The Season of Dragons (3)
Altaira handed him a block of cheese that had turned as white as fresh snow.
“This is the cheese I made back then.”
Vesta eyed the sun-dried block that had now hardened into a firm, rock-like texture.
It looked nothing like the soft, creamy cheese he remembered from home.
Cheesy things were meant to give way under gentle pressure, but this one felt unyielding even to a casual glance.
Its surface was as smooth as polished marble.
His first impression was half anticipation, half skepticism.
“What have you been up to?”
“Ashtien,” Altaira answered softly, setting the cheese down.
The Great Khan of the Wilderness stepped forward, her regal presence filling the small clearing like a living storm.
Vesta had grown so used to her arrival that he barely flinched anymore.
“Altaira has brought you some arol.”
“Arol, you say?” Ashtien’s golden eyes narrowed with interest. “It’s the snack the entire prairie knows by heart—elders, children, everyone loves it.”
“You like it too, Ashtien?”
Altaira’s voice carried a teasing lilt.
“I suppose it’s bearable.”
The Khan plucked a thick piece from the block and tore it in half with her fingers.
“Try it yourself.”
The words hung in the air, warm and intimate.
Vesta had always known the empire bred delicate souls, but even the most hardened gladiator in the arena would have blushed at such open affection.
“Here, eat.”
He accepted the piece without hesitation and bit down.
The crunch was loud in the quiet steppe air.
It was hard enough to make his teeth ache, the flavor bright and tart with that unmistakable steppe tang.
He looked up, expression puzzled.
Altaira and Ashtien both let out soft, private chuckles.
“I’ll have one too.”
Ashtien’s voice was low, almost playful, as she closed the distance.
“Hurry.”
Vesta fed her a piece.
The Khan chewed slowly, then reached up to brush his hair back with the gentleness of a lover who had no shame in showing it.
“Mmm.”
Altaira watched them both, arms crossed, a satisfied smile playing on her lips.
She had noticed the way the two had drifted into their own little world, but she didn’t mind.
Plenty of elves were doing the same, simply nodding in silent approval as they passed.
“Well done,” Ashtien murmured, tasting the cheese one last time. “What do you think?”
“It’s… different.”
Vesta spoke honestly. “Nothing like the soft stuff from the empire.”
His first bite had already shown him that.
“It will feel strange at first,” Ashtien said, her tone gentle. “But you don’t have to force yourself to like it. Just trying it is enough.”
She glanced at Altaira.
“Isn’t that right, Altaira?”
“Of course.” The older elf bowed her head. “I’ll make more whenever you like.”
“Then it’s settled.”
Vesta didn’t reply with words.
He simply lifted another piece and pressed it gently against Ashtien’s lips.
“You’ll get greedy if you keep this up.”
*
Ashtien’s gaze turned thoughtful.
“Tell me about your days lately.”
“Training,” Vesta answered without hesitation. “Lots of it.”
“I heard. I even watched from a distance once or twice.”
“You did?”
The words tasted bitter.
He could only imagine how the proud warrior must have seen his clumsy, broken movements—how she had watched a gladiator who once shattered every opponent in the arena now fail so many times against his own companions.
“I would have liked to see you win at least once.”
“I wrestle Uushun sometimes too.”
“Is that so?” Ashtien’s eyebrows rose.
“Steppe wrestling, is it?”
Vesta had tried it once.
After all, he had learned that even those who fought with swords needed to know how to grapple.
“I’ve tangled with her plenty of times,” he admitted. “And once she pinned me so hard I couldn’t move for an hour.”
“She did what?”
“She said if she stood on one leg and used only one arm she could beat me without breaking a sweat.”
“She did?”
“Then she called me a coward and canceled our friendship!”
“Haha, you’re hilarious.”
Ashtien laughed softly, the sound rich and warm.
“She’s still in there, isn’t she?”
“I accepted the bet,” Vesta continued. “But after that… I lost. Badly.”
“No wonder.”
“She’s a master at it. She wrestles bears with her bare hands and drags horses around the camp like they weigh nothing.”
“And yet she lost to you?” Ashtien teased.
“I didn’t say she lost. I just… didn’t win as quickly as I hoped.”
Ashtien’s hand found his again, squeezing gently.
“You’re too modest, Vesta.”
“It’s true.”
“And she dares to challenge a human gladiator?”
“She’s not human. She’s an elf. She just has no limits.”
“Hah.” Ashtien’s pride shone in her eyes. “You are impressive.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly self-conscious.
“She’s the type who thinks she can beat anyone.”
“True strength is knowing when to trust others,” Ashtien said quietly, echoing the philosophy she lived by.
“That’s right,” Vesta agreed. “I respect it. Even if I still lose.”
“Hah.”
“The harpy is coming.”
Ashtien pointed toward the horizon with the calm of a ruler who had already seen what was coming.
“Where?”
“Right there.”
“Who sent it?”
Vesta’s voice stayed steady, but his eyes narrowed.
“The old crone’s signature, no doubt.”
*
The moment Ashtien left to read the message, the wind carried the faint scent of the cheese again.
Vesta sat chewing slowly, lost in thought.
“You want some?”
He offered Gansinbae a piece.
The horse lifted its head, ears flicking, then snatched the cheese from the air with surprising skill.
“Well done.”
Vesta flicked a tiny bit of grass at the horse’s nose.
It snorted and spat the grass back, then trotted a few steps away, glaring.
“It’s not your fault.”
“Hmph.”
“I gave you the cheese because I thought you’d like it.”
“You did?”
“It was sugar.”
Gansinbae’s eyes flashed with pure betrayal.
“Don’t worry. I’m not scared of you.”
“Hmph.”
“I’m not that easily intimidated.”
“You’re not?”
“I was born in the arena. I’ve fought men twice your size who tried to bite me.”
“Is that so?”
“My temper is famous in the pits.”
“What’s that? A new arrival?”
“Hah, look at those eyes. I want to punch them out!”
“Why is there a kid here?”
“Hah hah, a little one!”
“He’s not a little one, you idiot. He’s my senior!”
“How many months ahead was he again?”
“Not months, you little brat. I’ve been rolling around in the sand for two full years. You’re still a baby compared to me.”
“A brat?”
“Look who’s talking.”
“What’s that? You want to fight?”
Vesta’s memories drifted back to the roar of the crowd, the smell of blood and sand, and the voices that had once shouted his name with fear and respect.
“Vesta! Play with me! I’m bored!”
“And wrestle the centaur too!”
Gansinbae’s laughter was low and rumbling.
“Hah. I used to rule the arena.”
“Pffft.”
“You think that’s funny?”
“Hmph.”
“Watch this.”
Vesta flicked a handful of dirt at the horse.
Gansinbae answered by kicking up a cloud of it with both hind legs.
“Fine. You want to play?”
“Pffft.”
The horse’s teeth flashed in a grin.
“Laughing at me?”
“Hmph.”
“You’re impossible.”
“You too.”
Vesta glanced toward the path.
A familiar figure was walking toward them.
Rahan.
“Hey.”
Vesta waved with genuine warmth, the same easy smile he had given his friend the last time they had talked.
Rahan blinked, surprised by the greeting, then returned it with a small laugh.
“How have you been?”
“All right.”
“Your leg… it’s still bothering you?”
“Same as always.”
“Whoa.”
Rahan lowered his crutch and sat down heavily beside Vesta.