I press my palms to his chest, feel the steady thrum of his hearts beneath scales and scars. Strong. Alive.
“You said forever,” I whisper, mouth dry, throat aching.
His eyes open, black and fathomless, pulling me under. For a heartbeat he doesn’t speak, but his tail swishes once, stirring thesand. He tightens his embrace, claws careful against my back, as though the truth is too fragile to say aloud.
“Yes,” he growls at last, low and rough, as if he’s dragging the vow from his bones. “Forever.”
The word shudders through me. My throat tightens, tears threatening, and I cling to him harder. Because I believe him. Because I know, in my soul, that he means it.
For too long, I’ve felt like I don’t belong or fit in—fighting not only to survive but to be accepted. Not pushed aside or dismissed. Abandoned because I wasn’t good enough. Afraid of being useless. But now, pressed against him, I feel something more dangerous than fear. Hope.
It terrifies me.
He shifts, wings rustling, folding close around us like a shield. For a moment, we’re a world unto ourselves, hidden from the endless desert. My cheek rests against his shoulder, the ridges of his scars rough against my skin, and I breathe in the scent that is only him.
His hand cups the back of my head, claws brushing lightly through my tangled hair—gentle, more gentle than a warrior like him should know how to be.
I don’t want to move. Don’t want to break this fragile bubble that feels more real than anything I’ve ever had. But the ache in my belly is sharp, the weight of the bundle reminding me that forever isn’t just words—it’s survival. It’s bringing food back to those counting on us.
He feels my breath stutter, feels me pulling back, and lifts his head. His gaze pins me—fierce and steady.
“Together,” he says, simple as stone, as certain as the suns.
And with a single word, everything clicks. The weight of the past isn’t gone, but it finds its place—fitting in like the last piece of a puzzle. Both of us have our burdens to carry, but together it’s so much easier than alone.
I nod, pressing my lips once more to his chest before I let him go. The cool of his body lingers as he straightens, gathering the weight of our burden.
The world returns—wind, sand, the endless dunes ahead. But now each step feels different. He is no longer just beside me. We are tethered.
Forever.
Time slips past as the suns crawl toward their zenith, slow and relentless, but the heat doesn’t feel cruel anymore—not with his shadow falling over mine.
Drazan adjusts the load across his shoulders, the slabs of meat glistening dark and heavy beneath the rough hide. His steps don’t falter. Mine don’t either. Every movement between us feels like rhythm now—one breath, one pace, one will.
The desert that once felt endless now, somehow, feels smaller. Or maybe it’s just that the space between us is gone.
I glance at him when the wind shifts. Sand lifts in curls around his legs, wings half-open for balance. His scars catch the light, turning his skin into a map of everything he’s survived. I used to look at them and see pain. Now I see the strength it took to carry it. His hand brushes mine, as if to remind me I’m part of that strength now, too.
“You’re quiet,” I murmur.
He hums low in his throat, the sound deep enough to vibrate through my bones.
“You think loud enough for both of us.”
A soft laugh escapes before I can stop it.
“That supposed to be a compliment?”
He glances sideways, a grin playing across his lips.
“Truth.”
It’s not a smile, not exactly, but close enough that warmth floods me anyway. I bump his arm lightly, just to feel the solidity of him. He doesn’t move away. His tail sways once, brushing my thigh—a touch so casual it feels intimate.
“We’re close,” he says after a while, voice softer. “Smell smoke.”
I inhale and catch it—the faint tang of ash and char, the scent of life clinging to survival. My chest tightens. For days we’ve walked through nothing but dust and death. Now the air carries people again.
