The road didn’t change much.

  Wide. Dirt-packed. Old enough that the stones beneath it had been worn smooth by generations of feet, wheels, and hooves. Akira followed it day after day, the forest slowly thinning on either side, replaced by low grasslands and scattered trees.

  He walked.

  That became most of the week.

  Walk. Rest. Eat. Walk again.

  Sometimes he hunted. Sometimes he didn’t need to—small animals were easy enough now, and fire came when he called for it, faint but reliable. His movements grew cleaner, more deliberate. His body still ached, but it was no longer the sharp pain of fear or desperation. It was the dull ache of repetition.

  The baby dragon, however, remained a problem.

  It never stayed where he left it.

  Every few hours, it would suddenly dart off the road, wings flapping clumsily as it vanished into the trees. Akira would sigh, shift his grip on the wooden staff he carried, and follow.

  “Hey—no—don’t wander off,” he muttered, more tired than annoyed.

  The first few times were simple. He’d push through some bushes, find the small dragon waiting for him, and return to the road without incident.

  By the third day, things started to feel… off.

  Once, as he stepped off the path to retrieve it, he caught sight of someone ahead of him—just for a moment.

  Long hair catching the light.

  A silhouette half-hidden by the trees.

  He blinked.

  The figure was gone.

  The baby dragon sat exactly where the silhouette had been, tilting its head at him.

  “…Right,” Akira muttered. “That’s new.”

  He blamed exhaustion and kept walking.

  On the fifth day, he saw her more clearly.

  Just for a heartbeat.

  A girl stood at the edge of the forest, half-turned. Morning light traced her outline. Long hair spilled freely down her back—no ties, no straps, no signs of armor or travel gear. Nothing that suggested she’d come from the road at all.

  For an instant, something broad shifted behind her.

  A tail.

  Thick, solid, moving with slow, natural weight before slipping back into the trees along with her.

  As she turned, he caught a glimpse of pale wings folding close to her back—there and gone so quickly he wasn’t sure they’d been real.

  Akira stopped and turned fully.

  The forest was empty.

  At his feet, the baby dragon chirped softly and nudged his ankle, claws clicking against the dirt.

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  He stared down at it. Then back at the trees.

  “…Right,” he said again. “I really need sleep.”

  He rubbed his eyes, shook his head, and guided the dragon back to the road. He didn’t bring it up again. Thinking about it too much made his head hurt.

  After that, the glimpses continued.

  Only when the dragon wandered off.

  Only when he was tired or unfocused.

  Never when he was calm.

  By the end of the week, the road itself began to change.

  Faint wheel ruts appeared in the dirt. Grass along the edges lay trampled instead of wild. Stones had been cleared rather than grown around. Once, he passed a half-buried marker stone, its markings worn smooth by time.

  Civilization.

  The thought brought relief more than excitement.

  On the seventh morning, Akira stopped short.

  Far ahead, barely visible through the haze, stood shapes that didn’t belong to the wild.

  Straight lines. Thin trails of smoke. Clusters instead of chaos.

  Buildings.

  “…Finally,” he breathed.

  The baby dragon chirped beside him.

  Without thinking, he knelt and brushed his fingers over its warm scales—solid, real.

  Whatever he’d been seeing before, this wasn’t imagined.

  Still, as he started down the slope toward the distant settlement, a strange feeling settled over him.

  Not watched.

  Just… accompanied.

  Meanwhile—above the world, at the moment Akira first tamed the baby dragon.

  A gentle warmth spread through the divine realm, subtle but unmistakable.

  Oregin looked up first. “That feeling…”

  A woman stepped into existence as though she had always been there.

  She wore no crown and carried no weapon. Her presence wasn’t overwhelming—only a quiet pull, like unseen threads tightening.

  Eiryn, Goddess of Love.

  One of the oldest.

  She smiled faintly. “You really should be more specific when naming pacts.”

  Lumi blinked. “Huh?”

  Oregin sighed. “What happened?”

  Eiryn folded her hands. “Nothing improper. Your mortal formed a taming pact with a member of the DragonBorn race.”

  Lumi brightened instantly. “Oh! That’s good, right? Dragons are strong!”

  “Yes,” Eiryn agreed. “They are.”

  Oregin’s gaze sharpened. “And the nature of the pact?”

  Eiryn paused, only briefly. “The DragonBorn involved understood it fully.”

  Lumi tilted her head. “Understood what?”

  “The bond’s permanence.”

  Oregin closed his eyes. “…She believes he knew?”

  Eiryn nodded once. “She accepted the pact under that assumption.”

  Lumi’s eyes widened. “WAIT—so she thinks they—”

  Eiryn raised a finger calmly. “Terminology is important.”

  Lumi clamped her hands over her mouth.

  Oregin exhaled slowly. “And the boy?”

  “He acted sincerely,” Eiryn said. “Exhausted. Unguarded. Without deceit. From her perspective, his actions were sufficient.”

  Silence settled.

  “…Is this going to cause problems?” Lumi asked quietly.

  Eiryn smiled, warm but measured. “Only if misunderstandings remain unresolved.”

  She turned slightly, the air tightening as though fate itself had shifted.

  “The pact is valid. Mutual. Accepted.”

  Her gaze swept over the other two gods. “Peer into his future, Oregin. See what this bond will bring.”

  Oregin blinked. “…Now?”

  “Yes.”

  Lumi leaned forward, eyes sparkling. “What do you see? Tell me!”

  Oregin’s expression softened, a faint smile forming. “It’s… cute. And the one he’s bonded with? She knows exactly what she agreed to.”

  Lumi frowned. “Cute? That’s it? I want details!”

  He shook his head. “You’ll see when the time comes. Some threads are meant to be followed, not explained.”

  Eiryn’s smile deepened. “Patience. Both sides understand the bond. They accepted it willingly—even if he hasn’t realized it yet.”

  The three gods lingered in silence as possibilities settled around them.

  Far below, Akira and the baby dragon slept—unaware that the first threads of their shared future had already been woven, and that the other side of the pact knew exactly what it meant.