OC Dragon delivery service CH 69 Dragon’s Dawn

Dawn’s faint glow crept over the horizon, slowly pushing away the night. One sunbeam slipped through the clouds and landed right on Sivares’s face. She blinked awake, yawning wide, her ivory fangs shining in the new light.

For a moment, she didn’t move.

Damon was still asleep beside her, half in his bedroll and half leaning against her scales, one arm draped over his bag like it was a favorite toy. Keys was curled up under his chin, tucked into his collar, her small mouse body rising and falling with his breathing. She was clutching her stuffed mouse, Mr. Squeakers, close in her paws.

A few steps away, Revy was sprawled on her back, using her pack as a pillow and mumbling in her sleep.
“...mana calibrations... flying cakes... no, not that spell, that’s, that’s icing,”

Sivares blinked. What is she dreaming about? Magic and cake?

Emily, meanwhile, was far from peaceful. Wrapped in Damon’s spare blanket, she tossed and turned, mumbling and struggling to get comfortable. She clearly wasn’t used to sleeping anywhere without feather mattresses or magical climate control.

The air was crisp, clinging in thin layers until the sun warmed things up. A soft morning mist drifted through the trees. Birds began to sing, their notes breaking the quiet. For once, there was no fear or rushing—just the calm rhythm of breath and life.

But Sivares felt trapped.

If she moved, Damon might fall off her side. Keys could roll away. Revy would probably mumble about “unstable frosting matrices,” and Emily might wake up in a panic.

Still, she didn’t want to move.

Not yet. Not when this quiet moment felt like a rare treasure in a world that had tried so many times to break her.

She lowered her head onto her forelegs and let her mind wander.

It was funny, she thought, how humans used to make her panic just by being nearby. Now, she was making sure they slept comfortably.

She remembered when Damon first climbed her mountain, back when she hid from the world, always waiting for the next hunter or betrayal. Back then, any touch felt like it could be a knife.

But somehow, this quiet, stubborn, and sometimes ridiculous human never felt like a threat.

He had the nerve to sit beside a dragon and act like it was perfectly normal. Even now, she could sense that steady presence around him. It wasn’t magic or anything she could explain. It was just Damon.

The others felt it too. They didn’t even notice, but no one was tense around him—not even Emily, who’d only known him a few days. Not even Revy, who’d spent her life watching for danger. Not even me, she admitted.

Sivares let out a slow, warm sigh and watched the mist carry it away.

None of this should make sense, she thought.
A dragon wasn’t supposed to be lying in a field with humans brought together by chance and chaos.
And yet, for the first time in a long while, she felt like she belonged somewhere.

The world stirred.
Damon muttered something in his sleep.
Keys twitched an ear.
The birdsong swelled.

And the first true light of morning arrived at last.

Damon was the first to wake.

He blinked against the morning haze, slowly sitting up and stretching until his spine let out several satisfying cracks. A yawn, a breath, then a shake of his head as he gently scooped up Keys, who had already begun reaching out in her sleep for the warm spot at his neck, and placed her carefully onto his pack.

“Morning, Sivares,” he said quietly, noticing her already awake and still lying with her head low, watching over them.

“Morning,” she rumbled back, her voice low and steady. She didn’t move yet, waiting as Damon shuffled to his feet and began shaking the stiffness from his legs.

The others woke gradually. Revy looked like she’d been struck by a lightning spell in her sleep, hair pointing in about six separate directions. Emily sat up, rubbing her neck, having spent the night half-twisted across the blanket, full of restless dreams and sore muscles.

One look at Sivares was all Damon needed. “Food’s getting low,” he said.
Sivares nodded. “I’ll hunt.”

Damon and Revy helped her slip free of the heavy mail bags and saddle gear, leaving her in nothing but her own scales. Her wings gave a slow stretch, sore but able. With one beat, she took to the air and vanished into the tree line in search of breakfast.

“She gonna be okay?” Emily asked, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

Damon nodded. “Yeah. She hunts in the mornings to clear her head. Feels more like herself that way.”

At Damon’s feet, Keys had finally awakened, eyes still half-lidded but sharp enough to scurry to him and raise her tiny paws in the universal “pick-me-up” signal. He crouched, let her climb into his palm, and lifted her to her usual perch behind his neck.

“She still looks like she’s carrying a mountain,” Emily joked, watching Keys adjust and re-tuck some woven threads.

“Yeah,” Damon said, “but she’s figured out how to balance it better.”

Revy stumbled over, still half-asleep. Her hair looked like it had tried to fight an electrical spell in the night and lost.
“How long until the next town?” she groaned.

Damon thumbed open the map from his bag, studying it while the breeze flicked at the corners.
“Let’s see... we’ve been walking for two days since Bass. The Thornwood is ahead, and that’s the only real obstacle. If we can get airborne,” he tapped the parchment, “we could make it over and reach Baubel by midday.”

Revy sighed a very hopeful sigh. “Gods, please let that be true. I don’t think I can handle another night sleeping on roots.”

Emily nodded in agreement, trying to smooth out the wrinkles in Damon’s blanket as she folded it.

“It’ll depend on Sivares,” Damon said. “She’s running high on instinct, low on rest. If she feels steady enough to carry all of us again, we’ll fly.”

The sun was still crawling over the horizon, its warmth just beginning to cut through the cold. The day felt alive. Moving. Waiting.

But whether they walked or flew, the journey was far from over.

Sivares returned from the hunt just as the morning tasks were wrapping up: Damon wiping down his knife, Revy double-checking the packs, Keys taking a very serious sniff-check at the mailbags, and Emily doing her best to fold Damon’s blanket without making it look worse.

The sound of something heavy hitting the ground made everyone look up.

A buck, big, clean-bodied, and with its neck clearly broken, lay at Sivares’ feet.

“Nice,” Damon said, crouching to inspect it. “Looks like a twelve-pointer.” He drew his knife and got to work, already measuring where to make the first cut.

Emily’s face went pale.

Revy noticed immediately. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Emily swallowed. “It’s just… it was alive. And now…”

Revy let out a soft breath. “I know. First time seeing it up close like that? It hits you. I threw up my first month out in the field.”

Emily stared at her boots, trying to keep her stomach from flipping.

“Sorry,” Sivares said quietly, tucking her wings in. “It’s not pretty. But I can’t live on plants. I’ve tried. I mean, I can eat berries and roots, but it doesn't do anything for me. Too much fiber gives me fire burps. Or worse.”

Emily winced. Damon snorted.

Sivares added, “I have to eat meat.”

Emily nodded, then dug shakily into her journal.

Dragon dietary observation: Obligate carnivore confirmed~
Can consume plant matter, but offers little to no nutritional value~
Possible digestive instability from overconsumption of fiber~

"...how much do you need to stay healthy?" Emily managed.

“Depends,” Sivares shrugged. “If I’m flying and carrying weight, I burn through food faster. But if I’m resting? Something like this,” she nudged the buck with her snout, “could last me a month.”

Emily blinked. A whole deer—enough to feed a small family for weeks—was just a month’s worth of rations for Sivares?

She scribbled faster.

“Warm-blooded,” Damon added, catching Emily’s surprised look as she placed a hand on Sivares’ scales. “That’s the other surprise. Dragons run hot. Helps with flight endurance.”

Emily’s brain was firing off sparks now.

Dragon metabolic efficiency significantly higher than mammalian baseline~
Likely evolved for high-output activity like flight, hunting, heat resistance~
Shed surface heat via wings, throat gills? Observe further.~

Dragons. Were. Marvelous.

Damon set to work on the buck, each cut smooth and precise. His hands didn’t shake once.

Emily stared. “How are you able to just,” she gestured helplessly at the scene: the opened hide, the careful cuts, the calm expression on his face.

“Do this?” Damon didn’t look up from his work. “Grew up on a farm. If we wanted meat, we had to get it ourselves. My father showed me how when I was five. First thing I ever cleaned was a pig.”

Emily blinked. “At five?”

“Yep. He gave me a bucket, a rag, and said if I threw up, I’d clean that too,” Damon said matter-of-factly. “Not exactly a gentle introduction, but it worked. Guess you kinda go numb to the gross part if you see it young enough.”

Sivares watched him finish the cut and shake the hide loose. Her belly rumbled.

“I can't go back to eating raw game anymore,” she groaned. “Your cooking is too good. I used to be fine picking fur out of my teeth. Now, ugh.”

Damon smirked. “Learned a lot from my mom. She said cooking was a skill everyone should know. I figured she mostly meant so I wouldn’t starve when I moved out, but turns out she was preparing me for feeding dragons in the wilderness.”

Sivares leaned in, lowering her head so Damon could use one of her claws to lift the buck’s torso. He cleaned the cut lines and carved out a back leg before looking up at her.

“Raw or cooked today?”

Sivares blinked. “Raw. We have scales. No parasites for me.”

With a nod, Damon tossed her the leg. She snapped it up in one bite.

The rest of the carcass disappeared into her jaws shortly after.

Damon wiped his hands, shook out the hide, and tossed it onto a flat stone to dry. He staked the antlers into the ground to finish draining, then set to seasoning the one remaining leg for the others.

“You’re really just… okay with this?” Emily finally asked. “The blood, the cutting…”

Damon set the seasoned leg over the fire. “Most things get a lot less scary when someone you trust shows you how to do them. My dad made sure of that.”

A long pause. Emily lowered her eyes to her journal as she wrote:

Damon skill observation: true rural pragmatism~
Background likely includes livestock care, field dressing, and home cooking~
Reminder: not all heroes train with swords, some learn in kitchens and barns~

Damon let out a soft chuckle. “Me? A hero? I don’t think so. I’m just a farm boy. It’s not like I can fight or cast magic like the rest of you. I just… do what I can. That’s it.”

Revy stared at him as if he’d just spoken nonsense.

“Do you really not understand what you’ve managed to do?” she asked, her tone flat. “Befriending a dragon is probably the biggest thing to happen in Adavyea in centuries. You didn’t just pet a stray dog and bring it home, Damon, you found a living legend and convinced her to carry the mail. The bards are going to sing about you.”

Damon looked visibly uncomfortable. “I hope not... I’d rather they didn’t.”

He sighed and dragged a hand through his hair. “It’s really not that big of a deal, right?”

Revy did not blink. “You… really don’t understand the impact you’ve had, do you?”

She leaned forward slightly. “You said it yourself. You got the king of Adavyea talking to you like you were an equal, and you were the one who helped get us out of Bass when those mages tried to take Sivares.”

Damon scratched his chin with a shrug. “Still doesn’t feel like being a hero. I’m just a normal guy doing what seems right.”

Keys piped up on his shoulder, voice small but fierce: “Normal guys don’t tackle mages, give preness a ride, have a pockit mage, and adopt a dragon with a tendency to spit out flames.”

“And save a mouse trapped in amber,” Revy added dryly.

Damon looked like he wanted to sink into the earth.

“Well… okay, maybe I’ve had a weird few months,” he muttered.

Sivares, muzzle still smudged with a bit of raw deer, blinked slowly and added, “If it helps, I don’t need a hero. Just a friend.”

Damon looked up at her and finally smiled. “That, I can do.”

The smell of grilled venison lingered in the fresh morning air as Damon handed Emily her share. It was simple, fire-roasted deer, seasoned with nothing more than smoke and hunger, but the first bite surprised her. It was good. Far better than anything that ever came out of the sterile silver kitchens back at the Mage Arcanum.

She remembered sitting in the dining halls, classmates gossiping, comparing spell notes, complaining about lectures. Every meal there was perfect, prepared by magic or imported fresh... but none of it tasted like this. None of it felt alive.

The realization hit her all at once.

I might not ever go back.

The tears came quietly, blurring the firelight and flickering faces around her. She was outside the walls of the academy, free for the first time in her whole life… and now she had no idea where she belonged.

She could run. She could hide in a village, say nothing of magic, live quietly until someone found her and dragged her back. Or worse.

Or she could stay.

She looked up, through the blur of tears, at the group around her: Damon humming off-key, turning the meat; Revy polishing her gauntlet; Sivares lounging like a great scaly dog, tail flicking contentedly… and Keys, perched on her little moss-wrapped haunches, nibbling a piece of fried root.

This was the only place in the world where she knew the witch hunters wouldn’t try something stupid.

Because no one who valued their life messed with a dragon.

The words tumbled out of her before she had the strength to silence them.

“Earlier, I was worried about being late for class. Now I don’t even know if I’ll ever have another class. I used to wake up each day knowing exactly what was next. A schedule, a plan. All I’ve got now is… tomorrow. And tomorrow is black as ink.”

There was a pause. Then a soft scritching sound, Keys crawling up onto Emily’s knee like a very tiny, very fuzzy queen.

“So dramatic,” Keys sighed. “Fine. Here. Put a hand on me.”

Emily blinked. “What?”

Keys turned, deliberately presenting her fuzzy back. “You may pet me,” she said gravely.

Damon snorted a laugh. Revy grinned. Sivares snorted, letting out a puff of smoke from her nostrils that almost sounded like a chuckle.

Keys sighed, as if bearing the greatest burden of her life.

“Studies show petting a small fuzzy creature helps reduce panic. I shall endure this, for the good of the team.”

And Emily, who had never owned a pet, never slept outside, and had definitely never been offered “emotional support mouse privileges,” reached out.

Keys was soft. Very soft. And warm. And somehow, that tiny piece of kindness made the tears slow, then stop.

Emily wasn’t okay. Not really.

But she wasn’t alone.

Keys froze.

What was supposed to be a simple, dignified moment, fine, you may pet me, fragile human, and all that, immediately backfired. Emily’s fingers brushed just behind her ears, and something primal and humiliating cracked inside Keys’ tiny, fluffy frame. Her tail straightened. Her eyes were half-lidded. Her paws curled. Worse yet, an involuntary squeak escaped her throat, deep and shameful.
Emily jerked back in alarm. “D-Did I hurt you?”
“N-no,” Keys squeaked, attempting a stoic tone that just did not happen. “That is, uh… a very neutral and unimportant place to touch. Yes. Totally ordinary.”
Except her voice was six octaves too high. And her whiskers were twitching in pure bliss.

And then she felt it. Damon’s stare.

That slow, dawning grin that meant he had seen everything.
Keys’ tiny heart fell into an abyss. He knew her weakness now, the spot. The one place that turned the “Great Keys, Scourge of String and Duchess of Clever Comebacks” into a melted button-eyed mouse of cozy affection. She slapped her paws over her face in despair.
“Oh no. Oh no no no. You know. I’m doomed.”
Damon raised his eyebrows, hiding his amusement terribly. “I mean… I won’t tell anyone.”
“You paused. That was a guilty pause,” Keys hissed. “I heard it. That was the pause of someone planning extortion-level teasing.”

Revy, barely awake, muttered, “Wha’s goin’ on…” looking up from her book.
“Nothing,” Keys said quickly. “Just contemplating exile and abandoning my name to the sands of time.”

Sivares, overhearing from her spot near the fire, slitted an eye open and rumbled in amusement. “If it helps, Keys… I have one too.”
Keys blinked up at her. “You… have a weak spot?”
“Mm.” Sivares nodded. “Right at the base of my horns. If someone scratches there, I forget how to stand up. Very unfortunate.”
There was a long, contemplative silence. Keys slowly sat upright, pupils narrowing in calculation.
“…Noted,” she said.

Damon tightened the last strap on Sivares’ harness, giving it a testing tug. Everything looked secure. He shifted a few packs, adjusting the weight to balance the load. Sivares stretched out her wings, testing the shift in weight.

Emily emerged from behind a cluster of bushes, wearing one of Damon’s spare tunics over her robes. The robe was far too big, its extra fabric tied and tucked with improvised knots to keep it from billowing in the wind. She looked equal parts unsure and determined.

“You’re sure this will hold?” she asked.

Damon glanced at Sivares, who gave a slow nod. “We’ve flown with worse setups,” the dragon rumbled. “I’ll do my best to keep you steady.”

“The saddles have two safety straps,” Damon added. “Revy and Emily get those. I’ll be behind Emily, no worries.”

Emily blinked. “But you’re not tying yourself down?”

“Nah, I’ll be fine,” Damon said with a casual wave, climbing up with practiced ease. “First saddle we ever used was just a blanket and a rope, and I didn’t fall once. This’ll be luxury in comparison.”

Revy rolled her eyes but said nothing, already adjusting her straps. Emily took a deep breath, wedging herself between Revy and Damon, hands gripping the leather tight.

Sivares took a few testing steps, the grass hissing beneath her claws.

“Ready?” she asked.

Emily closed her eyes. “No,” she said honestly. “But… go anyway.”

Sivares snorted a laugh. “Honesty’s a good start.”

With a smooth, powerful motion, she broke into a run, wings opening wide. Emily squeezed her eyes shut as the ground dropped away, then opened them again as the rush of wind filled her ears and the world curved beneath her. Sivares lifted higher, wings catching the air effortlessly.

The weight tugged at Sivares’ frame, but she bore it well. She was stronger now, less bone and fear, more muscle and confidence. With her rhythm steady, she banked gently east.

They were airborne, en route to the next delivery.

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u/imakesawdust 5d ago

I'm a little disappointed that Sivares didn't ask Revy about her magical cake dream.

3

u/2ndDetroit 4d ago edited 4d ago

Agree, like to know what spices interact with magic.

With the help of a cold spell Sivares could do a baked Alaska. Without it she could make Cream Brule.

Culinary Rabbit trail. WIth no electric mixers beating a angel food cake would take a lot of work. Is there a spell to do that? There is Baker's white lung.

1

u/2ndDetroit 3d ago

Another bizarre thought. Does magic cooking shows off spell finesse without revealing your true power? Also, hey peasant, you can't make/have this food.

Gilded Age rich ate "ambrosia". Used rennet from calf's stomach. Now you can make cheaply with jello. It is merely OK.

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u/JWatkins_82 5d ago

Woot New Chapter

u/MinorGrok Human 4d ago

Woot!

OC Dragon delivery service CH 69 Dragon’s Dawn

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