Zara makes a soft sound, dismissive sound. "Is it?" She reaches for another pot, this one filled with a viscous amber liquid that smells of honey and something sharper, more medicinal. "The Flame would disagree."
"What can I do?" I ask, the words torn from me. I, who have commanded armies, who have faced the worst of human aggression without flinching, am reduced to this, begging for a way to be useful while my mate hovers between life and death.
Eira's gaze softens. "Stay with her, Prithas. Let her feel your presence through your bond. Sometimes when the body fails, it is the thread between souls that guides one back from darkness."
I move closer, settling beside Leira's broken form. Hesitantly, I reach out, my clawed hand dwarfing hers as I take it gently between my mine. Her skin feels cold, too cold for a creature whose warmth I have come to expect like sunrise.
"Fight," I whisper, bending closer so only she might hear, if any part of her still listens. "Fight, little human. This is not how your thread ends."
I feel it first as a strange pressure behind my ribs, straining for release. My scales prickle against my flesh as heat stirs within me, radiating outward in fragile waves that make the air quiver around us.
The warmth inside me builds, hesitant, flickering like a forge coaxed to life after centuries of cold. My scales glow faintly, a muted radiance, as if embers stir beneath them. Then, all at once the spark flares, spilling down my arms like molten rivers seeking escape where I cling to Leira’s limp fingers.
Where our hands touch, the fire seeps into Leira, no blaze, just a luminous trickle. Golden streams sketch tentative paths through her veins, tracing the dark, wounded places within her. The sensation flutters sharp and unsteady, too raw to control yet too young to wield. My blood feels warmer, thicker, molten in promise but not yet in truth.
“Let it flow, Prithas,” Eira urges from far away, as if across a gulf. “Do not fight what awakens.”
I could not even if I wished to. This power is too young to resist, too insistent to ignore. It courses haltingly down my arms,through my palms, into Leira’s frail human form. It is not pain nor pleasure, but a raw tether linking me to something older than blood or breath.
"The prophecy unfolds," Eira breathes, her voice barely disturbing the air.
"Her breathing stabilizes," Zara observes, pausing in her ministrations to watch Leira's chest rise and fall with regularity.
Leira's eyelids flutter, once, twice, before parting to reveal irises still clouded with pain but unmistakably alive. Her ashen pallor recedes, replaced by a flush that spreads across her cheeks. I watch as the angry red welts along her exposed arms begin to soften, the blackened edges of her burns lightening to pink. The transformation happens slowly enough that I can track its progress, yet quickly enough that it defies nature's laws. Flesh knitting itself together under the influence of something other than ancient medicines.
Her gaze finds mine, unfocused at first, then sharpening with recognition.
"Varok?" Her voice is barely a whisper, cracked and raw from smoke and heat. "What...happened?"
"The great hall was attacked. An explosion." I lean closer, relief flooding through me so powerfully my scales ripple with it. "You were injured."
She tries to sit up, but I gently press her back with a scaled hand.
"Be still," I say, gently. “Your body needs time to heal."
Her eyes dart around, taking in the Flame room, the Guardians moving among the injured, Zara's small form beside her. Confusion clouds her gaze before understanding dawns.
"The explosion..." she whispers, wincing as she shifts. "Was anyone else hurt? The Serpent Crown?—"
"Perhaps," I say, though I have yet to confirm this with my own eyes. "Others were not so fortunate."
She swallows with difficulty, her throat working against the dryness. "Water?"
Zara passes me a small crystal vial filled with clear liquid. “This also contains a strong sedative. Now that she is out of danger, her leg needs to be set. Better for her if she does not feel it.”
I nod and gently support Leira's head with one hand and bring the vial to her cracked lips. She drinks slowly, each swallow visibly painful.
"The TrueCoil," she murmurs after she is finished. "It was them, wasn't it?"
"Yes." I see no reason to shield her from the truth. "I believe they meant to kill us both."
Her eyes sharpen with a flicker of that fierce spirit I have come to respect. “We have to find them before they get away.”
“I will endeavor to do so,” I reply, a small grin tugging at the edges of my lips. “As for you, Ashira… only healing and rest.”
She blinks at the name, curiosity knitting her brow. “Ashira?”
“Tiny warrior,” I murmur, letting the words linger between us, a quiet benediction only for her.
