Chapter 46
Forty-Six
After a long, bloody few minutes, Midas stopped trying to overpower the men.
Instead, he let them hurt him—allowed them to believe they had bested him. While Midas lay on the cold, blood-slicked stones of the ground, he observed the men and found their own weaknesses to use against them.
One had a slight limp. Midas slashed at the tendon at the base of his ankle. Another has a cut in his leather from Midas’ claws, and he ripped through flesh with his teeth. A third was holding a sword too heavy for his skill, and Midas used the refined muscle of his tail to swipe it from his hand.
He slammed one man’s head into a stalactite and used the recoil to roll beneath a swinging axe that bit the flesh of his comrade. He hooked an ankle, dragged a man off balance, and stomped down on the chest.
Pain continued to scream through Midas, but pain was survivable.
A whip wrapped his forearm, but before the man could pull, Midas yanked him forward instead, head-butting him hard enough to crack teeth. He tore the whip free and snapped it once, twice, to create space, to make them hesitate.
That hesitation saved him.
He fought on ugly and savagely. Used spit and blood and darkness. Throws rocks into eyes. Shoved torches to flammable cloth so smoke choked the air.
By the time they realized what he was doing, it was too late for them.
They came to kill a monster.
And a monster they found.
Midas stumbled down the tunnel, clawing at the stone to keep upright, vision blurred with heat and desperation. His body—still human and still wrong, now injured—dragged behind the panic screaming through his soul.
“Elowen!”
No answer.
“Kalen! Auric!”
No answer.
And then the scent hit him: copper. The smell of soft flesh cooling far too fast. When Midas reached the final chamber where his family hid, he stopped. No—the world stopped.
Elowen lay crumpled near the wall, her body shielding both boys. One of her hands was still raised to cover their eyes, as if she’d died trying to comfort them from their fates.
Kalen was curled beneath her, unmoving, his second horn missing and blood coating his face. Auric was beneath them both, curled against Elowen’s stomach as if seeking the safety of her womb.
There was only stillness.
They had been executed. Nothing more. Nothing less. A clean, merciless erasure of his family.
The soldiers were gone, because they didn’t need to stay and gloat. They accomplished what they came to do, and left Midas to find the ashes of his failure.
Midas dropped to his knees. The cave groaned under him.
He crawled to Elowen. Touched her hair. Her cheek. Still warm, as if she were simply asleep. But he could feel the coldness taking her, stemming from the blade they left in her chest.
“Please,” he said.
He lifted Kalen—his son’s head lolled back, eyes open just a sliver, like he’d still been looking for him. Auric’s tiny body was curled inward and limp like the others.
All three of them. Gone.
Midas made no sound at first, the shock and pain rendering him…unfeeling.
But then he touched Elowen again, feeling for certain that her body had grown colder, and his body flickered in anger. He shifted from the distress, the agony of the sight. It was a violent change that flung blood from his joints and left bones broken in the shift. But he did not care.
He folded his limp, aching wings around their bodies, his entire body trembling. To feel them all there was a small blessing, for they were together again. But then Midas roared.
It cracked the stone. It shook the mountain itself, triggering an avalanche of snow and rocks that sealed the entrance of the cave from the world.
Midas did not eat. He did not move. He simply curled his massive body around his family, sheltering them from the world once more.
Day by day, Midas’ fire dulled until he was as cold as them. On the last day, he opened his eyes slightly to observe the hoard before him. The gold, the jewels—it all meant nothing, for his heart was in three pieces under his wings.
In his final moments, Midas hummed to himself a song Elowen sang to the boys as babes, tears trickling down his scales as hunger and grief finished what the humans began.
And when the mountain was silent again, the last dragon was entombed in stone.