"Get up, lazy fish!" Bendry grinned. "We were supposed to leave at dawn!"

  Samwyll rolled onto his stomach, face smothered into lumpy straw. Samwyll groaned into it, willing death to take him.

  "Dawn was a suggestion," he muttered, voice muffled by sleep and a deep, unrepentant lack of motivation.

  "Dawn was two hours ago!"

  "Well—then it’s already gone. Nothing I can do about it."

  A patter of footsteps skimmed the floor. Samwyll cracked an eye open just in time to see Bendry reaching for the bucket by the door. “Oh, you little shh—“

  A wave of ice-cold water crashed over him, shocking the breath straight from his lungs. Samwyll shot upright, dripping and glaring daggers at the grinning menace that stood over him. His little brother was a mess of sandy curls. Freckles dusted his nose, his skin still flushed from the morning chill.

  Bendry tossed the empty bucket aside and folded his arms.

  "Rise and shine, you sluggish river rat! The day’s not waiting for you!”

  Samwyll wiped water from his face. "I am going to—."

  “Thank me?” Bendry cut in. “No need. You’re welcome.”

  Samwyll swung his legs off the bed and stretched, his bones protesting as he ran a hand through the dark hair that sopped down to his neck. "Fine. I’m up. Happy?"

  “Very. Now move.” He shoved Samwyll’s boots toward him. “I’m not letting you ruin another adventure by sleeping all day.”

  Samwyll winced as he bent forward, head throbbing like a dock bell. “Adventure?”

  "Please, please tell me you didn’t drink so much you forgot about my cave.”

  Samwyll blinked.

  "My cave. My discovery. The most important thing in your life?”

  Samwyll frowned, rubbing at his temples. The cave. The Hinterwoods. A half-day’s hike at least. He squinted at Bendry, who was looking too awake for this early in the morning. “…I don’t remember agreeing to that.”

  “Oh, that’s weird,” Bendry said, rocking back on his heels. “Because last night? You were very excited about it. Went on about how you didn’t take me on enough adventures, how I was the best little brother in the world—”

  Samwyll froze, half-booted foot hovering.

  “—and how you’d never let me down.”

  Samwyll’s stomach sank. Fragments of last night flickered back, too much ale, Bendry badgering him, the warm, sentimental haze of drink softening his better judgment. Samwyll sighed, long and drawn out, like a man preparing for execution.

  “Well, you’d never let me down, right?”

  “Gods.”

  Bendry’s grin could’ve set the whole damn village on fire.

  Then, with great suffering, Samwyll put on his second boot. “I hate adventures.”

  “But you love me.” Bendry clapped him on the shoulder. “Now hurry up. I’m not leaving on an empty stomach.”

  The docks of Lowreach were fully awake by the time the Thrayne brothers stepped onto the worn wooden planks. Fishmongers unloaded their nets, merchants haggled over the morning's catch, and a pair of dockhands were already brawling over something neither Samwyll nor Bendry cared enough to investigate.

  Bendry flowed through the crowd like water, quick and effortless. Samwyll followed at his own pace, nodding at a few familiar faces, earning a few in return.

  “Morning, Bendry!” called an old dockhand, shoving a barrel into place.

  Bendry waved. “Morning, Thom! Catch anything bigger than a brinefin today?”

  Thom snorted. “Bigger than you, at least.”

  A weaver glanced up from her spindle, sighing as Bendry dipped into an exaggerated bow. Samwyll trailed behind again, boots scuffing against the worn wooden planks. He stretched, rolling a kink from his shoulders, blinking as Bendry turned back to him, already exasperated.

  “You’ll be old before we even leave.”

  “Good,” Samwyll muttered. “Then I won’t have to go.”

  Bendry huffed, ready to argue, until the scent of warm bread curled through the air and whatever complaint he had, died on his tongue.

  The Riverstone bakery sat squat between two wooden cottages. Its stone walls were streaked with soot from years of fire-kissed mornings. The scent of baking bread wrapped around them like a warm embrace, rich and heavy, making Samwyll’s stomach tighten with quiet appreciation. Bendry was already ahead, practically bouncing as he reached the doorway. Mira stood with her arms crossed, watching him with an amused smirk. She was a stout woman, her apron dusted with flour, her sun-spotted skin lined with the kind of warmth that came from years of watching village troublemakers grow up under her watch.

  “Off to get into trouble already?” she asked, tossing Bendry a still-warm roll without waiting for an answer.

  Bendry caught it easily, biting into it with a dramatic sigh of happiness. “Always.”

  Mira chuckled, ruffling his unruly curls before glancing past him to Samwyll, who had just reached the doorway. She tossed him a roll as well, and he caught it one-handed, nodding his thanks as he took a bite. It was warm and soft, the perfect balance of crisp crust and airy dough. If there was a single good thing about mornings in Lowreach, it was Mira’s bread.

  Mira studied them both. “So? Where are you two headed?”

  Bendry choked on a mouthful too big, swiped a hand over his chin, scattering crumbs. “The Hinterwoods! It’s gonna be—”

  Samwyll cut him off before he could start. “It’s just a walk, Mira. A little hike through some trees. Boring. Harmless. Nothing worth getting worked up over.”

  She looked them over, “Don’t come back missing an eyebrow.”

  Bendry swallowed a bite with a dramatic sigh. “That was one time.”

  “Once is all it takes, little fox.”

  Samwyll chewed his bread in silence, waiting for the moment Mira decided to stop interrogating them.

  Her gaze lingered on Samwyll for a breath longer than he liked so he swallowed his last bite and stepped back. “We should get going.”

  “But we just got here.”

  Samwyll flicked the boy’s ear. “And now we’re leaving.”

  Mira shook her head, stepping back into the warmth of the bakery. “Try not to be a complete nuisance out there”

  “No promises,” Bendry called, stuffing the rest of his bread into his mouth as he hurried to follow Samwyll back uphill, back to the fishing hut they called home.

  It was a weathered thing of warped wood and salt-stained beams, squatting near the river’s edge like it had been born there. It was a patchwork of necessity rather than comfort, but it had seen them through storms and sheltered them from trouble. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of the river, and the faint trace of old fish that no amount of scrubbing could chase away. The loft had little more than their straw mattresses, a few scattered blankets, and the old iron stove where they cooked and where they huddled when the nights got too cold.

  Samwyll crouched by his old chest, flipping it open with a creak. Rope, lantern, his fishing pack, water, food—he packed fast, taking only what mattered. He’d learned long ago that what you thought you needed wasn’t always what kept you alive. Across the room, Bendry was packing like he expected to be knighted by sundown. Samwyll glanced over and sighed.

  "Why do you have a spyglass?"

  "For spying," Bendry said, as if it were obvious.

  Samwyll grunted. "And the coins?"

  "For spending."

  "In the middle of the woods."

  Bendry ignored him, reaching for a knife. It was dull and rusted, barely sharp enough to cut bread. Samwyll pinched the bridge of his nose, muttered a curse, and tossed a sharper blade onto the bed.

  "Use that instead."

  Bendry frowned. "But this one’s mine."

  "That one’s useless."

  "It’s got sentimental value."

  "Great. When you’re trapped, you can reminisce about all the times it almost worked."

  Bendry scowled but swapped the knives. Samwyll slung his satchel over his shoulder, taking one last look at their gear. It wasn’t much, but it would do.

  Bendry was already bouncing on his heels, impatient. "Ready?"

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Samwyll glanced at the door and sighed. The river was calling, the road waiting, and Samwyll had the distinct sense that somewhere out there, trouble was already setting the stage.

  "Yeah," he muttered. "Let’s go."

  The village shrank behind them, swallowed by the gentle rise and fall of the land. Rolling fields stretched out on either side, dotted with clusters of grazing sheep, their thick coats damp with morning dew. Low stone fences lined the road in uneven rows, some crumbling with age, others sturdy enough to keep in all but the most determined livestock.

  Bendry walked ahead, arms swinging loose, humming some half-remembered tavern tune. Samwyll let him. He always had. He let him chase stories, chase adventure, chase the kind of life Samwyll had never had time for.

  The air was crisp, thick with the scent of damp earth, wildflowers, and the lingering salt that drifted from the distant river. They passed the last stretch of open fields, the land folding into the Hinterwoods where dark pines rose in tangled clusters, their thick trunks swallowing the narrow path as it bent into the forest’s waiting mouth. At the edges, the underbrush thickened, the thorns twisting forward, grasping toward the road like fingers eager to catch hold. It was the kind of place that never felt empty, never felt still. Even in silence, something unseen watched.

  Samwyll sighed. "Still time to turn back."

  Bendry only grinned over his shoulder. Samwyll shook his head, his lips quirking toward something not quite a frown. They followed the winding trail, dust curling behind them, the sun climbing higher at their backs.

  "If this cave turns out to be another one of your hidden treasures that’s just a hole in the ground, I swear I’m leaving you in it," Samwyll muttered, adjusting the weight of his satchel.

  Bendry didn’t miss a beat. "Where’s your sense of adventure?"

  Samwyll snorted. "Back in bed, where you dragged me from."

  With every mile, the forest tightened its grip. Sunlight fractured through the leaves in shifting shards of gold and green, painting restless patterns across the ground. The dirt path beneath their boots had withered to a narrow, uneven thread, winding between gnarled roots and fallen logs, nearly indistinguishable from the forest floor.

  Pine sap clung thick in the air. Beneath it, something older lingered, the musk of decaying leaves, the faint, unsettling rot of something long buried beneath the underbrush.

  Bendry moved ahead with an easy confidence, stepping over gnarled roots without a second thought, his boots crunching against a layer of dead leaves. His excitement hadn’t waned, even as the path grew rougher, more tangled.

  Samwyll, as always, kept his eyes on the shadows. The Hinterwoods wasn’t a place that welcomed visitors. It didn’t have to chase you away. It simply let you wander deep enough to lose your bearings, let the trees shift just enough to make the path seem unfamiliar, let the creeping hush of something unseen make your skin prickle. Samwyll was never a superstitious man, but he trusted his gut. And right now, it was telling him to pay attention.

  Samwyll halted mid-step. Something was wrong. The silence struck first, like the world had sucked in a breath and forgotten to let it go.

  No wind.

  No birdsong.

  Not even the whisper of something unseen in the underbrush. Just a stillness so complete it pressed in from all sides, thick as mist. Samwyll’s fingers drifted toward his knife, the cool metal grounding him. Bendry, of course, barely noticed.

  "Not much further," he said, voice bright, utterly unaware of the weight that had settled over the woods. "You’re gonna owe me an apology when you see this place."

  Samwyll didn’t answer.

  He scanned the trees, slow and methodical, searching for anything wrong. A shape that shouldn’t be there. A shadow that moved when it shouldn’t. His pulse pounded against his throat, a slow, dragging beat. He forced himself to keep moving, but something in his gut curled uneasily.

  His grip on the hilt of his knife tightened before he forced himself to let go. Bendry was already a few paces ahead, waiting expectantly. "You coming, or are you just gonna stand there?"

  Samwyll huffed. The silence clung to him, unwelcome and unshakable, but if Bendry felt it, he gave no indication. He let it ease out of him, rolling his shoulders to shake off the tightness creeping up his back. He set his jaw, and matched his brother’s pace.

  The cave was little more than a yawn in the stone, half-choked with vines, hidden between two leaning formations as if the land had tried to swallow it whole. Shadows pooled deep within, stretching into unknown blackness. The air near the entrance was cool, damp, laced with the scent of moss and wet stone.

  Bendry practically vibrated with excitement.

  "See?" he declared, yanking at the vines with both hands, sending dry leaves fluttering to the ground. "I told you it was real!"

  Samwyll crossed his arms, unimpressed. "I see a hole in the ground. Congratulations."

  Bendry scoffed. "It’s not just a hole. It’s an ancient cave!"

  "Ancient, huh?" Samwyll drawled, stepping closer, eyeing the jagged rock like it might suddenly start spewing gold. "Looks like a place duskrats piss in."

  Bendry scoffed, stepping into the mouth of the cave, peering into the darkness beyond. "You’re the least fun person I know. You have no sense of wonder."

  Samwyll tapped a finger against the hilt of his knife. "I have a sense of not dying in a hole." Bendry ignored him, already caught up in whatever grand adventure he imagined lay within.

  Samwyll sighed, raking a hand through his hair. The forest behind them was still too quiet, the hush unnatural, like the world itself was holding its breath. That weight in his gut had only grown heavier. His skin pricked as he crossed the threshold. The air was damp, heavy like a held breath. Shadows shifted in the lantern light, stretching too long along the walls. Their footsteps echoed sharp and uneven against slick stone.

  The scent of wet earth and stale air coiled in Samwyll’s lungs, heavy with something older, something wrong. His fingers twitched toward his knife, just in case.

  Bendry, undeterred, strode ahead like an explorer of legend, eyes bright with expectation.

  "This is it," he murmured, running a hand along the wall. "This has to be it."

  Samwyll wasn’t convinced.

  The deeper they went, the clearer it became that time had already taken what little had once been here. The tunnel walls slumped inward where the stone had cracked, long-abandoned wooden beams barely holding up sections that should have collapsed years ago. Their boots kicked up thick dust, revealing broken shards of pottery, rusted scraps of metal, and little else. Bendry pressed forward, weaving between fallen rocks and ducking under hanging roots that had forced their way through the ceiling. Corner after corner, dust and stone, the deeper they went, the worse it got

  Bendry scuffed his boot against a loose stone, sighing heavily. His shoulders, once held high with the excitement of discovery, slumped. “There has to be something here."

  The cave had given them nothing but dust, the kind that clung to their skin and settled deep in their throats, thick enough to taste. Bendry stood at the entrance, his shoulders drawn tight, his fingers curling and uncurling like he meant to hold onto something that wasn’t there. Samwyll knew that look. He had seen it too many times before, on too many faces, in too many places where wonder met reality and lost. The world had limits. Bendry had never liked that. Samwyll should have said something, should have found the right words to smooth the edges of that disappointment before it set in. But words had never been his gift. So he did what he could, clapping Bendry on the shoulder and hoping it was enough.

  "Better luck next time." His voice bounced off the stone.

  Somewhere ahead there was a whisper of movement, a dry scrape, then a shuffle and soft drag of something shifting over loose stone.

  Both of them froze.

  Bendry turned slowly, eyes wide, scanning the darkness. Sam reached for his knife, instinct thrumming at the base of his spine.

  Something was there.

  He heard another faint rustle and he answered with a sharp inhale.

  Bendry swallowed. “Did you hear—”

  The darkness hissed, sharp and sudden. It sliced through the silence. A blur of fur and claws tore from the shadows, kicking up dust as it sprang forward.

  Bendry yelped as a wild-eyed raccoon launched itself at his chest and used his shoulder as a springboard. It hit the ground in a frantic tangle of limbs, skidding across the stone before righting itself. Then, with one last indignant chitter, it vanished into the dark.

  Samwyll wheezed, half-dead with laughter. Bendry stood there, stunned, hands still raised as if expecting a an attack. He turned slowly, blinking after the raccoon’s disappearing tail. “That thing was deranged.”

  Samwyll, wheezing, braced a hand against the cave wall.

  “I—” He gasped for breath. “You—”

  He shook his head, choking on laughter. “You almost got taken out by a raccoon.”

  Bendry scowled, brushing off his coat. “It was an ambush.”

  Sam clapped him on the shoulder, still grinning. “Yeah, yeah. Legendary.”

  Bendry huffed, gathering the last shreds of his dignity. “Right. Well. This cave sucks. Let’s go.”

  Samwyll stepped out first, boots scuffing against loose stone as he emerged into the late afternoon light. The crisp forest air was a relief after the damp, stagnant weight of the tunnels. He stretched, rolling his shoulders as he glanced back at Bendry, who still looked vaguely betrayed by the cave. The cave had been nothing. Just dust and silence and dead things, but still Bendry had believed in it. Standing at the entrance, watching him scuff his boot against the dirt, Samwyll could see the way disappointment settled over him like dust from the tunnel walls.

  Bendry gave the cave one last bitter glance, then kicked a rock across the clearing. It skittered off into the underbrush, swallowed by the forest's hush. Samwyll said nothing. The trees stood still around them, tall and quiet.

  "Cheer up," Samwyll smirked. "At least we didn’t die in there."

  Bendry muttered something about next time, but whatever promise he was making vanished beneath a thunderous roar.

  The forest erupted. Birds broke from the branches in a flurry of wings, scattering into the sky. A shadow cut across the canopy, swift and sharp. Above, wings thrashed like banners caught in a storm. Two dragons were twisting and snapping, scales flashing in the light, one dark as charred stone, the other glinting silver and blue. They slammed together with bone-shaking force, teeth raking, talons slicing through the air.

  The sound rattled his ribs, a hollow, gut-deep thing. Fire arced between them. They fought as if neither could afford to lose. He took a step back without meaning to, heart hammering against his ribs. His breath came shallow.

  He’d seen storms crack the sky, seen the river flood its banks and swallow homes whole, but this was something else. The dragons wheeled above, swallowing the light, and for a moment, the world tilted, like the breath before a fall, when the ground drops.

  Then the sky darkened and a shadow moved, slow and soundless. Its wings stretched wider than a warship’s sails, its body a mass of dark, gleaming muscle. The air itself seemed to pull toward it.

  The two dragons, fierce and wild just moments before, now looked like sparring hatchlings in its shadow.

  Samwyll’s breath left him, tight and uneven. Bendry’s fingers clenched around his sleeve, but he couldn’t tear his eyes from the sky. His body had gone still, his mind slowing into something sharp and wordless.

  The giant twisted across the sky in a blur faster than Samwyll could track. It struck like lightning. The black dragon barely had time to turn before talons ripped through its spine. It folded inward, and fell.

  Samwyll barely registered the distant thunder of its impact. His gaze was locked on the sky, where the monster had already turned, banking smoothly through the clouds.

  His breath came shallow. He had lived his whole life without seeing a dragon, and now they had seen three all at once.

  "Samwyll."

  His voice shook, but not with fear, with something else.

  "Samwyll..."

  "We have to go," Bendry said, eyes wide. "We have to find it."

  Samwyll stared at him like he’d just grown a second head. Then he yanked his arm free and took a deliberate back step in the opposite direction. He opened his mouth, ready to tell Bendry exactly how many ways this was a terrible idea, but the look in his brother’s eyes stopped him. Not just a hunger for excitement or pure recklessness, but the kind of hunger that had nothing to do with adventure and everything to do with believing, just for a second, that the world was bigger than the one they’d been given. Samwyll hated that it made him pause. He hated that for a flicker of a second, he wanted to say yes.

  “That was a dragon, Samwyll." His voice edged on breathless awe. He wasn't grinning anymore. His hands curled into fists, his whole body humming with something beyond excitement, something bigger, something that burned. “Do you know what that means?”

  Samwyll threw up his hands. “Yes. It means we keep our very flammable bodies far away.”

  Bendry ignored him. He took a step forward. Samwyll grabbed his arm and yanked him back.

  “Bendry, we do not run toward falling dragons!”

  Bendry smirked. “You’ll have to catch me first.”

  Samwyll watched as Bendry vanished into the trees, already sprinting full-tilt toward whatever mad idea had just rooted itself in his skull. Samwyll's gut twisted. Samwyll’s feet didn’t move. He knew better. He always knew better. Last time, Samwyll had found Bendry half-drowned in the river, laughing through a busted lip. The time before that? Buried under a collapsed barn, grinning through the dust. Samwyll knew this feeling. He’d felt it every time Bendry ran. The question was never if he’d follow, only how fast.

  Bendry’s footsteps were already vanishing into the trees, swallowed by the hush of the forest. Samwyll could let him go. Just this once. Let the fool chase his dragon. Maybe he’d come back.

  His fingers twitched toward his knife.

  No, he won’t.

  Samwyll shook his head, muttering a string of curses. But Bendry was already gone. Samwyll knew, with a bitter twist in his chest, that there were only ever two choices with his brother, run with him, or lose him to whatever had caught his eye. And because he was Samwyll and Bendry was Bendry, he ran too, the thought ever chasing him like a shadow.

  This was a mistake.