Find the truth and unlock the past
before the crimson glow has passed.
Life to death, and death to life—
break the curse or pay the price.
He listens without interrupting, eyes reflecting firelight and starlight alike. When I finish, he says nothing, only gazes at the sky, the weight of ages pressing between us.
“Can you tell me what it means?” I ask hopefully, though I fear I already know the answer.
Drako’s golden eyes meet mine, then close. A low rumble shakes the earth slightly as he breathes in and releases a deep sigh, shaking his head.
“Some things even I cannot ascertain.”
Figures.
We fall silent again, as if pondering something sacred together.
Eventually, I sit down at the cliff’s edge, wrapping my arms loosely around my knees. Drako settles beside me, his tail curved protectively around my feet, becoming a barrier between me and the precipice.
“Do you ever wonder if the universe has a plan for us?” I ask. “If dragons truly were sent to help mankind—if the gods my mother believed in are real—why would they allow all this?”
“I ask myself that every night, little flame.”
That name.
Little flame. Fire. Fireling. Bride.
So many titles, none of them truly mine.
His eyes meet mine. “Is something wrong?”
I look down, curling my fingers into my cloak. “I’ve collected too many names since coming here. I’m ‘Fire’ to the king, to the brides, to the curse.‘Little flame’to you. But it’s not my true one. It’s just a mask. But I’ve hidden my real name for so long now that… I’m afraid that if I say it, this place will own it.”
Drako lowers his head until we’re eye to eye. His voice, when it comes, is softer than smoke.
“I will not own it,” he says. “I will keep it—with fire, with teeth, with reverence. To deprive oneself of one’s name is a tragedy all its own.” He pauses, looking at me intently. “In all my long life, I’ve found that humans’ deepest desire is also what they fear most.”
“And what’s that?”
“To be fully known.”
My throat tightens. It feels like he can see into my soul, and for some reason, in that moment—above the mist, above the keep, above the curse—I’m not afraid to let him.
“Selene,” I whisper. “My name is Selene Anne Fairchild.”
The silence that follows isn’t hollow. It’s hallowed.
He blinks once, slow and deliberate, as if the name sinks into the marrow of him. Then he breathes it back into the air like a prayer. “Selene…”
Something in the way he says it makes me want to weep, like I’ve just remembered who I am after forgetting for too long. Like he’s handed my name back to me, not taken it.
I look up, and in the shimmer of sunrise, his eyes glow warm, ache and affection intertwined within them.
He blinks once, then turns away. “The sun is rising,” he murmurs. “We should return.”
He lowers his body once more, and I climb on without hesitation.
