The carriage, destroyed during the mission, was left in front of the blacksmith's shop. Twilight reflected off the old roofs of the village. The market bells no longer rang. Only the echo of footsteps remained.
Cata, Adrián, and Flox crossed the square.
Behind them, with the shadow of the walls falling over him, came Dragaba.
Alone.
The villagers saw him arrive. His violet scales shone brightly against the fading light. A few had heard whispers, years ago, of a man with scales. Nothing more. A forgotten rumor. But the sight of him now awakened something old and shapeless in their chests.
A child cried alone when he saw him. An old woman prayed softly. Someone spat on the ground. No one threw a stone at him... yet.
The violet scales didn't help. They shone on his neck, part of his face, and arms. They were like noble plates deformed by centuries. They didn't look like wounds. They looked like evolution.
But not an evolution that the people were willing to accept.
"What is that?" asked a young man.
"It's not 'that.' It's him," replied a tanner. "The cursed one. The one they say killed a dragon... and was sealed away. But those are just stories."
"And you brought him to the village?"
"Are you crazy?"
In front of the central tower, the village chief came out to meet them, flanked by two guards. Her gaze went from Cata to Adrian... and finally to Dragaba.
"Why did you bring him?" she said bluntly.
Cata didn't answer right away. The wind blew her cloak, and the tension made her fingers twitch.
"I didn't bring him. He walked here on his own. Behind us."
"But you didn't stop him," insisted the chief, crossing her arms.
Cata swallowed hard.
"He didn't do any harm. He helped destroy the corrupt Ent. If it weren't for him, we wouldn't be here."
"That doesn't make him trustworthy," Adrián interjected, his voice hard as stone. "What if that creature was awake because of him? What if he was part of the same evil?"
"He's not," Flox replied calmly. "I saw him fight. He wasn't acting like an enemy."
Then Flox lowered his voice, but not so low that the nearest villagers couldn't hear. He leaned toward Cata and Adrián.
"His scales were blue in the forest. Now they're violet. Did you notice?"
Adrián frowned. "So what? The color won't change what he is."
Cata studied Dragaba for a moment, then nodded slowly. "We'll talk about it later. But yes, I saw it too."
Around them, a few villagers exchanged glances. Murmurs spread like wind through dry grass. Blue? Violet? He changes color? The rumor began to take shape.
"But?" asked Dragaba, stopping a few feet away from the group. He had heard them.
Everyone looked at him. No one answered.
Dragaba smiled. Bitterly.
"But that doesn't change what I am in your eyes."
He turned slightly, letting the violet of his scales catch the light from the nearest lantern.
"I didn't come here to ask for asylum. I just needed a way... and an answer."
"There isn't one here," Cata finally said, without hatred, but with fierce distance in her tone. "I can't defend you. Or give you shelter. What you did in the forest earned you respect... but not trust."
"I know."
"And I don't want you to stay here," added Adrián, taking a step forward. "I'm telling you this for the good of the town. People are already whispering. Soon, someone will do more than just talk."
Flox took a slight step to the side, not moving between Dragaba and the others, but not completely away either.
"I don't think you're a monster," he said. "But I can't help you either, Dragaba. Not while you're covered by that story."
Dragaba looked at him. Not with resentment. But with a weary sadness.
"I don't need help," he whispered. "Just a place where I don't have to pretend to be something else."
The chief nodded. Seriously.
"There's an old hut on the edge of town, by the river, before the hunting area. It's been empty since the last flood. You can stay there. For now."
"Thank you," said Dragaba, without emotion.
He turned. He walked alone. Again. And this time, everyone moved away without looking him in the eye.
Hours later, in the light rain, Dragaba stared at the broken roof of the hut. A drop fell on his forehead every so often. His violet scales glowed faintly in the darkness, like exiled stars.
In the distance, the laughter of the village could still be heard. A life he was never a part of.
And perhaps he'd never live it.