The Milf's Dragon-Chapter 104. The Marked Blacksmith

Celeste studied Owen with the same intensity she’d directed at Vorthraxx moments before. Her blue eyes tracked details—the way he held himself despite obvious injury, the careful neutrality of his expression, the black scales visible beneath his hood’s edge.

"Just my luck, Another dragon" she said. Not a question. A conclusion reached through observation.

Owen pulled his hood back. No point hiding now.

"I didn’t know the dragon king had Two heirs." She moved to a workbench and began organizing tools that didn’t need organizing. "Though Vorthraxx conveniently left out the part where you’d be visiting."

"I didn’t know either..." Vorthraxx said. "This is new to me too"

"Anyways, are you here for the nether rift." Celeste’s tone carried reproach.

"Oh you know where it is!? Owen is helping with the rift. Two dragons are better than one."

"Two dragons who just walked into my workshop after you assaulted someone in my doorway." She gestured at the cracked plaster where the thug had hit the wall. "I’ll have to repair that. Again."

Vorthraxx’s grin faded. "They were threatening you."

"They were being persistent idiots. I’ve handled worse." She finally looked at him directly, and her expression softened fractionally. "I know you want to protect me. But violence solves nothing. It just creates more problems."

"Sometimes violence is the only language people understand."

"Then teach them a better language."

The exchange had layers Owen couldn’t fully parse. They weren’t just discussing the thugs. This was a recurring argument worn smooth by repetition.

Celeste turned back to Owen. "You’re injured."

" I’m Recovering" Owen said.

"From what?"

Owen glanced at Vorthraxx, who shrugged. "A training accident. We sparred and I used an ability I couldn’t control properly."

"The Sovereignty of Destruction!" Vorthraxx added helpfully. "Turns you into a berserk monster that tries to kill everyone nearby. Very effective but terrible control mechanism."

Owen shot him a look that said ’why are you spilling my abilities to a random person?’ but Vorthraxx couldn’t read it.

Celeste’s expression didn’t change, but Owen caught the slight tension in her shoulders.

She moved to a different workbench, this one covered in half-finished metalwork. A sword blade cooling in a quenching barrel. Armor pieces waiting for rivets. "Vorthraxx does the same thing. Pushes himself past reasonable limits because he thinks power solves problems."

"It does solve moat problems," Vorthraxx protested.

"And creates new ones." She pulled the sword blade from the barrel and examined it in the light. The metal showed no flaws Owen could detect. "Power without discipline is just destruction waiting to happen."

Owen studied her workspace while they talked. The forge was well-maintained but showed signs of heavy use. The anvil’s surface was pocked from thousands of hammer strikes. Tools hung in precise arrangements—everything positioned for efficiency. This wasn’t a hobby workshop. This was a professional smithy run by someone who took their craft seriously.

His eyes caught on something partially hidden beneath cloth on a side table. The edge of what looked like a book, its cover bearing unfamiliar script.

Celeste noticed his attention. Her hand moved to cover the cloth more completely. "Private research."

"What kind of research?"

"The kind I don’t discuss with strangers." She set the sword blade down and finally stopped moving. "Vorthraxx trusts you. That earns my consideration. But my trust takes time to build."

Fair enough. Owen was a stranger who had appeared in her workshop alongside a dragon who had just put someone through her wall. Caution was reasonable.

Vorthraxx stepped between them, his tone shifting to something lighter. "Celeste makes the finest blades in the kingdom. She’s supplied three noble houses and the city guard. Her work is—"

"Adequate..." Celeste interrupted.

"It’s exceptional and you know it."

"Adequate work done consistently beats exceptional work done rarely." She pulled her hair back, revealing the line of her neck and—

Owen’s Dragon’s Eye activated without conscious thought. Power signature reading. Threat assessment. Mana flow analysis.

The sigil appeared as a thermal variance first. Faint lines across her sternum, invisible to normal vision but present in a mana spectrum. Complex geometric patterns that carried weight beyond their physical form. The sigil wasn’t glowing now, just existing as a permanent mark beneath her skin and clothing.

Owen forced his Dragon’s Eye to deactivate. Staring was rude. But questions flooded his mind. That wasn’t a natural mark. That was a deliberate inscription. Purpose-built and carrying power he couldn’t fully identify.

Celeste was watching him. "You saw it." 𝕗𝕣𝐞𝐞𝘄𝐞𝚋𝚗𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗹.𝚌𝕠𝚖

"I—"

"Dragon eyes see things human eyes miss. Vorthraxx had the same reaction when we first met." She touched her sternum through her work shirt. "I don’t know what it is. I’ve had it since I was fourteen. It appeared overnight. No pain. No warning. Just there one morning when I woke."

"Have you tried to remove it?"

"Three different clerics. Two hedge witches. One very expensive arcane scholar from the capital." She listed them like items on inventory. "Nobody can remove it. Most can’t even see it without magical assistance. The ones who can see it refuse to tell me what it means."

Vorthraxx’s expression had gone carefully neutral. "We’re still working on it."

"You’re still researching it," Celeste corrected. "Which I appreciate. But I’ve made peace with the mystery. It doesn’t hurt. It doesn’t interfere with my work. Whatever it is, I’m living with it."

Owen’s mind raced through possibilities. Marks like that didn’t appear randomly. Someone had placed it. For a purpose. And the fact that clerics refused to identify it suggested they knew exactly what it was and feared the answer.

"Does it ever glow?" Owen asked.

Celeste’s expression shifted. "Sometimes. When I’m angry. Or frightened. Or—" She stopped. "Yes. It glows. Faintly."

Emotional triggers. Owen filed that away. The sigil responded to her internal state, which meant it was connected to her somehow. Not just inscribed on her body but integrated into her being.

"Uhm...so, the nether rift..." Vorthraxx said, clearly trying to change subjects. "We should—"

"Later." Celeste moved to the forge and began banking the coals. "You both just arrived. Owen is injured. You’re tired from flying. The rift has been stable for three days according to the reports. It can wait another few hours."

She worked with practiced efficiency, securing her workspace for temporary closure. Tools cleaned and stored. The forge damped but not extinguished. Projects covered to protect from dust.

"You’re closing the shop?" Vorthraxx asked.

"For the day. I’m coming with you."

"Absolutely not."

"Not negotiable." She pulled a leather apron off and hung it on a wall hook. "The rift is near the eastern district. That’s my neighborhood. If something goes wrong, my neighbors are at risk. I’m invested in making sure you close it properly."

"Celeste—"

"I’m not asking permission, Vorthraxx. I’m informing you of my decision." She moved to a locked cabinet and pulled out a sword—simpler than the blade she’d been working on, but well-maintained. "I can defend myself if needed. And I know the area better than you do."

Vorthraxx looked at Owen like he expected support. Owen raised his hands. "I am not getting involved in this."

"Coward" Vorthraxx muttered.

Celeste strapped the sword to her belt and pulled a cloak from another hook. "We’ll leave in ten minutes. I need to inform my neighbor, she’s watching the shop."

She walked out the door.

The workshop fell silent except for the settling coals in the forge.

Vorthraxx slumped against the workbench. "She’s going to get herself killed."

"She handled those thugs better than you did..." Owen pointed out.

"That’s different. Thugs are predictable. Nether rifts spawn demons. Demons are—" He stopped. "She shouldn’t be anywhere near combat situations."

"Does she know you feel that way?"

"Of course she knows. We’ve had this argument seventeen times." Vorthraxx’s tail lashed in frustration. "She doesn’t understand. She’s mortal. Fragile. One mistake and—"

"And you’re immortal?, so you can take risks she can’t?."

"Exactly."

Owen studied him. The arrogance was still there—the certainty that came from being a dragon, from being stronger and faster and more durable than anything human. But beneath it sat genuine fear. Not for himself. For her. The kind he felt whenever Yuki thrusts herself insist unforeseen situations.

"She’s not asking you to protect her," Owen said. "She’s asking you to trust she can handle herself."

"I do trust her. But trust doesn’t stop swords. Trust doesn’t heal fatal wounds." Vorthraxx pushed off the workbench and moved to the window overlooking the street. "She studies dragon language. Did you know that? In secret, because her kingdom’s church teaches that dragons are prideful monsters who’ll eventually be humbled by divine will. She risks heresy charges just to understand us better."

Owen hadn’t known that. But it explained the hidden book. Dragon script wasn’t common knowledge among humans. Most considered it dangerous—a language that carried power in its pronunciation, capable of compelling reality if spoken with proper authority.

"Why does she study it?"

"She thinks understandings prevents conflict. That if humans and dragons could actually communicate instead of operating through fear and assumption, we could coexist peacefully." Vorthraxx’s laugh held no humor. "She’s an idealist in a world that punishes idealism."

"And you?"

"I’m a realist who fell for an idealist." He turned from the window. "Which makes me an idiot."

Owen didn’t respond. There was nothing to say that wouldn’t sound trite.

The door opened. Celeste returned carrying a satchel. "Neighbor’s informed. Shop’s secure. Ready?"

Vorthraxx straightened immediately, his brooding replaced by focus. "That’s the Route, baby?"

"Eww!.. East through the market district. Past the cathedral. The rift manifested in an abandoned warehouse near the docks." She looked at Owen. "Can you walk that distance?"

"I’ll manage." Owen said, amused by the puny human caring about a dragon.

"Good." She handed him a water flask from her satchel. "Drink. I can tell you’re dehydrated. I can see it in your eyes."

Owen took the flask. She was right. His mouth was dry, his head slightly foggy. Recovery from the Sovereignty had left him depleted in ways he was still cataloging.

They left the workshop together.

The street had changed. The earlier crowd had thinned to scattered pedestrians. The sun had shifted position—afternoon now, approaching evening. Owen had lost track of time inside.

They walked in formation without discussing it. Vorthraxx on point, scanning for threats. Celeste in the middle, her hand resting on her sword hilt but not drawing. Owen at the rear, covering their back despite his injuries.

The market district was exactly what the name suggested. Stalls packed tight, merchants calling prices, the smell of food mixing with less pleasant urban scents. People moved in currents around obstacles—human, yes, but also beastfolk. Cat-eared merchants haggling over fish. A bear-folk blacksmith rival glaring at Celeste as they passed. Lizardfolk guards maintaining order with casual competence.

Nobody looked twice at two hooded figures flanking a human woman. This was normal enough to ignore.

The cathedral loomed ahead. Massive stone construction that dominated the skyline. Stained glass windows depicted scenes Owen couldn’t parse from street level—religious imagery, probably. Stories from whatever theology governed this kingdom.

Celeste’s pace slowed as they approached it. Her hand moved to her sternum unconsciously.

"You okay?" Vorthraxx asked quietly.

"Fine. Keep moving."

But her breathing had changed. Shallower. Faster. And Owen’s mana sense caught the shift—her emotional state had spiked. Fear. Or anger. Or both mixed together.

The sigil was responding. Not glowing yet. But active. Reacting to proximity to the cathedral.

Whatever that mark was, it recognized sacred ground.

And sacred ground recognized it back.

They passed the cathedral without incident and continued east toward the docks.

But Owen couldn’t shake the feeling that they had just walked past something important. A trigger waiting to be pulled. A mechanism counting down.

The warehouse district appeared ahead. Abandoned buildings. Broken windows. The smell of salt water and rotting wood.

And underneath it all, a wrongness in the air. A pressure that made Owen’s scales itch.

The nether rift was close.