Sure enough, there was a crisis of epic proportions.
A sharp knock on the door slamd an end to what had been very clearly not a relationship-related argunt, despite how heated it had gotten.
Riley nearly ignored it just to win the last word, but Kael’s casual, "It’s your mother," stopped him cold.
"Mom?" Riley repeated, caught between confusion and mild panic.
"Sweetheart," ca the warm reply through the door. "Is it a bad ti? I ca to tell you about dinner, because I’ve managed to finish cooking."
"Oh—thank you, Mom. I’ll co over."
"Silly boy," she chuckled. "While it is not much, please invite the Dragon Lord too, so we can thank him properly."
Dinner.
Cooking.
Those two words hit Orien like a bolt of divine inspiration. He knew—he just knew—that the ingredients had to be from the sacred sanctuary known as the supermarket. And obviously, it was his solemn duty to arrive first and claim the choicest treasures.
The little dragon imdiately jumped off the couch, stubby legs working overti as he made a beeline for the door—only to be scooped up mid-waddle like a misbehaving cat.
"What?!" he yelped, flailing. "Uncle! What do you an by this?!"
"What kind of question is that?" Kael said, not even breaking a sweat.
"Are you planning on going when your existence is supposed to be a secret?"
Orien froze, then made a strangled sound. "!!!"
"Wait... then we can’t go?" he asked slowly, testing the waters.
"We?" Kael’s eyebrow arched with dangerous calm.
"Yes, because—" Orien began, prepared to argue about the rules of hospitality—until the implication hit him like a wagon. "Wait! Then, Uncle, are you saying I can’t co?!"
"Obviously," Kael replied, with all the rcy of a guillotine.
Orien’s jaw dropped. Abandoned. Just like that. Not even a full day had passed since their grand outing, and he was already being cast aside. The betrayal stung like a poisoned dart.
Traitor.
Absolute traitor.
Thankfully—or maybe tragically—he managed to tag along by making a passionate case about his "safety" in an unfamiliar place. Kael relented, but only under one condition: he would travel in the sa battle-worn duffel bag that had already suffered deeply under his claws.
Unfair.
Unfair!
Unfaaaiii—huff!
He huffed dramatically, then sniffed. And sniffed again.
The room they entered turned out to be the drawing room, hastily converted into a makeshift kitchen by the humans that now occupy it. Orien could barely see through the eye-holes in the bag, but he didn’t need sight.
He could sll.
Oh, he could sll.
The bag shifted as they sat in the drawing room. Even through the fabric, Orien could sll it—rich, smoky, intoxicating. If he hadn’t been zipped inside, he would have flung himself onto the table like a conquering hero.
at.
Glorious, sizzling at.
Sowhere earlier, Riley had been talking about "smoke prevention magic" because the estate was dragon-owned and apparently that allowed for indoor grilling without choking anyone to death. Orien didn’t care about the technicalities; what he cared about was the at.
The bag was pushed under the low rectangular table, lodged between Riley on one side and the smaller human on the other. At the head sat Uncle Kael, owner of the house. Across from Riley were the other two humans who were probably Riley’s parents.
Then it happened—the first offering slid through the opening of the bag. Juicy, tender, fragrant. Orien snatched it like a starving wolf and inhaled.
The arrival was... Perfection.
Ehem, correction, passable.
Every fiber of his dragon soul scread for more. Who wouldn’t? Whoever made this had clearly been blessed by the ancestors.
Surely the next piece was coming... any mont now...
And yet—
Silence.
The cruel truth dawned. Everyone else was eating. Kael, Riley, the Hales—and here he was, trapped under the table like so forgotten relic of history. This was an injustice of the highest order. The world was rciless to young dragons who only wanted fairness.
But then, just as despair was about to consu him, sothing slid into the bag again. Another morsel slipped in, this one wrapped in sothing leafy.
Suspicious. Dangerous. But edible.
He almost growled at the insult until he tasted it.
And—oh! What was this explosion of flavor?! The leaf wasn’t an enemy at all—it was an accomplice, enhancing the at until it was practically singing in his mouth.
Before he could demand more, it appeared again. Then again. And again. His heart, once an open wound, was healing with every bite. Clearly, Riley had co to his senses and was making up for his earlier betrayal by doing the only morally correct thing: feeding him nonstop.
Orien settled back into a state of bliss, half-listening as the adults spoke. They were thanking Kael for allowing them to stay here, and Orien sniffed with pride. Well, technically, he thought, it was who convinced Uncle to go out today. So I deserve the thanks, too. But words were overrated.
Who needed words when there was an offering of food?
Another bite.
Then—hold on. Another bite... from the other side?
He froze mid-chew.
Two bites. Left and right. Both were feeding him at once.
Slowly, the realization hit. The size of the hands was different. One was Riley’s. The other was—
He tilted his head slightly and saw, through the narrow slit of the bag, the smaller human, Liam, sneaking in a morsel with all the stealth of a miniature thief.
The boy’s eyes sparkled with curiosity, watching Riley’s occasional hand movents like a detective tailing a suspect. Every ti the adults’ conversation grew serious, sothing about plans and schooling, Riley stopped feeding him.
And that was when the boy made his move.
In absolute silence, Liam reached down and slid another piece of at into the bag, like they were sharing a state secret.
Oh... oh, this was good. This was very good.
If one human feeder was passable, two were just deserved.
Whatever "leave of absence" was, Orien decided it should happen more often, if only to have a more conscientious server.
anwhile, amidst the controversy and secrecy was a little agent who swore to uncover the mysteries of the land.
But just what exactly did he discover today?
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