Page 53 of The Last Dragon

It was a scholar’s sanctuary, a place where every object told of centuries of solitude and the quest for knowledge, a universe he had built to shield himself from the world.

Tariel, bathed in the illusory light of his dome, spoke again in a voice that now resonated with the muffled echo of the great stone halls:

“The magic of the mind allows one to enchant, charm, and manipulate. Sometimes for noble causes… or less noble ones.”

An image from the past flashed before him: Tariel, sipping tea, using a simple mental spell to send away an importunate customer. His attire was lavish, embroidered with gold, showing him as he once was: an immensely wealthy and slightly arrogant High Elf. He smiled at the memory before moving on to the next one. He was seen jumping back at the sight of a spider and, on reflex, firing a fireball at it—but before a catastrophe could occur and he could set his precious library ablaze, the flame fizzled out.

Seeing Cassian’s surprised expression, the elf smiled broadly as he gave him a gentle, teasing nudge. The library faded away as Tariel placed his hand on Cassian’s chest, where he had inscribed runes the day before. A bright light flared beneath the man’s shirt: a protection rune.

An amused smile played on the mercenary’s lips as he murmured, just loud enough for Tariel to hear:

“I figured I could still feel your fingers here…”

Tariel simply gave him a knowing wink before lowering his hands. The magic slowly dissipated into the air. He turned his gaze toward Cassian with a gentle smile.

In Caelendor, disciples would have paid a fortune for such a lesson. But here, on the nomads’ grasslands, he had sought only one thing: to show the man accompanying him that he was much more than just prey.

Cassian

A smile spread across his lips as he watched the mage reassure a people who had never encountered magic so closely before.

Cassian listened intently, looking away for a moment when Seris gave him a knowing glance. He cleared his throat, feigning indifference so he could focus on Tariel once more.

He could sense his companion’s nerves, but the elf’s acting was flawless, masking his distress with regal confidence.

As magic materialized to illustrate the story, Cassian’s gaze drifted into the swirling wisps of smoke.

This lesson took him back centuries, to the magic lessons at the Drakensyl estate. He had never doubted the elf’s eloquence or his power; he had sensed it from their very first meeting. That stone within him amplified every spell, every intention: it was the first time a Drakensyl, bearer of the Philosopher’s Stone, had met his equal. The balance was perfect.

Too perfect.

Round after round, Cassian marveled at the display. Their gazes met, weaving a bond far too obvious to attentive observers. The dragon tried not to get attached to this feeling of warmth rising within him, this newfound sense of well-being he was discovering in the presence of his other half.

Then, the sky darkened. The dark magic made Cassian’s heart tremble in his chest. He frowned, realizing that Tariel was not only a scholar of light, but that he also knew how to wield darkness.

A painful memory surfaced—similar shadows devouring his own people—and he discreetly looked away, his gaze vacant. What Tariel was projecting was not merely a simulation for Cassian; it was a nightmare he had experienced firsthand so long ago.

The connection between his own heart and the elf’s Crystal brought him back to reality as he witnessed the library taking form around them.

Cassian found it truly beautiful in that setting, recalling a time when embroidery and titles of nobility were not insults. This world of books, silence, and peace… Tariel had lost everything, whether he wanted it or not—torn from his pedestal, he had been thrust into a reality of mud and blood. Deep down, the mercenary knew that no matter how this story ended, Tariel would not be returning home.

The elf’s visions eventually soothed Cassian’s turmoil, despite himself. Seeing Tariel so at ease, revealing himself so openly through his illusions, warmed his wounded soul. Another barrier was falling. It wasn’t blind trust yet, but an undeniable bond was forming—whether tragic or full of hope.

For a moment, he looked up at the sky, which always brought him comfort, reminding him of his long nighttime flights. When the illusion faded, he stared at the elf, convinced of one thing: Tariel was special. Beyond his immense power, there was that spark of something different that he couldn’t quite put his finger on yet.

Suddenly, Cassian detached himself from reality, observing himself from the outside like a specter. A certainty struck him like a blow, a pain sharper than his wounds:

He could never bring himself to rip out his heart.

That thought shook him, calling his entire plan into question. His own heart was screaming at him to give up.

“Cassian? Are you okay?”

He blinked and found himself face-to-face with Lyara, whose hand rested heavily on his shoulder. He nodded, seeking Tariel’s gaze. His gentle smile had faded. Cassian swallowed before saying, forcing a teasing tone, “I tend to get lost in the flood of information… It’s a nasty headache, Tariel, and it’s your fault! We were supposed to train, weren’t we? Let’s get going.”

Cassian grabbed the elf’s hand—a gesture firmer than he would have liked—and led him toward the practice field, amid the protests of the disappointed children.

Lyara, meanwhile, stepped up beside them, a serious look on her face. “Tariel, have you ever fought with a sword? I need to know your skill level before I face you.”