Chapter 38
Thirty-Eight
Midas learned what it meant to make himself scarce around his children.
He timed his movements so he passed through the cave when the twins were asleep.
He waited until the boys were well out of sight before shifting forms, careful not to startle them with the painful sounds that came with it.
It was in the way he kept his voice low when he spoke to Elowen, even when the ache in his chest threatened to crack him open.
From the far edge of the cave, half-hidden behind a column of stone, he observed his sons as one might observe a fresh wound that refused to heal.
Kalen paced more than he used to. His movements were sharp, restless, as if he no longer understood what it meant to exist in his own body.
When frustration struck, it struck fast. His growls came more than his laughter now, rising from his chest without warning, smoke feathering at his lips before he even realized he was angry.
Auric, by contrast, had gone quiet. He watched everything. Measured it. When Kalen lashed out, Auric moved first—always standing between his brother and the world that scarred him.
And both of them together always seemed to glance toward Midas with an uncertain gaze that broke him in half every time he caught them looking.
They also seemed to both be growing into their dragon forms quicker, if it were even possible. A trauma response—the desire to grow in order to protect themselves and each other better.
Elowen noticed the way their bodies warmed unnaturally when they slept, causing her to break out in an uncomfortable sweat almost every night.
There was also a faint glow that sometimes pulsed in their throats when they were upset.
Their eyes had begun to turn more draconic, and the circular pupils narrowed into vertical and sharp lines when they wrestled each other.
Midas could feel their dragon blood stirring—old instincts surfacing too early. Fear had curdled into anger and pain sharpened into blame.
At night, when the cave was quiet and the boys slept tangled around Elowen, Midas lay awake at the mouth of the den, wings folded tight, tail wrapped around his own body like a restraint.
He remembered being young like them, where those same feelings had plagued his heart after the fall of the dragons, developing into fire without guidance or context. There was a time, when he was their age, where the fire in his throat had not yet learned cruelty and suffering and survival.
No one had been there to teach him what to do with the rage. No one had told him how to control it.
Midas had wanted to be better for his sons. Wanted to be the kind of father who could guide them with the fire instead of letting it act solely as a means of protection like it did for him.
But now Kalen and Auric were so afraid of pain that their entire worldview had been shifted from a single instance of Midas’ failure.
Now, his own children saw the dragons through the same lens the world always had: monsters that would be punished for existing.
And if the world had taken his son's horn, their innocence, their sense of safety—then surely it was his fault for bringing them into it at all.
One evening, when Elowen had taken the boys further back into the cave, where the washbasin rested to wash their hands and feet in the fresh water, Midas remained in the main chamber.
He lowered his massive body to the stone floor and bowed his head, pressing his brow against the cold rock, inhaling the scent of his greatest treasures: his family.
A dragon’s hoard was meant to be a place of pride and a testament to his survival. But surrounded by gold and jewels and artifacts stolen from a world that hated him, Midas felt only hollow without them.
None of it mattered without them.
He exhaled a slow, shuddering breath, and something hot slid down the bridge of his snout and splashed against the stone.
Later, when the boys returned, Elowen ushered them past him with gentle words and steady hands. Midas watched them go, resisting the instinct to reach out—to pull them close with his tail and promise them safety.
But promises meant nothing if the fear remained.
That night, Elowen joined him at the cave’s mouth when the boys were asleep and the stars were high.
She sat beside his great head and rested her forehead against his scales. He turned his head slightly, careful not to jostle her, and rested his snout in her lap. She held him there as if he were small like the boys, and he leaned into her touch like it was the only thing keeping him alive.
She felt the grief in every breath he took, but held him anyway.
“Mama?” Kalen asked suddenly one morning, while the boys were helping Elowen brush her hair. “Why can’t we go into the sky with Papa?”
Auric perked up at that, the same curiosity piquing him.
Elowen's heart twisted. She pressed a kiss to Kalen’s hair, then another to Auric’s brow, letting the warmth of them soothe the rising ache in her chest. She could lie, and their tender hearts would accept it, but it didn’t feel right to hide this from them—not when the lie could cost them their lives.
She offered them the easiest answer first: “Well, I think your Papa still thinks your wings are too small for flight.” She sighed, deciding to tell them the true reason as well. “And because the world outside isn’t kind to those who are different.”
Auric frowned. “But we’re just a family right? I thought that was good.”
“It is,” she whispered, stroking his back. “And you are perfect, as is our family. But not everyone sees the way your papa and I do. Some humans…they are afraid of what they don’t understand.”
“Are you afraid of us?” Kalen asked, voice small.
“Oh, never,” she breathed. “I love you more than the moon loves the sky. But other humans haven’t met you. All they would see is your strength. Your claws. Your wings. They would be afraid.”
The boys sat in silence, their golden eyes wide.
“Your papa fears for you,” she added gently.
“He remembers what it felt like to be hunted. That day when the humans ambushed us at the lake, it broke your father. He blames himself for what happened. He would never forgive himself if anything happened to you again. He did not want you around the humans before, and he certainly doesn’t want to risk it now. ”
“But you’re human,” Auric said, confused.
She nodded. “Yes, I am,” she said softly. “But the other humans were not kind to me either. They hurt me because I tried to help your father when they tried to hurt him.”
She lowered the collar of her dress to reveal her back down to her shoulder blades and turned to show them. She let them see the old scars mixed with the new ones, pale and pink across her skin.
Auric and Kalen gasped together, and Kalen asked: “They did that…because you helped Papa?”
“Yes,” she said, throat tight. “Because I showed kindness. Because I tried to protect someone they feared. That was the last time I saw the humans that I grew up with. I did not see another human until they attacked us at the lake, and I haven’t seen them since.”
The boys sat very still for a moment. Then, quietly, they shifted closer.
Kalen leaned forward first, nuzzling gently into her shoulder at the edge of one scar.
Auric followed suit, purring against her back with a low, comforting chirr in his throat.
They did it just like their father had done many times before.
Elowen’s breath caught in her chest.
“You are so much of him,” she whispered, smiling through the burn in her eyes.
“But you’re mine too. And I will never lie to you.
You are both dragon and human, and one day, the world will learn to understand that.
” She turned back to them and gathered them in her arms. “But until then,” she said, “you must stay close so we can protect each other.”
They nodded solemnly, their foreheads pressed against hers.
Midas watched from the shadows beyond the hearth, watching as the boys comforted the woman who had once comforted him.
And later that night, while Midas was watching the stars near the mouth of the cave, he heard the small pitter-patter of young footsteps approaching.
He turned slowly, as though he was afraid he had imagined the sound. But his eyes immediately fell to Kalen, sheepishly standing next to him.
“Papa?” he said. Midas huffed for him to continue. “Are you cold?”
Midas blinked, but shook his great head slightly. There was a long pause before Kalen spoke again.
“Do you want to come back to the nest?”
Midas tensed slightly, for it was a gift far greater than his son understood. He answered with the rumble of the dragons:
Only if you want me there.
Kalen nodded, then reached out his small fingers to wrap around Midas’ talon to tug, prompting him to follow, and Midas let himself be led.
When they reached the pile of blankets and pelts, Midas curled himself gently around the family once more. Elowen lay between the boys, and each of them reached toward him in sleep—one clutching his tail, the other curled near the crook of his arm.
Midas knew he would carry the scar of rejection for a long while after their young hearts moved on, but for tonight at least, the ache had finally lessened.