Crispin came home with Regulus at his side.
The Shadowmane kept his smaller form for the walk through the village, compact enough to move without drawing a crowd, large enough that no one mistook him for a pet. Red drake scales caught the light of the terraces; the golden mane along his spine shifted as he walked. He did not range ahead. He stayed close, shoulder brushing Crispin's leg once when they crossed the threshold.
Inside, the smithy was quiet in the way it only ever was between heats. The forge had burned earlier, but now it banked the coals low. Thorne and Elara sat at the table near the hearth, shoulders turned toward one another, speaking in low voices that stopped when the door closed.
Regulus did not return to slime form. He leapt up onto the edge of the table beside Crispin instead; the wood gave a faint groan under his weight. He sat with his forepaws braced, tail curling once around the table leg, eyes fixed forward.
Crispin didn't take his pack off.
"Mom, Dad," he said. "Sit with me. We need to talk."
Elara's expression tightened. Thorne's hand moved without thinking toward the table, palm down, grounding himself. They both sat back fully, attention narrowing.
Crispin reached into his satchel.
He set gold on the table without ceremony—ingots first, heavy and warm from his satchel, smaller bars beside them, thick coins last that clinked once before settling. The sound carried farther than it should have in the smithy's quiet.
Elara sucked in a sharp breath. "Oh, my—Crispin. Where did you get this?"
Thorne lifted a hand, not toward the gold, but toward Elara. "Our son asked to speak. Let's listen to him."
She nodded once, lips pressed together, eyes never leaving the table.
Crispin rested his hand against Regulus's shoulder, fingers brushing warm scales. The Shadowmane leaned into the touch without looking at him.
"Regy and I have been dabbling in business," Crispin said. He kept his voice even, the way Thorne spoke when he negotiated contracts for iron or coal. "He's a potion maker. Using blueprints, he taught himself. Same way you taught Ash to read grain and heat."
Regulus's tail flicked once.
"This," Crispin continued, nudging the gold forward across the table, "is roughly five and a half thousand gold."
Silence followed.
Thorne stared at the pile for a long moment, jaw set, then he shook his head. "No, son. You're young. That's yours and Regy's. We won't take it."
Elara found her voice again. "I agree with your father. Put it in the bank for yourself. You'll need it soon. You'll be leaving home before long." She jogged her chair back. "No."
Regulus turned his head and looked at Crispin. He met the look, then lifted his gaze to his parents.
"I said, sit down," he said.
The words landed harder than he expected. Elara's eyebrows rose. Thorne paused halfway to standing. They sat back.
"You've all agreed I'm a man now," Crispin said. "Haven't you?"
Thorne answered first. "We have."
Elara nodded, slower this time.
"As a man," Crispin said, "with an obligation to his smithy and his family, this is my contribution to our debt."
Elara inhaled to speak.
"No," Crispin said, holding up a hand. "Mother. Regy and I talked about this. Once the debts clear, we'll put money aside for ourselves. But this comes first." He gestured between them, the table, and the forge beyond. "This is our family."
The room fell still.
Thorne looked at Elara. Elara looked back at him. Years passed in that exchange—missed payments, counted coins, nights spent pretending the numbers might change if they waited long enough.
Thorne stood and pulled Crispin into a hug that knocked the breath out of him.
"Thank you, son," he said into Crispin's shoulder, then, quieter, "Thank you, little king."
He reached out and rested his hand against Regulus's mane. The Shadowmane accepted the touch without flinching.
Elara leaned forward next. She kissed the top of Regulus's head, then pressed her palm briefly to Crispin's chest. "Thank you," she said. "Both of you."
Crispin let himself breathe again.
"If Silas the apothecary comes by with orders," he said, stepping back, "write them down and leave them on my bedroom table. Potion type. Amounts in grams or kilograms. Bottle specifications. Any special instructions."
Elara nodded immediately. "I'll handle it."
"Thank you," Crispin said. He straightened. "Bethany's my partner for the rest of the semester, so the Elder requires our parents to meet at today's meeting."
Thorne nodded once. "Of course."
Regulus dropped from the table, landing soundlessly beside Crispin, already turning toward the door.
Thorne nodded, a proud smile breaking through his soot-grimed face. They left the smithy together, Regulus surging to his full Shadowmane size to scout ahead. He leaped and played in the tall grass; his red-scaled form cut through it in powerful bounds. Guards along the path straightened as they passed, eyes tracking the Shadowmane's movement.
"Thorne, great seeing you out. Ma'am," one of them said, bowing to Elara. Their posture remained respectful, though their attention lingered on Regulus as he trotted past. No hands moved toward weapons.
"Regy, with me," Crispin said.
At once, the Shadowmane returned, walking steadily beside Crispin. The central square opened ahead. The Elder stood waiting with Bethany, her parents, and Ashara. As Crispin's family approached, the Elder shifted his stance and stepped back, sensing the tension before words carried it. Bethany faced her father, shoulders squared, voice already raised.
"You owe him nothing, and I will not stand for any more nonsense," Darren shouted.
Crispin's jaw tightened. Thorne moved immediately, flanking his son and placing both hands on Crispin's shoulders. His presence filled the space behind him. Elara fixed Darren with a cold, unblinking stare.
"You may be my father, but you do not own me," Bethany said, her voice sharp and steady despite the flush on her face. "I am my own woman. The woman my mother raised me to be. I owe him what I say I owe him."
Mirelle reached for Darren's sleeve and leaned close, her voice low. Darren shook her off without looking at her.
"Listen—"
"No," Bethany said. "You listen." She stepped forward, refusing the space he tried to claim. "I am the Tamer. My branding gives you power." Her voice carried across the square. "If Crispin had not given me his potion, I would be dead. Anyone else would have let me bleed out, used the class change gem at his feet, and claimed Ashara and Regulus. Do you know what that would have made him? A tamer with two legendary bonds. Crispin is an elvish beastmaster, he could have to claimed her!"
"Young woman," Elara said, her voice cutting cleanly through the noise. "You must be Miss Bethany Reni."
Bethany froze, color flooding her face as awareness caught up with her. She turned at once and folded into Mirelle's arms, hiding her face against her mother's shoulder while Mirelle held her and murmured softly. Thorne's attention stayed fixed on Darren, his expression unreadable.
"Mr. and Mrs. Reni," the Elder said, "this is Thorne and Elara, parents of Crispin."
Mirelle composed herself and stepped forward. "It's wonderful to meet you," she said. "I'm proud that my daughter got paired with such a brave young man for the rest of the semester."
Elara inclined her head. "Bethany is a treasure," she said. "Strong, and clearly her mother's daughter."
Bethany turned back, her face still warm with embarrassment. "It's nice meeting you both." Her eyes flicked to Crispin. "Our gem is at auction, but it hasn't sold yet. I'll keep you informed."
Crispin nodded.
Thorne walked past him without hesitation.
Darren extended a hand. The tremor in his fingers was impossible to miss.
Thorne ignored it and leaned closer.
"I understand a father's concern," he said. "I am willing to look past this conversation." His gaze stayed on Darren. "Crispin is a good man."
"Dad, I—"
Thorne lifted one hand. Crispin stopped.
"My wife and I raised him with pride, family, and values," Thorne continued. "Your Bethany is a brilliant and elegant woman. I see her strength. I see her spine." He held Darren's stare. "They are adults. As parents, we need to stand aside and let them thrive." His voice lowered. "If you speak about my son anywhere this town can hear, you can bring your words to me at the forge." His voice dropped lower. "Do we understand one another, Darren?"
Bethany met Thorne's eyes. Her smile mouthed, Thank you.