Rune almost laughed. He had never been free. The Heavens bound him to the dark, and moving through it as he wished had merely been an illusion of freedom.
“The court is here, as well,” Calla said next. “They are further below within the labyrinths of the castle. Karag Dûr will wake soon now that you have returned.”
“Your orders, sire?” Hadeon asked.
Rune turned away. He shook out his wings and curled on the ground, shutting his eyes.
Leave me.
Their shock lingered.
Deimos shifted, his tail flicking as he muttered. “The Dominions will sense weakness. They have been waiting for centuries for the moment to challenge you for the throne.”
He didn’t answer.
“Sire.” Calla’s steps carried in the cave as she stepped closer. “The court is confused and in disarray. They need their king. And there is something more?—”
Leave me!He snarled, startling her back.Or join the dust at your feet.
She stiffened. After a breath, all three bowed and withdrew, their presence fading into the tunnels below.
Leaving him to the dark.
Time did not move.
It lingered, cruel and stagnant, like the slow rot that followed after death. It seeped through Rune, eroding him piece by piece. Time passed by the sun’s touch slicing through the thin gap in the ceiling, marking the hours across his scales. The thin stream of sunlight was enough to sear, enough to gnaw at his sanity.
Yet he had no will to move from its path.
Days bled together.
Then weeks. Then more.
He didn’t count them. There was no reason to when it was all the same.
At night, Rune raged.
He lashed the chains against the ground until his skin split open and blood hissed beneath divine metal. He roared his flame, rendering his throat raw, until all sound was swallowed by stone.
The walls nor the gods answered.
And the shadows did not rise.
They were dormant or perhaps they, too, had abandoned him.
Eventually, Rune’s strength dulled. His snarls gave way to silence. He lay in a shell of a body too heavy to move. A dragon that had once devoured kings and toppled empires now too weak to rise.
The cold did not bother him. The pain did not break him.
It was the quiet.
The emptiness in his chest where she should have been.
No voices. No warmth. No heartbeat beside his own.
Calla came and went. She brought water. Food. News of a court he no longer heard. Everything had dulled, even the quiet.
Rune no longer opened his eyes. He retreated into his mind and dreamed of Alora instead. Of golden curls brushing his face. The echo of her laugh. Of warmth he could no longer feel. A melodic voice, singing through the trees and calling him home.
