For Love and Glory

Paloma stepped over a fallen branch, gazing into the fog. Quartz dust powdered her paws with fuchsia as she fell into step behind Pipkin. Grass and grit marked her pelt while her paw pads rubbed raw under steps across the rocky path. Ahead, shadows swayed within a thickening fog little sunlight could penetrate.

“We should head back,” Paloma whispered. “I don’t like the looks of this trail.”

“We’ll be fine,” Pipkin strode over a crack. “I’ve come this way a couple times.”

“No, you haven’t,” Paloma stared into the fissure depths as she stepped over it. “Everyone knows this mountain is always changing.”

“But everything’s so familiar: that tree, the bend up ahead, that aqualox-shaped rock, this cliff ledge.”

Pipkin stopped to admire the glittering pink edge with a firm nod, but Paloma was distracted by the aqualox rock, barely visible through the mist. Paloma squinted her eyes, swearing she could see the rock’s shoulders skewed under rising breath. Paloma’s eyes fired toward the stone’s paw as it shifted forward, and her heart sprang into her throat when her whiskers trembled against shifting threads.

“Get down!”

Paloma grabbed Pipkin by his scruff, launching the two of them into the dirt as a massive ball of blue fire erupted where they once stood. Paloma leapt back to her feet, snaring threads with her paw as the misty stranger dodged quartz that erupted from the earth. More threads caught on Paloma’s paws as she summoned a wall from the earth, blocking a wave of scaling water that blasted towards her, steam searing the edges.

Pipkin scuttled to his sister’s side as another fireball erupted nearby. “Is that another racer?”

“If it is,” Paloma’s wall crumbled to sizzling coals, “they’re much too competitive!”

The siblings ducked as another scalding shot fired overhead. Pipkin threw his palm for the water’s weave and yanked a center thread, amplifying the water to steam and ricocheting it back to the caster. The aqualox in the mist dodged, but as they did, Pipkin’s tail snipped something within the spirit dimension and the earth began to rumble.

A massive dragon of soil and rose quartz scales burst from the earth, a gaping maw glistening with stalagmites as it coiled into the sky. The mist aqualox attempted to run, but it remained in the confines of the golem’s shadow as Pipkin slammed his paw down. The golem descended upon the mountain, swallowing the stranger whole as the serpent returned to the earth in a plume of pink sand.

Deathly silence overtook the mountain. Pipkin and Paloma stared towards the dragon’s earthen remains.

“Is it over?” Paloma breathed.

Pipkin’s whiskers twitched. “Well, something’s trapped down there.”

Paloma looked around as Pipkin prowled toward the basin of quartz sand. Paloma’s gaze settled on the remnants of the duel. Rocks kindled with deep ruby heat, sand hung in the air, and water dripped from steaming stones. Skids of half-dried mud marked the trail, and Paloma wondered if, deep within the mist, footprints marked the stranger’s arrival.

Rocks crumbled, jolting Paloma to attention as her brother broke apart the roof to the earth-dragon’s prison.

“We caught something,” Pipkin scoffed, looming over the hole. “Mind explaining yourself?”

“I do, actually.”

Soft laughter danced through the air as Paloma tiptoed to her sibling’s side. Pipkin risked a glance toward her direction when Paloma slowly tapped his shoulder, but Paloma wasn’t looking at him. The stranger’s scarred eye locked Paloma’s, and all warmth was sucked from her veins.

“Well, well!” the aqualox beamed. “We meet again!”

Pipkin wrinkled his nose. “You know him?”

Paloma shrugged her shoulders, brushing back the fury raging through her limbs. “Technically. At the foot of the mountain.”

“What’d she say?” the ‘lox called from below. “My hearing has really fallen recently.”

“Why did you attack us, Orthos?”

“Othello, actually.”

Barely visible within the quartz basin, the grey aqualox’s claw twitched, but Pipkin’s tail still thrashed in retaliation. A portion of the wall shot out like a piston and slammed Othello aside.

“Yeesh,” a thin shield of ice crumbled from Othello’s fins as he drew into a stretch. “That’d have hurt. Where’dya learn magic like that?”

Pipkin shoved his sister behind him as a geyser erupted before them. Water blotted out the sky as a frail shield crystallized. A heartbeat of silence took over before the full-force of the waterfall thundered down on the siblings. They slammed their eyes shut against the roaring surge before the sound dissipated into nothing. Paloma opened her eyes to see Othello perched across her shield, a faint rainbow twinkling through the pitter-pattering drizzle.

“Seems your buddy took most of the magic genes,” the shield shattered like glass at the tap of Othello’s claw.

Paloma jumped back as Othello landed daintily on his paws, water steaming from his pelt. Pipkin glared, his nose twitching as he foraged his memory for a spell. Othello looked up at the siblings with a frown.

“You seem upset, but isn’t this the Ether Hunt? A holiday built upon glory and battles and a journey of wits and skill?”

“Upset?” Vexation blasted Pipkin’s resolve. “We seem upset? You attacked us; of course we’re upset!”

Othello fired another shield as a whip of sand lashed toward him, the crack echoing across the mountain. The ground began to quake, but Othello watched Pipkin’s mane begin to drip down his brow.

“I-in fact, we’re more than just upset,” Pipkin growled. “We’re furious! ‘Where’d I learn magic like that?’ Please, where’d you learn manners like that?”

The snout of another dragon began to swirl in the quartz sand, but Othello only sighed. “There’s still so much to learn.”

Before anyone could think, Othello zipped in front of Pipkin and tapped his paw against the boy’s forehead. A sizzle boiled from Pipkin’s mane as the green water evaporated into nothing. Paloma watched with wide eyes as her brother collapsed into Othello’s arm. She prepared to lunge, but flinched as Othello turned to her with a gentle smile.

“Like I said, I’m a healer,” Othello nodded, “but a good watchman makes an excellent thief.”

Curiosity kindled within Othello’s eyes as Paloma tried to make sense of the stranger. The teal aqualox tensed as Othello shifted, but he simply laid Paloma’s sibling onto the ground.

“Pipkin—“

“With such a short mane-style, you must know what happens when an aqualox’s mane dries out,” Othello said. “Just get him some water, and he’ll be fine.”

Paloma took a deep breath. “So that's it? You attack us, then just leave as if you did nothing wrong?”

“I misunderstood what the Ether Hunt was about,” Othello said. “Is that a crime?”

“Assault is.”

“A salt adds flavour to life,” Othello winked, but shifted as Paloma’s gaze darkened. “Listen, I really didn’t mean any harm.”

“Didn’t you?”

Othello looked to the kindling rocks behind Paloma. “I’d be able to cure any wound if I overestimated your skill.”

“And if you overestimate your own?”

“Trust me, I know my limits,” Othello turned to leave. “See you at the finish line.”

“Wait—“

Paloma reached out, but in a whirl of mist, Othello disappeared, leaving the siblings alone in the thinning fog.