Their adventure, unlike Tyrael's previous one, was amazing. They talked with each other about anything, from the weather to which scrolls to read or avoid. It was a sort of cycle as well, one that was mildly entertaining. Firstly, the pair would begin talking about a topic, that much was obvious. Then, Tyrael would add his thoughts on the topic.

Every time, without fail, he'd be halfway through a sentence and realize that he had been talking for far too long.

He'd apologize, laughing it off and apologizing a second time for talking for so long. Felamir would apologize, then they'd try to do it as well. It didn't work, though, which didn't fail to make Tyrael laugh each time. After this, the pair would continue talking for a while and the cycle would repeat itself.

It was nice, as irritating as it got at times.

Felamir was scaring the butterflies away. No one had ever done that before.

"So, do you have a weapon? I might have one or two spare, if you want."

Tyrael's thoughts went to the dagger hidden in his shoe. Far too small to be very useful against a dragon, and he was more proficient with a sword anyways.

Felamir smiled. "A sword maybe? That's the most common, plus it's the one I have most of – I have a few more where I usually stay, which means if you take this one, I'll still have a heap left. And if you lose it or anything, it'd be fine as well. So, you want one?" their smile turned into a full on grin.

"That would be nice, thank you." the short elf replied, attempting to mirror his friend's smile but accidentally making it much smaller.

The taller figure pulled out a sword, unlike any Tyrael had seen before. It had elegant patterns intricately engraved into the handle, and a small figure of a crow was perched on the very edge.

Tyrael gasped. "I can't take this! It's too pretty!" he argued. Because frankly, it was! He wouldn't dare to use this! And, dropping the smile that Felamir had previously carved onto his face for a shocked expression, he wasn't going. "Don't you want it?"

He was a bit curious. Why would they ever get rid of such a pretty weapon? It seemed to be really fancy, and oddly specific when it came to its design. Felamir hadn't mentioned crows or ravens at all when they talked, and there was writing etched into the side of the blade that definitely said something but was too old and worn to read.

They simply shook their head. "I have no use for it, I can use this instead."

And then they pulled out a bow.

This was going to be a very good adventure.

It was a light pink wood, and similarly engraved to the sword. Its string was as thin as a spider's web, and shimmered slightly. Probably enchanted. Tyrael's jaw yet again dropped so far that he wouldn't be surprised if the Nine Hells would see it. And he thought the sword was pretty! There was also a short, slightly thicker and seemingly unenchanted string with beads that seemed to glow. Almost like the small flying bugs from the forest.

"Where'd you get those?" the short elf begged. He wanted some, gods be dammed!

Felamir laughed a bit at the excitement on their younger friend's face, before finally replying. "Honestly, all around. Maybe we could keep travelling together, and you could collect some? We'd be banishment buddies!" they half-joked, pointing at a similar string on Tyrael's sword. It was empty, ready to collect beads. No, ready to collect memories. The elf thought about it. Just a day or two ago he had been travelling alone, and just an hour or two ago he was even more alone than ever. But now, he had a travel partner. A banishment buddy. A friend. Hells, a loved one.

Tyrael thought about it for a minute.

He hadn't had a friend ever since Mikirven, and he hadn't had a good friend since Zenoré left town. He'd had many travel partners, but none were really memorable. And he didn't have anyone left that he loved, or that loved him. Maybe Sameia, but she'd probably forgotten about Tyrael years ago.

And then there was the fact that he'd only known Felamir for less than two days, and he already liked them more than almost anyone he'd ever met. At the very least, they were in the top three. At the very best, they were tied in first. And, again, that was in just over a day.

...He didn't have to think on it for long.

He threw his arms around Felamir's waist again, squeezing a bit. He wasn't going to lose his family again, not this time.

The family in question hugged back, patting the young boy on the back.

It was good.

This was good.

It was all going to be ok.

Felamir hugged Tyrael a bit tighter, squishing him. "Alright I get it but please let go I can't breathe..."

"Sorry! Sorry!"

Tyrael quickly let go, and after a beat or two of silence the pair burst out laughing. Again, this would be fun. Very much so. They both knew that much at the very least. After they both sobered up, the pair walked in relative silence. But it wasn't lonely like with Carawin and Swallowtail, or awkward like with Throx, it was just... peaceful.

He started to notice something peculiar. It was like a song, composed by the gods. The gentle crunching of their boots against drying leaves, paired with the gentle birdsong, Felamir's humming, small animals scuttering about, and so many other things that he'd become so used to that he couldn't even identify them anymore.

"Ok, we're here. The dragon of Ghoulcrest!"

Tyrael was amazed. The opening was huge. Bigger than the biggest house he'd ever seen, by far. Maybe even bigger than any building he'd seen, and the tavern that the White Ravens called home was no small building. Small crimson scales that shined like a thousand rubies littered the floor. It was breathtaking, and Tyrael again found himself wishing that there was someone who could paint it.

But his train of thought was quickly interrupted. "Shall we?"

Tyrael nodded.

"Do you want me to try make you a shield?" Felamir asked, starting to open their bag, most likely to take out some sort of spell book. "I'm a bit rusty, but it might be better safe than sorry with a dragon." They continued taking out the book, squinting their eyes to find the right page.

"I don't need a shield!" Tyrael argued, frowning a bit. "I know how to dodge!" He didn't know how to dodge. "I've been in plenty of fights!" He hadn't been in a fight before. "I don't need to be protected!" He did, and he was painfully aware of that fact.

Felamir simply smiled. "Well, I'm gonna be pretty big in there, and I don't want you getting hurt."

"Wait, what do-"

A thunderous roar interrupted the small child. Pleasant. The dragon had heard them.

"So, uh, I'm..." they took a deep breath. "Tyrael, I'm a doppelganger. But! I'm trying to help you, ok? I won't hurt you. Pinkie promise!"

He smiled up at them. "So what? You're still a person."

Tyrael swore Felamir had never smiled that widely.

The roar interrupted their interaction yet again. The dragon was apparently growing angry, so they walked in. And wow, was he not ready for this. It was bigger than anything he'd ever seen before, excluding of course the cave, and he realized that its mouth alone would be around his height. Pleasant.

Felamir, in the time that Tyrael took to blink, was suddenly a red dragon, similar to the one in front of them. And, judging by the fact that it was smaller than that one, it was probably a child. Or at the very least younger. But still very much big and very much scary.

Doppelgangers were an interesting species. They were not born, but made, although no one quite knew how. And the most fascinating part was, they could see into people's memories, then shift into someone they hadn't even seen before.

Even knowing all this, it was much cooler in person.

'Wait, does that mean they can...?'

"Yep!" Felamir chimed in. "I can guess, at least, if you're thinking what I think you are. It's more based off of emotions and memories, and, uh... it's complicated."

Tyrael's cheeks turned an extremely dark shade of red at that, to the point that someone walking past would probably assume he was a tomato. Even more pleasant.

The dragon – the original one, not Felamir – seemed to be confused. Maybe even sad. It brought up a humongous claw to the shapeshifter. It didn't speak, instead making a sad sort of groan. And if that wasn't already sad enough, it brought its crimson claw up to dragon-Felamir's face, looking at them lovingly. Like a lost child.

Wait.

Something wasn't right here.

His travel companion subtly lifted the small elf up to the dragon's neck. Slowly bringing out his sword and putting the handle in his mouth to hold it he, silently thanking whichever god was listening that he wasn't afraid of heights, started climbing the massive creature by using its spikes. Of which it had many.

The dragon shook its head, sending a loose spike Tyrael was holding onto just a moment before tumbling to the floor.

Very many.

He stared down at it, sitting on the ground. It was much further away than Tyrael remembered, which he didn't appreciate. He was trying to climb a dragon's spine, inconsistencies in how tall the dragon was were the last thing he needed.

Pulling his eyes away from the fallen spike, Tyrael used his left hand to grab onto a slightly upturned spike, pulling himself up a bit, and grabbed the sword from his mouth with his right hand as he did. He wiped it clean with the shoulder of his cloak, then brought it up to where his left hand was. His feet both scrambled to find a place to stand. He lifted himself up more then, bracing himself for the awful noise that was about to occur, stabbed the sword into the great beast.

Felamir, still a dragon, suddenly scratched the original dragon as close to the eye as they could manage. It reared back, obviously in immense pain. It replied by trying to do the same, but thankfully he heard no sounds from his friend. They were safe, or at least as safe as one could get in such a situation.

Tyrael gasped, feet no longer stable. He brought his left hand up to the sword as well, pulling himself up a tiny bit more. When his feet finally found footing, he continued the cycle. He found himself grateful that he'd had enough logic to hold his sword in his right hand, so that his left hand could reach up to climb higher. It was stronger, so that made the whole process quite a lot easier.

Felamir scratched the larger dragon again, this time more aggressively. It roared in pain, voice croaky. Most likely from lack of use, noting the cobwebs covering the area around and inside the cave. There was even a layer of dust on the dragon's wings. Peculiar. The dragon moved again, probably still trying to get Tyrael off of its neck. Or its back. He wasn't quite sure how high up on the dragon he was. But, frankly, he didn't want to know. So he just kept climbing. Although, if he was being completely honest with himself, the small elf was now starting to grow a fear of heights. His previous thanks to the gods were now ever so slightly revoked.

Trying to distract himself while climbing, Tyrael realized that the ceiling above all of them was made of the little... wait, no. It wasn't the little flying creatures from before, but worms. Glowing worms, sitting on a ceiling in a cave above two banished adventurers fighting a dragon.

Huh.

Not the weirdest thing he'd seen at this point.

Tyrael really needed to ask Felamir more questions about this sort of thing, he was only now realizing how many things he was clueless about. And hey, maybe some of them were worth learning.

The doppelganger shifted into another character, not one Tyrael had seen before but a new one. But apparently it wasn't new to everyone in the room.

The dragon he was currently climbing opened its mouth, and the smell of smoke filled the air...

An arrow shot through the air, finding its destination in the dragon's mouth. It coughed a bit, its plans to burn the pair to a crisp apparently delayed.

Felamir yelled at Tyrael at the top of their lungs, "Now! While it's distracted!"

'Shoot.'

It was like time itself had stopped.

Tyrael hadn't fought before. Only sparring. He knew he didn't stand a chance if he tried to fight this thing, but he had the upper hand. He and Felamir were going to win this. He'd save Ghoulcrest, and hopefully prevent any more bad things happening to them for a while, and most of all he'd be able to make sure that Thalia and Melpo were safe. Even if just for a little bit. They were kids, and they'd already been through so much. They deserved to be safe, and they would be. They'd be happy.

He'd get the reward and, honestly, he'd probably give most of it back to the White Ravens. He would feel too bad keeping it when he had blood on his hands again... but still, they would take the funds. They were a guild, and they probably needed money for whatever it was that guilds spend money on. Maybe they'd even give some of the money to Carawin and Swallowtail's families on his behalf. They'd be happy.

And finally, he'd get more time with Felamir. Maybe even their friend, the other doppelganger. He'd get to collect some beads, and hopefully they wouldn't be as lonely anymore. They had seemingly chased the butterflies away. Almost no one else had done that before. They'd be happy.

Everyone would be happy.

But even knowing all of this, when he looked up to the dragon and saw sadness, mourning, emotion, he wasn't ready.

He definitely wasn't ready for the painful cry when he dug his blade in between its scales behind its ears.

It was pained. Well, obviously, the great beast had just been stabbed, but there was another layer to it. A layer that at this point Tyrael was starting to grow all too familiar with. Different things started to fall together, like pieces in a puzzle of fear and sadness.

This was a mistake.

All of this was a mistake.

He shouldn't have done this.

The dragon hadn't left the cave for a while. Or moved, given the layers of dust on its scales. People didn't move or leave their house when they were sad. Especially when they had lost someone. The dragon was sad, and it became even sadder when Felamir had turned into a dragon that looked identical to it, but much smaller. Like a child.

Tyrael's eyes widened. The dragon had lost a child, and it hadn't moved in months. But Ghoulcrest had been attacked recently.

They were fighting the wrong thing.

The great beast shook its head, presumably trying to throw the tiny elf on its head off, onto a wall.

It easily succeeded. He was a child. Less than a fly to the dragon.

A bit of the dragon's blood followed him as it gushed out of the wound. It wouldn't die from it, that much was certain, but it would hopefully lose enough blood to become a bit woozy. Hopefully. It probably wouldn't do anything, though, and Felamir would have to fight it all on their own.

He felt bad. This was a mistake. He should've been holding on to the dragon's spikes a bit more efficiently. Now he was going to die, and Felamir would be sad.

They were nice.

They didn't deserve to be sad.

All Tyrael had to do to make them happy was just exist, and he'd failed at even that. He couldn't do anything, could he?

Worthless idiot.

It would've been better if he had never been born in the first place. Then Felamir would've still been happy, because they never would've met and lost him. Everyone he used to know would be so much happier, too.

What purpose did he even serve? Everyone he had ever met would've either been fine or better without him. Even Zenoré would've been fine without him. She didn't have any other friends, but that was probably his fault as well. He was just holding her back. All that he ever was and all he ever would've been was the weird, creepy kid next door with the cool older brother.

And now he would be that again.

Tyrael stared forward, looking nowhere in particular but turning his gaze slightly downwards.

Nothing more than a sad little blot in some people's lives before they went on and forgot him, just like everyone else. Before they tore that page of their life story out, threw it away, and continued typing with a chuckle and a sigh.

Sure the dragon had feelings, but so did Felamir. So did Thalia, and Melpo, and their father, and everyone in Ghoulcrest.

So did everyone else who this dragon had killed, albeit indirectly.

They were all counting on him and he'd let them all down.

Tyrael went flying across the room, barely noting the terror-filled shriek from his friend. Another thing he didn't note until far too late was the fact that they were all in a cave, and the wall he was currently flying towards had sharp spikes protruding from the otherwise flat surface.

He tried to yell, kick, move, do absolutely anything at all. But he couldn't. He couldn't do anything.

Thoughts were rushing through his mind, all of them being far too short to be of note.

But the young boy couldn't help but notice the all-too-familiar swarm of butterflies that seemed to be staring at him.

He tried to scream, but there was only silence.

a/n
2987 words

so! a real cliffhanger, ey? [pun fully intended] what're your thoughts for the chapter? sorry it's so much shorter, I feel like it'd just feel wrong if it were longer. 

question 5: what do you think happened to the dragon?

i don't really have much else to say, except for (yet again) the usual.

see you next time!