Isaac Amberglade was standing outside of the event hall at Brightboots, one hand in his pocket and the other holding on to his invitation for an alumni gala dinner. He watched a periwinkle-tailed comet soar across Hjandhorn’s starry night sky. He loved this city, and the college. He graduated almost five years ago, yet the college still looked exactly as he had left it. Just across the park, beyond the giant marble boot was his old dorm, three stories up and overlooking the colorful flowers and well-dressed walkways. Hjandhorn was just south of the capital, yet it maintained its charm as a university town. When he attended Brightboots, he spent much of his time roaming the streets, admiring the historic buildings, visiting legacy businesses, and enjoying local restaurants. At first, he felt extremely alone. He remembered hearing things like, “What was an elf doing here in the first place? Elves are dangerous, don’t you know? What if he brings the plague here?” Thanks to his mentor and friend, Professor Fullhorn, Isaac waded those tense waters with grace and understanding. Now, as he waited for the old dwarf, he hoped tonight would be the first of many towards a brighter future.

  “Keeping an eye out for dragons?”

  Isaac turned to a couple approaching the hall. He stepped aside and politely bowed, “Just admiring the stars, sir.”

  The man guided his wife to the steps. As she made her way up, she scolded her husband, “Simply speaking of such terrors seeks to invite them, dear.”

  “Oh hush,” said her husband. “No one died. The dragon simply flew overhead.”

  “There was a sighting?” asked Isaac.

  “Indeed,” said the husband as he opened the door for his wife. She quickly entered, eager to flee the conversation. “A dragon from the north, I believe. He flew over the Mane and was spotted over the capital few weeks ago. Massive beast!”

  The Mane, wondered Isaac. Malafane’s Mane is the largest mountain range in the country, splitting the eastern part of the land into three major territories. The idea of seeing a dragon this far east shocked him. “No one was harmed, I hope.”

  “Not a single singed hair,” smiled the man.

  “Hurry along!” shouted his wife, “You have our tickets!”

  Her husband playfully shrugged. “What can one do?” he asked Isaac.

  “Regarding dragons or wives?”

  “Is there a difference?” the man grinned and followed his wife down the hall.

  As Isaac turned away he heard a horse carriage approaching. Leaning out of the passenger window was an old familiar face. Professor Fullhorn had finally arrived.

  “Isaac, my friend! How are you!” The dwarf smiled wide as he saw his former student, standing tall under the evening lamps.

  “Professor! It’s good to see you!”

  The carriage stopped on the path and the coachman hopped down, opening the door to the passenger seat. Isaac bowed as Fullhorn climbed out of the carriage. Fullhorn reached out and embraced the elf.

  “You’re as sprightly as ever, old man,” said Isaac, grinning. The dwarf chuckled, smacking Isaac on the shoulder with his cane. “It felt a little weird going in without you.”

  “All these years and you still need your old professor to look out for you? I won’t be around forever.”

  Isaac lamented the idea. He waved to the coachman and walked up the college steps with Fullhorn by his side, keeping an attentive eye over his friend. In his old age, it became more difficult for Fullhorn to walk up staircases and he didn’t want him to fall. At the entry, under the watchful gaze of stone carved teachers, wizards and more, Isaac reached for the bronze handlebars. His red skin glistened under the gas lamps. He met the eyes of each statue as he held the door open for his mentor.

  The legacy of Brightboots was vast and iconic. Malafane’s brightest minds attended this college. It produced some of the world’s greatest thinkers and few notable cultural icons. Isaac was often inspired by figures like Hektor Zetta, a dwarf who pioneered the way for toilstone access to middle class businesses, especially those with a focus on metallurgy. This opened up more manpower for Mageburn’s manufacturing of magical devices, specifically the armor sets used by the Black Claws, battlemages that protected Leandra against the undead.

  Another prominent figure that often-occupied Isaac’s mind was Hamlet Theo, an ambassador who oversaw human-elf relations. The Plague of Fortune had claimed his parents lives. Despite this, he strived for peace between the races. He was standout man in his day Even now, thought Isaac, centuries later he remains a hopeful icon. If only more men recognized that.

  He’d never admit it out loud, but Isaac saw himself carrying the same torch, only he was on the other side of the aisle. He thought he’d get along with Theo if he had the chance to meet him. Admittedly, he wondered if it was arrogant to see himself in that sort of light. Pride was a poor plus one at events like this, especially if one’s goal was to follow in Hamlet Theo’s footsteps.

  Isaac followed Fullhorn through the lobby. They passed over fancy rugs, under glowing chandeliers and massive tapestries. In his college days, Isaac saw a variety of events in this hall; student directed musicals, craft shows, and graduation ceremonies. Local guilds would rent out the hall as well, celebrating their members for their advanced craftsmanship. Isaac met more blacksmiths, masons, and artists than most, some of whom he remained friends with this day. During these events, the wizards from Mageburn would send scouts to observe potential hires. They needed the best.

  Fullhorn and Isaac approached the main hall. Two dwarfs, probably students at the college, stood upright, mustering up a passable presentation of noble behavior.

  “Your invitations, sirs?” one asked.

  Fullhorn and Isaac handed them over. The dwarves checked them judiciously. Then quickly nodded, affirming their authenticity.

  It’s just a fancy dinner, guys. Isaac chuckled.

  The dwarves opened the doors, guiding them into the main hall. It was smaller than Isaac had remembered, but it still struck a certain awe. Grand walls reached high, leading into a vaulted dome ceiling. There were golden chandeliers, ancient and expensive paintings, and alumni scattered across, reflected in the marble floor. Older ladies and gentlemen shook hands with slightly older dwarven ladies and gentlemen. Everyone was cordial, nodding, smiling, engaging in casual conversation.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “You could use a drink,” said Fullhorn.

  “Do I look that nervous?”

  “Ah. I could use one too.”

  Fullhorn pointed to the bar. They walked past dozens of tables, where a few of the most senior alumni sat. They ordered whiskey soured by lemons shipped up from Heartgaze. The young man prepared their drinks in silence, smiling politely. Fullhorn added a bit of wine to his order, which the young man complied with. He handed them their drinks and tended to a lady beside them.

  “Did you hear about the dragon?” asked Isaac. He sipped his drink.

  Fullhorn nodded. “Supposedly terrorized the capital. Our king permitted a wyvern hunt a few weeks back. I think they might have disturbed it. Forget about the dragon, I want to hear about you! How was your journey?”

  “It was peaceful. I spent most of it on the sea, as I’m sure you know. Carriage for part of it, and airship for the rest. I was fortunate enough to see the latest model in action. The propellers are mindboggling huge.”

  Fullhorn nodded, “I recall reading about it. Part of a new line of airships designated for continental trade for a focus on our neighbors to the south. I can’t remember what they called it. Our great King borrowed a few for passenger transport. Less time in the air equals higher prices for tickets.”

  “The manufacturer no doubt negotiated a comfortable percentage of the profits.”

  Fullhorn shrugged, “The bond between dwarf and gold is eternal. If I recall right, Tidus led those negotiations. Sort of made sense, if you ask me. He’s got family down there. Speaking of the ol’ bastard, I’ve not spotted him.”

  Isaac’s professor was speaking about a dwarf named Tidus Stoneking. He was a former student at Brightboots, excelled in history and rivaled Fullhorn, whom he graduated with. They often found themselves arguing over the smallest details regarding major historical accounts, but their love of the topic made them good friends. Isaac had met the dwarf on a few occasions, knowing him only as historian. These days, he was member or parliament and acting advisor to the King of Malafane.

  “I’m sure he’ll be here, bragging to us all,” said Fullhorn. “The ol’ chap has done well for himself.” He finished his drink.

  “I appreciate you being here,” said Isaac.

  Fullhorn cleared his throat and started towards the crowd. “Into the fray,” he said.

  Isaac nodded. He set his glass on the bar counter and tailed Fullhorn as they weaved through the tables to the main floor. Fullhorn was instantly greeted by familiar faces, old colleagues, peers and friends from decades past. Fullhorn introduced Isaac to over a dozen individuals. Isaac noted a few of their names, but mostly forgot them with each new meeting. Everyone was polite. Isaac had made a name for himself as the first elf to attend Brightboots in two hundred years. Most were impressed. A few were cautious but smiled when shaking his hand and wished him the best.

  An old, round dwarf tapped Fullhorn on the shoulder. He turned around to see his old rival, Tidus, grinning wide. His white beard was trimmed high. Most dwarves had beards reaching their belt, at least. Tidus maintained his level with his collar bone. His wispy white hair was combed back, but there were a few wild strands he was never able to tame.

  “Fullhorn, old friend,” he said, extending his hand. Fullhorn shook it vigorously.

  “You devil,” said Fullhorn. “I wondered when you’d show!”

  “Unfortunately, late and leaving early. Isaac Amberglade, a pleasure to meet you again. It’s been years, but I’m sure you must know, you’re hard to miss in this crowd.”

  Isaac shook his hand, “Perhaps a royal white beard would help, but alas!”

  Tidus chuckled. “You might be right. Let’s find a table, yes?”

  They moved through the crowd and found a vacant table. Fullhorn sat across from Isaac. Tidus sat next to Isaac, and leaned in.

  “I read a copy of your king’s letter. I’m all ears, emissary.”

  Fullhorn nodded to Isaac. “It’s just a matter of beginning, isn’t it?”

  Isaac took a deep breath. Emissary, he thought. It’s weird hearing it spoken out loud in foreign lands, but here we are.

  “Mr. Stoneking, sir. As you know, I am son of Rian Amberglade, chieftain of the Amberglade Clan. Almost a year ago, our clan had united with our neighbor, the Starshadows. It was a ceremony of multiple marriages between respective members. This exogamy served two purposes. One: to demonstrate our common interests and commitment to them…”

  “The elven clans are notoriously divided,” Tidus interjected.

  Isaac nodded, and continued, “So that, two: we might approach our Lord in Greycrown, King Drunvor, and propose revisiting the political and social negotiations of our three races. This would include lifting sanctions on trade, considering assimilation, and ultimately pursuing a peace treaty.”

  Tidus watched his fellow dwarves converse around the main hall. He listened to glasses clanking as friends approached, reuniting after years of separation. Some had started families, others started businesses. He heard joy and laughter as each one shared their own story. He looked back to Isaac. He saw an elf, eager to do some good in the world, but he was idealistic. He thinks he can control the future. He thinks he can lead the way to some sort of promise land where all races are a united people. Imagine it. Imagine dwarves, humans and elves living together in harmony. Would those in this very room even be open to that?

  “What of your magic?” asked Tidus.

  Isaac looked down, slowly nodding. “The Quickbraid holds,” he said. “While not wholly strained…”

  “Not wholly strained? So, it poses a significant danger.” Tidus leaned back, folding his arms. He spoke pointedly now, “Does it not? You’re among good company. We see and know of you. What of the common dwarf? Or man, for that matter? They see your shimmering skin and the horrific memory of your kind’s actions may not so easily be forgotten. Can they really trust that the Quickbraid, after so long, still holds true?”

  Isaac felt his skin warm. His blood was running hot. He glanced at Fullhorn, who watched him carefully. He took another deep breath. “I mean to say that we can only use magic in so far as the rest of the world. We can use toilstone just like you,” he paused, “so long as we take precautions.” He shifted in his seat, “You are right though. Many hold the past against us. I don’t blame them.”

  “It was genocide, Isaac.”

  Isaac said softly. “I promise you that I have the courage to confront that.”

  “Words mean nothing to me,” said Tidus.

  Isaac met Tidus’s unwavering eyes. Isaac couldn’t read him. Was he pushing him away intentionally? Or was he testing him? Or was he scared?

  “I know there’ll be critics, maybe worse. I also know that some will experience genuine concern and worry for their future. I’m not excusing our past. I am saying we’ve repented of it. I am saying that we are good for the world. I’m asking you to speak with your king so that I may show him, you and everyone else why we should forge that future.”

  Tidus waited a moment. He looked at Fullhorn, “Elf thinks he’s the next Hamlet. Lofty ambitions and palpable desperation.”

  Fullhorn laughed out loud. Tidus chuckled.

  “I was afraid you’d say that,” said Isaac, embarrassed.

  “It’s written all over your face,” said Tidus. “Look. Let me say this. I’m open to the idea. It’s very clear that your lord trusts you as his emissary. Your words are his words?”

  “Yes,” said Isaac. “I would share nothing without his approval. The King wants reunion.”

  Tidus took a deep, contemplative breath. “I’m glad we met tonight, Isaac. From here, we’ll ride to the capital. Naturally, you’ll be staying at one of the castle’s guest houses. One has already been prepared for you. You’ll like it. Overlooks the city. In fact, if you lean far enough off the balcony, you can see the outer edge of Hjandhorn.”

  Isaac couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He lit up, eyes wide, “Thank you, sir! Yes, thank you!”

  “What a time to be alive, Fullhorn. We might have another Theo on our hands, and we get to help usher him in. In the meantime, I’m going to see an old snot about book he never returned.”

  Tidus Stoneking stood up and patted Isaac on the shoulder. He wandered off into the crowd. Isaac was glowing. He turned to Fullhorn, who didn’t look as pleased.

  “What’s the matter?” asked Isaac.

  Fullhorn leaned in. “Frankly, he went easy on you, lad. Too easy.”

  “You don’t think I can do this?” asked Isaac.

  “It’s not that. I just can’t recall the last time he was so agreeable. He always had a list of counterpoints, no matter the conversation.” He looked down at his hands, thinking about something. Was he lost in a memory? Isaac went to speak when Fullhorn looked up.

  “I knew it from day one,” Fullhorn said. “You’re making history. Just be careful.”