now he's ruined it all. Evansha will never reciprocate his feelings." Evansha rolled her eyes. "Can you two stop gossiping about me in front of me?" Thomas ignored her and continued, "If you ask me, Bill, you should let Lofi bet a silver coin." These men! Evansha punched his arm. "Hurry up and clean it up." She picked up a roll of green cloth and slammed it on old Bill's shelf. "Good morning, Lovena." Would she respond today? No. As usual, Bill's daughter, Lovena, stared at the ground, her withered hair obscuring her face, ignoring her. Thomas tossed most of the rolls of cloth onto the table and then sauntered away. Ezara clutched the last piece of cloth, her fingertips tracing the sea-blue fabric. She had been staring at this material in a daze—though she had never seen a real ocean, if the sea were truly like the blue waves flowing on this fabric… She sighed softly and placed the cloth on the table. Perhaps one day she would see the real ocean with her own eyes. Old Bill, hunched over, leaned over the stall, his withered hand gripping Ezara's sleeve like a cockroach scrambling for the tablecloth. "You'll like this," he said, lifting his leather jacket and pulling out a piece of black cloth embroidered with vibrant patterns. "Look." It was indeed exquisite. She didn't want to get involved with old Bill, but she couldn't suppress her curiosity. Ezara leaned closer to examine it; the colorful swirling patterns were actually dragon designs. "This is contraband," she whispered. "Feel it," the old man urged, his eyes gleaming. "I know you want it." He handed her the fabric. Afraid of being seen, Ezara snatched it. She gently stroked the golden dragon's wings with her cupped hands, then touched the bronze dragon's tail fin. These magnificent creatures soared against the silvery, inky sky, breathtakingly beautiful. Were real dragons truly gold, silver, bronze, and red? Or were they merely the weaver's imagination? "How much is this wheat-patterned cloth?" the woman's question startled Ezara. She hastily crumpled the fabric and stuffed it back into Bill's waiting hands. Bill stuffed the piece of cloth into his pocket and elbowed his timid daughter, Lovena, beside him. The girl didn't react, still staring at the tips of her shoes. "Twenty-five copper coins a foot, madam," Bill drawled. "Twenty-five?" the woman shrieked. "Absurd! I'll only pay—" Ezara dashed out of the shoemaker's stall, pushing through the crowd towards Anna's shop. Old Bill was too dangerous—if Klaus saw her examining the dragon's markings… Distracted, she swung her basket, weaving through hawkers, bleating goats, and children playing hide-and-seek. The aroma of melting cheese wafted through the air; just two more doses of healing ointment and she could call it a day. It was still early; she could rest in the afternoon. She approached Anna's display of hand-painted silk scarves—Anna had tried to teach her, but Ezara's work was always mottled and ugly. "Good morning, Anna," Ezara greeted. "Need any herbs today?" She swallowed hard. Did this mother know her son had just kissed her? Anna smiled, fine lines appearing at the corners of her eyes. "What goodies have you brought today, Ezara?" Thanks to the dragon egg, Anna was clearly unaware. Ezara pushed the jar of ointment and bundle of herbs across the table. "You're lucky, these are the last two." Anna glanced at the basket and frowned. "No night-vision herbs?" "Not picked." A strange question. She and her mother never bothered to collect night-vision herbs; after all, most people didn't need herbs that improved night vision. Ezara adjusted the basket in his arms. "It's in season now. I'll bring it later if you need it." "Okay, I'll wait." Anna awkwardly reached into her purse. Was Anna going out at night? Or was it for Lofty? That boy always sneaked out to get into trouble with Tomaz. The copper coins clattered into Anna's rough palm—three in total. "You gave too much." "The extra is a deposit for the night-vision herbs," Anna explained, "It must be delivered today." It seemed someone was indeed going out tonight. "I'll come back later." Ezara moved through the villagers, past the weapons stall and Klaus's leather shop. The sound of wooden sticks clattering came from behind a pile of barrels near the cooper's shop. The cooper's wife, busy running around, rolled her eyes and complained, "Those brats are fighting again." "I'll go see," Ezara said, slipping around to the side of the stall. Behind the barrels, Paul and Marco were grappling with sticks. Six-year-old Marco, though at a disadvantage, managed to parry his brother's attacks. Suddenly, Paul swung his stick violently—at too low an angle, with too much force. "Watch out!" Ezara leaped forward, but it was too late. The stick struck little Marco hard in the face. The boy clutched his face and cried out in pain, blood spurting from between his fingers. Paul's face turned ashen. "Quick, get some water, Paul," Ezara said, striding between the two. "Hurry." After Paul ran off, she had Marco sit on a small bucket and checked his face. Fortunately, his nose wasn't broken. “Nosebleeds hurt,” she soothed, “but you’ll survive and fight again another day. Come on, lean forward.” Blood dripped to the ground, and Marco was still sobbing. Ezara leaned closer and whispered, “Even though Paul is bigger, you almost beat him just now.” “Really?” Marco stopped crying. “Absolutely.” She grinned. Paul returned, handing Ezara a water pouch. She took a piece of cloth from her leather medical bag and splashed some water on it. “Now be brave like a warrior.” She gently wiped Marco’s face. “I’m sorry,” Paul said, “we wanted to imitate how you and Tomaz fought.” Ezara’s heart tightened. She had never imagined children would imitate them. “The first lesson my father taught me was not to hit too hard,” she said. “Remember, you’re training with your brothers, not slaying dragons. Keep your wooden sword low, aim at the body, not the head.” Paul nodded solemnly, as if listening to a master’s teaching. She scooped some ointment from a small jar in her bag and lightly dabbed it on Marco's nose. "It's as good as new." "Your parents are so lucky to have raised you," Marco said shrilly, his nosebleed having stopped. "Nobody in my family knows how to fight, but when we grow up we're going to fight Saluk." Paul nudged him with his elbow. "Hey, I told you there's no Saluk in Verdant Valley." That made sense. If there was no war to fight, why did her parents make her and Tomaz practice archery and swordsmanship from such a young age? Marco jumped off the barrel, brandishing his sword arm: "I don't care! I'm going to fight Saluk!" She picked up their wooden sticks: "How about this, I'll talk to Tomaz, maybe he can teach you some fighting." The two children's eyes lit up: "Really?" She nodded: "We might have two wooden practice swords for you." Seeing them grin, she added: "But not now. You two need to find some quiet games today." Paul put his arm around his younger brother's shoulder: "How about playing a game of scattering stones? Your favorite." Ezara smiled and walked away, listening to the crisp sound of stones clashing instead of sticks clashing behind her, slowly crossing the market. “So you’re here.” Thomas greeted her. “I’ve been looking for you.” “Marco got a bloody nose from Paul.” Thomas rolled his eyes. “Those two brats again.” “You’re starting to sound like Klaus,” Ezara laughed. “They can’t even tell the blade from the hilt, and Paul’s swings are too rough. We should teach them.” “Good idea,” Thomas pulled Ezara toward her parents’ produce stall. “What was Bill showing you all that time? Your eyes were practically glued to him.” “Fabric—embroidered with gold and bronze dragons,” Ezara whispered, her heart pounding again. “Banned fabric?” Thomas’s eyes flickered with panic. “Old Bill isn’t a good guy, and his daughter is strange too.” “Anyone would be strange with a father like Old Bill.” Ezara nodded to a mother whose skirt was being tugged at by her children, and only responded after she had walked away. “Even if dragons are evil, that fabric is indeed exquisite.” As the two walked around the piglet pen, Thomas said, “Lofty said that dragons are highly revered beyond the magnificent Alps. I’ll see for myself someday.” Ezara nudged him with his elbow. “Be careful someone hears us.” “What’s there to be afraid of? You know I don’t plan to stay here forever.” Ezara stopped and turned around. “You’re leaving us?” Despite their frequent bickering, losing his twin brothers felt like losing a part of his soul. He looked away. “I don’t know. Maybe.” Ezara frowned. “So Lofty’s mother wants to buy night-shining grass—you and Lofty are planning to leave tonight, aren’t you?” Thomas laughed. “I hope so!” It seemed he had no plans. “If you’re leaving, you have to take me with you,” she insisted. Life shouldn’t be confined to this one place, Green Valley. “Alright,” Thomas said, “but you’re not allowed to leave me behind and run away.” “Of course not.” Their fists lightly bumped. At their family stall, Dad handed a bag of beets to a customer, casually stuffing the money into his pocket. He stood with his hands on his hips, facing Ezara and Thomas: “We taught you fighting skills, not so you could cause trouble at market. What did I tell you before?” Thomas sighed: “Save your skills for the battlefield.” “Practice in the meadows, not in the market,” Ezara added. Dad nodded: “Thomas, would you like to take this bag of carrots to the blacksmith?” “Yes, Dad.” Thomas shouldered the bag and left. Mother glanced at Ezara's basket: "Looks like you've sold everything. I heard you beat Tomaz." "It was a narrow victory, more about strategy than skill." "Strategy is skill too." Mother put her arm around her shoulder. "Everyone has their strengths. Remember? You could climb trees much earlier than Tomaz because you weren't afraid of heights." "Probably." Tomaz still turns pale when climbing ladders. But who cares about not being afraid of heights? She certainly didn't know anyone like that. Ezara handed the money and basket to her mother: "Anna wants owlgrass today." "Owlgrass?" Mother's eyes widened. "Since you're going, gather some ingredients for making healing ointment while you're at it." She handed Ezara a copper coin. "Buy some food before you go back to the forest." Father blinked: "Be careful of Lofty." "I don't know what you're talking about." Ezara's cheeks burned. Had Father already heard? Worse still, had he seen Roft's lips move closer? "Soon everyone'll be talking about something else," her mother patted her arm. Ezara sighed. This was worse than she'd imagined. If only her first kiss had happened in a private, meaningful way, not from her brother's best friend, but from someone more important. She hurried through the stalls, bought a flatbread with melted cheese, and ate it as she walked along the path to the riverbank. The current churned around the stepping stones in the river. Following the familiar path, she tucked mint and sage into her leather healer's pouch. Parting the fern leaves, Ezara picked some fever-reducing herbs. The babbling water faded into the distance. Now she needed arnica and owlgrass. Ezara strolled deeper into the forest, reaching a sacred clearing. Stepping into the sunlight, she bent down to pick arnica flowers. Ancient bloodwood stood at the edge of the clearing, its trunk as thick as half a village house, its bark rugged and pitted, blue berries peeking out from its dark foliage. As a communicator, her mother would speak to the bloodwood each time she gathered sacred healing sap. Ezara pressed her palm to the bark, straining to sense the whispers—still no response. She sighed; it seemed she wasn't a communicator. What then was her calling? Her mother was happy as a healer and herbalist, and Ezara didn't mind helping, but she craved more: excitement, adventure, and perhaps love. Owlgrass vines coiled among the gnarled roots of the bloodwood. She parted the bushes to gather a handful of leaves, opening her pouch as she crouched and stood up. A strange, sharp pain swept over Ezara, followed by a shadow. Something rustled, and a sudden breeze ruffled her hair. She jerked her head up. A dragon was circling above the treetop. Ezara recoiled in terror. With a single snap of its teeth or a swipe of its claws, it could take her life. The owlgrass slipped from her trembling hand, and she tensed, ready to flee. But then she hesitated. Sunlight danced on the dragon's scales, making them shimmer with iridescent light. Elegant wings, rippling with color, drew closer, rustling softly. The creature was breathtakingly beautiful—gorgeous yet deadly. She had to escape, but the stinging pain intensified. The incredible creature swooped down upon her, the flapping of its wings rustling the leaves. A voice whispered in her mind: "Ezara." It called softly. Could this creature speak to her? "We are connected in spirit, sensing each other's thoughts and feelings." She held her breath, captivated by the dragon. Exquisite colors surged through her mind, sunlight poured into her soul. Ezara longed to fly. She glimpsed a vision—riding a dragon through forests, soaring over the majestic Alps, and soaring into the azure sky. "To walk with me is your destiny." The villagers' warning cries reached her ears. If they understood this dragon, they wouldn't be afraid. The dragon's low growl within her gradually intensified into a roar. It swooped down. A familiar face flashed through her mind. Her family! She couldn't leave them. Energy surged through her, washing away Ezara's love for her family. She was enveloped in iridescent prisms, like the radiance refracted by dew. The purest flute music filled her heart. For the first time in her life, she felt whole. Energy swirled within her, and she leaped into the air, her hair billowing behind her. In a flash of dazzling light, the dragon's scales were beneath her. Ezara landed on the saddle nestled between its wings, wrapping her arms around the dragon's spine, embracing it tightly. The feeling was so perfect. The dragon gazed at her with golden eyes. Ezara swore it was smiling. "I am Zarusha. You were born to be my rider," it growled, its voice trembling. The beast turned, its belly rumbling, flames erupting from its jaws. They took flight, leaving her home and beloved behind. Ezara clung tightly to the dragon's spine, her hair whipping in the wind. They soared above a carpet of dark green vegetation. Her blood sang. Only today had she truly lived. Beyond the forest canopy, patchwork-like cottages stretched at the foot of the snow-capped Western Grand Alps. Lazy wisps of smoke rose. They were nearing the western settlement—a journey that would take two days on horseback. They had traversed that distance so swiftly. Just today, she had sworn never to abandon Tomaz and leave the verdant valley. Now, with each flap of her wings, she was moving further and further away—leaving Tomaz and her parents behind. She looked back; the village was swallowed by the boundless forest. Her stomach clenched. Could she go back? "You have another destiny—to be with me. You made your choice when we established our mark." She had felt that connection before, and she could still feel it now. Zarusha had become a part of her. Their bond was like Anna's silk scarf—splendid and beautiful, vibrant and colorful, offering both protection and warmth. "Going back means facing the pitchforks of Verdant Valley," the dragon transmitted telepathically. Ezara's throat tightened. Everyone in Verdant Valley feared the dragon—and its riders. Now she was their enemy. "Besides, it was your family that brought you here." "What? No one in my family has ever seen a dragon." "They know far more than you think." A deep laugh came from the dragon's belly. "Your parents were dragon riders." "No, they—" Suddenly, an image flashed into her mind: her young mother riding a silver dragon; her father behind her, his arms around her waist. The sunlight reflecting off the silver dragon's scales was so real, but Ezara was not fooled. Then, her mother's hair fluttered in the breeze, and she smiled. The truth struck her like a blow to the stomach. It was her mother's unique laughter. Her father's genuine smile. "Then..." Ezara said, racking her brains for other explanations. But she found none. "These are fragments of your memories, aren't they?" "Indeed, and dragons never lie." "But—" "I am the Queen of the Dragon Realm. Our two families' fates have been intertwined for many years." The fates of dragons intertwined with her family's? And not just any dragon—she was the Queen. "I don't understand. Why didn't my parents tell me?" A wave of grief washed over Ezara. "Before you were born, your mother, Maris, accidentally caused the death of one of my dragon royal offspring." Terrifying. "I'm sorry." "Maris and Hans fled to the Verdant Valley to conceal the truth, but perhaps this is a blessing in disguise, for I now sense that dragon offspring's power lurking within you." So that's how it is. Her mother felt guilty. Her current predicament stemmed from her mother's mistake years ago. "Me? Possessing power?" It was absurd. "Not yet awakened, but it will eventually manifest." Zarusha spread her wings and ascended along the mountainside. Ezara leaned over the Queen's back, her knuckles white as she gripped the dragon's spine. "But you are the Queen, and I... am just myself." They landed on the snow-covered plains of the Alps. Fields stretched out like a carelessly tossed carpet beneath their feet. Settlements dotted the plains leading to the barren snow-covered hills to the west. A winding, blue-ribbon-like river flowed into a lake embraced by emerald green. Vast forests stretched northward, surrounded by endless, layered mountain ranges. "This is Dragon Realm. We protect this place. You, me, and the dragons and riders who are loyal to Dragon Realm." The realization dawned on her, that she had remained confined to the valley, harboring fear of dragons. Zarusa chuckled softly. "Yes, you have transcended the limitations of the Valley, Ezara. You are ready for it." Indeed. She had long since transcended the stage of gathering herbs, playing foolish tricks with Tomaz and Lofty—and the superstitious beliefs of the Valley. Aisara surveyed the landscape with a surge of emotion. Protecting this place was her new duty. But how? Compared to this vast, rugged, and contrasting land, she felt so small. Winding rivers, jagged mountains, homes scattered throughout the land. And the pristine snow, shimmering in the sunlight, brimming with hope. "This is what I want," Aisara whispered. Good heavens, she was already missing her family. A roar ripped through the air. Then a scream. Aisara jerked around in her saddle. "The voice comes from the south, Zarusha." Zarusa leaped into the air. In an instant, they were soaring high above the Western Alps. "Over there." In the pass between two steep peaks, humans and beasts were locked in fierce combat. “Quick, Zarusha, hurry!” “It’s Saluk, judging from the scent.” Zarusha’s tone was grave. “Most likely a reconnaissance squad.” Aisha crouched low, pressing against Zarusha’s spine. “I thought Saluk was just a monster legend used to scare children who stayed near their homes.” “Only in the Valley,” Zarusha said, “but not for long.” A chill ran down Aisha’s spine. These beasts were crossing the West Grand Alps toward the Valley. Their target was her people, her family. “Faster, Zarusha, faster!” The Queen of Dragons accelerated across the sky. Aisha leaned forward, trying to see the battle in the distance below; the strong wind made her eyes water. Zarusha swooped down without warning. Aishara lost her balance and slid down beside the Queen of Dragons. She frantically reached for the saddle straps.

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