The morning fog was beginning to clear.

She watched the horizon pass from the saddle, laying back and head tilted towards the side that didn’t have the blazing morning sun.

They were flying at the tail end this morning. All the others had to do was follow the well maintained path, no need to direct them.

Vibrations below ended her rest. She sat up, stretched, and scanned the open plains ahead. Red sand as far as the eye could see, in rolling hills like waves on a calm day. Up ahead, the local town.

Ren Spitfire named by Tristin banked, pulling away from the settlement to fly on past. She couldn’t make out the twins in the fancy cargo saddle, the high edges combined with a dipped seating area made it difficult, combined with the blinding sun, it was impossible.

Only the tallest buildings in town were visible when several buildings came into view. Many buildings. Ten separate distinct structures, not counting silos, animal shelters, or anything without four walls and a roof. She raised her brows and watched it during their downward spiral, curious how they managed to bring in enough resources.

Just what were they picking up?

A bunch of horses startled and bolted off at the sight of dragons. They ambled with odd movements, like no horses she had ever seen.

They broke below cloud height and she laughed. The farm was surrounded by camels. How did she not think of that? Camel meat and leather had to come from somewhere. The perfect cover came in a perfectly valid business, that earned a sustainable cashflow and required the employ of a large force. What were a few odd boxes here and there, or additional funds?

They landed in the heart of the establishment, surrounded by wide eyed camels.

“Breakfast.” Lys stretched his neck to sniff a cornered camel. “Reckon they taste any good?” He said to the closest dragon

“I don’t care,” the grumpy dragon was River Red Tongue named by Cinda, and her partner was Lilac, less grumpy, who rolled her eyes but said nothing.

Para slipped off his back and came around to stand at his side, muttering, “one more day.”

Lysander’s gaze flicked, grey eye casting over her. She could feel the upset radiating from him. He glanced away and she placed a hand on his shoulder. The ache was old, familiar, and easy to ignore.

Not for Lys. Her collective lives were far greater than his. He still tried.

The camels that had fled were returning, banded together, a whole group coming towards them. Concerning that they approached three dragons with such ease, so long as they had a person to follow. The smarter beasts hung back.

“Good morning,” Lilac greeted in a tone that implied it was anything but good.

“Good morning yourselves.” The person, owner perhaps, was much perkier.

“What are you here to pick up? Our goods are spread all over the place,” she waved around to encompass the entire homestead.

“We are here for the Twin Wing Traders cargo.” A little friendliness could do a lot, bypassing tedious paperwork, or even earning a little bonus. Today, they were guaranteed hours of signing collection papers.

Lilac handed over her copy of the missive, which did not have a trace of the company they were representing on it. The recipient scanned the document, taking a decent amount of time to read through the contents, and finally gave a nod, and a laugh. “Your boss must not like you very much if they sent you to collect viscera.”

The joke was so bad that Para groaned, though an onlooker may think it was due to learning about her cargo. This was going to do wonders for their reputation. Twin Wing Traders, they will transport your rotting entrails.

Unfortunately, claiming their warehouse contained dead, rotting, or otherwise foul items kept curious eyes away.

As expected, they were lead to a completely dead corner of the homestead, to a stone building.

“Wait here, only the boss’s son had the key,” said the worker. Grimacing, she added, “no one else has the stomach for it,” and screwed up her nose as though she only just caught the odour in the air.

Para had her nose covered with a bandana, and even that wasn’t enough to keep the sweet smell from reaching her.

She leaned closer to Lys, glancing up at his with a cheeky smirk. “What do you reckon, dead bodies of all the employees who asked for a raise?”

Lys sung an amused note and loudly inhaled. “Camel bladders.”

“There’s your breakfast.”

He drew back his lips and hissed out a foul sound. “I would sooner be a cannibal.”

“Enough! Act professionally,” River snapped, teeth coming far too close to Lysander for comfort.

I thought a little humour couldn’t hurt anybody, until I met you,” said Ren. The two dragons had exchanged words the night before, for ten minutes, before Ren dragged himself up and moved to the other side of the fire. Para and Lys entertained themselves by guessing what they had argued about.

“No, no. I’m with her.” Archem scowled at Lysander, though his gaze dropped to her a couple times, it never held long. “Stop.”

“Who are we offending exactly? The dead shit in there,” she waved her hand at the building.

“Greetings!” Called a young man as he jogged up to them, white shirt tucked into brown trousers, a loop of fabric tied around his waist. “I am William, thank you for your prompt arrival.” She flicked her eyes over him and towards the building. This was not a man who handled filth.

The followed him into the building through two large double doors, to a room filled with crates upon crates of leaking red and brown juices. The rank odour would stick for days.

Not- Archem shouldered past. Yes, he had a name. She did not care to use to.

His lip ticked. “Need assistance?” He said smugly and did not wait for an answer.

Sparks flickered out from his cupped hands, collecting into a ball of tiny, moving lights. He flicked his wrist upward and the ball floated to just out of reach. Para rolled her jaw and stewed, a VirNox with very little Sil blood, and her magical abilities started and ended at the light fissures running through her sabres.

In all her lives, she had been lucky with her Nox genetics. Vision in the darkest spaces, a mass of light that morphed into a sword at will and melted all it touched, passing daylight through solid surfaces to keep the plants in her home alive, among the other usefulness of making objects invisible to see yet solid to touch.

Doors dragged and all natural light went out. Footsteps dissipated from within the space, a shuffle, and a drag, movement from all around like there were rats scampering for cover. But far larger, and far less fearful.

William stopped beside one pile that did not leak and proceeded to roll up his sleeves, least his cuffs be stained with dirt.

The crate hid a narrow gap to a dark space beyond. A room within a room. Inside, there was the scraping of chains. They grew louder until a thud quietened them.

This time, Para was first in. Loathe they leave her on the outside with the dragons, waiting to discover what their mysterious cargo was.

People. A dozen of them, huddled in the corner with chains linking their throats, hands, and feet.

One was laying on the ground with his eyes closed, blood dribbling from a peeling scab above his eye.

“People smuggling?!” A laugh startled out of her. “You want us to carry noisy walking corpses? Thralls stink less.” Fuck Eliza. The slimy woman did this on purpose. Did she think their threats empty all this time?

One of those guarding lifted his blade as the room lit up from a dull glow to the force of a miniature sun, followed by two gasps. The guards blinked. One rubbed her eyes furiously and tears dribbled down her cheeks.

Her tail dragged along the floor, pulling the lantern closer to where she could crouch and light it. The Not-Twin took the hint and allowed his ball of light to dissipate.

At last, they were seeing their cargo. Three dragons, four people, to carry loud, moving, and very illegal cargo across the open dessert. No mountains to hide behind nor fissures to fly in, undetected.

Suddenly that coin looked a whole lot less inviting.

She ran her tongue over her lip and considered just how committed to this job she was. A bad word from Twin Wing was not career ending, though it may as well be with the kind of jobs they would land after.

She unclenched her jaw.

“What are this lot for?” She ran her eyes up and down the bound group. Slaves perhaps, though not for pleasure, that much was evident. Robes, unkept hair, expressions that would freeze a chunk of ice. They had that pompous, self-righteous energy, as though they had some secret bargaining power that would get them out of their predicament the second it was unveiled.

“Where did they pick this group up?” She mused to Lys.

“They look like temple priests,” Lys was unsure of himself, adding, “though not any of the four Gods, their robes are strange.”

Their robes were not the simple garment of those who offered their lives to the Gods, with the hems brushing the ground and chains of symbols dangling around their necks. Not even the black and white patterns of those who believed Kazic and Mir were profits sent by the Gods. 

“These are no priests, but heathens!” Shouted William, stomping on the hand of the person lying flat on the ground, who howled and curled inwards. “They are from The Admiration.”

She curled her lip in disgust. Of course. Elbow sleeves to show off fins on Hlin and spines on Rask, knee high hem for Sil to expose the thick skin of their legs and clawed feet. All those who laid eyes upon them could bask in their best features, presented exactly as the Gods first created them.

Chains shifted as one prisoner rose to his knees, leaned over, and spat at Para’s feet. “Filthy Virga,” his breath was foul, gums blackened around chipped and missing teeth.

She crouched in front of him and cocked his head. “Got a problem with me buddy? I’m not the one who cried the soot right off his face.” She mistook the dark patches around his eyes for dirt and bruising, not the dark soot the Admirite wore.

“Get back down,” snarled one of the guards and slammed the hilt of her battle axe into his face, sending his careening backwards with a cry.

She winced as he doubled over and clung to his eye, trying to hold in the clear liquid that streamed down his face, tracking where tears had been.

“Bastards did this on purpose,” she muttered, because swearing at the trading company that sent them here made her feel better. She looked out the gap into the eyes of three dragons, unable to see more than grey. Though she wagered they were feeling much the same as their smaller companions.

It was not until they were in the larger room, packing crates of bound prisoners onto the dragon’s saddles, that Lilac caught her arm.

“Para,” Lilac remembered her name.

Para raised her brows. “Yes?”

“Did you know that this was our cargo?” Lilac leaned away from one of the boxes being wheeled past.

Para took a moment to bask in being remembered. That capacity came down to the individual. In her early lifetimes, she tried to document correlations to determine who was the best candidate to befriend, only to discover that there were none. Then cold reality dug its claws in and she let the warm feeling go, there were more consistent ways to seek joy in life; travel, adventure, discovery.

“Not a clue.”

Ren inserted himself into the conversation. “It’s disgusting,” he brushed his claws through the feathers on his chest. “I don’t want to carry heretics.”

Para waved a hand in front of his nose. “You’re a smuggler. Since when does public appearance bother you?”

The dragon snorted, fanning out his crown of feathers. “You do not mess with followers of the Gods, no matter how deranged.”

“Never mind who they are, transporting live cargo is too big a risk,” interjected Lys. He lowered his head and added, in a quiet yet urgent voice, “do you know what will happen if patrol signals us?”

All looked over to the boxes being loaded onto River. Two crates that emitted constant bangs and muffled cries.

Ren sat back on his haunches, head tilted away from Lys. “I don’t catch the patrols attention.” The silence was left to hang thick between them. She rolled her eyes and walked away without another word. Heavy footfalls followed.

People and dragons alike, could be foul creatures. Any conversation could be swayed towards spitting fire at one another. Why fight each other when they were united in a common cause? She sighed and slowed her step to walk beside Lysander, offering a figurative shoulder to lean on.

His head was heavy, brass eye blank. Each step was taken with a drag of claws over stone. Time would knit together the gaps in his heart and strengthen it against the callousness of others. And yet, it was not a comfort to him. Where Para accepted her solitude, Lys longed for a family group. He never admitted it, claiming he had hardened his heart like she had. But no one with a hard heart spoke with such love about his parents, his mother, father, and three others in his family group.

She fought through her own aches and smiled at him. “Ignore them. Think of our wealth and where we will travel.” Distractions would go further now than reassurances.

In the evening, under the cover of moonlight, he would speak of his worries and she would console him.

Just the two of them.