This chapter caused me a bit of troble. It's really easy to just copy-paste the story, but with the set up I have, I truly can't do that, so I have to be creative. I really wanted to add the part with Philippe though. Am I really the only one who always thought he was some sort of superhorse?! I don't know a lot about horses, so if any of my readers is a horse-person, tell me how long a cold-blood horse can typically go for, because even in the movie Philippe was going for at least 24 hours from leaving with Maurice to returning to the beast's castle with Belle!

In this chapter; meet the crew!

Stone Dragons

"Okay, so one intruder for another, big deal. Calm down."

"But do you really think the toymaker won't spill everything the moment he's back to wherever and gather a mob?!"

"They have to believe him first."

"Well, how many corpses have we buried already?! I don't like it!"

"It's a chance to break the curse."

Everyone silenced at the master's voice when he entered the room and set the candlestick on the table.

"Break the curse, huh? Sounds good to me," the old clock said.

"I… think we should try," the candlestick said. "The rose has begun to wilt, so if there's even a slight chance of turning this around, I'm willing to put in the effort."

"He's a lot younger than anyone who've come by before," the master nodded as he paced in front of an ensemble of objects and furniture in various states of disrepair.

"You think that's a good sign?!" a book cried out in disbelief.

"It is," the clock said, sounding cheerful. "Young is impulsive but less likely to lose control of, so to speak. The lad's going to try to escape for some time though."

"I've already told the windows and doors to not open for him," the master said.

"Why are you even freaking out, Fishlegs? It's not like it can get any worse," a large mug said.

The book turned on the cup. "Because the last time we tried to trust anyone, toymaker not included, she tried to break the dragons and burn the castle!"

"And the one before her tried to murder me," the master filled in. "The one before that died and I'm still waiting to know what happened."

"I wish to know that too, master, but you have to admit she was mad to begin with," a flower vase said, its pattern waving grey and white paws.

"Not arguing," the master said with emphasis, holding up his hands with wide eyes as if he really didn't need that reminder. "Either way, we'll treat this guy well, I'll try to… befriend him. He only needs to keep a promise until the rose has wilted."

"Don't forget you have to trust him as well," the candlestick said.

The dragon stopped, teeth bared in frustration. "I know that."

"One step at a time, son," the teapot spoke up for the first time. "It's late and you haven't eaten yet. Dagur should have food ready for you. We can figure out the rest tomorrow."

The dragon sighed and smiled at the teapot's stern face. "Yes, mother Ida. I will eat and go to sleep. Someone keep an eye on the boy's door and report to me when he attempts to escape."

"I can do that," the clock said. "Better someone who can't put anything on fire, right Astrid?"

"Not funny, Gobber!" the candlestick cried.

"It is actually," the mug snickered.

"Is not! And that was an accident that you caused, Tuffnut!"

"I don't think the curtain has forgiven me yet either," the mug said happily.

The master was about to leave the room, but he turned in the doorway. "Hey, Ida. Would you mind if I put you in charge of bringing our guest some breakfast in the morning?"

"I don't mind. Nothing like a talking teapot to start your morning after the kind of night that lad has had." Ida sighed in exasperation. Just because she understood the newcomer's situation it didn't mean she liked to have to be the icebreaker.

It was the light pitter-patter of rain against the window that woke Jack in the morning. He opened his gritty eyes and stared at the unfamiliar fabric of the pillow he was clutching like it was his last link to life. It smelled like it had been lying here for a long time; closed in air and cold, but at least there were no traces of mildew or rot.

Sighing Jack closed his eyes again. He really didn't want to wake up today. Or ever. North was gone and Jack was a hostage. Whatever the dragon wanted with him Jack was sure it wasn't good. Just look how it had treated North! North who wouldn't harm a fly if it bit him, who still grieves his wife and daughter while trying to give Jack everything he needed.

North was alone now. Or he could go to Burgess, find his old wife and they would be together again, a family of three. All the while Jack would be here, alone and forsaken, locked up in a cold room with a dragon lurking outside.

Jack bit his lip and curled up tighter around the pillow, hopeless tears damping the fabric.

There was a knock on the door and Jack froze. The dragon was back. He'd decided what to do with Jack. He was…

The knocking came again, this time accompanied with an stern female voice. "Open the door, lad. I've got you breakfast and it's growing cold fast. It's a long way between the kitchen and your room, you know!"

At first Jack just stared at the door, uncomprehensive. A voice that wasn't the dragon. Did that mean there were other people here?

Wiping his eyes the teen walked up to the door and carefully opened it. Outside stood a cart with a covered bowl, a mug, silverware, a small loaf of bread and an egg sitting in an egg-cup and a teapot with a sour face painted on it with the pipe as some sort of elephant trunk (probably the dragon's attempt at a bad joke, Jack thought privately). But no woman.

"Just open the door and let us in already!" the woman's voice suddenly blurted and the cart, without aid, pushed into the room.

Jack jumped away, staring at the cart and watched the plate get uncovered, the lid jumping off by itself, the teapot jumped on top of the cover and turned, its face glaring straight at Jack.

"Yes, I am a teapot," it said, its mouth moving with the words. "And yes, I brew tea. Now come over here and eat your breakfast."

Jack was backing away, because he had to be dreaming. Then his back hit wood, and the material that should be a solid mass against him squirmed, making the teen jump away again staring at a dresser that was placed beside the bed.

"Good morning, guest," the dresser said with a bright voice and twisted a little to look out the window. "Well, it might look a little gloomy right now, but I'm sure your morning will be more good than your last night. I must say I find your method of putting yourself to sleep unhealthy."

By now Jack had backed into the bed and was sitting on the mattress, then he flew up and stared at it.

"Don't worry, son. That's just a bed, it won't speak to you," the teapot promised. "And don't complain if your porridge is cold when you eat it. Not my fault you like to wait this long to start eating."

Jack turned around and stared at the cart again. Now the teapot looked more exasperated than anything, and beside it the mug was snickering. The situation had been going on for too long now and the teen was still not waking up.

"This is real?" he asked quietly, head spinning.

"What? The food? Of course," the mug said. "Can't live on unreal food."

Not really what Jack had asked, but the mug had a point. And Jack was hungry. Thus he gingerly walked up to the cart and took the bowl of lukewarm porridge, giving the spoon a long look to make sure it didn't have eyes and a mouth like the teapot, before he sat on the floor and started eating.

It was… nothing special really. It was just porridge with sweet milk and a spoonful of honey. Jack wasn't sure what he'd expected, but the first few bites did make him realize how hungry he was, thus he reached for the bread, breaking it into bite sized bits that he dipped in the porridge. The bread too tasted faintly like honey as well as dried fruits, appealing to Jack's sweet tooth.

Last he grabbed the egg, peeled it and ate it in two bites.

Still chewing, the teen glanced up at the faces looking down at him from the cart.

"Thank you for the food," he told them.

The teapot gave him a doubtful look before she turned to the mug beside her and poured water into it from her… pipe, Jack decided, because if he actually called it a trunk he would never drink tea again.

But the mug looked like it was accepting a horrible fate with difficulty. Jack stared at it with wide eyes, realizing he was expected to drink the tea from this mug.

"Just drink already. It's lot like I have a different purpose, you know."

"Okay," Jack nodded, picked up the mug… and turned it so its face was looking away and holding his hands at its bottom to prevent his fingers from poking into any eyes.

In difference from the porridge and bread, the tea was bitter and Jack grimaced at the taste. But it was warm, gently heating up his insides and making him feel a little more awake, which was probably the point. He finished quickly, burning his throat in the process and put the mug back on the cart.

"It takes some getting used to," the mug said and looked up at Jack, "for both of us."

"Right. Suppose you don't get too many guests out here?" Jack said in a shallow attempt at a joke. One that didn't seem to get across very well.

The teapot cleared her throat to break the awkward silence. "My name is Ida."

The mug gave her a strange look. "I know that," it said, but caught the hint after a truly killing glare from the teapot. "Oh! I'm Tuffnut."

"And I am Tooth Fairy," the dresser spoke up.

Jack slowly turned to the wooden piece, trying very hard to keep his mind from imagining opening the dresser and getting flooded by a stack of teeth.

"And this is her room," Ida the teapot said. "If you get tired of her, just tell Master Dragon and he'll arrange another room with less annoying company. In the meantime, why don't you take a walk? Make yourself familiar with the castle. The kitchen is on the first floor, you'll find lunch served there around midday."

Jack still hadn't recovered fully from his flooded-by-teeth horror fantasy, so he was happy to take the teapot's offer to explore the castle.

"Wouldn't you like to wear something different?" the dresser asked hopefully. "I think I have some outfits…"

"No thank you!" Jack cried hurriedly and ran for the door.

The cart followed and closed the door firmly. Jack had stopped some ways down the hallway and now watched as the cart rolled past him. It was actually a really nice thing with intricate designs of vines, leaves and flowers around the sides. And those details detached and hooked onto the railing by the staircase and gracefully slid down, continuing to roll across the hall and towards an open door with lights flooding into the otherwise gloomy space.

Jack took a closer look at the railings. Up where he stood the railing started with a snarling face of a bear, but when Jack went down, he realized the end at the bottom had been sanded and polished so it was smooth. The railing also wore the marks of the cart having made this particular journey a hundred times at least.

Jack stood there, hand on the worn railing and tried to comprehend the meaning of this, which certainly wasn't helped by the steady beat of pain in his head.

"Seriously? The staircase railing?" a squeaky voice spoke.

Jack looked up to see a book and a grandfather clock staring curiously at him from the top of the stairs.

The clock seemed to shrug. "Ye need to start somewhere. Must be overwhelmed, eh?"

The human nodded. "Yeah. I'm a prisoner in a castle full of…" he gestured at the clock and book, looking for the right words "this," he finished.

"Did ye just gesture at all of me?" the clock asked. "Heh, so that's how it feels."

"You'll get used to us, I hope," the book said, and Jack had the strangest sense the book didn't actually think so.

"Well, if I'm going to spend the rest of my life here, might as well," Jack spoke around a sigh.

The rest of his life. Jack put a really tight lid on that thought and forced himself to not react. As a distraction he picked up the book.

"What are you doing?" it asked nervously.

"Your title says you're the dragon manual. May I read?"

"Wouldn't you like to explore the castle with us first?"

So apparently reading this talking book was not a popular idea, if the nervous smile he received was anything to go by.

"You're right; let's explore. You can introduce me to the rest of the living furniture here."

"Oh, no need," the clock said and followed Jack down the stairs, its wood bending unnaturally to achieve the task. "Everything that isn't made of stone is alive in this place."

"But the teapot said my bed wasn't," Jack protested.

"It can move around if it wants to, some things just choose not to. Like the rugs. The only time they move is when Master Dragon washes them."

Jack paused, glancing down at the mat under his feet quickly. "The dragon cleans the rugs?"

"You sound surprised," the book said with a frown to its mouth. "Don't you think you'll be looking for things to do too after a while."

Jack schooled his face and just nodded. "Probably."

They walked around the first floor, which wasn't all that much since the castle was built around a cliff. Here was only the entrance hall hiding a small sitting room between the staircases, with two high chairs in front of a fireplace. Then there was the kitchen, where Ida the teapot was bathing in the sink and the stove told Jack there wouldn't be any more food served before lunch, thus the teen promptly left, followed by the giggles of the mug.

There was a room that looked like a gigantic wardrobe on the north side of the entrance hall, opposite of the kitchen. The clock explained that this was where guests hung their coats and hats when they arrived to have parties.

"The dragon used to have parties?" Jack asked.

"Nah, the previous owners of this place did, I suppose."

"So he's not the original owner?"

"No."

The human had expected more than that, some history, maybe a clue as to who the dragon was and what he was doing here. Jack hadn't spent too many thoughts on the dragon, but one by one they were slowly starting to come forward. It was also, slowly, belatedly really, starting to sink in that Jack was the prisoner of a dragon. An actual, talking dragon. The people of Berk had never said anything about the dragons talking, but what did Jack know. The dull pain in his head that was refusing to give in said this was not the time to think about anything at all.

They moved towards the staircase in awkward silence, Jack trying to think of non-offensive questions, when he spotted a flower vase at the top of the stairs. It was really pretty, pale yellow in colour with an green base and covered in light pink and white flowers around a grey bunny that looked anything but happy.

"Toymaker junior, I suppose," it said.

"Jackson Overland," the teen answered. "You knew my father was a toymaker."

"He told us as much," the clock said, gaining Jack's attention. He could imagine the dragon dragging his father away to put him in the tower while North cried he was just a toymaker.

These things had really not cared.

"Why are you treating me differently from him?"

"Master thought it was a good idea," the vase said. "I'll let you know not everyone agreed."

Which added yet another question mark to the heap that was starting to grow a little too large for Jack to ignore it. At the same time, these talking objects had treated an elderly man like shit and none of them seemed ashamed.

"Where is your master? I haven't seen him all morning."

"Why? Planning to hurt him already?"

Jack blinked at the vase, stupefied. They were expecting him to want to hurt the dragon? "No, I just… haven't seen him after… last night."

"We figured you wouldn't be very fond of him right now, so we told him to stay clear of you for a while," the clock said with a shrug. "He's already told us we can't hurt you, but if you hurt him, we'll have no choice."

In other words, these objects would be friendly as long as Jack was civil. It meant Jack was truly their prisoner and misbehaviour would be punished.

"Good, you understand," the vase said, sounding somewhat pleased. "And if you're curious, your horse is in the stables on the east side of the castle. The tools there hasn't seen a horse in a while so he's getting quite pampered from what I heard."

"Oh yeah," the book piqued up. "I saw Mulch was inside this morning, saying the horse made him nervous."

Jack had completely forgotten about Philippe after everything that had happened the day before. "Where is he now?"

"Mulch?" the book asked, surprised.

"No, Philippe! My horse!"

"Let's head back down, I'll show you where to find him," the clock offered.

Entering the stables Jack didn't need directions to find Philippe. The horse stood in a big box with plenty of hay and lanterns around, and he neighed happily upon seeing Jack. The teen hadn't believed it when the vase said Philippe was being pampered, but he stood corrected. Philippe's coat had been cleaned and brushed until it gleamed, his nails had been trimmed, his mane and tail combed. If he hadn't been a Comtois half-breed Philippe could have passed as a show-horse. The way he preened, Philippe thought so too.

"Why, don't you look spoiled," Jack huffed and walked up to give the horse a hug and scratch his forehead. The horse pressed against him happily, and Jack envied his ability to just roll with the punches and adjust to any situation.

"He'll be taken care of," the clock said from outside the box. "You can come here and work on him yourself, you can even bring him out for some air."

Take Philippe out? He was allowed to do that?

"And when you do, the gate will be locked and guarded," the clock continued with a tone that said he knew where Jack's thoughts had been going.

"I promised I'd stay here," Jack mumbled.

"Yeah, want to know which ones believe you'll keep that promise?" the book asked.

Right. The dragon wasn't the only threat in the castle. Everything seemed more or less hostile. The book didn't appear threatening as much as wary, but what could a book do? The clock was so far the most easy-going out of everyone, although straightforward and brutally honest. The vase definitely didn't like him, the teapot and mug from this morning were a little short-tempered… the dresser had been friendly, and in retrospect, Jack realized he'd treated her unfairly due to his own wild imagination.

Jack buried his face in Philippe's neck for a second, taking a deep breath of the only safety that he'd probably find in this place.

He thought about North, missing him so much it hurt. Then he thought of Berk for a second, remembering Flynn and Anna and Pitch and Snotlout… yes, he was a prisoner here and his holders were everyday objects and a dragon. He'd been shown at least the basic hospitality of shelter and food and even some privacy in the shape of a room the dragon had promised he'd be left alone in. It wasn't a good situation by any means, but it certainly wasn't worse. There was no Flynn Rider out to make his life miserable, no Snotlout and Dogsbreath to beat and threaten him when they felt like it, and no Pitch to make his skin crawl.

Jack stepped away from Philippe, smiling and petting the horse fondly, then he turned back to the clock and book who were simply regarding him, as if waiting for a reaction.

"Mind if I go out then? I need some fresh air."

The outside was cold and brisk and wonderful. Jack was about to relax and take a deep breath when he was startled by a couple of shovels and rakes that suddenly got busy cleaning up the area, herding autumn leaves into a pile and fixing the flowerbed near the wall.

The teen looked around after the twenty something seconds job was done and the tools stood at attention beside him.

"That was pretty neat," Jack had to admit, and saw the rakes beat their sticks together as if they high-fived.

The teen nodded at them before turning his attention to his surroundings. The yard was unkept. Bushes and contorted trees grew wild and untamed around what had once probably been a beautiful place. There was a building of some sort on the far side, pretty much just a roof on a circle of pillars, though Jack couldn't fathom what it was used for. Near the castle wall was a shed that had seen better days, which probably was why the tools lived in the stables that were attached to the side of the castle.

And everywhere were dragon statues. Jack hadn't thought about it so much until now, but there was definitely a surplus of dragon statues all over the place; inside the castle as well. They all varied in sizes and shapes. Some being long and sleek and others short and stubby. Some had two heads and others sported terrifying long tusks. Some had their wings spread, but most of them were folded. Some had four legs and some had two. There was one statue, posed like it was trying to climb the castle wall, that mostly resembled a bat the way its wings were attached to the arms, or the other way around, Jack wasn't sure.

The master of the castle must be bored out of his mind if he had the time to make so many stone dragons. Where did he even get the rocks?

Jack bent down to scrutinize a horned snake with wings about as big as he was. The tail was lined with pricks and two pairs of claws like grabbling hooks poked out above and underneath the folded wings. The dragon was staring up at the castle with a look Jack would normally interpret as worried, but he wrote it off as his own feelings.

Ignoring the rest of the stone statues, Jack looked at the walls surrounding everything. It was evenly high all around, but at the back there was a big crack that went from the base up, leaving a sizeable window, however, there was nothing beyond but the faraway mountains as far as Jack could tell.

"I'll let you know the castle is built right at the edge of a chasm!" the clock called from inside the stable. "It's a pretty long drop into the abyss through that crack!"

Well, they all seemed to know Jack was planning to escape either way, so he didn't bother to grace the clock with an response. There were no trees or anything growing near the wall towards the forest, which meant the front gate was really his only option.

When Jack walked back inside, the clock and the book both had strangely sad and angry looks to them.

"Is… everything all right?" the teen asked.

"You know," the book said and gave Jack a surprisingly pleading look. "We'd rather you not try to run away, because… we really don't want to force you to stay."

Jack frowned, feeling frustrated. "I'm your prisoner, and prisoners are typically forced to stay put against their will. Isn't that exactly what's happening here?"

"You could view yourself as our guest instead," the clock shrugged. "Might make you a little more open-minded and… well, things might look better that way?"

The last part was said in a lacklustre tone, and it wasn't what the clock had wanted to say. Jack was saved from the following awkward silence by the scarecrow poking its head into the stable, sending Philippe a worried glance before stepping in fully.

"Dagur sent me te fetch ye all fer lunch. He's pretty cranky teday."

"When is he not cranky?" the book said with a roll of its eyes and waddled towards the scarecrow.

"Who is Dagur?" Jack asked as he followed the clock and book and scarecrow through the short corridor between the stable and castle.

"The cook," the clock said, but then made a thoughtful sound. "Well, I suppose when you're an oven, you have no choice but to be a cook. We used to crack jokes that he became an oven because of his hot temper. It got old really quick."

Jack furrowed his brow in confusion at the clock's choice of words. "You mean he wasn't always an oven?"

That question was met by a silence that pretended the question hadn't been asked at all, which just got Jack even more curious. Because it made some sort of sense if he was right. This castle and everything in in was obviously enchanted, he'd figured out that much this morning, but to think the clock and book might not actually be objects, but people? Jack really had to get the time to think this through. But that was probably for tonight rather than now.

"I never caught your names," he said. "I don't think I told you mine either? I'm Jack."

The scarecrow turned around and stared at him with wide eyes. "Did ye just ask fer our names?"

Jack smiled a little wryly. "Well, when you called the oven by name I remembered Ida, Tuffnut and Tooth Fairy from this morning. If they all have names, why wouldn't you?"

"We do," the book said, donning the same surprise as the scarecrow. "It's just that nobody ever asked. Either way, my name is Fishlegs."

Which was not at all what Jack had expected, but the book said it with such pride and dignity that it couldn't be a joke.

"Don't be fooled by his name," the clock said with a snicker. "He's a book because he's a walking encyclopaedia."

"That I am," the book sighed, looking pleased for a second before his face fell into an unimpressed stare at Jack. "But it sucks that people want to read me. You could just ask me anything and I'll tell you right away."

"I'm Gobber," the clock cut in and started walking again. "The scarecrow is Mulch, and the bucket hanging off his arm is…" he made a dramatic pause, where Jack realized for the first time the scarecrow actually did have a bucket on its arm "Bucket," the clock finished its not-so-grand-after-all presentation.

The bucket groaned softly.

"Huh, seems there's going to be some bad weather tonight," Mulch the scarecrow said and took up position beside the door to the stable.

"How can you tell?" Jack asked curiously.

"The tighter the bucket, the bigger the storm. If not so tight, not so bad."

Whatever that meant, Jack wasn't sure. Not that it mattered as he followed Fishlegs and Gobber towards the kitchen for lunch.

The table had been laid with a plate with steaming food and Tuffnut standing beside it, filled almost to the brim with water.

"Hope it fills you up, there's no a second serving," the oven said. Jack glanced at it as he sat down. It was sooty and burning brightly inside, lighting up the kitchen with a warm light.

The food was a stew with tough meat and soft vegetables. It wasn't the best of foods, but he supposed the oven, Dagur, wasn't the best of chefs to begin with. Jack shouldn't complain though. When he'd been locked up in the tower he'd had a fleeting thought that he'd been living off of bread and water for the rest of his life.

He reached for the water, remembering at the last moment that the mug had a face. Probably because it was looking at him.

"You know, I appreciate your consideration, but it also makes it even more awkward," Tuffnut said.

"Right. Takes some getting used to."

"I know. Wish I could tell you what it feels like."

That was a sensation Jack was very happy to be unable to imagine. But since Tuffnut had been his drinking cup in the morning too, Jack thought he might be the only one, so he might as well make it the least painful for both of them. Thus he grabbed the mug and drank all the water in one go.

"You know, it's only awkward if you make a big thing of it."

Jack looked up. On the table stood a simple, brass candlestick with lit candles. The middle one of those candles had blue eyes, and the wax shaped a cute little nose. The eyes looked unimpressed and the metal lip of the brass seemed to Jack as if it was moving.

"I stood here when you arrived. You didn't notice?" the candlestick asked.

"To be honest; no," Jack admitted and stared some more before he turned to Gobber who had taken up position beside the door. "How many… live… talking…" a thought reached him from a book he had once read. "Rephrase; how many objects in this castle has been enchanted?"

Everything that had eyes directed them at Jack. Then Gobber and the candlestick exchanged a look.

"Everything and everyone," the candlestick said.

Jack opened his mouth, but quickly closed it again when he realized it would be inconsiderate of him to ask. He picked for another one; the first one he could think of.

"So everything can move and talk and…"

"Move; yes. Talk; not so much," Gobber offered as an explanation of something Jack wasn't sure.

"Like I said this morning, the bed won't speak to you."

Jack turned around to find Ida the teapot beside the oven that had a kettle on top, probably boiling water for tea.

"I see," Jack said. At least he thought he understood. It was all a bit much and some facts were getting blurry.

The headache he'd tried to ignore since morning was intensifying.

Jack stood from the table. "I'm sorry," he said and leaned against the hard surface. "I'm really sorry. I think I need to rest, so I'll head back to my room."

Without waiting for a response, the human left the kitchen and headed for the stairs.

Burgess was a lively town filled to the brim with people arriving for some sort of festivities. Pigeons and all kinds of crows and small birds circled the roofs, diving every now and them to grab some abandoned or occupied goodie they decided they wanted.

A falcon sat on the cross that topped the church at the heart of the city. From here he had a grand view of rooftops and the occasional tree the people had decided to keep around despite how their roots upset the cobblestones.

People on the streets and the city square were aplenty. Men and women of all ages who bought and sold and a handful that stole, most of which were children. The pickpockets all walked around at random until they returned to walk past an alley where they left their loot in the hand of a couple of young men who seemed to be handing the money and goods off to other young men and girls who walked off with everything in turns.

The ringleader of the pickpockets was the most evil the falcon had managed to find here. Sure there was other evils; from men who beat their wife and children to a couple of women who had a man tied down, gagged and blindfolded while they used him for pleasure. But in comparison to Mother Gothel, even the worst of them was fairly harmless.

There was magic users here. Quacks and gypsies, one or two men in the guard that patrolled the streets that knew one or restriction or barrier spells. Nothing powerful or too sinister. Nothing looked or felt like the kind of magic Mother Gothel had emitted. Even after dark could the falcon find anything that resembled the old Enchantress's magic. Eugene still took the extra time to doublecheck the entirety of the city, just to be sure.

Well, he had started his search here and felt like he was finishing up as he soared over the houses at the outer edge, some of which were almost hidden under the brightly coloured leaves of trees. Everything outside the city was either forest or farmland.

The familiar landed at the top of an oak to look around. He'd been searching Burgess for two days now and was angry at himself for stalling here. This was about Mother Gothel. The old Enchantress had always been an eremite by nature, preferring to keep to herself and rarely went into the cities. She was way more likely to be found in the forests or farmlands. Perhaps she had more children like Rapunzel that she kept locked away? A child that would willingly give up her body to revive Mother Gothel?

That was way too likely to not keep in mind. Eugene glanced warily to the far east. He couldn't see them from here, but he knew they were there; the border between Rapunzel's realm and the realm of a much older Enchantress that was best not to butt heads with. Not even Mother Gothel had dared an encounter with the mistress of the land beyond the abyss.

That was highly irrelevant though. The other Enchantress only reared if you actually stepped into her domain, and Mother Gothel would have been turned to dust and never heard of again if that had happened, so Eugene felt fairly safe he wouldn't have to go near the border.

He dearly hoped so.

Eugene looked west and south before he turned more north to look in the direction of the village of Berk that had also been inside the circle Rapunzel had drawn. Should he go there, or search the forest first? The forest was more likely to hold something.

Who was he kidding? The seed Mother Gothel had planted could be anywhere! He needed a proper plan. He had even started searching Burgess because he knew how small the chance was that the seed was here.

Frustrated, Eugene faced west. He was going to start searching the outer line of Rapunzel's circle and work his way towards the border, and hopefully find the seed long before he even saw the abyss between the realms.

Jack awoke with a start. It was dark, but the wind howled outside. He was still fully clothed, and he probably needed a bath at this point since he hadn't washed himself properly since he left home three days ago. Or was it only two? He wasn't sure, but right now it might be night. Midnight even? He'd slept all day.

The human silently slipped from the bed, casting a wary look at the dresser, but it remained silent and still. Walking up to the window the boy looked out. It was snowing; the air filled with white crystals that were thrown around in the harsh wind that rattled the window.

Watching the power of winter nature, Jack tried to think. He was a prisoner here, which was bad enough, and his jailers were enchanted objects that may or may not have been people once.

Had the dragon put the spell on them? Jack was unsure. It did make sense to him, but then all the stories he'd overheard in Berk were grossly incomplete, or didn't make sense at all if he took the dragon tamers into the equation.

Jack rested his forehead against the cold glass. Thinking wasn't going to give him any answers. Asking anyone wasn't going to give him answers as he'd already tried that approach. Now there was only one thing left to do.

With his jaw set in a stubborn line, Jackson Overland soundlessly stepped up to the door, casting another glance at the still immobile dresser, opened the door a slit and slipped out.

The hallway was surprisingly enough dimly lit from lanterns spread thinly about the stretch of space. It certainly wasn't much, just enough to make out shadows of stone dragons and other things lining the corridor.

The human stepped into the shadow of a dragon that seemed to be guarding the door to his room, and stood still for a moment. The master of the castle had said his lair was located in the west wing. He had arrived to this room from his left, which meant the tower was that way. Jack took a gamble and headed right, being careful to keep to the shadows and on the mats to make sure his steps were silent.

Nothing moved or breathed. The stone dragons snarled and stared at Jack, but remained stone. Jack had to remind himself more than once that he'd been told today that everything made of rock was just rock and wouldn't jump him.

Finding another corridor at the end, Jack turned right again, deciding to go around if he couldn't find anywhere that might look like it would lead to the west wing. This hallway however was only about twenty meters long, and all the stone dragons were turned the same way. Jack followed where their noses pointed.

He came out in a high room where carved stone men with ox heads struggled to hold up the pillars while lions watched from alcoves in the walls, all of them seemingly ignorant of the dragons that were climbing all over them.

Once again it was the dragons that pointed the way for Jack as all of them were staring up the staircase to his right.

The human looked around, eyeing every object for any kind of sign he was actually being watched or if he just felt like he was. Nothing called out or otherwise tried to stop him from climbing the stairs, so the boy concluded that he was alone.

There were no more lights at the top of the stairs. Jack stopped for a moment, hidden under the wing of yet another stone dragon, this one appearing to be cowering and snarling at the same time.

There were fewer dragons here, Jack realized as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, and the few he could make out were all poised like cornered dogs; snarling, tails curling, backs arching and all kinds of spikes raised.

Jack started slowly down the hallway. After passing two stone dragons only a few feet in, the hallway was completely void of them, all the way to the door at the end, which was covered with deep scratches from some enormous animal.

The real dragon.

Jack stood before the door, feeling his heart beating like it tried to escape, before he decisively reached out and pulled the door open.