Page 36 of The Last Dragon

The mercenary’s apology took him by surprise.

Even more so than the dragon behind him.

A dragon.

And this dragon was, quite obviously, the phoenix he had sent away earlier.

Then, the dragon imploded.

The elf wasn’t breathing anymore. The shock that coursed through him dried his tears, freezing Tariel in a bewildered expression. His phoenix had been transformed into a dragon and then imploded.

He snapped back to reality when he realized the mercenary kept talking, murmuring soft apologies and reassurances against him. Was he in his arms? He was suffocating.

He’d known that death weighed heavily on the Morgrave lands, and Tariel had just played a part in its doom.

10 - On The Run

Cassian

How could one not feel sorry?

How could he not be, when he was witnessing how one could go from a peaceful, almost unreal life to exile, pain, and death? Cassian knew that was the price; he had always known it. What worried him was neither the blood nor the ashes.

It was the elf’s silence.

Tariel seemed frozen, his eyes fixed on the blazing horizon. He was in shock, obviously. Magic of such power—especially for such a young elf—always left scars. Seeing a dragon born of fire was enough to shatter even the deepest certainties.

The elf didn’t speak. Not even an insult. Not even a reproach or a taunt.

That was more troubling than any anger could have been.

Cassian let out a sigh. He helped him sit up, wiping away the traces of ash and tears clinging to his pale cheek with the back of his sleeve.

“Cassian… why did I just see a dragon implode?”

His voice was broken, hoarse.

“You summon phoenixes; I turn them into dragons,” he replied, keeping his voice low. “That was the only way to strike Morgraves where it hurts. It was just an illusion, a mass of flames. I suppose this is the first time you’ve seen a dragon, even a fake one.”

Tariel didn’t answer, and Cassian staggered before crouching down. He could feel his strength leaving him, and he didn’t have time to reassure a traumatized elf.

“We have to make it to the border. We’ll be safe there.”

He tried to stand up. A sharp, burning pain pierced his heart, a cruel reminder of his own limitations. He turned to Tariel.

Deep down, he knew that pain came partly from the elf. Because of him, his heart was beating out of rhythm… Hearts bound together, destinies shared… And yet, what he felt was not hatred—not anymore.

It was… older, hard to name.

“Do you feel up to riding your horse?” he asked, unsure if he himself was capable of it, before adding, “Let’s hurry. We can’t stay here.”

But Tariel didn’t move. He was trembling, trapped by his own mind, his fears, his guilt, his tears tracing pale trails down his dusty cheeks…

Cassian stepped closer. He placed one hand on his shoulder and the other on his heart, allowing himself to feel his raw, suffocating pain.

“It’s all right, Tariel. It’s not your fault. It’s mine.”

With a sad smile, he stepped back and then held out the stirrup to him.