As the chill morning air enveloped the interior of the house, Shima shivered involuntarily. Despite the discomfort, the quietude of the morning was palpable, with a kind of stillness that spoke of a day just beginning. She noted the coolness that seemed to seep through the walls, a stark contrast to the warmth she was accustomed to back in her native home. Memories of her former life flickered in her mind, where participating in household upkeep was a communal affair, filled with the sound of laughter and the shared satisfaction of a task completed. Drawing her thoughts back to the present, Shima considered reaching for the shawl draped over the back of a nearby chair—a handmade gift from one of the foster children. The shawl was thick and comforting, but it was also unwieldy and would only impede her ability to move freely as she went about her chores. There was still a multitude of tasks to be tended to if she was to justify their stay in this new and unfamiliar place. The sound of their new life suddenly pierced the serenity of the morning. Jahree’s voice, once muted by the unsettled silence of a child in a strange land, now erupted in a series of frantic yells, breaking through his usual restraint. Shima’s first response was a surge of maternal pride as she realized he was comfortable enough to express himself loudly, but pride quickly turned to concern as she discerned panic, not play, in his tone. His cries became more urgent, a distress signal that propelled Shima into motion. She discovered Jahree crouched by the wall of the house, his small body tense as he called out to the other children. At a distance, steadily closing in, a city guard was approaching. Jahree was trying to get the other kids to safety, away from what he perceived as an imminent threat. Jahree’s actions spoke volumes of his growth already here. “Jahree, baby, it’s okay. He won’t hurt you,” Shima spoke gently, her words a balm intended to quell his fears as she stepped forward and swept him into her arms. His small frame shuddered with sobs, a stark reminder of the traumas these young ones carried. Cradling him close to her chest, she soothed, “Ssh, it’s ok, we’ll go inside for a bit.” She could feel the tension easing from his body as he clung to her, a testament to the trust they had cultivated in each other. Shima knew that as they retreated into the safety of the house, her mind would already be turning over the engagement that awaited them outside—the continuous dance of survival and understanding in this place that was slowly, and with struggle, becoming a home. “Jahree, Shima, wait,” a voice called out, slicing through the noise of the bustling marketplace. Shima instinctively turned, her heart pounding, and she saw the guard hastening toward them. Her hands tightened around Jahree as she prepared to react. Jahree let out a shrill screech when the man drew closer and hastily buried his tear-streaked face in his mother’s shoulder, the fabric of her shirt muffling his cries. “The kids said you forgot this,” the man said, his Tamareen words awkward and heavily accented as he held out his hand. In it was Jahree’s stuffed bunny. “Thanks,” Shima responded, her voice a mix of relief and caution. She reached out to retrieve the doll with a trembling hand and quickly turned her attention to Jahree, eager to soothe her son and herself. Even though the guard’s action was kind, it didn’t erase the years of learned fear. She knew deep down that these guards weren’t as notoriously violent as the watch of Tameria, but decades of conditioned terror were not easily disregarded. “It’s okay, sweetie. He was just bringing back your bunny,” Shima cooed softly, hoping to assuage not just Jahree’s fears but her own. She gently showed him the doll, its well-loved features easing some of the tension from the boy’s small frame. Jahree took the bunny hesitantly and clutched it to his chest, the familiarity of its softness offering a modicum of comfort, yet his tears continued to fall. Shima wrapped her warm arms around her child, cocooning him in a tender embrace as she rocked him back and forth. Jahree’s voice was tiny and choked with emotion as he murmured between sobs, “No more watch. No more safe.” Shima felt her own heart clench with his words, the bitter legacy of their past haunting them still. She whispered words of reassurance, determined to create a world where her son could feel secure, even if she had to shield him with her own body from the shadows of their history A gentle knock resonated through the room, cutting through the silence. “Hello?” the voice of Mama Sai, warm and concerned, called from beyond the door. “Come in,” responded Shima with a reluctant sigh. Company was the last thing she desired at the moment, but she couldn’t dismiss Mama Sai, not after all the help she had provided. It would be ungracious to turn her away, even with her current wish for solitude. Mama Sai’s head peered around the door, her expression marked with empathy. “Lair told me that Jahree was quite upset. She worried he’d need a healer,” she explained as she entered, accompanied by a woman whose complexion bore the pallor of winter, akin to the ethereal hues of Keteel and Midta. “The guard frightened him,” Shima offered a simple explanation for her son’s distress. “It’s okay, little one,” the pale woman murmured soothingly to Jahree, kneeling to be at eye level with him. Without another word, she stood, and in a sudden burst of light that left after-images dancing in their eyes, she disappeared only to reappear moments later, a cup now cradled in her hands. “Drink this,” she instructed gently. Shima eyed the cup with suspicion. “What is it?” she inquired, protective instincts flaring up as she regarded the strange brew being offered to her child. “It’s a blend of chamomile and lavender tea,” the pale woman answered. “My father used to drink it to settle his nerves. I’ve sweetened it with a bit of honey to make it more palatable for a young taste.” “Honey?” The word seemed to pique Jahree’s curiosity as he looked up. Cautiously, he took the cup in his small hands and took a tentative sip. “Blech,” he exclaimed with a grimace, yet the warmth of the drink and its sweet note provided a comforting distraction. His sobs dwindled to sniffles, the calming herbs beginning to soothe his frayed emotions. As he settled, he allowed his gaze to drift up to Mama Sai, seeking a reassuring familiarity in her presence. “Lair, Remti?” he asked, scanning the interior for the children. “They’re outside playing,” Sai responded confidently, noticing his concerned look. “Horse smoosh them,” the concern apparent in his voice, suggesting a possible danger lurking in their play. “No, the horse didn’t harm them,” Sai reassured him, a soothing tone in her voice to allay his fears. “In watch way” Jahree argued, still unconvinced of their safety. “The guard went around the children, ensuring they weren’t in harm’s way,” Sai explained, emphasizing the precautions taken to protect them. “The guards aren’t like the watch. If ever one of them does something to hurt you, you tell your mom. Then she can tell Mama Sai or Papa Tey, and they will inform me. Rest assured, I will confront them,” the pale woman explained earnestly, her protective instincts clear. She shifted her gaze to Shima, adding with gravitas, “I mean that sincerely. If a guard ever acts inappropriately, talk to Sai, Tey, or Midta. They will then bring the matter to my attention, and I will have a word with the prince-general on the issue.” Her assurance was both a comfort and a firm pledge of safety and accountability “Princess Annlonna has been a part of the royal family for countless years. She has the ear of the prince-general and the King’s Council. The guards are here to protect the people and enforce the laws.” “There is no law against playing in the street,” Annlonna added. “By the way, everyone refers to me as Antan or simply Ann.” Shima was surprised at the introduction. “Pleased to meet you, Your Majesty,” Shima said with a bow. Annlonna gently corrected her. “It would be ‘Your Highness’. But truly, no one addresses me in such a manner. We’re family.” “We are?” Shima asked a hint of doubt in her voice. Annlonna’s eyes twinkled with warmth as she explained, “Indeed. The entire kingdom is my extended family.” “But we’re not even citizens. We hail from Tameria,” Shima replied, perplexed. Annlonna’s features softened as she shared a piece of her personal history. “My father once adopted a boy whose birth father was from Tameria. It’s quite likely that we are distantly related. As for me, I’m half-dragon. In our culture, family connection transcends mere blood relations. We dragons hold kinship very dear to our hearts and embrace any semblance of familial bond. I myself have a large family: eight siblings, three children of my own, and numerous foster children. Moreover, I’m the proud grandmother—many times over—to dozens who themselves are great-grandparents. When you factor in nieces, nephews, in-laws, and all of their respective family members, it becomes an extensive network too vast for me to keep precise track of. Hence, I prefer to consider everyone a part of my family.” Shima listened, her expression a mix of wonder and confusion as she processed the princess’s words. Annlonna’s friendly demeanor, however, made it easier for Shima to feel at ease in her presence. “You ghost?” Jahree asked, curiously touching her pale hand before glancing down at his own darker skin in stark contrast. “No, just pale,” she replied wryly, a faint smile touching her lips. “Like Ket and Midta?” the boy ventured further, searching her face. “Yeah, like Ket and Midta. Midta’s my son. Keteel is my grandson,” she answered with a hint of pride in her voice. “You can’t possibly have an adult grandson,” Shima protested, her disbelief evident in her voice. “I can’t even tell you how many generations of grandchildren I have. I’m a thousand years old,” she responded, her age a statement of fact that hung in the air, demanding acceptance rather than belief. “Are you Lertan?” Shima asked, cautiously. She had heard stories about Lertan mages. They were said to live forever and wield unlimited magic. They had historically oppressed the Tamerians, treating them like lesser beings. The woman at the medical facility that had hurt Jahree had been Lertan, though she herself wouldn’t oppress anyone. Nevertheless, the local watch kept a close eye on her, wary of the potential threat she might pose. “No, I am a little different,” she clarified. “Here, they are called Ertonian. And we aren’t like what the stories say. Moreover, I’m half dragon.” She paused, gauging their reaction. “You see, the Tamerians manipulated one of my ancestors in an experiment to enhance her magic, hoping to create a weapon against the Ertonians. But she proved too willful and managed to escape their clutches.” As she spoke of her heritage, a mixture of sorrow and strength played across her features. “One of the side effects of their tampering is our unusually pale skin. Another is that the immense strength of our magic halts our aging process, not wholly unlike what you’ve heard about the Ertonians.” Her eyes, old and wise yet sparkling with an enigmatic vitality, met Shima’s, inviting her to rethink the myths and prejudices she might have harbored “Are there many Lertans, I mean Ertonians here?” she corrected herself after a momentary slip of the tongue. “In Menthanla? No, only a handful or so. Across the desert, in Ertonia itself? Yes, quite a number. Torthoc is the world they found when their home world, Lertan, was destroyed,” Ann explained. “What will they do to us?” Shima’s voice carried an edge of concern, having heard stories of the distant and mysterious Ertonians. “Nothing. You’re under the protection of the King’s Council here. They wouldn’t dare cause trouble for the White Wyrms,” she reassured with a confident nod. “The what?” Shima inquired, a puzzled expression crossing her face. “That’s what we call white dragons,” Ann explained. “Our magic is more powerful than that of the Ertonians, and while we may appear fearsome, we only show our true ferocity when absolutely necessary. But you have no reason to fear; we’re not the aggressors without cause.” “The refugees that come here are looking to get away from the Law Bureau. They seek a better life here. While our ways may seem more primitive to some, many who have settled speak of a greater sense of liberty and less oppression. In Menthanla, people live free from the shadow of fear—that is, once they understand that our soldiers conduct themselves with a higher moral standard than the dreaded watch they’ve left behind.” As they conversed, Jahree had steadily grown calmer. The tears had ceased to streak his young face, yet his grip on his mother’s hand remained firm—a silent testament to the lingering fears that the child held inside Shima looked at Ann with curiosity sparkling in her eyes. “Are you a healer like Keteel and Midta?” she inquired, seeking to understand the roles each individual played within their unique community. Ann shook her head, a hint of sadness laced with acceptance in her voice. “No, I am not,” she began to explain. “I was born prematurely, which meant that my healing abilities never had the chance to properly develop. While it’s a rare occurrence among our kind, it does happen from time to time.” She paused for a brief moment, possibly reflecting on what life would have been like if her abilities had flourished, before continuing. “And as for Ket, he’s not precisely a healer either.” The clarification seemed important as if it was vital for Shima to understand the distinction. “He possesses healing abilities, yes, but he doesn’t actively practice healing as a vocation. He’s more inclined to assist Midta when there’s a need, and he’s capable. He has some difficulties and gets confused. Most of the time he’s the sweetest person you could know. But when he gets frustrated, it’s best to give him space.” Then, as though to reassure Shima, Sai added a piece of advice. “If you ever notice Ket becoming upset, come find Tey or me, and we’ll take care of it. We can talk to Midta or Ann about what’s happening. That’s the support system we have here.” “Like Ket,” Jahree said. “And Ket likes you,” Sai assured him. “Even on days when he is struggling the most, his affection for children never wanes. Dragons, as is our nature, have an inherent need to protect the young. It’s purely instinctual. A dragon could never harm a child. It goes against our very essence.” “Fly?” Jahree inquired with a mix of curiosity and apprehension evident in his young voice. “Do you want to go flying?” Ann posed the question gently, sensing the child’s mixture of wonder and trepidation. “Fly hurt?” Jahree’s brow furrowed slightly, the concern clear in his concise question. “No, not at all. You can fly with one of us soon if your mom says it’s okay,” Ann replied, her tone infused with warmth and encouragement. “Mom?” Jahree turned his gaze to Shima, seeking reassurance from the one he trusted above all others. “I don’t know,” Shima responded, her voice laced with hesitation. The concept was foreign to her, and the protective instincts she harbored for her child made her wary of the unknown. Ann moved swiftly to alleviate any concerns, “It’s completely safe,” she assured her. “My mom was human, so I was born in human form. I couldn’t take dragon form until I was older. My aunt and uncle used to take me flying. We never had any problems. I don’t know of a single time a child’s been dropped.” Sai nodded in agreement. “Nor do I,” she added, her confirmation providing an extra layer of assurance to the safety of the proposal. “We’ll see,” Shima said after a moment of contemplation. Though a clear commitment was absent from her words, her response left the door open for possibility, offering the best promise she could muster given her apprehension.