Chapter 34
Thirty-Four
Tucked into their nest of blankets and moss, the boys slept like creatures that knew they were capable of ruling the skies.
Elowen watched them for a long time before she rose from the floor, stretching with a soft sound of effort, and padded barefoot across the stone to where Midas lay at the cave’s edge in his dragon form—coiled like a question mark, head resting near the fire.
She climbed onto his foreleg without a word and settled into the crook of his body, curling against his chest like a second heartbeat.
He shifted, his breath stirring her hair, and wrapped his tail around her like a ribbon. It had become pure instinct, to wrap himself around her and the boys while he rested.
They sat in silence for a while, listening to the hush between the flames and the breaths escaping from their chests.
Then Elowen spoke, voice low and hushed as to not disturb the children. “Do you ever wonder how we got here?”
Midas blinked one golden eye open. She smiled and continued. “It feels like a story someone else might have told me. A woman and a dragon in a cave and two little miracles.” Midas huffed softly, his breath warm against her arm. “I think I would’ve wanted to believe it. And now that it’s real…”
He remained quiet, simply listening to her voice.
She reached out and ran her fingers along one of the larger scales at his chest—worn smooth with time, edged in gold.
“I never thought I’d have children,” she murmured.
“When I was in that village, I was too wrong for love, and somehow I began to believe it. That place took too many pieces of myself to ever be whole enough to raise someone else.”
Midas tilted his head slightly, listening. “And yet,” she continued, “when I see them playing and laughing and growing—I know it was all because of you. You gave me space to believe in beautiful things again.”
He swallowed and nudged her affectionately.
She looked up at him, meeting his gaze. But she never needed an answer from him, she only wanted him to listen.
“You love in your own way,” she said, leaning her head against him again.
“With warmth. With protection. With every bone in your body. And that’s how our boys will love too.
I hope that the world will be kinder to them than it was to us. ”
He was still for a long moment. Then, with a careful shift, he began to return to his human shape—limbs narrowing, wings shrinking, horns curling close to his scalp.
When he was fully formed, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close.
She climbed into his lap without hesitation, straddling his legs, chest against his.
He rested his chin on her shoulder, and she buried her face into the curve of his neck.
They stayed like that—breathing each other in.
“I was afraid,” he said quietly, his voice slower in this form.
“When you were with child. I did not know if I could be…father. Or what that meant. But now I know that they are my greatest blessings. My most valuable treasures.” Midas looked at the sleeping twins, their chests rising and falling in tandem.
“They are the best thing I have ever done,” he said.
She pulled back, cupped his face in her hands. “It’s the best thing we’ve done.”
He leaned forward and kissed her forehead, lips warm and slow. Then he moved slowly down her cheek until he reached the tender spot under her ear that he had learned made her shiver. In the hush that followed, Elowen whispered: “Everything is so perfect now. Sometimes I wish time would stop here.”
But as she spoke those words, something shifted in the wind, and the breeze carried the scent to Midas.
Smoke. Metal. Man.
He lifted his head from Elowen’s neck and gently moved her aside so he could shift once more.
His nostrils flared wide and his eyes turned a more wild shade of gold, the pupils dilating for better sight.
He used his tail to keep Elowen back as he approached the mouth of the cave, and there, below, barely visible through the mist of the lower cliffs, figures moved among the rocks.
Humans. Armed. Too close.
He was on his feet in a heartbeat, wings flaring wide as a bellow tore from his chest—low, guttural, warning. Elowen touched his tail, her voice faint. “Midas? What is it?”
He didn’t answer. Couldn’t. He crouched low at the ridge, teeth bared, heart thundering in his chest.
They found us.
His mind spiraled—images flashing behind his eyes like lightning. Elowen screaming in pain. His sons, pink and helpless, blinking up at him with his own golden eyes. Their tiny hands, the weight of them in his claws. The soft curve of Elowen’s smile as she whispered their names.
Mine.
A deep growl crawled up his throat like a curse summoned from the depths of the world. The damp rocks beneath his claws began to steam.
The humans drew closer, unaware of what waited above. One of them carried a long weapon—primitive, but deadly enough. Another held a torch.
Fire. Destruction. Screaming. He remembered his kin falling. Remembered mothers screaming as their young were slaughtered in nests. Remembered how men cheered when dragons died.
Midas leapt out of the cave mouth without warning. The wind cracked around him as he dove, wings slicing the air like blades. His roar shattered the stillness of the mountain, echoing like the voice of a god long forgotten. Below, the men froze, one stumbling backward in terror.
Midas didn’t care.
He hit the ground like a meteor, talons driving into the earth. The ground exploded around him in a wave of heat as he inhaled deep and let his fury out in a pillar of fire. The torch-bearer screamed. His flame licked the rocks, the trees, the bones of the earth. They ran.
Cowards! Insects!
One fell, stumbling over their own useless feet.
Midas was on him in an instant, jaws snapping shut just inches from the man’s leg.
He didn’t kill him. Not yet. He wanted him terrified, so that when they returned to their stinking villages they would speak of the beast who was no longer afraid of the humans.
Midas wanted him to see what awaited those who dared threaten his den.
He lifted his head and let out a second roar, louder than the first, a sound so ancient and furious it made birds scatter from the cliffs.
Then he turned his fire on the path they’d climbed.
Flame poured from his mouth in waves, searing stone, destroying every foothold and ledge. The mountain itself seemed to groan beneath the heat. No path would remain. No trail.
He scorched it all.
When he returned to the cave, his scales still glowed faintly with heat.
Elowen was waiting for him just inside, holding the boys to her chest, crying and trembling from being awakened by the noise.
Her face was pale, eyes wide. He stepped close and pressed his head gently to her side, careful of the children.
He growled low, wings curling forward as if to wrap them all in armor. She rested her hand against his jaw. “We are safe,” she murmured, hoping it would bring some peace to his fury. She had never seen him so fearsome, not even when they whipped her against the post.
He lowered himself to the floor, coiling around her and the twins like a wall of living stone. His breathing was heavy. His heart raced. He kept his keen eyes on the cave mouth, daring anything to approach.
A whisper burned in his chest, ancient and instinctual:
Mine. Mine. Mine.
When the boys finally settled once more, Elowen sat on the edge of their bed of furs, one of the twins nestled against her chest, the other asleep beside her.
The cave was quiet now, save for the crackle of the fire and the distant hiss of wind against stone.
But the quiet did little to slow her heart.
She had seen Midas furious before but never quite like this. Not the type of fury that lingered long after the danger left. Never with that sharpness he could not seem to soften. The type of fury that turned the very air hot and left scorched earth in its wake.
She had held her sons tighter when he returned, glowing from within like a star barely cooled. She knew he’d never harm them—but some ancient part of her, the human part, had recoiled at the sheer power he wielded. She hadn’t said anything about it, but he had noticed anyway.
Now he stood before her human-shaped, half-shadowed by the firelight.
His chest rose and fell with slow, deliberate breath.
His skin was streaked with onyx and gold, scaled faintly at the ribs.
His wings were folded tightly behind his back, still heavy with tension.
His horns curved backward like a crown, catching the firelight with every breath.
And his eyes—still gold and molten—never left her face.
“I scared you.” His voice was deeper in this form, but quieter. He said the words as a statement, not a question. Elowen didn’t answer immediately. She adjusted the boy in her arms, gently swaying. He lowered his head. His hands curled into fists at his sides. “I would never hurt them. Or you.”
“I know,” she said. But her voice was too soft, and she was still trembling.
Midas stepped forward, slower now. He knelt before her on the stone floor—almost as tall as her even like this, but subdued. Subservient. His wings drooped slightly, tail curled close to his body. “I was not angry at you,” he said. “Or them.”
“I know,” she repeated.
“I only saw the danger. I smelled their fire, their steel.” His jaw tensed, voice shaking slightly.
“I saw the old world again. The one that killed my kind. The one that would kill you for loving me. The world that would rip our boys from your arms without a second thought.” His eyes flicked to the twins, their tiny chests rising and falling.
“I would burn the sky, the moon, and the stars before I let them touch you. I am fire. I know this,” he said, voice raw.
“But I will never turn it on you. I did not mean to frighten you. I only know one way to keep you safe. And I would never hesitate to do it.”
A long pause stretched between them. Elowen reached out and touched the base of one of his horns. Her fingers traced the curve gently, like she was reassuring herself he was real.
“You don’t have to explain, Midas,” she said at last. “I just…I suppose in our bliss I forgot that the gentle dragon I fell in love with would burn the world for me.”
He exhaled shakily and pressed his forehead to her knee. The gesture, so animalistic, yet so human in its humility—broke something in her.
She leaned forward, cradling his face in one hand, her other arm still wrapped around their son, and the weight of the reality she had forgotten resting between them like mirror that had begun to fracture.