Lucian’s eyes swept the stone seats again.
Once...
Twice...
His breath hitched.
Simba.
He was already on his feet before the thought fully ford.
The sudden movent startled those nearest to him. Astrid’s hand went to her axe. Hiccup flinched. Eric turned sharply in his seat.
"Lucian?" Eric asked quietly but firmly. "Is sothing wrong?"
Lucian’s jaw clenched. "Simba’s gone."
The na drew confused looks from a few of the others but Eric recognized it imdiately. His expression hardened, gaze scanning the arena with practiced efficiency.
"Gone how?" Eric asked.
"I don’t know," Lucian said, voice tight. "I rember he was with when we look for the cave"
For a heartbeat, Eric seed ready to give an order. Then the low rumble of the crowd swelled again, and a deep tallic sound echoed faintly from beneath the arena, chains being drawn, chanisms engaging.
Eric exhaled slowly.
"The auction is about to begin," he said. "If we move now, we’ll draw attention and not the kind we want."
Lucian’s fingers curled into his palms.
Eric t his eyes squarely. "I’ll have my guards search the surrounding districts as soon as the first lot begins. Quietly. If Simba’s anywhere in the Northern Market, we’ll find him."
Lucian hesitated.
Every instinct scread now but he knew Eric was right.
"...Fine," Lucian said at last, sitting back down with visible effort. "But the mont this ends—"
"We search together," Eric finished. "You have my word."
Lucian nodded "Thanks"
The tension barely had ti to settle before—
GONG.
The sound thundered through the arena, cutting through the crowd like a blade.
Conversation died mid-breath.
Lucian’s gaze snapped back to the stage as two figures erged from the tunnel below.
Between them, a massive iron cage was pushed forward on reinforced wheels. Thick bars crisscrossed its fra, etched with runes ant to suppress fla and force. A heavy black cloth had been thrown over it but whatever lay inside was moving. The fabric shifted, bulged, scraped faintly against tal.
Lucian’s eyes narrowed.
The first man stepped forward with easy confidence.
He wore a black leather tunic reinforced with deep red dragon scales along his shoulders and waist. A silver belt buckle bearing the Dragon Hunters’ tribal crest glead under the torchlight, matched by black wrist guards scarred from use. His short black hair was neatly kept, his large brown eyes alert and calculating.
The second man was slightly taller and broader.
A faint scar traced the left side of his face. He wore a silvery leather tunic, one arm clad in a spiked shoulder and arm guard, the other protected by a simpler bracer. A studded belt with a massive skull buckle sat at his waist, yellow dragonhide draped around it like a trophy. Where the first man smiled easily, this one only sneered.
The man in black leather stepped forward, spreading his arms wide.
"Good evening, everyone," he said smoothly, his voice carrying without effort. "My na is Viggo Grimborn."
He gestured back toward his companion.
"And beside is my brother, Ryker."
A mix of applause, whistles, and low murmurs rippled through the arena. Lucian felt it then the shift. The casual tension of spectators hardened into anticipation.
Viggo smiled wider.
"Tonight," he continued, "we present to you a selection of dragons gathered from across the archipelagos and beyond. Beasts of beauty. Of power."
Ryker yanked the cloth from the cage in one sharp motion.
A ripple of sound swept through the arena.
Inside the reinforced cage stood a Deadly Nadder, its body coiled tight and rigid with restrained fury. Its scales shimred in brilliant shades of cobalt and erald, each plate edged with faint gold. Rows of razor-sharp spines lay folded flat along its neck, back, and tail, twitching as the dragon hissed.
Even drugged, it radiated danger.
Viggo stepped aside, letting the crowd drink it in.
"A familiar sight," he said smoothly, voice carrying. "But don’t mistake familiarity for weakness."
He gestured toward the Nadder’s tail as it scraped against the cage, tal screeching.
"The Deadly Nadder can launch hundreds of razor spines with deadly accuracy. Its fire burns hotter than most dragons its size, and its spines—" he smiled thinly, "—are highly prized in alchemy. Poisons, stimulants, hallucinogens. A single spine can fund a small shop."
He turned slightly. "And its hide? Properly treated, it produces leather both flexible and fire-resistant."
A murmur of interest rippled outward.
"Starting bid," Viggo continued, "ten silver."
Hands rose almost imdiately.
"Fifteen!"
"Eighteen!"
"Twenty silver!"
The bids ca fast but shallow. No nobles leaned forward. No warlords stirred. This was comrce, not ambition.
Lucian watched silently as a robed figure near the mid-tier seats raised a gloved hand.
"Thirty silver."
The room hesitated.
Another bidder tried "Thirty-two!" but the robed figure answered instantly.
"Thirty-five."
Silence.
Viggo’s gaze swept the stands. "Thirty-five silver, going once... going twice..."
The gavel struck stone.
"Sold."
The Nadder snarled as the cage doors were sealed tighter, chains locking it in place. Alchemist’s assistants hurried forward, already arguing logistics.
The arena shifted again as workers dragged in a heavier cage thicker bars, reinforced joints. The ground itself seed to groan under the weight.
Viggo’s smile widened.
"Now," he said, "sothing a bit more... profitable."
The cloth was pulled away.
A Gronckle lay within, massive and squat, its rocky hide cracked like cooled lava. Smoke curled lazily from its nostrils as it shifted, molten saliva dripping from its jaws and hissing where it struck stone.
Lucian felt the heat even from the stands.
"The Gronckle," Viggo announced. "Slow, ugly, and gluttonous."
A pause.
"And capable of producing Gronckle Iron."
The reaction was imdiate.
Dwarves straightened. Traders leaned forward as even a few nobles stirred.
"An alloy stronger than steel," Viggo continued. "Fire-resistant. Nearly unbreakable when properly forged. Weapons, armor, vault doors entire fortresses have been built with it."
He tapped the cage. "This one has already produced three ingots."
That did it.
"Fifty silver!"
"Sixty!"
"Seventy-five!"
The bids climbed sharply now.
Lucian watched a group of short, broad-shouldered figures near the lower tiers—dwarves, beards braided with iron rings exchange glances.
"Two gold," one of them called out.
The room went quiet.
"Two gold," Viggo repeated calmly.
A noble hesitated... then shook his head.
"Two gold, going once..."
The gavel fell.
"Sold to the Ironhand Consortium."
The Gronckle rumbled as the cage was wheeled away, its eyes dull but not broken.
Lucian tilted his head slightly toward Eric .
"You’re not bidding," he murmured.
Eric didn’t look away from the arena. "No."
"A Gronckle would give your kingdom an edge," Lucian said calmly. "Iron like that wins sieges."
Eric exhaled softly. "And attracts wars. Dragons will only cause trouble. rlune ca for weapons, not living disasters."
Lucian humd quietly. "Prudent."
The auction continued.
Dragons Lucian had only read about or never seen at all were paraded before the crowd.
A Hobgobbler, snapping and squealing, its bulbous eyes darting wildly as nobles chuckled and alchemists whispered.
A Crimson Goregutter, chained and muzzled, flas leaking between its teeth as warlords stood to bid.
A Gembreaker, its massive chest rising and falling as the air itself seed to vibrate in anticipation.
Each dragon raised the stakes.
Then the lights dimd slightly.
The air changed.
A massive cage was dragged into the center: vines, bone, and wood tangled unnaturally around it.
Viggo’s tone shifted.
"And now," he said softly, "sothing special."
The cloth dropped.
A Snaptrapper.
Its enormous body lay partially buried beneath layers of foliage but Lucian’s breath caught when the heads rose.
It has three heads.
Each head turned independently, eyes glowing with predatory intelligence. Its plant-mimicking fronds twitched, releasing faint spores that made several bidders cough.
"Most of you are educated enough to know this," he said smoothly. "Snaptrappers are always born with four heads. Always."
He gestured toward the beast.
"And yet this one has only three."
The Snaptrapper hissed, its heads weaving around each other like serpents sharing a single will.
"A defect?" Viggo continued. "Or perhaps nature trimming inefficiency."
He paced slowly. "More fascinating still its spores."
At that, several nobles leaned forward.b"The pollen released by a Snaptrapper’s pores is already rare," Viggo said.
"But this specin’s secretion is... refined. Highly sought after by perfurs. One vial alone can scent a palace for months."
Eric leaned toward Lucian, voice low. "So it kills armies and slls pleasant."
Lucian snorted quietly. "Nobles will pay more for the latter."
The bids rose quickly wealth, not warfare, driving the numbers higher this ti.
Lucian barely listened.
Because Viggo had already raised a hand.
"And now," Viggo said, his voice dropping just enough to command the room, "for our final offering of the evening."
The arena fell completely silent.
"This dragon," Viggo continued, "is not asured by utility nor by rarity alone."
The handlers pushed the final cage forward.
It was bigger than expected, heavier reinforced. The cloth draped over it twitched once.
Viggo’s hand closed around the fabric. "And as for our last dragon..."
He yanked the cloth away. Black scales glead under the torchlight like polished obsidian. Wide wings were folded tight against a powerful fra, muscles coiled rather than restrained. Its head lifted slowly, eyes glowing with a sharp, molten amber intelligence.
Its mouth opened just slightly and the faint red glow of contained fire lit the inside of its throat.
A Night Fury.
________
[A/N: Hey everyone! I’m looking for na suggestions for the Night Fury. Right now I’m thinking Obsidia, but I’d love to hear any other ideas you have. Also, rry Christmas to all of you! (Though honestly, it feels just like a regular day for , haha.)]
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