Page 24 of The Last Dragon

If the elf thought him arrogant, cruel, or simply crude, he was mistaken. Darkness was part of him for sure. He embodied it with disconcerting ease, but it wasn’t all there was to him. And beneath that rough exterior, there was more. Much more.

The words exchanged a short while ago, in that world suspended between dream and escape, had unsettled the elf… just as much as they had shaken the dragon.

And that force, that magic that had brought them back to reality, was now exacting a cruel price from him: pain, exhaustion, the fall.

Cassian collapsed.

He no longer moved, no longer felt anything.

Instead, something within him—something deeper than flesh—forced him to live again, to remember. The darkness of his unconsciousness was swept away by a blinding, reddish light. The light of the flames.

He was still a young man—an adult, already a few centuries old, but so young for a dragon. His lungs burned as he ran until he was out of breath through the secret corridors of the palace of his childhood, a stone labyrinth that was turning into a death trap. His boots slipped on the blood. Behind him, the din of the slaughter was shattering his eardrums. This wasn’t a war; it was an execution.

Chaos reigned everywhere. He could hear the agonized screams of his men, their throats slit by the dozens in the hallways, and the shrill cries of the women of the court, hunted down by those they had called their allies just the day before. The stench was unbearable: a mixture of iron, sweat, and burnt flesh. The attackers had planned everything. Their treacherous spells, forged from ancient magic, mowed down the dragons, even in their sleep. Through the shattered windows, he had seen absolute horror: dragons collapsing in the courtyard, their wings torn off while they were still alive, thrashing in iron traps before being finished off like beasts.

Not even their sacred fire, unleashed in a surge of pure survival, had been enough to save the king. His father was dead. Cassian had seen him, lying in the middle of the ceremonial hall, where a treaty was to be signed. The banquet tables lay overturned, the wine mingled with blood, and the corpses of his parents were already nothing more than desecrated remains.

His heart pounded so hard at the memory that it felt as if it would shatter his ribs.

All of a sudden, in the distance, through the mists of his deranged mind… A horn sounded. Deep, drawn-out, mournful. It cut through the air like a death-prophecy: the hunt was on. And this time, they were the prey.

Then, the sound of the horn began to distort, transforming into a shrill, monstrous bird-like screech. The griffin’s howl. The beast’s talons sank into his flesh, tearing his muscles to shreds as they desperately tried to flee the fortress.

The intensity of the memory finally collided with the reality of his pain.

The fire of the flashback became the searing sting of the open wounds on his chest. Cassian let out a faint groan, his muscles twitching under the impact of a new wave of pain. His ribs were broken, his skin lacerated by the monster, and his dragon healing had stalled, progressing abnormally slowly. That was the price he had to pay for that damned protective magic he’d bestowed upon Tariel at court. That bond, which he’d forged instinctively without protecting himself, had left him vulnerable.

His eyelids fluttered, heavy as lead.

The cold stone of the castle was gone. Instead, he lay on a makeshift bed of moss, deep within a verdant hiding place—some sort of tent. Just above him, a silhouette was moving in the dim light.

Tariel.

His face pale and focused as he leaned over him, actively tending to his wounds with a surprisingly gentle hand. The soft touch of those slender fingers on his bruised skin had just pulled the dragon from his nightmares of the past.

“Where… am I…?”

Completely disoriented, with a bitter taste of potion in his mouth, his head was spinning as his magic crackled around him. His blue eyes, staring into the distance, tried to find a familiar setting, but he only found himself mumbling, “Morgraves… the East… we must… Drakensyl…”

His gaze fell on the silvery strands of hair framing Tariel’s face; he watched them faintly and murmured the elf’s name almost silently, unsure of what was happening.

Tariel’s pale skin seemed free of the dungeon’s grime, a sign that he had somewhat cleaned himself up, having washed away the blood and dirt from his face. It was the elf’s turn to place a delicate hand over his lips to interrupt his reverie and reply in a whisper, “Shhhh… Don’t waste your energy—you need it. The journey was rough, and your wounds are healing. We’ve been traveling east for a few hours; I think we’ll be safe for the night… How are you feeling, Cassian?”

Slowly, Tariel withdrew his hand and ran the backs of his fingers over the mercenary’s pale, grimy cheek in a comforting gesture. The Philosopher’s Stone responded to the Crystal with a single beat; their eyes locked, and he noticed the elf’s eyes were reddened by tears, but he said nothing. He remained like that for a moment, quiet and unsure of what to do, unsettled by the elf’s presence and his gentle care.

The worry in his other’s voice made him blink, thinking he was drifting into a hallucination, but the hand that rested on his cheek brought him back to their reality.

How had they grown so close so suddenly?

“I think… that I’m dead…”

A laugh escaped the dragon, quickly joined by the melodious sound of Tariel’s laughter. He listened to the sound, like a lilting melody, the kind that soothed the soul. It might well have been the first time he’d done so in front of him.

With a tight smile on his lips that betrayed his suffering, Cassian soon closed his eyes again and pressed his cheek against the elf’s fingers. He let out an exhausted sigh, breathing in a slightly wheezing manner as he relaxed onto the elf’s lap.

“You were supposed to leave me and run away… Not that your thighs are uncomfortable, but… I’m slowing you down…”

The elf’s smile quickly faded, giving way to a sad, almost apologetic expression. He shook his head, biting the inside of his cheek, before replying, “And without you, I have little chance of reaching my destination. Listen… I’m not in the habit of saying this, so take it while you can: you were right. I can’t do this alone; I know nothing about the world, let alone dragons. And also…”