Page 45 of The Last Dragon

Tariel raised an eyebrow, his gaze slowly sliding down Cassian’s bare chest before meeting his eyes with a mischievous twinkle.

“I’m so weak I can’t even stand up,” he declared in a theatrical tone. “If only you, the idiot that you are, had let me help you instead of forcing me to cast a spell so draining to save your life… Oh well, you’ll have to stay naked.”

A playful smile played across the elf’s lips, more sincere than anything he had shown thus far. Cassian rolled his eyes but didn’t protest. After all, he wasn’t a prude by any means.

Tariel suddenly summoned a massive grimoire in a faint blue glow. A quill and an inkwell, shimmering with magic, appeared in its wake. The elf knelt near his chest and placed his hands on him. The grimoire opened of its own accord; the quill dipped into the ink and began to write in ancient Elvish. Cassian could read it, but he barely peeked at it with a fleeting glance.

“This barrier seems to be forming on its own,” Tariel whispered. “In that case… how does it do that?”

Cassian gently took his wrist and guided it toward his heart, just above the Stone. As the elf’s hand touched his bare skin, a familiar warmth spread through him. His magic—his very essence—bound with Tariel’s in a deep, vibrant echo. It wasn’t just a magical bond; it was a resonance. Something older. Something vaster.

He closed his eyes, listened to the elf’s heart respond to his own, and lingered on the ancient presence within him—so luminous, so vibrant.

“I am not a mage,” he said at last. “If my magic seems primitive to you, that’s because it belongs to none of the systems you know… It evolves. It transforms and purifies—or corrupts—in the silence of an unchanging balance. Excedo Carnem, you’ve heard me say that once or twice. It means ‘I transcend the flesh; I cross the boundaries of the physical,’ it is alchemy.”

He sighed deeply.

“You saw my blood make nature grow. That is all it is: giving in order to receive. Don’t feign surprise, Tariel… you are the one walking around with the Heart of Elhë.”

His hand glided over the elf’s chest, resting on that beating heart. At his touch, the bond intensified. A new warmth flowed between them.

He felt the subtle shiver that ran through Tariel. In the elf’s troubled gaze, he read the same question he had asked himself during his apprenticeship, when he was still a young man: what was that all about?

Magic fluttered between them, fluid and alive. It flowed from him to the elf, then returned enriched with a foreign yet familiar essence. A subtle synergy, an exchange between souls.

“It’s impossible…” whispered Tariel. “Only dragons, gods, or mythical creatures are capable of such magic… No offense, but I don’t see what any of them would be doing pretending to be a mere mercenary.”

Cassian chuckled faintly.

“You don’t offend me. My magic is the only truth—tangible and real. As for my status, it’s of little consequence… I’ve told you: my parents served the dragons. They learned from them, and I learned from my parents.”

He didn’t add anything about his own magic. It wasn’t time yet.

“There is a power within you,” he continued. “I can feel it. It comes naturally to you, while others must learn it, earn it. You are just unaware of your privilege.” He sat up slightly with effort, pain evident in every feature of his face. “You have it within you. Here. In your heart.”

A pale glow pulsed beneath his palm, still resting on the young elf’s warm chest.

“Only the Crystal responds to alchemy in this way… And I understand why you were chosen to slay the dragon: dragons are drawn to what is purest, to riches… gold, power, magical artifacts. And you… you bear the mark of them.” His voice grew deeper. “You’re a target, Tariel. Whether you like it or not. I’m surprised you’ve made it this far…”

Perhaps he was saying too much, but the words demanded to be spoken. Beneath his fingers, he felt Tariel waver inwardly, his feelings resonating like an echo between the two hearts: disbelief gave way to a painful certainty. Magic didn’t lie; the elf couldn’t hide from Cassian—not that he didn’t already know that.

Finally, the elf took a long breath, lifted his chin, his gaze briefly misting over for a moment so fleeting that the mercenary might have imagined it. His grimoire snapped shut, the sound almost synonymous with finality. The silence grew heavy.

Cassian didn’t speak up. He knew that silence all too well. He could guess the thoughts racing through the elf’s mind: his parents, the quest, the possibility of a lie. Tariel’s rings clinked as he clenched his fists.

After a long, tense moment, the elf dispelled his magical barrier and pulled the blanket back up over Cassian’s chest with trembling gentleness.

“You shouldn’t be moving around so much. You’re exhausted. You should sleep… We should both sleep.”

He lay down on the furs, his back to Cassian.

“…I don’t want us to be too exhausted to react effectively. It would be a shame to die before we find that damn dragon.”

Denial.

Cassian didn’t respond.

Silence settled in. Then he felt fingers searching for his. Hesitantly.