Celine, the Market, and the Sausage

“Oh, fuck—”

Celine dropped the piece of sausage back onto her plate and covered her mouth. She shut her eyes and lowered her head, bracing herself. Any second now.

Never mind the sudden panic surrounding them. It had taken months of good behavior and cashing in every favor she had to convince her mother that she deserved something tastier than bread, stew, and dried meat—specifically, the juicy, grilled butcher's sausage only available here in Windermere’s public market. And she had ruined it all by swearing in public.

For that, she deserved a slap. Sure, all the other kids swore, but those rules never applied to her.

Wait… why were people panicking?

Still bracing for the slap that would send her rolling across the cobblestones, Celine tilted her head and peeked with one eye. Maybe her mother would find it funny? Maybe this was her sign to become a jester—or a bard. She did like making the other kids laugh when they played.

“Oh, fuck…”

Her mother said it. Her eyes were wide and trembling. She turned to Celine, her face pale with terror as a massive shadow stretched across the market, swallowing everything around them as if the sun had been forced from the sky.

Celine didn't look up out of courage, but curiosity. She was going to get slapped anyway, so there was no point in avoiding the inevitable. She tilted her head back.

It was a Red Dragon.

Celine swallowed hard, nearly choking as her mother grabbed her hand. Her eyes watered. But why here? Why now? She had finally convinced her mother to let her eat the sausage—the delicious, expensive one that cost more than a few copper coins. The sausage. The juicy, incredible sausage. And it wasn’t even her birthday.

She looked around the bustling market she loved, taking in the vibrant colors and the rows of wooden stalls. She heard the vendors haggling and shouting, using words her mother explicitly forbade her from repeating to other children. Celine blinked as her mother’s grip tightened to a crush.

Celine imagined what would happen next. Her mother clearly did, too. Celine saw it all in her mind: everything burning to ash, including the sausage she loved.

Her mother blinked, finally noticing Celine staring at her. Trying not to cry, she offered a fragile smile that brought a sliver of comfort while the market devolved into utter chaos.

Desperate people began looting stalls and breaking into nearby houses. Some prayed to Tala to guide them to safety. Others screamed to Apolaki to render them immune to fire, or pleaded with Dumakulem to make their homes as sturdy as mountains so they wouldn't be reduced to ash.

“Celine,” her mother said, her voice shaking. “Your sausage. It’s good, right?”

Celine’s gaze drifted from her mother to the dragon approaching the city, then down to her plate. She nodded, holding back tears. She was a big girl. She had punched a boy once—an older boy—and made him cry for his mother.

The world was spinning out of control, and she simply didn't want to pay attention anymore. Someone was shouting in the distance. A plate shattered nearby. Celine fought the urge to look, wondering why her mother wasn't running.

Instead, Celine took another bite of her sausage. She was more than halfway through it now. She thought of her father, wondering if he was safe. He was the one who had given them the coin for the treat, earned from carving a statue of Dumakulem. Would he be all right after this?

Would they be all right?

As if in answer, a radiant wave of light erupted from the city’s main square, washing away the shadow cast by the dragon. Celine was just as baffled as everyone else, but the light brought a sudden, miraculous calm. The chaos died down. Relief washed over the crowd, and Celine’s mother finally closed her eyes, hiding her tears behind a faint smile.

“They’re here,” her mother whispered.

“Who?” Celine stared at the faint glow clinging to her skin. It felt warm, like watching the sunrise in the dead of winter. “What is this?”

“Looks like we’re saved,” the butcher chuckled, setting another plate of sausages on their table.

“Sorry,” her mother said, “but we don’t have the coin for that.”

“On the house.” The butcher grinned. “It’s not every day a Red Dragon flies overhead. I’m just glad I lived to tell the tale, so I might as well pay it forward.”

Everything and everyone—even the food—was draped in the gentle, shimmering light. Celine stared at the butcher, silently begging for an explanation as peace returned to the market. Would the dragon ignore them because of the light? No, that was stupid—even she knew better than that. Did the light render them invisible? Was that it?

The butcher patted her head. “You’ve got friends, haven't you, little one?”

“I have a hundred friends, mister.”

He laughed. “Ever heard of the Banner of Dawn?”

“Ah, the Banner of Dawn!” Celine had no idea what that was.

“You really must have a hundred friends,” he said, his grin widening. “But let me tell you something interesting. This light is Valen’s doing. This will shield us and everything around us from feeling the heat of the dragon’s flame… or fire spells for that matter. Because if Valen is here, then the rest of the Banner of Dawn is here, too.”

“Does that mean the fire won't hurt us, and when the dragon realizes it can't burn us, it'll just leave?”

Celine touched her sausage and noticed it was no longer hot, even though it looked fresh off the grill. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a group of drunkards celebrating their survival by pouring liquor over themselves and setting it ablaze. They didn't burn. Instead, the surrounding crowd burst into laughter.

“Not quite,” the butcher admitted. “That Red Dragon is going to get real annoyed when its fire doesn't work. It'll probably just try to tear us limb from limb with its claws.”

Celine’s face crumpled. “Then… what is the light for?”

The butcher’s smile grew wide and fiercely confident. “It’s for Rod.”

“Rod who?”

“Rod the Red.”

“Ah, Rod the Red!” Once again, Celine had absolutely no idea who that was.