Chapter 43
Chapter Forty-Three
The early morning sun sparkled over the harbor of the Isle of the Monsters, dancing on the water like a thousand flickering flames.
Fishing boats moved up and down on the water in a gentle rhythm.
On the docks, the sails of the ships slapped against the masts as dock workers exchanged greetings in a flurry of languages.
Below, the merchant stalls sent up a delightful assortment of scents: fresh sea salt mixed with sweet spices and the warmth of fresh bread.
Jabir sighed, lost in thought. He had come out just before dawn and watched the sun come up. He hadn’t moved from the stone balcony since arriving just before dawn.
With another deep sigh, he drew his legs up to rest them on the low stone railing and leaned forward so he could rest his arms loosely across his knees. Below, the city shimmered in celebration of another perfect day.
Children laughed. Market stalls bustled. A distant musician played a rambling melody on a reed flute.
He lifted his hand and rubbed it over the ache in his chest.
All he could think about was Jewel—her fingers brushing his, her laugh, the way the early morning sun had turned the lake into a mirror when they said goodbye. Their last kiss.
And the way she’d whispered, “One day I hope we will meet again.”
Had it already been three days?
He didn’t feel like himself today. Didn’t feel like a Reykill. Not the son of one of the most powerful dragon shifters in the universe. Not a prince. Not even a troublemaker.
He just felt… lost.
The door creaked open behind him. He ran his hand over his burning eyes.
“Morning,” Bálint’s voice was warm and sounded like he was still half-asleep.
Jabir didn’t look around.
Bálint stepped outside barefoot, his dark hair tangled and his clothes rumpled. He carried a plate piled high with flakey pastries and fruit skewers that dripped juice onto the rim.
“If I had known you were up already, I’d have let you answer the door. But then, there might not have been any food left for me,” Bálint teased, offering the plate to him.
Jabir shook his head with a faint smile. He kept his eyes averted.
“I’m not hungry.”
Bálint blinked in disbelief. “Whoa. You’re always hungry. Are you feeling alright?”
Jabir shifted over when Bálint dropped onto the bench beside him. Bálint’s brows furrowed—before he took a bite of a plum Danish and moaned with delight. Flakes drifted into his lap. They sat in silence. The sounds of the harbor rose around them, a symphony Jabir couldn’t quite feel part of.
Bálint finally asked, gently, “Hey, are you okay?”
Jabir swallowed and looked down at his hands. He turned them over, palms to the sun, and studied the faint calluses from climbing, building, flying… from living.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. His voice was low, raw. “I’m not sure I want to go back.”
Bálint froze, the pastry in his hand forgotten. “What? What are you talking about?”
Jabir’s lips curved into a forced smile. “I’m seriously thinking about staying here. In this world.”
Bálint set the plate down slowly, his entire posture shifting. “Is it… because of the girl?”
Jabir let out a dry laugh. “Partly. Jewel’s amazing. But it’s more than that.” He lifted his gaze to the horizon. “I feel like I belong here in a way I never quite did back home. Like… I can breathe easier. Be more me. Fit in, maybe.”
“But Jabir…” Bálint leaned forward, panic creeping into his voice. “You have a life there! Your parents, your animals, your—your collection of rocks… and-and other stuff that you keep under your bed! You can’t stay here!”
Jabir gave a half-hearted snort, then looked away. “If it weren’t for Mom and Dad… I don’t know what I’d go back for.”
There was a long pause.
Bálint reached out and touched his arm. “Is it because of me? Or the others? Did we—did we… do something? Say something that hurt you?”
Jabir stood abruptly, the motion sharp. “No. It’s not like that.” He moved to the railing, gripping it hard. The stone was cool and rough beneath his fingers, grounding. “You guys haven’t done anything wrong.”
He turned his head, his voice tight. “I just need to think. I’ll be back in a little while.”
Without waiting for a response, he shimmered, shifting into his dragon. Wings burst from his back, flashing blue and silver in the morning light. His dragon pushed off the railing and lifted into the sky with a single beat, sending a gust of wind rippling through the balcony curtains.
He flew high, letting the cool wind scour his thoughts, his scales catching the light in dazzling arcs.
Below him, the city stretched like a storybook—spiraling towers, crowded streets, and sun-washed plazas filled with laughter. Chimneys smoked. Gardens bloomed. Children dashed along cobbled streets, faces upturned in joy.
He flew over a tavern courtyard where couples enjoyed an early morning breakfast as music drifted from an open window.
Across the street, a baker dusted flour from his apron and tossed scraps to two waiting griffin pups.
A trio of harpies flitted through the alleyways, their bright feathers flashing in the sun.
They were all different.
Yet, they belonged.
They weren’t trying to be something else.
They just were.
They just wanted to be loved. Accepted. Seen.
Like Jewel.
Like him.
A sharp ache bloomed in his chest.
He missed her.
Missed her laugh, her wild eyes, the way her presence had grounded him even when everything else felt uncertain.
Maybe just one more time, he thought.
One more moment.
One more chance to see her.
To say goodbye properly… or maybe to not say goodbye at all.
With a single beat of his wings, he turned sharply, the wind roaring in his ears.
Let’s go back, he murmured to his dragon. Back to the Manticore village.
His dragon looked over his shoulder, seeing Bálint watching them with concern. With a low, mourning series of coughs, his dragon rose higher, soaring toward the place where they had left part of their hearts behind.
Bálint stood on the edge of the balcony, one hand gripping the railing as he watched Jabir disappear into the sky, a glint of sapphire and silver swallowed by clouds. The wind tugged at his dark, messy curls. His heart tugged harder.
That wasn’t a joy-flight.
That was escape.
And Jabir—his Jabir, the goofball who could identify every ship model in the galaxy by silhouette and had a snack stash so big, it needed its own drawer in the treehouse—had flown away with pain carved into every wingbeat.
“I’m not letting you go like that,” Bálint murmured.
He pivoted, nearly colliding with a hovering hexer-goblin. “Oh, sorry. I—Would it be possible to get a breakfast cart delivered to Zohar’s room?”
“Of course, your Majesty. Right away,” the goblin replied with a cheerful smile.
Bálint shook his head as the creature disappeared with a click of its thin, greenish fingers. A bemused smile tugged at his lips before he shook his head and focused back on the task at hand—figuring out what to do about Jabir.
He crossed through the living room area of his and Jabir’s chambers and exited. At the end of the hall, he started knocking loudly on doors, calling for everyone to wake up. Doors flung open, and voices rose in confusion.
Ten minutes later, Zohar’s room was a tangle of limbs and crumbs, the gang all crammed in.
Zohar lounged shirtless in a pile of cushions, licking chocolate off his fingers with an expression of reverence on his face.
Roam sat in the loveseat with one leg thrown over the side, munching on a fresh-baked biscuit the size of his hand filled with egg, meat, and cheese.
Spring sat next to Roam, her long legs draped over Roam’s other leg, nibbling on a fruit tart.
Amber and Jade sat on the floor, munching and playing with a demented symbiot.
Alice and Adaline sat in matching chairs near the snack cart, their faces still soft with sleep.
Phoenix stood near the window, lost in thought.
“Guys…” Bálint said, his heart hammering, “Jabir’s thinking about staying here.”
That snapped them to attention.
Phoenix blinked as if coming out of a daze, turned, and stared at him.
“What?” she asked.
Zohar straightened. “Wait—what are you talking about?”
Roam lifted his head with a growl-like sound. “Staying? Like, not going back to Valdier?”
“Exactly.” Bálint’s voice was grim. “He told me this morning. Said he doesn’t think he wants to go back. That he feels like he fits here. That if it weren’t for his parents… there’d be nothing waiting for him.”
The room fell into stunned silence.
“Is it something we did?” Alice asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“I don’t know,” Bálint admitted. “Maybe. I mean… Roam, Zohar, me—we’ve been teasing him a lot lately. About the way he eats like a vacuum, how he doesn’t take training seriously.”
Roam grimaced and looked back at him with a worried expression. “It wasn’t meant to hurt. We were just teasing.”
“No, but maybe it did,” Bálint said. He glanced around at them. “And it’s not like he’s lazy. You know he can name every speck on the warships. All the weapons. The modifications. Things I didn’t even know had names.”
Phoenix wrapped her arms around her waist and bit her lip, her eyes troubled. “He tutored me last semester on the biomechanics of engine propulsion integration. He basically saved my butt. I was having a horrible time with the concept until he explained it.”
Spring’s voice was gentle. “I don’t think it’s the studying that bothers him. It’s his heart.”
Everyone turned to her.
“He feels everything,” she explained. “He has a lot of empathy. He once told me that the idea of hurting anything really tore him up. Don’t you guys remember how quiet and withdrawn he got that semester we studied the Great War between our species?”
“I forgot about that. He said he was having trouble sleeping,” Roam said, wiping his hands on his trousers.
“Yeah, me too. He missed a lot that semester,” Zohar confessed.