Chapter 10 – The Heat That Lingers
1283 Words
She awoke to the scent of sweat and ash.
Not her own.
Runi’s breath rasped unevenly, the older dwarf lying half-upright on a bed of furs and blankets, the light from the forge fire brushing her features in restless red. Blood had dried beneath her tunic. The wrappings around her middle were clean now, but tight. Aksanaa had tightened them herself — three times — and yet she still checked again.
The events of the night pressed against her skull like smoke refusing to lift. The chase. The tunnel. The fire. And him — Daghan. His eyes burned itself into Aksanaa’s mind like an iron brand. The last words he said. ‘Come back’ it was more like a plea than order.
She rose from the floor without a word, the stiffness in her limbs reminding her of how close they’d come to being caught. Saelwyn was already there, leaning against the doorway like a shadow carved from stillness.
“You should be resting,” he said, eyes not leaving Runi.
“She was bleeding. Resting could wait.”
“You were bleeding too.”
Aksanaa didn’t answer. She walked to the hearth, poured water into a basin. Her fingers trembled only slightly.
Saelwyn stepped closer. His voice dropped. “You disobeyed.”
She met his gaze — the usual frost behind her eyes thin now, worn down by fatigue and fear. “You don’t own me, Saelwyn.”
His jaw twitched. But he didn’t argue.
Silence fell again, thicker than the smoke curling above the forge.
Finally, Runi stirred. A pained groan pushed past her lips.
“I feel like a wheel ran over me. Twice,” she muttered.
Aksanaa offered the water. Runi sipped with a grimace. “Did we make it? Or is this hell’s waiting room?”
“You made it. And no, you’re not dead. Unfortunately, not yet.”
Runi managed a crooked smile. But her eyes shifted, more serious now.
She looked at Sealwyn.
“I was thinking about the binding. We all felt it, didn’t we? That break.”
Aksanaa nodded. “Something powerful.”
Runi stared at the ceiling. Her voice was hoarse, but steady. “It was a binding for sure. But to whom?”
Saelwyn, who had stayed silent, looked toward her sharply.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m not guessing,” Runi said. “The forge went cold. The flame snapped like a neck.”
Aksanaa frowned. “Then someone…”
Runi completed her words,
“Some dragon…has been chained. Obviously”
The words hung heavy.
Aksanaa turned her face away. The image of Daghan’s eyes, wild with flame and grief, surged back. Her breath caught. Is he can be the one chained?
She didn’t sleep, not truly. When her body finally gave way, it pulled her down into a dream that felt like memory.
The gate loomed ahead — Garrad Dum, ancient and unmarked. Her younger self stood at its edge, barefoot, trembling.
He was beside her. The boy with the quiet smile. The only one who hadn’t turned his back.
He held her hand. Told her to trust him.
But when they reached the pool carved into stone, he didn’t stop.
He pushed.
Her scream never echoed.
And when she looked back up from the black waters, the boy’s face had changed.
Now, it was Saelwyn’s.
Aksanaa woke with a gasp.
…
The room was dim, lit only by the gentle pulse of torchlight filtering through a distant corridor c***k. The warmth of stone and cloth wrapped around Aksanaa — and something else.
Someone.
She blinked.
A steady breath brushed the nape of her neck, warm and slow. An arm was draped loosely around her waist. Familiar.
She turned slightly. “Saelwyn?”
He shifted behind her, but didn’t pull away. “You were shivering,” he murmured. “Saying things… like you were drowning.”
Aksanaa’s throat tightened.
“I— I didn’t realize I was that loud.”
“You weren’t. I just know what your silence sounds like.”
A long pause followed.
“Saelwyn… why are you in my bed?”
He hesitated. “Habit, maybe,” he said softly. “We used to fall asleep like this all the time. Back in the forest.”
Aksanaa didn’t pull away. But she didn’t lean in, either. “That was different.”
“I know.”
He sighed against her shoulder, voice lower now. “But sometimes I miss it. The way it used to feel. Simple. Safe.”
Aksanaa’s fingers curled into the blanket. She searched for a reply, something to explain the knot in her chest. She couldn’t lie — part of her did miss those nights. The quiet warmth. The wordless understanding.
But she was no longer that version of herself.
Still…
“We were different then,” she said quietly. “I was different.”
Saelwyn was silent for a beat. “I don’t want anything from you,” he said gently. “Not tonight. Just… let me stay. Like before.”
She nodded. Barely. “Just for tonight.”
They didn’t speak after that. But in the hush between their breaths, the air felt less cold. And sleep, when it returned, came softer.
The next morning was grey in the tunnels — just as it had always been.
Aksanaa sat alone by the forge. Her hands were steady, but her thoughts frayed at the edges.
Saelwyn entered, silent as always.
“You’re up early,” he said.
She nodded.
He didn’t press.
Minutes later, Runi joined them, walking slow but upright. Her side was stiff, bandages pulled tight beneath her coat.
“So,” she said bluntly, “we agree it was a binding. Which means only one thing — someone powerful has been muzzled.”
“You don’t waste a minute, do you?” Saelwyn muttered.
“Rebellion doesn’t have the luxury of time.”
Aksanaa frowned. “Even if it was a binding… you think we can use it?”
“If we find out who was bound, and why — maybe.”
“How? It doesn’t make any sense.”
“And here I was thinking elves were the clever ones,” Runi said, smirking. “Dragons don’t just hoard gold. They guard relics, enchantments, ancient secrets. You bind a dragon — you trap its hoard. That means less resistance. If we can find out who, maybe we find what they left behind. Weapons. Knowledge. Power.”
Saelwyn crossed his arms. “And you want us to go near the palace? Again?”
“Oh, not me,” Runi snorted. “They’d spot a chunky dwarf with a limp from three valleys away.”
Saelwyn turned to her. “So who, then?”
Runi gave him a pointed look. “Maybe an elf with feather-soft feet and ears like blades?”
Saelwyn’s face hardened. “No. Not in a thousand worlds. I’m not stepping near Ulven Dar’s palace.”
Aksanaa’s voice came quiet — but steady.
“I’ll go.”
They both turned to her.
“If there’s even a chance I can repay what you’ve done for me… I want to try.”
“No, Aksanaa.” Saelwyn stepped closer. “You don’t owe us anything. I won’t let you walk into danger.”
Her eyes met his — fire against frost.
“You don’t own me, Saelwyn. I have nothing to lose. And I want to help.”
Saelwyn looked at her for a long moment. Then looked away.
He didn’t argue.
But the silence between them said more than words could.
Something had shifted.
And none of them were sure what it would become.
- Writer
