She had her father's eyes. Amber and glowing with inner fire. But where Draegoth was massive and ancient, she was lean and coiled, like a blade waiting to be drawn. Brown hair fell in a thick braid over leather armor that had seen use. Her shoulders were broad for a woman, muscular without bulk.

  "Father," she said without preamble. "I heard you want me to join a party." Her gaze swept over Michael, then settled on Pete. "Michael Cordovan I know. Who are you?"

  "Pete," he said. "Just a B-rank adventurer following Michael's lead."

  Her eyes narrowed. For a moment, the amber glow intensified.

  Then her eyes went wide.

  "B-rank?" She turned to Draegoth, shock breaking through her controlled expression. "Father, what is this?"

  "What do you sense?" Draegoth asked calmly, as if he'd expected this reaction.

  "Dragon essence." Diana's voice was barely above a whisper. She looked back at Pete, and he felt the weight of her scrutiny like physical pressure. "Ancient and powerful. Old enough to be..." She trailed off, disbelief warring with certainty in her expression.

  "Malachar," Draegoth confirmed.

  Diana took a step back. "That's impossible. Malachar's essence would kill a human. It would burn them from the inside out. No mortal body could contain it." She looked at Pete again, reassessing. "How are you alive?"

  "Divine blessings," Pete said. "A goddess named Aria made a mistake. She overcharged me with power I didn't ask for and couldn't control."

  "A mistake." Diana's tone was flat. "A goddess made a mistake, and you survived Malachar's essence as a result."

  "More or less."

  "And you're B-rank." She turned to her father again, accusatory now. "Why is he not S-rank? With that much power."

  "He does not want it," Draegoth interrupted gently. "Sit, Diana. Let him explain."

  Diana hesitated, then sat in the chair Draegoth gestured to. But her eyes never left Pete.

  "I'm not from this world," Pete said. He'd told this story enough times now that the words came easier. It still hurt though. "I was reincarnated here after my daughter died. I spent ten years punishing myself for not saving her."

  Diana waited, amber eyes patient.

  "When the goddess told me I was being sent to the Demon's

  Maw, the worst place in this world, I didn't ask her to change it." His voice was quiet. "Part of me thought I deserved it."

  "And then Malachar found you," Diana said.

  "Within minutes of arriving. This massive dragon, ancient and powerful." Pete looked at his hands. "I didn't try to fight. I just insulted him and let him swallow me whole."

  Diana's eyes widened slightly.

  "The goddess had given me a blessing. Four uses of immortality, sixty seconds each. It was meant to give me four chances to escape danger." Pete's laugh was bitter. "But I activated all four at once. I was trying to waste

  them. Trying to make sure I'd die."

  "You wanted to die," Diana said quietly.

  "Yes. But the blessing didn't work that way. Stacking all four uses at once, combined with the other divine magic Aria had given me..." He trailed off. "For sixty seconds, I became

  something like a god. And I was so angry. Not at the dragon, but at myself, at everything I'd wasted. So I just punched."

  "And killed Malachar."

  "Completely by accident. I was trying to die. Instead, I killed one of the most powerful creatures in this world and

  absorbed his essence in the process." Pete met Diana's eyes. "That's why I have his power, and why I'm still alive. Not because I wanted to be. I just failed at dying."

  Silence filled the office.

  "You failed at dying," Diana repeated slowly, "and accidentally became one of the most powerful beings on the continent."

  "That's about right," Pete said.

  Something that might have been respect flickered in Diana's

  eyes. "And now you just want to live quietly."

  "Now I'm trying to figure out if living was the right choice," Pete corrected. "Michael's been helping with that."

  Diana looked at Michael with new understanding. Then back to Pete.

  "You're more interesting than I expected," she said.

  "We could use the help," Michael said. "And honestly, having someone who knows the world better than he does would be useful."

  "I know less than most children," Pete admitted. "I'm learning as I go."

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  Diana almost smiled. "At least you're honest." She stood. "I'll do it. I'll travel with you for a time."

  She did not state it as a request. A simple statement of fact.

  "And if it doesn't work out?" Michael asked.

  Diana's amber eyes met his. "Then I leave."

  "Fair enough," Michael said.

  Pete nodded. He respected that. She wasn't asking to join. She was choosing to. And she could choose to leave just as easily.

  "How long do I have to prepare?" Diana asked her father.

  Draegoth smiled. That predatory smile Pete had seen before. "An hour should suffice. We have matters to discuss first."

  He pulled out the paper with the Red Hand location and slid it across the desk.

  Diana's eyes scanned it quickly. Her expression didn't change, but something sharpened in her gaze.

  "The Red Hand," she said. Not a question.

  "Yes," Draegoth confirmed.

  Diana looked at Michael. "This is personal for you."

  "They raided my village twelve years ago," Michael said quietly. "They took my mother and my sister."

  "I see." Diana's tone was neutral, but not dismissive. She looked back at the paper. "They're one of the larger operations. Well-organized, but secretive." A pause. "They are dangerous."

  "We know," Michael said.

  "Do you?" Diana's eyes moved to Pete. "You're powerful, but untrained. Michael is skilled, but B-rank. This isn't a handful of bandits."

  "Which is why we could use your help," Michael said.

  Diana considered this. Then nodded once. "The Red Hand should be destroyed. They've operated too long, taken too many. If you're moving against them..." She looked at her father. "I assume you approve?"

  "I do," Draegoth said. "Though officially, I know nothing about it."

  "Of course." Diana stood. "I will wait for you at the eastern gate in one hour."

  She left without waiting for dismissal, moving with the controlled grace of a fighter.

  The door closed behind her.

  "Well," Pete said into the silence. "That went, better than expected?"

  Draegoth's laugh was quiet but genuine. "She likes you. If she didn't, you'd know."

  "How would we know?" Michael asked.

  "She would have said no immediately." Draegoth settled back in his chair. "Diana doesn't waste time on people she doesn't respect. The fact that she is willing to try means she sees something worth her attention."

  He looked at Pete. "She will test you. Push boundaries. See if you're as honest as you seem. But if you prove yourself, there is no companion more loyal than a dragonkin who has chosen you."

  "No pressure," Pete muttered.

  Michael got out from his chair. "Thank you for your help guild master. We need to get some supplies, before leaving. So if you'll excuse us."

  "Don't forget to pick up your new papers. Everything should be ready. B-rank pass and a registration for an unnamed B-rank party. Leader Michael Cordovan."

  ***

  They settled their business at the guild and rushed over to buy supplies for their journey. Pete had wanted to look at some swords, but he knew this wasn't the moment for that.

  "Let me rearrange our supplies over our packs. Here." Michael handed Pete some coin. "If we get separated, you'll be able to take care of yourself for a little time."

  "Thanks, even though I have no idea if you just handed me a fortune or pocket change."

  Michael seemed to weigh his words. "We'll work on that. It's time to go and meet Diana."

  They headed toward the eastern gate. Michael led them through different streets than they'd taken coming in. Pete didn't notice any slave pens this time. Michael had chosen the route carefully.

  Greyport, without the slavery visible, seemed almost normal. People buying bread. A blacksmith working. Children playing in an alley.

  Almost normal.

  The street they turned onto was mostly empty.

  Pete only saw one closed shop, with a sign depicting a woman in a suggestive state. Pete could guess at its function and why it was closed during the day.

  He heard a girl crying. Not the wailing of a girl, who scraped her knee, but crying filled with despair, of a child that has almost given up, but is clinging to its last hope of someone helping. It came from a covered up wagon that stopped in front of the shop with the disgusting sign and Pete felt himself walking towards the wagon, without consciously doing so.

  "Old man, what are you doing," Michael called over from a few yards away. He probably hadn't noticed Pete wandering off.

  Pete ignored him, because a bulky man wrapped in filthy leather armor and a curved sword and whip hanging on his belt, was opening up the wagon and removing the tarp covering it.

  Pete counted 12 young girls. Most of them had hollow looks and just stared at the sky. Two of them were huddled together. One slightly older girl, trying to comfort the girl crying. She looked up and made eye contact with Pete for a fraction of a second. Before the slaver caught Pete's attention.

  The slaver laughed, seeing Pete staring at the wagon.

  "Sorry, friend. These ones aren't for sale. Already paid for." He winked. "But if you come back in a few hours, you can rent one. Only ten copper for the young ones. They're still being broken in."

  He said it like he was discussing livestock.

  Pete's vision went red.

  The slaver was still smiling when Pete's fist went through his chest.

  He wasn't smiling when Pete pulled it back out.

  Pete's hands were shaking and he forced them still. He had to keep it together.

  He crossed to the back of the wagon in a few strides and without breaking pace reached in and picked up the crying girl, she couldn't have been more than eight or nine by his estimate, small and light in a way that spoke of poor feeding, and tucked her against his chest and kept walking.

  "Come on,” he said over his shoulder to the wagon, not stopping, not looking back. No time. "Anyone who wants to leave, now."

  Most of the children stayed. He had subconsciously expected that and it broke something in him that he kept moving anyway.

  Behind him he heard the wagon creak as someone else jumped down. Then the sound of quick footsteps, catching up to them.

  "Move,” Michael said from somewhere to his right, his voice clipped and operational. "Keep walking, don't run, running draws attention."

  They walked fast, without drawing any attention. Michael leading them and looking like he hadn't just seen Pete putting a fist size hole in a man and taking two girls from a slavers wagon.

  The girl in Pete's arms had stopped crying. She had her face pressed against his shoulder with the immediacy of someone grabbing onto the first solid thing available, her small fingers twisted in his shirt with surprising strength. She hadn't looked at his face yet. She didn't need to. He was warm and solid and moving away from the wagon, and that was enough for now.

  Pete didn't look back to see who had followed. They would handle it later. He kept his eyes forward and his pace steady and thought about nothing except the next street, and the one after that, and getting off this road before alarm bells would start ringing.

  Diana was waiting at the gate, pack ready, weapons checked.

  She saw them walking towards her with purpose. Saw the two children.

  One eyebrow rose.

  "I just freed them," Pete said, not stopping. "Is that going to be a problem?"

  Diana looked at the girl walking with them and looked at the girl in Pete's arms. She saw Michael's expression of weary resignation.

  "We better hurry then," she said, falling into step.

  They walked past the guards, who didn't feel like stopping a powerful dragonkin warrior like Diana. There would be easier prey for them to question and make some coin.

  They walked until Greyport was out sight and sound. Pete welcomed the silence, because he knew he had some explaining to do when they stopped.