He touches his temple, fingers spreading outward in a gesture of expansion. Then he points to me, toward the drake waiting at the cave entrance, and draws a deliberate line between us in the air.He dips his fingers into the mixture, then offers his hand. The liquid clings, thick and almost luminous.
I hesitate as he turns my palm upward and draws a spiral with his fingertip, the warmth spreading through my skin like a pulse. Then the sensation is already spreading up my arm, an intense tingling that makes the hair rise.
“Wait—”
Byron reaches for my other hand, his fingers interlacing with mine. The mixture between our palms creates a strange, resonant vibration that travels up my arm and into my chest. His eyes lock with mine, steady and reassuring, as he places his free hand against the cave wall.
The stone feels alive beneath my touch when he guides my palm to join his. A faint heat pulses through the rock—not from fire, but from something deeper, more primal. Byron closes his eyes, his breathing slow and controlled, and I follow his lead, letting my eyelids drop.
The darkness behind my closed eyes shifts, brightens. Colors bloom like ink in water: first amber, then emerald, then midnight blue. I feel Byron's consciousness brush against mine, inviting rather than invasive, creating a bridge. Through him, I sense the little drake at the cave entrance, its mind a constellation of curiosity and loyalty. But there's more—beyond the cave walls, I feel dozens of dragon minds scattered across the mountain range, each a distinct flame of awareness.
“I can feel them all,” I whisper, my voice sounding distant to my own ears.
Byron's hand tightens around mine, guiding me deeper. The sensation changes, no longer just perception. The dragons' emotions flow through me—territorial pride, hunting excitement, maternal protectiveness—but instead of overwhelming me, they organize themselves like instruments in an orchestra, distinct yet harmonious.
My breath catches as I realize what he's showing me. Not just connection, but integration. The ability to maintain my own identity while embracing theirs.
Byron's thumb traces small circles against my wrist, encouraging me to push further. I reach toward the nearest presence—the small drake that brought us here—and feel its immediate response, a surge of recognition that floods me with warmth. But instead of surrendering to the connection, I remain anchored by Byron's touch, learning to balance between immersion and control.
Gradually, he releases my hand, allowing me to maintain the connection on my own. The transition is seamless, my awareness expanding rather than fracturing. I can feel the small drake's heartbeat as clearly as my own, its breathing synchronized with mine, yet I remain fully myself.
My awareness continues expanding, reaching beyond the cave to the mountains. Dragons—dozens of them, maybe hundreds—their minds like stars in a vast mental sky. Some bright and close, others distant and dim, but all suddenly accessible in ways I've never experienced.
“I can feel them for miles,” I whisper.
I open my eyes to see Byron nod, his gaze reflecting the torchlight’s glow. He points toward the drake, then to his own chest, then makes a gesture like he's pulling something toward himself.
“You want me to... call it closer?” I guess.
He nods again, encouraging.
I close my eyes, focusing on the drake's presence in myexpanded awareness. I simply... invite. I visualize a door opening, a hand extended in welcome.
The drake's consciousness brightens immediately, like a lamp turned up. I feel its surprise, then curiosity, then a cautious approach. In my mind, I see it rise from where it rests, padding silently toward us through the cave.
When I open my eyes, the drake stands before us, its bronze-edged scales gleaming in the torchlight. It lowers its head, nostrils flaring as it scents the air between us. Its eyes—intelligent, assessing—fix on mine.
Hello,I think toward it, not expecting an actual response.
To my shock, something comes back. Not words exactly, but a distinct impression:New-friend-of-friend. Interesting-smell. Curious.
I gasp, looking at Byron. “Did you hear that? I mean, feel it?”
His smile widens as he nods, and I sense his satisfaction, his pride in what I've accomplished.
The drake moves closer, until its snout is inches from my face. Its breath is warm, smelling faintly of cinnamon and smoke. I remain perfectly still, letting it investigate me at its own pace.
May I?I project the thought, along with an image of my hand on its scales.
The drake considers, then dips its head in what can only be interpreted as permission. Slowly, keeping my movements steady, I reach out with my free hand and place it on the drake's forehead.
The contact completes a circuit. Suddenly, I'm not just sensing the drake's surface thoughts, I'm experiencing its memories. Flashes of flight through storm-wracked skies. The joy of diving through clouds. The comfort of a warm cave and a trusted companion. Byron, younger but unmistakable, reaching out with fearless hands to a wounded creature.
These aren't just images, they come with emotions attached, rich and complex. I’ve experienced something like this before with other dragons, but I’ve never felt as in control of the situation as I do now. Or as aware of how sophisticated a drake'sconsciousness is. How nuanced, capable of deep feeling and complex thought.
“They're not just beasts,” I whisper, tears pricking at my eyes. “They never were.”
Byron's expression turns serious. He already released my hand, but the enhanced awareness remains. The drake stays put, its head resting against my palm.
