Chapter 122 How To Get an Entire City Home
Damien
Evening settles in slowly, dusk seeps into everything, cooling the edges of the world while the firelight grows steadier. We build a camp that is wide and protective. Fires spaced far enough apart that people can choose where they sit without feeling crowded, but close enough that warmth carries when the mountain air sharpens. Soldiers move through it with practised ease, passing bowls and bread, lifting lids, checking that everyone has eaten at least once before they think about themselves. It might not look like much from the outside, but to these people, it feels like the first time they've completely relaxed in their lives. I walk the perimeter once, then again, more habit than necessity, before finally allowing myself to stop. The Sanctum looms behind us in the distance, its presence reduced to a dark silhouette against the snow-lit sky. Ahead lies open land, uneven and unfamiliar to them, but no longer forbidden. Between the two, this camp holds the fragile middle ground where fear has loosened its grip but hasn’t quite let go. Children gather, drawn instinctively to warmth, and there is no warmth here that compares to Paul’s dragon. He remains in his scaled form, his massive body curled protectively near the largest fire and Ashlyn. Heat rolling off him in slow, steady waves that sink into cold bones and ease aching muscles. The children gravitate toward him as if invited, tucking themselves against his flank, draping blankets across his tail, pressing small palms to his scales with the casual trust of those who have already decided the world might be kinder than they were promised. Paul watches them from behind those glowing eyes, pride humming through the bond so loudly I can almost hear it.
The dragon beneath my skin snorts. You’ve created a problem, he remarks.
I glance over at the pile of sleeping children, already half-buried in blankets and dragon heat. They sigh in their sleep, curl closer, one child gripping a scale like it might wander off without him.
I’ve created shelter, I reply.
You’ve set expectations, he counters. Warmth. Safety. Tomorrow.
I feel the weight of that word settle into my chest. Tomorrow. I told them we’d be back at my kingdom by then.
The dragon shifts before settling again. That’s a generous promise, he observes, given that you currently have no idea how you’re getting several hundred people, including elders and children, across such a distance.
I don’t answer him right away. Instead, I move toward the fire where the adults have gathered. They sit on logs, crates, stones pulled close, eating slowly, talking in low voices that rise and fall without panic. Some stare into the flames like they’re still adjusting to the idea that no one is about to punish them for speaking too loudly. Others talk too much, filling the space with questions, observations, plans that aren’t quite plans yet. Bella sits among them, cross-legged on a blanket, shoulders relaxed, listening more than she speaks. She hands food to anyone who needs it without comment, refills bowls, answers questions when they’re asked and lets silence exist when it needs to. She doesn’t lead from the centre. She anchors from wherever she happens to be. I take a seat opposite her, the fire between us, and the conversations soften without stopping. Someone offers me bread and I take it.
“We’ll rest tonight,” I say, not loudly, but enough that it carries. “At first light, we move.”
A ripple of tension passes through the group, subtle but unmistakable.
“To where?” a man asks carefully.
“My kingdom,” I reply. “You’ll be safer there than anywhere else.”
A woman near the edge of the circle hesitates. “It’s… far?”
“Yes, but you won’t have to walk the whole way.”
The dragon stirs again. Bold, he comments.
I ignore him.
“We’ll take it in stages,” I continue. “No one gets left behind. No one gets pushed faster than they’re ready to go.”
That helps a bit... I think. I watch as shoulders ease and someone exhales. Ashlyn comes to sit near the fire’s edge, legs stretched out, leaning back on her hands. She's watching the group with an expression that’s caught somewhere between awe and alarm. She catches my eye.
“So,” she says, “what’s the whole plan?”
Red stands nearby, arms folded, weight on one hip, gaze sharp and assessing. Drake’s presence is solid at her back, close but not hovering. She doesn’t ask, but she’s waiting for the answer. I glance at Bella. She lifts a brow slightly, inviting me to speak.
“We’re working on it,” I say honestly.
The dragon laughs in my head, a low, rumbling sound. Understatement of the century.
A former Sanctum guard clears his throat from across the fire. He’s older, armour stripped down to layers now, hands wrapped around a cup like it’s something solid to hold onto.
“There might be something,” he says quietly.
I turn toward him. “Go on.”
He hesitates, glancing at Bella, then at the sleeping children, then back at the fire.
“The First Frostborn had a vessel,” he says. “A boat.”
There's a long pause as we all wait for him to continue.
“She used it for supply runs,” he adds finally. “For food and materials. It runs the channel that feeds the lower valleys.”
Red’s eyes narrow. “And who mans this boat?”
“It’s enchanted,” he replies. “Loops constantly. Never needs crew. Never stops unless commanded.”
“And who commanded it?” I ask.
He swallows. “She did.”
Bella’s jaw tightens, just slightly.
“And now?” Ashlyn asks.
He lifts one shoulder. “Now it would just run, I guess. She never had to attend to it or anything. She simply told us to collect the materials it would deliver and bring them back into the Sanctum.”
The dragon’s interest sharpens. That could work, he murmurs. Partially.
I lean forward. “How big?”
The guard meets my gaze. “Big enough to feed a city.”
Silence stretches, heavy and thoughtful.
Red exhales slowly. “And where exactly does it go?”
He gestures vaguely. “Downriver. Toward the lowlands. Toward your territory.”
Bella looks at me, eyes bright with something that feels dangerously close to excitement.
“And when is it due?” she asks.
The guard checks the sky instinctively, then the shadows. “Tonight, and again two days from now.”
The fire pops. The dragon hums, pleased despite himself. Well, he says. That’s convenient.
I meet Bella’s gaze across the fire and allow myself a single nod.
“Then,” I say, voice steady, “we prepare to sail.”
Around us, the camp breathes, warmth holding, children sleeping, adults thinking not about fear now, but movement, and for the first time since this journey began, the promise I made doesn’t feel reckless. It feels possible.