The Golden Dragon's Hoard

2 - 11

"Home wasn't a set house, or a single town on a map. It was wherever the people who loved you were, whenever you were together. Not a place, but a moment, and then another, building on each other like bricks to create a solid shelter that you take with you for your entire life, wherever you may go."
― Sarah Dessen

Hey guys! This is the end of the book, and I just wanted to say that I appreciate each and every single one of you for following along this story and sticking with these characters :)) It's so important to me, this book, these little beings I've created, and I'm so glad to share it.

Part Two - Chapter Eleven
"The Dragon's Found Witch"

Once Athanasius flies them back to the open field they've camped in, the sun having fully risen, Oziamon starts to create a portal with the phoenix's help.

They trace runes into the big oak whose branches were draped over their tent the night before, glowing with their power and they settle into the bark. Charcoal stains both their hands but neither seems to mind.

Slowly, sparks fill the air, ripples that turn into a pool showing their living room.

The perspective is weird, all around them is a forest and a field, but right there against the oak is the edge of their bookshelves and across from those, their couch.

The magic is steady but pulsing, meshing two different places together—the spell makes Kaigon uneasy. Stray feels it like an echo of his own emotions, sees it in the way his voidwalker shuffles in place, how they twist their fingers over each other, how their bottom lip goes red with how they chew on it.

Stray remembers a time when all magic was painful, when it was raw like an open wound and twisted their insides into knots, hanging their safety in a noose made from anxiety.

He used to think that it was meant to be cruel.

That witches and magic were all heavy hands and icy chains, that there was no such thing as careful touches or a gentle spell, that it was cold and achy and sharp.

Over the years, his coven proved him wrong.

The shop is full of runes and spells to make every corner steady, every room warm, and every doorway big enough to avoid bruised foreheads or squished wings. There's ointments that heal and rocks that ease panic and everything smells like an herb because the power that's threaded through every floorboard and wall is kind.

Every spell used on one of them is done with permission and Oziamon never takes more from his familiars than he needs, never takes what he cannot give back.

He's seen them treat each other with respect, seen how they're all on the same standing, seen how the magic they have is not malicious.

But Kaigon hasn't.

Stray told them about his family's kindness but it's one thing to hear and another thing to understand; it's difficult to imagine when never experienced. Their old coven was cruel and harsh, they did not care to waste time or pull their punches.

They did not care if their spells would end up with a dead familiar.

And this kind of magic—creating portals from such a distance—took a lot of power.

"It's okay, Kage," Stray reaches out, pulling their twisting hands apart to hold them in his own. Night eyes meet his own and he offers a smile, stepping closer. "No one's getting hurt, okay? Oziamon's really careful whenever he does shit like this."

"It's just—I can feel it," Kaigon shudders slightly, eyes drawing back to the portal. "I can feel how uh, the space is folding in on itself. That's, yeah—that's taking a lot of energy."