Bob The Dragon Layer

A Dance with the Gods

The village square was alive with the sound of laughter and music. Lanterns hung between buildings, casting a warm glow over the cobblestone streets as villagers celebrated in the wake of their newfound hero. Bob stood at the center of it all, the focus of admiration and awe. He was no longer the forgotten servant sent to the barony to waste away—he was Bob the Hero, the man who had protected the village from bandits, a man now whispered to be touched by the gods themselves.

The air smelled of roasted meats and spiced wine, mingling with the sweet scent of blooming flowers from the garlands strung across the square. Villagers moved about, clapping Bob on the back, offering him drinks, their faces alight with joy and gratitude. Children danced around his legs, singing songs of heroism that had already begun to circulate in his honor. He smiled at them, his heart full, though he couldn't shake the strange sense of disbelief that all of this was really happening.

It was a far cry from the life he had been forced into just weeks ago.

From the edge of the square, Anyala watched with a knowing smile. She had seen this kind of thing before—the rise of someone from obscurity to legend. But there was something about Bob that made it feel different, something genuine and earnest in the way he accepted the villagers' praise. He hadn't fought for fame or glory; he had fought because it was the right thing to do. And now, they were lifting him up, crowning him a hero of divine favor.

"Bob!" a villager shouted from across the square. "Give us a dance with your lady!"

The crowd erupted in laughter and cheers, turning to Bob with expectant eyes. Bob's face flushed red, and he looked over to Anyala, who stood calmly at the edge of the square, her silver hair gleaming under the lantern light.

"Go on, then!" one of the older women laughed, nudging Bob toward her. "You've earned it, boy!"

Bob swallowed hard, his hands suddenly clammy as he made his way toward Anyala. She watched him approach, her lips curving into a soft, amused smile.

"I'm not much of a dancer," Bob said awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck.

"Neither am I," Anyala replied, her voice warm. "But tonight, I think we can both make an exception."

Before he could protest further, Anyala stepped forward and took his hand, leading him into the center of the square. The music swelled, and the villagers clapped and cheered as the two of them began to dance. Bob moved stiffly at first, unsure of himself, but Anyala's gentle grace seemed to put him at ease. Slowly, he found his rhythm, and the world around them seemed to fade, leaving just the two of them beneath the lantern-lit sky.

As they danced, Bob's thoughts swirled. His mind replayed the events of the last few days—the battle with the bandits, the whispers of divine intervention, the overwhelming praise from the villagers. It all felt so surreal, and yet, here he was, holding the hand of a woman he had come to care for deeply, dancing in the middle of a festival held in his honor.

But even as he moved with Anyala, there was a nagging sense of unease at the back of his mind. Something wasn't right. He couldn't place it, but the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He glanced around the square, his eyes scanning the crowd, but saw nothing out of the ordinary—just smiling faces, villagers celebrating without a care in the world.

And yet...

High above the square, on a rooftop cloaked in shadow, a figure moved silently. Dressed in dark robes, the assassin watched the scene below with cold, calculating eyes. His target was easy to spot—the man at the center of it all, Bob. The assassin's hand tightened around the hilt of his blade, his gaze shifting briefly to the woman dancing with him. She was beautiful, almost otherworldly, but she was not the target.

The baron had made it clear—Bob must die.

The assassin was not alone. Several others were positioned throughout the square, blending seamlessly into the crowd, waiting for the perfect moment. Their orders were simple: kill Bob, make it quick, and leave no trace of their involvement. It was a task they had completed countless times before, and tonight would be no different.

Or so they thought.

As Bob twirled Anyala under the warm glow of the lanterns, she could feel the subtle shift in the air. Her senses, far sharper than any human's, picked up the presence of the assassins long before they made their move. Her silver eyes flicked briefly toward the rooftops, where she caught the faintest glint of steel, and her lips pressed into a thin line.

She had known this might happen.

The baron was jealous—furious, even—over the rumors of Bob's divine favor, and it didn't take much imagination to figure out that the man would try to eliminate the threat to his standing. But Anyala wasn't about to let that happen. Not here. Not now.

As the music played on and the villagers danced around them, Anyala subtly extended her magic, her fingers brushing the air as though tracing invisible lines. Several of her scales, hidden beneath her clothes, began to shimmer faintly, detaching from her skin with a silent flicker of light. The scales fell to the ground, almost imperceptible to the human eye, before shifting and growing, transforming into miniature dragon-like creatures no larger than a cat.

The tiny dragons moved quickly, darting through the crowd like shadows, their glowing eyes trained on the assassins hidden among the villagers.