Bob The Dragon Layer

The Aftermath of Victory

The queen lay crumpled on the ground, her wings twitching weakly as the last remnants of life drained from her massive form. The wind, which had once howled violently through the ravine, began to calm, the oppressive gusts fading into a gentle breeze. The remaining wind bees, disoriented by the death of their queen, buzzed frantically in the air before retreating into the skies, vanishing as quickly as they had appeared.

Bob stood at the center of it all, his chest still heaving with exertion, his shield hanging loosely in his hand. The adrenaline coursing through his veins made the world seem sharper, more vivid. He stared at the fallen queen, disbelief still etched on his face.

"I... I actually did it," Bob muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible. His mind was still trying to catch up with what had just happened. He had struck the queen's weak point with such precision that it felt like something beyond him, almost like the gods themselves had guided his hand.

Beside him, Anyala straightened, brushing off the dust from her clothes. She had played her part well, faking injury at the right moment to ensure Bob's success. But now, as she looked at him, there was something deeper in her gaze—an unspoken admiration. He had risen to the challenge, even if he didn't know just how much help he had received.

Tarran strode forward, his armor clinking with each step, his eyes wide with awe as he approached Bob. "I've seen many soldiers fight," he said, his voice filled with an uncharacteristic admiration, "but I've never seen anything like that. That strike—it was flawless."

Bob shook his head, his brow furrowed. "I didn't even know what I was doing. I just... moved."

Tarran laughed, a sound that startled Bob given how serious his brother usually was. "That's the gift, Bob. The gods gave you that instinct. It's why you survived the bandits, why the villagers think you're blessed. It's clear to me now—Medea has chosen you for something greater."

Bob blinked, unsure how to respond. The idea that he had been chosen by the gods still felt too large, too impossible to grasp. He looked down at the queen's body, his mind replaying the moment when he had struck the final blow. The odds had been stacked against him. The wind, the chaos, the sheer size of the creature—none of it should have allowed him to succeed.

And yet, here he stood.

Anyala watched Bob closely, her gaze flickering with something unreadable. She had altered probability, yes, but it had still been Bob who had delivered the strike. He had proven himself capable, more than worthy of the journey ahead. But there was no need for him to know the full extent of her involvement—not yet.

"You saved us," Anyala said softly, stepping closer to Bob. Her voice was warm, genuine, and filled with pride. "You saved me."

Bob met her gaze, his heart fluttering in his chest. "I couldn't have done it without you," he said, his voice quiet. "I thought... I thought I lost you when that last gust hit."

Anyala smiled faintly. "I'm tougher than I look."

Tarran cleared his throat, drawing their attention. "This is only the beginning, Bob," he said, his tone serious once more. "We'll face much worse than wind bees at the border. But today, you've proven that you have what it takes."

Bob nodded slowly, his mind still processing everything that had happened. Tarran's words echoed in his ears—you have what it takes. For the first time, Bob allowed himself to believe it. He had always seen himself as weak, as someone who didn't belong in the world of warriors and soldiers. But now, with Tarran's approval and Anyala's trust, something inside him had shifted.

He wasn't the discarded prince anymore. He wasn't the servant sent to waste away in a forgotten barony. He was more than that—he was a protector.

Tarran clapped Bob on the shoulder, a rare smile crossing his face. "We'll camp here for the night," he said. "Rest up. Tomorrow, we move toward the western front. There's a war waiting for us, and you're going to play a part in it."

Bob's stomach twisted at the thought of war, but he pushed the fear aside. He had fought today, and he had won. He could do it again. He had to.

The campfire crackled softly as night fell, the stars above twinkling in a cloudless sky. The tension of the battle had long since faded, replaced by a quiet sense of calm. Bob sat by the fire, his shield resting against a nearby rock. His thoughts swirled with everything that had happened—the queen, the wind bees, Tarran's praise.

Anyala sat across from him, her silver eyes reflecting the firelight. She hadn't said much since the fight, but her presence was reassuring, a constant in the whirlwind of uncertainty Bob had been thrust into.

"Are you okay?" Bob asked, breaking the silence.

Anyala looked up, a faint smile on her lips. "I should be the one asking you that," she replied. "You're the one who fought off a queen."

Bob chuckled, though it was tinged with disbelief. "I still don't know how I did it. It just... happened."

"Sometimes instinct takes over," Anyala said softly. "You're stronger than you realize, Bob. You always have been."

Her words sent a warmth through him, different from the fire's heat. He looked at her, studying her face for a moment, and for the first time, he realized how much her presence had changed him. She had been with him through the darkest moments, always offering guidance, always believing in him even when he didn't believe in himself.

"I wouldn't have made it this far without you," Bob said, his voice sincere.

Anyala smiled, a soft, knowing look in her eyes. "I think you would have. But I'm glad I could help."

They sat in silence for a while, the crackling of the fire the only sound between them. Bob's mind was still racing with thoughts of the future—of the war, of the army, of what it meant to be chosen by the gods. But here, by the fire, with Anyala beside him, the weight of it all seemed a little easier to bear.

Tomorrow, the journey would continue. Tarran would push him harder, the battles would become fiercer, and the war would demand more than he had ever given before. But tonight, at least, he could rest.

And he wasn't alone.