“It never does. Not at first.” Selene’s voice carries experience—of someone who walked this path not long ago. “When I first came into my power, along with the curtains, I set Drayke’s bedroom on fire three times in one week. He didn’t tell you that, did he?”
I shake my head, surprised.
“His exact words were ‘excellent potential for property damage.’” She laughs softly. “Dragons have a very different relationship with fire than we do. To them, burning things isn’t failure—it’s just the learning curve.”
I think about Rurik’s grin when my flames caught his sleeve. His genuine delight at the destruction I caused. The way he didn’t flinch or pull back, just absorbed the chaos like it was exactly what he expected.
“He’s not what I thought he’d be.”
Selene’s smile sharpens with understanding. “None of them are. Underneath the jokes and the chaos, Rurik’s... complicated.He puts on a show so nobody looks too closely at what’s underneath.”
A show.I think about the cracks I glimpsed today—the raw admission about fighting his dragon, the softness that emerged when the performance dropped. “What’s underneath?”
“That’s his story to tell.” She bumps my shoulder gently with hers. “But I’ll say this: he chose to train you. Drayke didn’t order him—he asked, and Rurik agreed before Drayke finished the sentence.”
Something shifts in my chest. A question I’m not ready to examine.
“Why would he do that?”
“You’d have to ask him.” Selene pushes off the battlements, turning toward the fortress interior. “Get some rest. Tomorrow’s going to be interesting.”
She leaves me with the sunset and my spinning thoughts, the fire in my veins settling into something almost peaceful as the first stars emerge.
That night,I reorganize my quarters.
The familiar work steadies me in ways that Rurik’s stories couldn’t quite achieve on their own.
Organization prevents chaos.The old mantra surfaces, but it feels different now. Not a desperate attempt to control the uncontrollable—just a habit. A preference. Part of who I am rather than a wall against who I might become.
I think about what Zyphon said.Stop fighting yourself.
I think about what Rurik said.Emotion doesn’t make you lose control. Fighting emotion makes you lose control.
I think about the flame in my palm, steady and warm and mine.
The fire in my veins pulses once, like an acknowledgment.
For the first time in this fortress, I fall asleep without nightmares.
Dawn findsme in the training yard before Rurik arrives.
I’ve brought supplies from the infirmary—bandages, burn salves, the emergency kit I assembled last night. Professional preparation for what I suspect will be another session of spectacular failure.
But as I wait, watching the sun climb over the mountains, I notice something strange.
The fire doesn’t press against my skin the way it usually does.
It’s still there—a constant warmth in my chest, a power waiting to be called. But the desperate pressure, the sensation of barely contained explosion, has eased overnight. As if acknowledging it instead of fighting it changed something fundamental about the way it exists inside me.
Acceptance instead of suppression.
I extend my hand and think about the wyvern. The satisfaction of saving something. The warmth that came with remembering who I am.
Fire blooms in my palm.
Steady. Controlled. Not forced into submission, but flowing naturally, responding to the intent I’m allowing myself to feel instead of the fear I’ve been trying to bury.
I let it burn for a long moment, watching the flames dance. Then I close my fist and let them fade.
