Page 37 of The Last Dragon

“Get on.”

The elf said nothing—no objection, no sarcasm. For once, he obeyed in silence. But once in the saddle, he reached out his hand toward Cassian, a simple and unexpected gesture.

“You’re in no condition to walk. Tell me where to go…”

Cassian hesitated, then took his hand. For once, he agreed to let him lead the way.

He couldn’t lie about how he felt, and he even felt sorry for having already drawn so much strength from him, especially since the elf had gone to such great lengths to get him back on his feet. So Cassian climbed up behind him, pointing a dirty finger at the bird still circling in the sky, bringing with it the clouds and the breeze. It would rain very soon.

“He’ll guide your horse. Don’t look back, Tariel—only forward. Can you do that for me?”

The mercenary’s arms wrapped around the elf’s body, clinging to him more tightly as the mare broke into a gallop. Cassian’s warm, labored breath brushed against Tariel’s neck when he looked up and spotted a shadow in the distance: the griffin from the crypt, spreading its wings to flee the Morgrave lands.

Good for him, he thought, exhausted.

As they rode on, the barren lands gradually gave way to lush greenery and the forest grew denser around them. Cassian tightened his grip, feeling the terrain become rougher, more alive.

“Phineas Morgraves has always been this way…” he explained after a long silence, not seeking to reassure, but merely to explain. “He puts his own interests before those of his kingdom. He’ll never be a good king.”

The elf’s silence was beginning to worry him—a new feeling for the mercenary. He, who had long lived among ruthless crowds, found himself growing attached to someone who was his complete opposite.

Nothing was going as intended. None of his plans were working, and for the first time in a long while, Cassian was having doubts. Through Tariel’s eyes, he saw the reflection of a great despair—one he himself had known far too early in life: abandonment, the loss of everything. Family, a sense of belonging, a kingdom…

It resonated within him with painful intensity, and he couldn’t bring himself to fight against his true nature.

Although he was considered a monster because of his appearance and his ability to shift forms, he had always been the gentlest of his kind. The wisest, despite his mischievous spirit. The most thoughtful.

The elf stood no chance against a dragon, but without knowing it, his destiny was bound to that of Cassian’s. Two beings capable of changing the course of events, for better or for worse. The mercenary was closer to his goal than ever, having drawn the full attention of the one he was desperately seeking to meet, the bearer of the artefact.

Perhaps Tariel would bring back peace, without even knowing how. Through death or… through life?

A sigh escaped him as he rested his chin on the elf’s shoulder, while the horse slowed to cross a stream, and the first raindrops splattered on the mossy ground.

Tariel

Part of the journey was spent in silence, allowing Tariel to lose himself in his thoughts. While the unease between the two men had still been palpable just a few minutes earlier, the atmosphere gradually lightened, carried by the gentle clatter of his mount’s hooves and the fine drops of rain falling from the clouds.

Soon, greenery surrounded the elf once more, and he relaxed against the warm body behind him. At that moment, Cassian’s presence, though foreign, no longer felt threatening. On the contrary, it had a grounding quality, as if the return to nature and the simple human contact were helping him keep from sinking deeper into despair.

This time, when the mercenary spoke again, he had the elf’s full attention.

“How is your king, Tariel?”

The question, seemingly random and asked in an almost casual tone, sparked a multitude of thoughts in the elf’s mind. He remained silent for a moment, not to evade the question, but because he had never really taken the time to think about it. His gaze wandered to the foliage swaying gently in the breeze.

“Our king, Eldarion Thalindor… I’ve never seen him myself. In fact, he rarely appears before the people and communicates only through the Council. The kingdom of Caelendor has been governed this way for millennia, with each member representing one of the eight most influential Factions.”

He found himself speaking with ease, as if explaining the foundations of his kingdom were reconnecting him to something real, something familiar.

Then he sensed a slight change in the mercenary’s breathing against him, and when Cassian replied, his voice grew more measured, almost weary. “How can one claim to be a king if he is not present among his people? He is the face of a nation. This council seems above all to create even more distance between the monarchy and those it governs. That’s a real shame.”

Tariel frowned. He had never considered things from that angle. The king was distant, yes. The Council, inaccessible. But this system suited the elves… didn’t it? They valued order, structure, and clear hierarchies. Wasn’t that a strength?

Yet, as the mercenary spoke, a doubt crept in, muffled and insidious. Was this truly what he believed, or simply what he had been taught to believe?

Cassian seemed to sense his unease, for his voice echoed behind him once more, soft and gravelly. “You mentioned a council… and Factions?”

Tariel let out a soft sigh—whether it was one of relief or to prepare himself for a long explanation, even he couldn’t say.