"Let me think about it carefully," Aiona finally said after a long, heavy silence, addressing the people surrounding her with hopeful, expectant gazes. "This isn't a decision I can make lightly."
"But mother—" her son Garam started with a protesting voice, clearly wanting to argue and press the issue further. But he was abruptly cut off when his mouth was suddenly stuffed with a sugar-coated rice cake that Grendran quickly grabbed from a nearby plate and shoved unceremoniously into the young man's open mouth.
"Let's think about this serious matter later," Grendran said gruffly but kindly, agreeing with Aiona's need for time. "It's not like she's leaving right this very moment. We have time. We can think through all the implications later when our heads are clearer."
He got up from his chair, the sturdy furniture holding his huge frame with the last reserves of its strength, creaking ominously.
Garam did not look happy with this postponement or agree with that notion at all. But with his mouth full, he had little choice but to start chewing on the sweet rice cake slowly, swallowing his protests along with the food.
"Besides, the foundation festival is right upon us now," Grendran continued in a more cheerful tone, clearly trying to lighten the heavy mood. "And that grand celebration doesn't come again until next year—so why don't we enjoy it to the fullest while we can? No use dwelling on dark thoughts during festival time."
Grendran then walked over to a large wooden cupboard positioned nearby and opened it with both of his massive hands, revealing shelves lined with bottles.
"And I got just the perfect thing for this occasion!" he announced with obvious enthusiasm. "A vendor sold me a rare foreign wine bottle that is absolutely perfect for creating a festive atmosphere!"
He reached in and carefully pulled out an elegant glass bottle, gripping it by its long neck.
"This baby right here came a long way from my motherland—the Western Kingdom of Yergan," he explained proudly, holding the bottle up to examine it in the light. "And one thing I know for certain about this particular wine is that nothing else can beat it for quality and taste. And I also got some excellent fruit wine delivered early from the local vendors too. Let's drink until we drop! Let's celebrate life while we can!"
He walked back over to the table and slammed the bottle down enthusiastically on the poor, abused table surface. He efficiently removed all the coffee cups they'd been using and replaced them with proper wine glasses. Then he retrieved several more bottles of fruit wine from the cellar storage.
Aiona genuinely wanted to decline the invitation to drink because she was notoriously weak to fermented beverages and alcohol of any kind. It wasn't that alcohol was poison to her exactly—it wouldn't kill her or cause permanent damage. But it would absolutely incapacitate her, making her completely helpless and vulnerable. That's why she normally avoided drinking like it was a plague, not even willing to be anywhere near strong alcohol.
Aside from their fated mate, a dragon's greatest weakness was alcohol. Or more accurately, their complete incapability to hold their liquor without becoming absolutely drunk.
"Now, now, don't you dare say no to me, Furna," Grendran said, using her old alias name with a knowing grin. "Even though I know very well you can't hold your liquor worth a damn, I also know that you absolutely love the taste of wine. You can't resist it."
He chuckled at the memory. "Back then during our adventures, you would drink wine enthusiastically and make Ferga the elf heal you afterwards with her holy magic, removing the drunkenness—only so you could drink again and again without consequences! Ferga was pretty mad at you for wasting her precious magic on such entertainment and frivolity. Yet she would cure you of the effects anyway because she couldn't resist your pleading. You youngsters should have seen those days! Oh wait, you all weren't even born back then!"
Grendran laughed loudly and heartily at his own memories.
He was deliberately trying to make the somber, uncertain atmosphere better and lighter. And his efforts worked like magic, transforming the mood entirely. Before very long, the bottles were opened with satisfying pops, and the fragrant fermented beverages filled the glasses to their brims. They began to chug the wine enthusiastically again and again, refilling repeatedly. Before much time had passed at all, they were all laughing loudly and talking even more loudly, their voices rising in volume and joy.
Still, Aiona was cautious. She took only a small sip of the wine, barely wetting her lips. And that tiny amount alone made her feel immediately light-headed and dizzy, the room beginning to spin slightly. She got pretty drunk remarkably quickly. But not quite to the point where she couldn't comprehend what was going on around her—she could still follow conversations and events.
Grendran launched enthusiastically into telling them the dramatic story of how their party had defeated the legendary leviathan all those years ago. The young ones—Garam and Yana—had probably heard that particular tale a thousand times since they were small children. But they still listened attentively to the old warrior anyway, caught up in his animated storytelling.
"...So the elf Ferga was positioned behind us in the formation, constantly healing us with her powerful holy magic..." Grendran's deep voice rumbled. "Furna and I were the ones closest to the beast, forming the first line of attackers, taking the brunt of its fury... The mage Hergan was creating floating magic anchors for me to step on in the air so I could maneuver... Below us was nothing but water, the endless ocean... Furna used her devastating fire magic constantly against the beast, hurling flames..."
He paused dramatically. "It had absolutely no effect on the beast at first, its scales too thick... until I finally made a critical opening in its armor with my enchanted axe, cutting deep... After that breach, Furna went completely all out on the exposed wound, pouring fire directly inside... The rest is history, as they say..."
The fragmented pieces of the exciting story reached Aiona's dulled ears from time to time as she drifted in and out of focus. Her senses were significantly dulled by the alcohol, and her mind felt pleasantly foggy and distant. And she found herself giggling uncontrollably at things that weren't particularly funny.
After some time had passed, Yana stood up and started dancing energetically to a traditional folk song that Garam and Grendran began to sing together with rhythmic claps. And Aiona, feeling uninhibited, happily joined Yana in the dancing, spinning and swaying.
It was genuinely a fun time, full of joy and laughter. The time she spent in the cafe blurred together pleasantly, moments blending into each other. At some point—she wasn't sure exactly when—Aiona collapsed and fell asleep at another table positioned in the corner of the cafe. She dimly felt someone gently covering her with a soft blanket, tucking it around her carefully. A sense of warm security flooded her heart at the caring gesture. She let herself completely relax and let go of all her worries, surrendering to sleep. It was something she hadn't been able to do in the last few anxiety-filled days.
---
When Aiona woke up abruptly, jolted from sleep because a sudden sense of dread overwhelmed her consciousness, she immediately realized with confusion that she wasn't still at the cafe where she'd fallen asleep.
She was somehow in her own room at her palace. The familiar curtains swayed gently in the breeze, letting the warm light of sunrise stream in through the windows. Based on the angle of the light, it seemed to be mid-afternoon now.
As she sat up abruptly in bed, her head immediately pounded with pain and the terrible hangover poured in like water from a broken dam, overwhelming her senses.
"Ow. Ow. Ow," she muttered under her breath, grabbing her throbbing head with both palms and pressing, trying to relieve the pressure. She had taken maybe three small sips of wine the entire night—barely anything at all. Why was the hangover this absolutely terrible? It seemed disproportionate to what she'd consumed.
Now she found herself desperately wishing her elf friend Ferga could be here to cure her with holy magic like in the old days. But Ferga had long since left for the distant north, settling in some kingdom called Draga—located in the foot of the towering mountain Serana. Ferga had written to her occasionally over the years, but it didn't seem like she had any plans to return south anytime soon.
"...The abundant dragon magic that saturates Draga makes me extremely reluctant to leave this place..." Ferga had written to her once, explaining her attachment to that northern land.
After the splitting headache faded just enough for Aiona to take in her surroundings without feeling violently dizzy, she finally looked around her room more carefully.
How exactly had she gotten back here to her palace? It couldn't be that she had simply walked back here on her own—she'd been far too drunk for that. So had Yana and Garam brought her back somehow, carrying her?
But those two had seemed even more drunk than she was by the end of the night, far too intoxicated to accomplish such a feat of carrying her all the way back. So how had this happened? Who had brought her home?
And she suddenly realized she should check up on Hunter too, make sure he was safe. In a corner of her mind, that sense of dread that had woken her up so abruptly still lingered persistently like a venomous snake slithering in a dark corner, refusing to leave. What exactly was this terrible feeling? Where was it coming from?
Was something seriously wrong? Then what was it specifically? The anxious questions filled her mind, multiplying. And to find answers for those pressing questions, Aiona decided she needed to get up immediately and find Yana first to ask what had happened.
"I'm never drinking alcohol again," she told herself firmly as she tried to get up from the bed. But she was immediately forced back down onto the mattress because of an intense dizzying feeling that made the room spin violently. Her limbs failed her completely, refusing to obey her commands. She let out a heavy, frustrated sigh. "Never again. I mean it this time."
And when she finally managed to get up successfully on her second attempt, manifesting a warm shawl over her shoulders with magic to cover herself modestly, the door to her room suddenly opened without any warning knock, making her flinch in surprise.
"Yana?" Aiona asked hopefully after she composed herself, expecting to see her servant.
But the person who entered the room wasn't Yana at all.