The Dragon Who Chose To Stay

Bell pressed her cheek against Rustoro’s chest, her breath catching at the warmth radiating from his skin. The world around them was a soft blur of golden light and shadow; nothing existed beyond the circle of his arms. His heartbeat thundered against her ear—strong, steady, and almost too perfect, as if crafted by her deepest yearning. She curled her fingers into the fabric of his shirt, afraid that if she let go, even for a second, he might drift away like smoke on the wind. He tilted her chin up with gentle insistence. When she met his gaze, Bell’s chest tightened. Rustoro’s eyes burned a fierce amber, intense enough to make her feel bare beneath his gaze, yet somehow comforting all at once. Stay with me, those eyes seemed to say. His hand trailed slowly down her back, leaving a path of heat through the thin material of her dress. Everywhere he touched, Bell’s skin came alive. A soft sigh escaped her as he claimed her lips in a kiss—deep and unhurried, the kind that made the ground sway beneath her feet. She tasted something sweet and smoky on his tongue, an intoxicating flavor that sent warmth coiling through her belly. Rustoro’s fingers slid into her hair, tangling in her curls as if he never intended to let her go. His other arm held her snug against him, possessive and protective at once. Bell felt cocooned in him—his scent a mix of rain-soaked earth and summer wind, enveloping her senses. It left her dizzy with yearning. A distant part of her mind whispered that something about this wasn’t right. The golden light around them flickered, as though shadows were draping over a sunlit meadow. She couldn’t recall how she’d come to be in Rustoro’s arms; some part of her knew they had been apart. The thought blurred at the edges of her awareness, then Rustoro’s lips found the hollow of her throat and all doubt dissolved in a tremor of pleasure. “Rustoro…” Bell breathed his name like a prayer. Her hands roamed over his broad shoulders and down his back. He was solid and real—so real. The heat of him, the rich timbre of his voice as he murmured her name, sent shivers across her skin. This is real, she told herself fiercely. He’s here. He drew back just enough to cradle her face between his hands. His thumbs brushed away the tears she hadn’t realized were gathering in her eyes. Rustoro smiled—that familiar half-smile that always made her heart twist—and pressed a gentle kiss to her damp lashes. “My Bell,” he whispered, his voice rough with tenderness. “I’m here now." I’ll never let you go again.” His promise wrapped around her heart. Bell closed her eyes, drinking at the moment—the steady rise and fall of his chest under her palms, the way his breath tickled her ear. She had yearned for this embrace for what felt like forever. Now it was there, soothing the wound inside her as she melted into him—the press of his body, the warmth of his breath, the promise in his voice. Yet as she savored his vow, a tremor of doubt rippled through her. Never let you go again. The words echoed, oddly distant, as if spoken down a long hallway. A prickle of unease began to form. When Bell opened her eyes, the golden glow had dimmed to twilight. Rustoro’s face hovered inches from hers, beloved and beautiful—yet a soft shadow crept across his features. The world started to swim at the edges. She gripped his shirt tighter. “Don’t,” she whispered, unsure if she begged him or the darkness itself. “Don’t leave me.” He pressed his forehead towards hers. For an instant, his amber eyes looked unbearably sad, their brightness fading like the last sliver of sunset. “Never,” he vowed again, but now his voice echoed strangely, a hollow, distant sound that made her heart lurch. The warm air around them had chilled. There was no ground beneath her feet; they were suspended in a gathering dusk. Bell’s pulse quickened, an icy thread weaving through the warmth he’d given her. She tried to focus on Rustoro—on his face, his voice—anything to keep the dream from collapsing. Because it was a dream, wasn’t it? The thought crept in, and her heart clenched. If this were real, why couldn’t she remember how it began? Why did the edges of him glow like a halo in the darkness? “Bell,” Rustoro urged, holding her as if to anchor her. His voice was both gentle and commanding, a soft thunder she felt more than heard. “Stay with me.” The plea in his tone made her soul ache. She wanted nothing more than to obey, to stay wrapped in this illusion of love and safety. Her fingertips traced the line of his jaw, memorizing the prickle of stubble, the beloved shape of his. “I… I’m trying,” she choked out, voice shaking. Tears welled in her eyes. “Rustoro, I don’t want to wake up.” A single tear escaped her. Rustoro caught it with his thumb. But as he did, the world gave a violent shudder. The golden light collapsed into flat gray; the heat of his body leached away like the last warmth of a dying flame. Bell gasped, clutching at him, as a cold wind sliced through the dream. Jagged black cracks splintered through the surrounding air, as if reality itself were breaking apart. Through those fissures, she glimpsed another world—stark white light, barren walls… a cold place, waiting. “No… please,” she begged in a broken whisper. She cupped his face, desperate to keep him there. For a heartbeat longer, she felt his fingers on her waist, the brush of his breath as if he were about to speak. Maybe he said her name. Maybe he said goodbye. She couldn’t hear him over the roar of emptiness. The ground vanished beneath her, and Bell fell. She awoke with a jolt—body clammy, heart slamming against her ribs. For a moment she lay in the darkness, gasping. The dream clung to her, heavy and hot. She could still feel Rustoro’s arms around her, the ghost of his warmth on her skin. His last plea—Stay with me—echoed in her mind, leaving an ache in her chest. Bell pressed a shaking hand to her heart, half expecting to find it still warm where he had held her. But beneath her fingertips was only the thin cotton of her shirt and the wild hammering of her own pulse. Reality settled in by degrees, cold and clear. She was alone. The air here was frigid and antiseptic, carrying the sharp tang of metal and bleach. Not the rain-kissed, grassy scent of Rustoro’s world. As her eyes adjusted, a weak panel light revealed bare concrete walls, a steel door, no windows, no warmth. This wasn’t a meadow or a bedroom—it was a cell in the research facility, a lab, cold and soulless. Bell pushed herself up from the floor, wincing at the stiffness in her limbs. A thin gray blanket had tangled around her legs; she pulled it around her shoulders, shivering. The room was small and plain: a metal chair, a desk strewn with notebooks and electronics, and in the corner a machine humming softly to itself, the only sound in this lifeless place. She drew her knees up under the blanket. The concrete floor was biting cold against her, a jarring counterpoint to the warmth of her dream. Cold sweat clung to her skin. Bell sucked in a deep breath and released it slowly, trying to steady the tremble in her body. The vivid glow of the dream was receding, leaving loneliness in its wake. “It was just a dream,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. A cruel trick of her mind, conjuring what she wanted most only to snatch it away. How many times had she woken like this—reaching for him, only to find empty air? Each time left her more hollow than the last. But this dream… it had been different. Not a hazy echo of memory like so many before. This one felt real. Even now, awake in this sterile cell, she could almost believe Rustoro had truly been with her for a moment. She unclenched her hands and saw angry red crescents where her nails had dug into her palms. She hadn’t even noticed the pain. Focus on what’s real, she urged herself. Her cool fingertips brushed her lips—of course there was no trace of his kiss. No evidence at all that Rustoro had been here, aside from the longing that still pulsed through her. A familiar fear crept through her. Was Rustoro even real? Had he ever been? Or was he just a beautiful story she told herself to survive this emptiness? Sometimes, locked away in here, she truly wondered. Her eyes drifted to a small framed photograph propped on the desk. Even in the dimness she knew every detail: a sixteen-year-old Bell laughing on a grassy hill at sunset, and behind her a great russet dragon rearing with wings spread to the sky. Rustoro. He was real enough to cast that long shadow over her. She remembered the feel of his scales under her palms that day, the sound of her own laughter. It had happened—hadn’t it? The photo was her lifeline and her torment. Proof that life outside these walls existed—that he existed—and a reminder of all she had lost. Bell reached a hand toward the frame, then hesitated. Her fingers hovered just short of touching it. She wasn’t sure she could bear to hold it right now. Slowly, she let her hand fall. Instead, she leaned back against the wall, blinking up at the sterile glow of the ceiling panel. Rustoro’s voice from the dream seemed to linger in the quiet: My Bell, I’ll never let you go again. A soft sob escaped before she could choke it down. She thought she had no tears left, yet her eyes burned. For a long moment she sat curled on the floor, throat tight and heart raw. She mouthed his name into the darkness, a fragile question: “Rustoro…?” Only the faint hum of the machine answered. Bell scrubbed at her face and drew a shaky breath. If Rustoro were truly here, none of this cold, heartless place would matter. But he wasn’t. Imagining him didn’t make him real. Even so, as she stared at the closed door, a quiet resolve hardened inside her. Dream or memory—whatever it was—Rustoro felt achingly real to her soul. If there was any chance that he was out there somewhere, she would hold on to it. The alternative—that he was nothing but a phantom of her longing—was a void she refused to accept. Bell climbed to her feet, letting the blanket slip from her shoulders. The chill pricked at her skin, but she stood tall. In a few steps she crossed to the desk and gently picked up the photo frame. Her thumb brushed over the dragon silhouetted against the sky. “We made a promise, remember?” she whispered, her voice trembling. The girl in the photo had believed in it forever. Bell touched her younger self’s smiling face under the glass, then Rustoro’s image. “You said you would stay.” Her breath hitched. She set the frame back in its place, her fingers reluctant to let go. Wrapping her arms around herself, she cast one last look at Rustoro’s dark outline behind the glass. In her mind’s eyes, she could almost see those amber eyes looking back at her. “I’ll find you,” Bell vowed softly, whether to the memory, the dream, or her own heart she didn’t know. The words fell into the stillness and lingered, an echo of promise. Alone in the stark quiet of the lab, Bell stood unbroken. One question burned in her mind: Who was Rustoro really, and why did he haunt her dreams? It was the key to everything—and someday, she would find the answer.