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Maple’s head snaps toward him, her orange eyes widening. A delighted chirp escapes her throat.

Micah holds the strip above her snout. She snatches it from between his fingers and swallows it in a single bite. Her tongue slides across his palm, devouring every last crumb.

“Hey,” he protests, laughing. “You didn’t even chew.”

Maple chirps and spreads her wings. The leather straps pull taut across her body, and the metal joints catch the sunlight. She beats her wings once and launches herself into the air.

Micah and I watch as she climbs higher, circling above the meadow.

Her flight isn’t perfect, but it doesn’t need to be. She’s learning to fly differently than the other dragons. She dips to one side before correcting herself, her prosthetic wings carrying her higher with every beat. Her silhouette glides above us, strong and steady against the blue spring sky.

A soft sigh escapes Micah beside me. His brown eyes glisten behind his glasses, a melancholy smile spreading across his lips.

I reach for his hand, lacing our fingers together.

We sit together in the meadow, watching Maple soar through the clouds. She circles once above us before turning toward the mountains, swooping through the wisps of fog curling around the peaks.

I squeeze Micah’s hand.

And as our little dragon disappears beyond the treetops, I know she’ll be all right.

We will, too.

Micah and I walk to work together beneath the warm spring sun.

The streets of Thistle Grove are already bustling around us, shopkeepers opening their doors and townspeople beginning their morning routines. The air smells of fresh bread and blooming flowers, a welcome change from the bitter cold of winter.

Our arms swing together as we hold hands.

I still can’t quite believe this is our life.

Each morning, we wake in the same bed. Each evening, we return to the same cottage. After years of living alone, having someone beside me feels like the greatest gift the goddesses could have given me.

We reach the familiar crossroads where our paths split.

Micah turns toward me with a smile. “Have a good day.”

“You too, sweetheart.”

He leans in and presses a soft kiss to my lips.

I smile against his mouth before reluctantly pulling away. “I’ll see you tonight.”

Micah heads toward the clinic, his white coat fluttering behind him. I watch him disappear through the front door before turning toward my forge.

Now that I’ve moved into Micah’s cottage, I’m able to rent out the apartment above the forge. The extra income will certainly come in handy—especially after my latest purchase.

I glance toward the small pouch dangling around my belt. Inside sits a large piece of raw gold. It wasn’t cheap, but it was worth every coin.

The familiar scent of ash, metal, and smoke greets me as I push open the doors of my forge. I step inside, my boots thudding heavily against the wooden floors.

I settle onto my stool and pull the piece of gold from the pouch, turning it over in my calloused palm as the furnace light dances across its surface. Even in its unrefined state, it’s beautiful.

I run my thumb over the uneven surface, already imagining what it will look like when I’m finished.

More importantly, I imagine it against Micah’s skin.

Gold will suit him.

He’ll look beautiful, as always.

A smile tugs at my lips.

After years spent building weapons meant for violence, I’m grateful to finally have a reason to make something for love instead. Something meant to last. Something that carries a promise.

Setting the gold beside my tools, I begin crafting the most important piece of metal I’ve ever forged…

A ring for Micah.

The End.