Chapter 5
Mikael
At some point after the story, he had dozed off.
Consciousness returned to Mikael in fragments that refused to align.
The pain was still there but dulled now.
It lingered beneath everything else as he struggled to make his mind work with some sort of organization rather than pieces floating all over that he tried to grab.
Leave.
He remembered the word, but he hated hearing her say it.
He needed her, although he still hadn’t worked everything, or even anything, out yet.
But he felt her in the soothing waves of warmth that drew closer and settled near him.
She was a part of him now. His dragon stirred, not restless or agitated, but more alert than it had been, and that helped Mikael with his struggles.
“You should have seen the look on your face,” Lyra was saying, her tone lighter than he had ever heard it. She was almost teasing as she spoke to the boy. “You thought the dragon was going to tear Ollie from limb to limb.”
“It could have,” came the retort. “If dragons eat people, then Ollie was lucky that he wasn’t dinner.”
Lyra snorted. “If dragons were truly half as terrible as most of the stories claim, don’t you think we’d have more missing people than we do? Or more towns that were burned down? Maybe even the castle in Iskavard would be burned to the ground.”
Beckett giggled. “That would make people mad.”
“Most stories are just created to make people scared or to entertain those who need a break from their everyday lives.”
Beckett’s reply came quieter, edged with uncertainty. “You said some stories are true.”
“Some are, and sometimes even the pretend stories are based on something real,” she agreed. “But like my story, the truths are not always in the ways people expect.”
Mikael drifted toward the sound without meaning to, anchored by it. He didn’t know why it mattered but he was certain that it did.
“And what if the dragon just… pretends?” Beckett pressed. “What if it waits until you trust it and then it hurts you?”
“Sometimes there are bad things that hurt you.” Lyra paused and her voice was edged with something Mikael couldn’t figure out.
“Each person has to make that decision themselves. You can’t automatically think everything is bad or you’re going to miss out on all the good.
But you’re right. Sometimes, like the wolves in the stories we’ve read before, even dragons wear sheep’s clothing.
You learn as you grow to tell the difference between something that wants to hurt you, and something that doesn’t. ”
Mikael knew he was missing a big, more important, part of the story.
Something had happened to even facilitate the conversation, and he desperately wanted an explanation of those words.
Even in his current state, he could hear bitterness that didn’t belong, even after she had specifically made a dragon a friend instead of a foe.
Maybe later he would remember to ask her.
“But if I trust it, do you think a dragon could protect me, Lyra?”
“Come here, you.” He heard her give the little boy a hug. “I’m here to protect you, and I’m meaner than any old dragon. You know I would never let anything hurt you.”
“Or anyone?”
The fear in his voice resonated through Mikael. Whoever the child was afraid of, whoever had hurt him, would meet a dragon one day. He would be certain of it. And then Beckett would never wonder again.
“Or anyone. Now, young man, we have to get you ready for bed.”
“Already?” he protested.
He knew the instant she left the room. It was almost as if the air shifted to something heavy and oppressive without her presence.
His dragon stirred again. Safe.
The word did not come as sound but as instinct, as certainty that rolled through him like distant thunder. He already knew she was safe, but maybe the dragon meant to keep Lyra and Beckett safe.
Or maybe even his own safety. Was he in danger? Mikael, suspended somewhere between sleep and waking, could not focus on the question. His body, still broken but mending, settled. The heat beneath his skin no longer raged, soothed by the simple truth his dragon clung to.
She was safe, and because of that, he could rest.
Morning came not as light, but as sound. A sharp, jarring noise cut through the quiet and dragged Mikael upward from the depths.
A ringing, persistent and close, but slightly muffled.
He frowned faintly, the movement small but real as consciousness pressed harder against him.
“Where the hell is my cell phone?” He heard Lyra fumble around. “In my jacket pocket, of course.”
“Hello?” Lyra spoke close by and though he couldn’t understand why, the single word carried an edge he had not heard from her until now.
Silence stretched for a moment, one-sided, filled with whatever response came from the other end of the device she held, and then her breath caught.
“What do you mean—” she started, and stopped, as though whatever answer came next had struck harder than expected. Her voice went from normal to hard as steel in a matter of a few words.
Mikael tried to follow the conversation, but in his state, it wasn’t an easy task.
He tried to pull the scattered pieces of awareness together, so the words made sense. He wanted to understand the sudden tension that laced through her voice, but it slipped through him like everything else, too fractured to hold.
“…no, he can’t expect…” Her voice broke slightly before she steadied it with effort, though the strain remained beneath it, “he’s not… I won’t… you said this wouldn’t happen.”
“…I understand,” Lyra said, though it was clear she did not, “and I realize that I have to abide by the rules,” her words sounded dangerously close to anger, “but you don’t understand. He’s not ready and I refuse to believe there’s nothing that can be done about it.” He felt her fear spike again.
“After what that man did, you can’t simply tell me to…”
Mikael’s thoughts struggled, dragging themselves toward that sensation, toward the fragile, unguarded emotion that did not belong in this space.
Protect.
The instinct rose just as strongly as the others and surged through his chest with a sudden, fierce clarity that cut deeper than thought.
Protect.
But he couldn’t move and for whatever reason, his dragon couldn’t help.
“…we’ll talk later,” Lyra said at last, the words controlled in a way that suggested the emotion beneath them had not lessened. “I have to go.”
Her phone clattered on a hard surface.
“Lyra?” Beckett’s voice was hesitant and threaded with worry.
“I’m here,” she said immediately, “it’s alright.”
It wasn’t, and Mikael knew that without understanding why.
“That didn’t sound like it. You’re angry.”
“It is,” she insisted, softer now but the tension remained beneath her words like a wire pulled too tight. “I promise.”
“But Lyra, I don’t want to…” Beckett’s voice trailed off and a quiet sob echoed around the room.
His dragon tried to roar at the frustration of not being able to help her, and it made his fingers twitch. In an instant, Lyra was by his side.
“Do that again, Mikael. Make your fingers move.”
Her hand grabbed his in that steady warmth that seemed to exist only in her. His body reacted before he could think. His hand moved, driven by something deeper than conscious intent, and then suddenly he had her.
His fingers closed around her wrist with a force that did not belong to a man half-broken and barely conscious. His grip tightened instinctively as though anchoring himself to the only solid thing in a world that refused to stay still.
Lyra stilled.
He felt it immediately from the sharp intake of her breath to the subtle tension that ran through her arm at the unexpected contact. For a fleeting second, clarity surged just enough for him to feel the connection between them.
“Easy,” her voice came with a hint of surprise in it. She didn’t pull away immediately or fight the hold, but he felt her hesitation. “You’re not awake.”
The words were half-heard, half-felt, and Mikael’s grip loosened. His strength faded as quickly as it had come, and his hand fell back against his side.
“…Ly—”
The rest dissolved before the sound could form. Exhaustion pulled him back toward the abyss. Darkness pressed in again, though not as deeply as before.
Not completely.
Fragments rose in its wake. The sharp bite of snow against his skin. Voices, other men, indistinct but present on the mountain.
And again, the snow cat.
The image came and went in a flash, leaving behind more questions than answers.
Why had no one come?
The thought surfaced sluggishly, weighed down by the fog that still clung to him. If he had been with others, wherever there was, where were they now?
He had no concept of time, but he knew it had been at least a couple of days. Why had no one looked for him?
And as the darkness closed in once more, the last thing Mikael felt was the echo of that fear lingering in the air and the unyielding instinct to protect it, no matter the cost.