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Patience. He just needed to wait until the sedative wore off. Hopefully, that would happen before the others returned.

‘But opportunity presented itself.’ The male came to a stop at the large, tank-like machine. ‘Father always taught us to seize those moments.’

A hand pressed flat against the glass, and the unnatural green liquid swirling in the tank seemed to glow. Then, the male hunched his shoulders as a rattling, wheezing cough hacked its way from him. Rymedur finally noticed the cloak he wore; black as a starless night. Clearly too large, it dragged across the floor.

Rymedur’s eyes widened, and his breath stopped at the unmistakable image of a red and white embroidered dragon, mid-flight, that stretched its expanse.

Tar-Angulócë.

But that was impossible! Prince Ivan—Areanel’s older brother—was dead. Wasn’t he?

The stories Areanel had shared about her brother described a man of great courage, stregnth and fearlessness. A legend in her eyes. This male couldn’t be the one who the people called Tar-Angulócë—The Dragon King.

A male who couldn’t seem to stand on his own two feet? Who coughed and wheezed with every step, dragging himself mere feet before slumping against that cane of his? He looked nothing like how Rymedur had imagined him.

The thought almost made Rymedur laugh—but then, as though the male had read Rymedur’s mind, he glared over his still-hunched shoulder.

‘Pathetic, isn’t it?’

Rymedur wasn’t sure what the male was asking him, but the slightest whisper of something cold smoothed the pulse point of his neck. He knew that phantom tickle—had lived with them most of his life.

The sedative must be wearing off.

The male was back to staring at the tank’s glass, eyes darting back and forth, but there was something like longing in his erratic gaze. Tap. Tap. Tap. His too-thin fingers rapped against the glass.

‘Supposed to die…’ the male whispered again, but the drowning quiet of the cave made the sound echo against its walls. ‘Many are supposed to die. She is. Monster. I was. Worlds collide.’

Rymedur’s mind couldn’t keep up with the changing emotions that flitted across the male’s face. Tap. Tap. Tap. All the while, he wheezed and coughed, struggling for every breath.

‘He was. A child dies. He did. Kingdoms burn. She whispers. Die. Die. Die. Veil will fall. Furious Father. She took a soul and brought it back. Shouldn’t have done that, should she? Die, die, die. They all need to die.’

Tap. Tap. Tap. With every word, his long, bony finger tapped against the glass, eyes unable to focus on a single point.

‘Tick tock. Time’s running away. Tick Tock. Time to wake her up.’

The greenish murk cleared from the vat, and Rymedur jerked forward almost involuntarily, body acting before his mind could catch up to what he was seeing: a too-pale body with protruding bones curled into a fetal position, hiding the female’s features, but her dark hair, like ink dropped in water, was undeniable.

Rymedur gasped at the sight of needle-like objects connecting the female to the rope-like wires. ‘No,’ his body lurched forward again as he panted the word. ‘No. No. No.’ He knew those ink-like strands. Areanel!

With newfound strength, Rymedur pushed past the burning sensation in his limbs and used his forearms to climb to his knees, facing the male who had made his way around the dark waters of the pool and towards him.

Lightning—azure and sudden—streaked across the chamber, and Rymedur saw something, tightly coiled, floating beside the figure. What the hell was that?

The unnaturally rapid streaks of lightning again illuminated the area, filling the chamber with light, and an audible gulp worked its way down Rymedur’s dry, raw throat as he recognised what he was looking at.

It was small. Curling around its armoured, scaled body was a long tail that ended in what looked like a tiny club.

If Rymedur was looking at what he thought he was looking at, then they were all fucked. They wouldn’t be able to fight against that again. Not without mass casualties.

Another bolt of light illuminated the lizard creature. It was devoid of colour. Stark white scales littered its body, and its claws tucked behind its leathery, white bat-like wings. It seemed to be asleep, but Rymedur swore he could see movement behind its closed eyelids—awake, aware, waiting.

But for what? Or who?

‘Areanel has grown. Yes—’ the male nodded to himself ‘—she has grown into quite the young woman, my dear hanala has.’

He had called her hanala. Sister. So this frail male was Areanel’s brother?

Wide-eyed, Rymedur stared at the male, snarling as soon as her name crossed his chapped lips. His voice was a blade, cleaving through the eerie silence of the cavern like a weapon drawn too close to the skin. ‘You touch her, and you’ll be dead before you even hit the ground.’