For a breath, they just stood there. The forest was quiet again, except for the rain in the leaves and the aftershocks of something heavy pressing on the air.

  She looked up at him, at the strength in his eyes despite the blood and exhaustion.

  And she knew she wasn’t letting him go alone.

  Imogen sighed, brushing damp strands of hair from her face.

  “Before I decide to probably make the worst decision of my life… can I at least know your name?”

  He blinked, surprised, maybe even a little amused.

  “So I know who I’m potentially going to die with,” she added dryly, “when we go charging off to rescue your supposed dragon.”

  A breath of a smile tugged at his lips, tired, but real.“Darius.”

  The name settled between them like a stone dropped in water quiet, but somehow important.

  “Imogen,” she offered after a beat, her voice lower now. “In case we actually do die.”

  Darius’s eyes lingered on hers a second too long.

  “We won’t,” he said simply.

  Then, quieter, almost thoughtful “Not tonight. But what makes you so ready to throw your life away to save just a dragon and a clumsy stranger?”

  Adding emphasis on the “just” as they picked up speed, weaving through the trees toward the sound of the dragon’s distant wail.

  “Aren’t you humans the ones always chasing some chosen destiny to slay a dragon and be called a hero?”

  Imogen’s jaw clenched.

  Her pace stayed steady for a breath, but her cheeks flushed hot with rising anger.

  “Excuse me?” she snapped then broke into a full run, forcing him to keep up.

  “First of all, how dare you bundle all of us humans together like we’re one giant hive mind of dragon-killers.”

  She didn’t look at him, but her voice came fast and sharp, each word laced with fire.

  “Second, after we do save that poor creature and no, I won’t let you hurt it either, you're going to answer some questions.”

  He raised a brow but didn’t interrupt.

  She threw a glare over her shoulder.

  “You’re going to tell me about your ‘weakened magic’ you casually mentioned, why you apparently don’t consider yourself human, and”

  Her voice faltered for just a beat.

  “Whatever the hell this thing is that happens every time you get near me.”

  Darius was silent for a moment, the tension thick between them. The storm in the distance rumbled like it had heard everything.

  Then, just barely audible over the rain and their pounding footsteps he said,

  “That’s a long list.”

  “And we’ve got a long way to run,” she shot back.

  The trees broke open into a battlefield soaked in death.

  Corpses littered the blackened field, soldiers twisted and broken, limbs sprawled, weapons cracked beside stiffened hands. Smoke curled from the charred earth, and blood ran through the mud in sluggish veins.

  But what made Imogen’s breath catch wasn’t the carnage.

  It was the armor.

  Not all the fallen wore the standard-issued iron of the kingdom’s soldiers.

  Some of them… wore armor like his.

  That same dark, dragon-sigil steel. Elegant. Almost otherworldly.

  A few had helmets knocked askew, revealing faces some barely older than boys. One still clutched a curved blade that shimmered faintly with dormant magic.

  Imogen’s eyes snapped to Darius.

  His face had gone deathly still. “We might have to hold off on the list..”

  And at the center of it all collapsed and heaving lay the dragon.

  Its emerald-and-ash scales were cracked and bleeding, one wing crushed beneath its weight. A long obsidian spear was driven deep into its shoulder.

  From a distance, it looked dead. But when Darius stepped closer, the creature stirred.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  Its eyes opened and found him immediately. Recognition and relief covered its features.

  “Darius…” the dragon rasped, the name more smoke than sound.

  Darius moved without thinking.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll get you out of this.”

  Imogen trailed behind him, stunned. To her, the situation reeked of vengeance, tied perhaps to the white dragon the general so proudly claimed to have slain. The possibility that her own people might be seen as the true monsters gnawed at her.

  They were only a few steps from the dragon when its eyes snapped wide with alarm.

  A sharp inhale. Then panic.

  “No stop!” it wheezed. “Trap… Darius, behind-” The dragon’s gaze darted frantically to the trees.

  Darius froze. “…It’s a trap,” he muttered.

  And then it sprang.

  Figures erupted from the underbrush, kingdom soldiers, the last survivors. Twisted with fury and desperation, they rose from among the dead like revenants.

  Blades gleamed and crossbows locked.

  “They were waiting…” Imogen breathed. “They played dead.”

  The dragon tried to rise, a pained rumble escaping its throat but the wound was too deep. It crashed back down, claws scraping helplessly at the blood-soaked earth.

  Darius stepped in front of Imogen, shielding her without hesitation.

  He drew his sword in one smooth motion favoring his injured side, but steady.

  Ready.

  He didn’t look back. The dragon’s eyes, wide and burning, pleading silently; Run, get out! Save yourself!

  But Darius didn’t move back. He moved forward.

  His voice cut through the thick air, calm but urgent.

  “Imogen I need you to get that spear out of my second-in-command’s shoulder. Stay close to him. He’ll protect you if things go bad while I’m busy. We don’t have time, can I count on you?”

  He didn’t look back as he spoke, but his stance shifted, blade raised, eyes locked on the advancing soldiers.

  Imogen darted to the dragon’s side, her boots splashing through the blood soaked mud. She ran beside the massive creature toward his shoulder, her breath catching as she saw the blackened shaft embedded deep in its scales.

  Her eyes flicked once to Darius, disbelief and exasperation dancing across her face.

  “I swear,” she muttered, gripping the spear’s base, “next time I find a half-dead stranger in strange-looking armor, I’m walking the other way.”

  Darius gave a quick, wild grin without breaking stride.

  “No, you won’t, princess.”

  His tone was low, but filled with something fierce.

  “You saved my life. Now it’s my turn to return the favor.”

  Then, with a final glance at the dragon, he added,

  “Take good care of her, Axel.”

  The dragon, Axel, let out a low rumble of acknowledgment as Imogen pressed a steadying hand against his warm, shuddering side.

  His glowing eyes met hers, full of pain… and something close to trust.

  Darius was already moving, weaving through smoke and broken bodies toward the archers at the edge of the field.

  Imogen yelled out to him while yanking a makeshift cloth from her bag.“This isn’t returning the favor if you’re the one who dragged me into the danger, you ass!” She braced her foot near the spear, gritting her teeth, her voice cutting across the chaos.

  Darius didn’t look back, but his shoulders shook slightly with a breathless laugh.

  “Semantics,” he called over his shoulder. “You’ll thank me later.”

  He moved with deadly purpose, each step faster, more fluid, as if every second away from Imogen was one he couldn’t afford to waste.

  Imogen turned her attention back to Axel, the dragon’s ragged breathing loud against the distant clash of blades.

  His scales were slick with blood, pulsing with faint traces of magic.

  She pressed a hand to his side again, intending only to steady herself.

  But the moment her fingers touched him, something shifted.

  A pulse.

  It wasn’t heat or heartbeat, but something older. Wilder.

  It raced up her arm like lightning laced with memory, flashes of open skies, of ancient voices whispering in a language she didn’t know but somehow understood.

  The ground beneath her seemed to thrum in response, as if the land itself recognized the contact.

  Axel’s head shifted slightly.

  His breath hitched but not in pain. In awareness. His glowing eyes locked onto hers, wide now, startled. Shimmering with something more than pain.

  Recognition. Awe.

  Imogen’s mouth went dry.

  “What the hell are you?” she whispered, unsure if she meant him or herself. Axel let out a low, keening sound. Not words, but laced with emotion. A soft, reverent note, as if he were waiting for her, trusting her.

  The pressure in her chest grew, like the tug of fate threading her deeper into something she couldn’t name.

  Her hand moved without conscious thought, trailing up to just beneath the spear’s base. Her fingers began to glow faintly, golden veins of light threading along her palm. Axel didn’t flinch. In fact, his body relaxed. She blinked at the glow in horror.

  “Nope,” she muttered. “No. We are not doing mysterious magical chosen-one stuff right now”

  A soft rumble beneath her fingers stopped her. Axel’s gaze never left hers, “…Okay fine, we're doing this.”

  She dug her foot in, braced her arms, and said, “On three, big guy. One… two…”And with a wrench and a shout, the spear came free.

  Imogen was flung back into the mud, the force of the spear’s release sending her sprawling several feet away.

  She landed hard, her back slamming against the cold, unyielding earth.

  Her hands scrambled against the slick ground, trying to push herself up, heart racing. Golden light still shimmered in her eyes, casting a strange glow through the smoke.

  Dazed, she looked toward Axel.

  The dragon’s massive shoulder was aglow, a soft, pulsing radiance spreading across his cracked scales.

  The magic wasn’t hers. Not really. But it had answered her. Something ancient buried deep in her bones.

  She stared, breathless, as the golden aura knit together torn flesh, dulling the worst of the wound.

  But Axel’s breathing, ragged and shallow, was growing worse. Her gaze dropped to the spear lying in the mud. The blade was slick with a thick, oily substance.

  Poison.