Chapter 143 - 138: An Ordinary Evening
The bridge was finished before sunset.
The final wooden beam slid into place with a satisfying thud, followed by the sound of hammers driving the last pegs into position.
For a brief moment, everyone simply stood there.
Then—
"It’s done!"
Cheers erupted from both sides of the river.
Children were the first to test it, racing across the bridge while their parents called after them to slow down. Their laughter echoed over the flowing water, filling the valley with life.
John watched from the riverbank, a small smile forming on his face.
The bridge wasn’t grand.
It wasn’t built from enchanted stone or reinforced with powerful magic.
It was made of timber, rope, and countless hours of honest work.
Yet to the people of Greenhollow...
It meant everything.
"It suits them."
Aerion stepped beside him.
"They don’t need monuments."
"They need something dependable."
John nodded.
"...Like this bridge."
"Exactly."
---
As the villagers admired their work, Elder Rowan approached carrying a wooden mug filled with fresh apple cider.
"You’ve earned a rest."
John accepted it with a grateful nod.
"Thank you."
The elder looked toward the bridge.
"I’ve lived in Greenhollow for nearly sixty years."
John glanced at him.
"I’ve seen poor harvests."
"Floods."
"Long winters."
"But one thing has never changed."
"The people?"
Rowan smiled.
"The people."
"They’ve always believed that if everyone carries a little weight..."
"...no one has to carry it alone."
John silently repeated those words in his mind.
No one has to carry it alone.
Somehow...
Those simple words struck deeper than many lessons hidden within the Dragon King’s legacy.
---
The walk back to the village was slow.
No one was in a hurry.
The evening breeze carried the scent of pine and wildflowers, while the fading sunlight painted the sky with shades of orange and crimson.
Lythriel stretched her arms above her head.
"I forgot how tiring honest work can be."
John chuckled.
"Says the person who spent half the morning balancing on wooden beams."
"I never said I regretted it."
"You complained three times."
"I was expressing my opinion."
Sylvara laughed softly.
"I counted five."
Lythriel looked betrayed.
"...You were keeping count?"
"I wasn’t trying to."
Everyone laughed.
Even Aerion’s lips curved into a faint smile.
---
Back in Greenhollow, the village square had returned to its peaceful routine.
A few children chased one another through the open space.
Merchants packed away the last of their goods.
An old musician sat outside the tavern, quietly playing a weathered lute.
The melody drifted gently through the evening air.
John stopped walking.
He listened.
There was something comforting about it.
No magic.
No enchantment.
Just music played by someone who genuinely loved it.
The old musician noticed him watching.
He smiled.
"Care to listen for a while?"
John nodded.
"I’d like that."
---
The others found seats nearby.
For nearly half an hour, no one spoke.
The musician played one song after another.
Some were lively.
Others carried a quiet melancholy.
One tune reminded John of nothing in particular...
Yet it still stirred something deep within him.
Memories of another life.
A life whose details had begun to fade.
Sometimes he wondered if that was a good thing.
---
"You miss it?"
Aerion’s voice was calm.
John didn’t answer immediately.
"...Parts of it."
"The people?"
John nodded.
"My family."
Silence settled over the group.
They all knew John had lived another life before becoming a dragon.
He had shared only fragments.
Never the whole story.
Lythriel spoke gently.
"I think..."
"...they’d be happy if they could see you now."
John looked at her.
"You think so?"
"You’ve become someone who protects others."
Sylvara smiled.
"And someone who smiles a lot more."
John let out a quiet laugh.
"I really did used to be that serious, didn’t I?"
The three of them answered together.
"Yes."
John rubbed his forehead.
"I’ll never hear the end of this."
"No."
Lythriel grinned.
"You won’t."
---
By the time they returned to the inn, darkness had settled over Greenhollow.
Dinner was already waiting.
Fresh bread.
Creamy mushroom soup.
Roasted vegetables.
Simple food, yet prepared with care.
The innkeeper beamed as everyone took their seats.
"I heard about the bridge."
John looked surprised.
"News travels fast."
She laughed.
"In a village?"
"Everything travels fast."
---
Halfway through the meal, the innkeeper’s young son wandered into the dining room carrying a wooden sword.
He couldn’t have been older than seven.
He stopped in front of John.
"Mister John?"
John looked up.
"Yes?"
The boy held out the sword.
"Can you teach me?"
His mother nearly dropped the plates she was carrying.
"Nathan!"
"I’m sorry!"
"I told him not to bother you."
John smiled reassuringly.
"It’s alright."
He looked back at the boy.
"What do you want to learn?"
The child’s eyes sparkled.
"I want to be strong enough to protect everyone."
The dining hall became quiet.
John looked at the wooden sword.
Then at the boy’s determined face.
He remembered saying almost those exact words to himself...
Though no one had been there to hear them.
He stood.
"Come outside."
---
Behind the inn was a small open yard.
The moon had already risen, bathing the ground in silver light.
The little boy held his wooden sword tightly.
John crouched so they were eye level.
"The first thing."
The boy nodded eagerly.
"You don’t become strong by swinging harder."
"...I don’t?"
John shook his head.
"You become strong by learning."
"By listening."
"By standing back up after you fall."
The boy thought carefully before asking,
"So..."
"...Can I swing now?"
John couldn’t help laughing.
"Yes."
Nathan swung.
Far too hard.
He spun around and nearly lost his balance.
John caught him before he fell.
"Again."
The boy tried once more.
This time...
A little steadier.
Again.
And again.
Nearly twenty minutes passed.
By the end, Nathan was exhausted.
"I can’t..."
"...lift it anymore."
John smiled.
"That’s enough for today."
The boy looked disappointed.
"I’m still weak."
John placed a hand on his head.
"Everyone starts weak."
Nathan blinked.
"Even you?"
John looked toward the stars.
"Especially me."
It wasn’t entirely true.
He had been born as a dragon.
But becoming who he was today...
That had taken countless struggles.
Nathan smiled.
"I’ll practice every day!"
"I believe you will."
The boy bowed clumsily before running back inside.
---
Lythriel had been watching from the porch.
She walked over as John looked up at the night sky.
"You’d make a good teacher."
John shook his head.
"I don’t think so."
"You already taught him something important."
"I barely showed him anything."
She smiled.
"You taught him that strength isn’t about winning."
John became quiet.
"...Maybe."
Lythriel folded her arms.
"You know..."
"What?"
"I’ve noticed something."
John looked at her.
"You’ve stopped measuring every day by how much stronger you’ve become."
He thought about that.
She was right.
A few months ago, every day had been judged by experience gained, skills learned, or enemies defeated.
Now...
Some of his happiest days had ended without any of those things.
Instead...
He remembered conversations.
Shared meals.
Children laughing.
Working beside ordinary people.
Watching the sunset with friends.
Perhaps...
Growth wasn’t always measured in levels.
Sometimes...
It was measured in the person you were becoming.
The thought lingered with him long after everyone had gone to sleep.
For the first time since his rebirth...
John wasn’t just growing stronger.
He was learning how to live.
---
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