The Eternal Dragon's call

Blood and Silk

You are burning up, and if I do not stop the bleeding, you are going to die in a pile of your own filth."

Lyra’s hands were steady, but her voice was tight. Xavier did not answer. He was trapped in a place that existed only behind his own eyelids. The aqueduct had been cold, and the trek to this ruined watchtower had been a blur of dark water and suffocating fear. Now, he was just a shell. He lay on the floor, his skin scorching the rags beneath him.

"Stay with me, Xavier," she whispered. She dipped a cloth into a bowl of stagnant water. She pressed it against his forehead. "Come back."

He groaned. His eyes flickered, but he was not seeing the stone ceiling of the tower. He was seeing fire. He was seeing the sky turn black as his own soul was ripped away.

"Don't," he mumbled. His voice was a raw, broken thing. "Stop pulling. It hurts. It hurts so much."

"I am not pulling," Lyra said. She sounded desperate. She watched as a fresh layer of black, iridescent scales pushed up through the skin of his chest. They were beautiful in a way that made her stomach turn. They were the color of a starless night, sharp and jagged. "You are just dreaming. Wake up."

"Ignis?" Xavier’s hand shot up. He grabbed her wrist. His grip was surprisingly strong. His eyes flew open, but they were not his eyes. They were slits of gold. "Why did you let them take you?"

Lyra froze. She did not try to pull away. She saw the tears tracking through the dirt on his face.

"I am not him," she said softly. "I am Lyra. Remember?"

Xavier blinked. The gold faded. The confusion rushed back in. He let go of her wrist and collapsed back onto the floor, his chest heaving. The scales continued to spread, tracing a dark map across his ribs, pulsing with a rhythm that was not human.

"Lyra," he wheezed. "Why are you still here? You got what you wanted. You saw the map. Leave me."

"I am not leaving," she said. She grabbed the cloth again. She wiped a line of blood from his brow. "You are a mess."

Xavier jerked his head away. He tried to sit up, but a fresh wave of agony slammed him back down. He looked at her hand, stained red with his own life.

"Why?" he snapped. The accusation hung in the air, sharp as a blade. "You are not doing this for me. You are doing it because I am a weapon. You need me to open the next door. That is all I am to you. A key made of bone and blood."

Lyra set the cloth down. She looked at her hands.

"Maybe I was at first," she said. She looked at him then. Her gaze was not cold anymore. It was tired. "But I have seen what this world did to you. I have seen the scars that go deeper than skin."

"Do not pretend you care," Xavier spat. He felt like he was drowning in his own skin. The scales were still moving, itching, growing. "You don't know me. You know a story about a Dragonbound. You know a ghost."

"I know what it feels like to be the last one left," she interrupted. She leaned in close. Her voice was barely a whisper, but it carried a weight that silenced him. "I know what it is like to wake up and realize everyone you ever loved is a memory. I know the silence of a house that is supposed to be full of people. You are not the only one who has lost everything, Xavier."

Xavier stared at her. He saw the truth in her face. It wasn't the look of a spy. It was the look of someone who had walked through hell and left a piece of her soul behind in the fire.

"The Empire took my home," Lyra said. "They took my name. They took the life I was supposed to have. I didn't come here to use you. I came here because you are the only one who can make them pay for what they did."

"So we are just two ghosts haunting each other," Xavier said.

"Maybe," she said. She reached out. This time, she didn't hesitate. She placed her hand over the scales on his chest. They felt like stone, but beneath them, she felt a heartbeat that was fighting to stay human. "But ghosts can be dangerous if they work together."

Xavier looked at her hand. For a second, he didn't feel the burning. He didn't feel the dragon. He just felt the warmth of her skin against his own. It was a strange, terrifying sensation. He had been alone for so long that the touch felt like a threat.

"They will come for us," he said. He knew it was true. "The Empire does not leave loose ends."

"Let them come," Lyra said. She pulled her hand away, but she stayed close. She stood up and walked to the window of the watchtower. "We are ready for them."

Xavier watched her. He felt a weird, hollow ache in his chest that had nothing to do with the bond. He realized, with a shock that left him breathless, that he was actually starting to trust her. That was more dangerous than the dragon, more dangerous than the Empire.

"Lyra," he started.

"Yeah?"

"If we get to the end of this," he began. He didn't know how to finish. He didn't know if there was an end. "If we actually find the blade—"

"Don't," she interrupted. She was still looking out the window. "Don't think about the end. Think about tomorrow. Think about the next breath."

"Tomorrow is a long time," Xavier muttered. He let his eyes close. The fatigue was pulling him down again. "It feels like a hundred years away."

"Just one day at a time," she said.

She turned back to him, but she stopped. Her face went pale. The air in the tower seemed to freeze.

"What is it?" Xavier asked, sensing the shift in her. He tried to reach for his weapon, but his hand wouldn't obey.

"Xavier," she said. Her voice was flat. It was the voice of a soldier. "Get up."

"Why?"

"Look," she pointed.

Xavier dragged himself toward the window. He leaned his weight against the stone sill, looking out over the horizon.

He didn't see the stars. He didn't see the dark, quiet waste.

Instead, he saw a line of gold stretching across the sky.

It was fire. Hundreds of signal flares, rising up into the night, bright and beautiful and absolutely deadly. They were not just random lights. They were patterns. They were formations.

"They found us," Xavier whispered.

"They didn't just find us," Lyra said. She drew her crossbow, her eyes scanning the dark. "They were waiting for us to stop moving."

The sound came a second later. It was a low, rhythmic thrumming in the air. Wings. The sound of massive, leather wings beating against the wind.

The Imperial Dragon-Hunters had arrived.

"We are trapped," Xavier said. He looked at the scales on his arms, now glowing with a soft, hungry light. The dragon in his mind was roaring, desperate to fight, desperate to feast.

"We are not trapped," Lyra said. She gripped his shoulder. Her eyes were hard, focused, and utterly fearless. "We are just getting started."

Xavier looked at the sky. The gold flares turned into streaks of light as the hunters dived, coming fast, coming for blood.

He felt the dragon inside him surge. He felt the pain, the rage, and the terrifying, sharp edge of his own survival.

He looked at Lyra. She didn't look scared. She looked ready.

"Okay," Xavier said. He stood up, his legs finally finding their strength. "Let’s give them a reason to remember our names."

The tower shook as the first of the hunters Slammed into the roof.

It was time to pay the price.