|| Book One of the Dragonkind Duology ||
𝙄𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙨𝙣'𝙩 𝙖 𝙢𝙖𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙤𝙛 𝙞𝙛 𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙙 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙗𝙚 𝙨𝙥𝙞𝙡𝙩; 𝙞𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙣.
For years, dragonkind and humankind had been at war, alternating between short-lived truces and all out...
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"So that is the unfortunate reason why I no longer stay in Ichorwood," Iver concluded, drawing his cloak around him further as a particularly strong gale blew past them. It had been a little over a week since they've left Langarich—the barriers repaired and Moric giving Darin a couple of low-grade mana potions in gratitude ("It's better than nothing, Darin.")—and they were fortunate enough to have decent weather when entering the mountains. Albeit a bit windy, but no snow or rain as of yet. The path inclined as they dipped into a valley, nearing a dwarven town called Rokor. There, they would stay for the night.
"But . . . that's not fair," Argent said with a frown. "Why does it matter so much that your father wasn't an elf?"
"Ah, well," he thought for a second, choosing his phrasing carefully, "it is uncommon for a female elf to conceive more than one child. My mother is from a long line of pure-blooded elves, thus, my birth was considered a waste and corruption of a once pure line."
"That's not fair," Argent said again, but in a firmer tone. Iver couldn't help but smile at the boy. It had been a while since he harbored ill feelings for the higher elven society—he had long since accepted the fact that it wouldn't change—but he appreciated the boy being outraged in his stead.
"It is not as bad as one might think," he assured the boy. "There are many half-borns, and we all belong to our own communities outside of Ichorwood. It is a comfort, at least, that I am not the only one."
"Tarkana is a half-born as well, isn't she?" Darin asked. "And isn't she considered the most talented elven medic for the last century?"
"She is, and the high elves begrudgingly acknowledge it," Iver laughed. "I have had the pleasure of meeting her a few times, mostly coincidental run-ins, and can confirm she is indeed very talented in her field. It is what inspired me to focus my magic on the healing arts, I must admit."
"Century?" Argent gave Darin and Iver a confused look.
"Elves live much longer than humans, as do dwarves and dragonkind," Darin explained before glancing at Iver with a subtle half-smile. "Forgive me if I'm rude, but may I ask how old you are, Iver?"
"I do not mind," Iver said, returning the smile. "I am currently 84 summers old."
"Really?" Argent looked at Iver in wonder, his mouth slightly ajar. "But you don't look that old."
"Are you suggesting he does look old, Argent?" Darin questioned him with a grin, and Iver chuckled at their antics. Argent hastened to correct himself.
"No!" he blurted, waving his hands slightly. "He looks the same age as you."
"I am flattered I still look young in human standards," Iver said, unable to keep the amused smile from his face as Argent progressively became more flustered. With a huff, the boy shot a glare at his mentor—Darin wasn't doing a good job in hiding his laughter—before resuming his place at the front.
