NASYRA
Three days to the Brotherhood fortress.
Three days of walking beside the dragon I’m supposed to kill. Three days of enforced proximity with a man my memories insist is a monster, while everything else about him suggests otherwise.
I hate every minute of it.
“We could fly,” he’d offered that first morning, when my legs were already aching and the fortress seemed impossibly far. “It would be faster.”
“No.”
“Nasyra—“
“I said no.” I’d crossed my arms, shadow-flame flickering at my fingertips. “I’m not riding you.”
He’d studied me for a moment, then nodded. “Walking it is. But you should know—if we flew, I’d have to push hard and fast to stay ahead of any pursuit. The speed... it’s not pleasant for passengers. Makes most people sick.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better about the alternative?”
“It’s supposed to explain why I’m not arguing harder.” A pause. “I don’t want you to suffer more than you already have.”
I hadn’t known what to say to that. Still don’t.
So we walk. Through forests that shift from dark and oppressive to merely wild. Past streams and over ridges and around obstacles that would be nothing to a dragon in flight but feel endless on foot. The air changes as we travel—less thick with old magic, more clean pine and earth.
Zyphon moves ahead of me, navigating terrain he clearly knows well. He hasn’t tried to touch me since we started. Hasn’t crowded my space or demanded conversation. Just moves through the forest with that unsettling grace, checking back occasionally to make sure I’m keeping up.
The consideration grates almost as much as cruelty would.
The first timehe reaches for me, I nearly set him on fire.
We’ve come to a steep ravine, the sides slick with moss and loose stone. He’s already crossed, finding handholds I can’t see, and now he’s turning back with his hand extended.
“Here. The footing is?—“
I jerk away before his fingers can brush mine. My shadow-flame flares, dark fire licking across my knuckles in warning.
“Don’t touch me.”
He withdraws immediately. No argument. No wounded pride. Just a small nod and a step back, giving me space to navigate the ravine on my own terms.
I nearly fall twice. Scrape my palms raw on rough stone. Arrive at the other side breathless and shaking, my legs screaming from the effort.
He doesn’t comment. Doesn’t say “I told you so” or look at me with pity. Just waits until I’ve caught my breath, then continues walking.
I tell myself the burning in my chest is anger. Not gratitude. Definitely not gratitude.
“You need to sleep.”
Night has fallen. We’ve stopped in a sheltered hollow between massive boulders—defensible, hidden from casual observation. Zyphon has created another of those strange shadow-fires that give off heat without light, and the warmth is seeping into my exhausted bones despite my best efforts to resist it.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re swaying on your feet.”
“I said I’m fine.” I force my spine straighter, my chin higher. “I’ll take first watch.”
“You don’t trust me to keep watch while you sleep.” It’s not a question.
