Chapter 34 #2
The dragon exhales sharply, a puff of smoke curling from her nostrils. I swear her expression—if you can call it that—looks suspiciously like a stubborn refusal to answer. It reminds me of Peonica, which somehow makes me both fond of her and deeply irritated.
I push to my feet and brush off the dirt. “If you want my help, I’m not wasting time on riddles. Not when there’s too much at stake. You’re clearly desperate—”
She moves, her jaws snap inches from my face. I stumble back, hands raised in instinctive surrender. Not that I feel truly threatened. No, this is not true hostility.
“All I’m saying,” I continue, keeping my voice steady, “is that my time and resources are running thin. So if you want my help, I’ll need your honesty. Take it or leave it.”
I plant my feet wide, arms crossed in the same stance Kaelzar uses when he’s about to win an argument by sheer willpower alone. Maybe I can borrow a sliver of his presence.
The dragon rises to her full height. We lock gazes for what feels like an eternity before she finally relents, her tail sweeping the dirt in a violent arc.
“I cannot leave yet,” she says, her voice curling through my mind. “Velskan entrusted me with a task I’m yet to complete.”
What could the God of Traversing and Lust possibly need that his dragon has to fetch for him? I raise an eyebrow, waiting. If she thinks that’s enough of an answer, she’s sorely mistaken.
Her tail scrapes the ground again before she continues. “Normally, the Godbound thread begins with the god, runs through the Champion, and ends with the Godbeast, like a rope. Simple enough for you to grasp, I trust?” she says in a patronizing tone.
I chew on my cheeks not to snap back and simply nod.
“But Velskan made it flow through me first,” she says, “and then to Seraphina, so that if his Champion lost the Trial, the connection would still hold. When the Sphere cuts the thread, it usually severs both Champion and Godbeast in a single stroke. But because Velskan twisted the design, it only cut her loose.”
The dragon fixes me with a long, unblinking stare.
I can practically feel her judging whether I’ve managed to keep up.
Then, with the air of a teacher repeating a very simple lesson for a very slow pupil, she leans in, her voice rises in my mind.
“She’s no longer Godbound,” she enunciates, “but I still am.”
Her golden eyes narrow, daring me to ask more. Something tells me she won’t answer, no matter how hard I push.
Still, a quiet instinct gnaws at me. Whatever Velskan wants, it might be something that could help me contain, or at least control, Calista once she rises to power. After all, don’t all gods despise her as much as Kaelzar and I do?
But if I’ve learned anything from all those weeks with Kaelzar, it’s that trust and secrets take time. For now, this is enough. Maybe once I help her, she’ll decide I’ve earned more.
“Fine,” I say. “How can I help?”
The slit of her pupil tightens as she studies me in silence. Then the dragon moves to the side, her gaze shifts toward a patch of dense brush.
“She hasn’t spoken since the last challenge,” her mournful voice echoes inside my skull.
I follow with my eyes to where she gestured. At first, I see only greenery. But as I step closer, the shape resolves. A body, curled gently at the roots of a tree as if placed there with care.
Seraphina.
She’s still wearing the same clothes from the challenge. Her white hair is matted to her face, stained with sweat and grime. The sharp tang of alcohol stings the air, undercut by the sour reek of vomit.
For a second, I just stare. And I hate that part of me, the part that wants to turn away. Seraphina was cruel to me, sharp-tongued and superior. I remember how she looked at me during the challenges, like I was beneath her. The failed queen she called me.
But this? This isn’t the Seraphina who challenged me in the arena, this is what’s left of her. And the worst part is I still don’t know how to feel. Pity? Resentment? Relief that it wasn’t me?
Maybe all of it. Maybe that’s why my stomach twists so violently. Because no matter what passed between us, I can’t watch her fall apart and pretend I have the right to judge her for it.
“We should take her inside,” I say softly, gesturing to the shrine. I don’t want people inside to see her like that, I’m sure the prideful girl would hate it.
The dragon lowers her head and lifts Seraphina in her paws with unexpected tenderness, cradling the fallen Champion. Then, with great care, she places Seraphina gently on her back, nestled between her ruined wings.
I lead the way back through the garden to the shrine. Together, we lay Seraphina down before the statue of Calista. Her breath is shallow, but steady. Her face, even in unconsciousness, looks haunted.
“Stay with her,” I murmur. “I’ll send someone soon with blankets, water and food for you both. And once she’s awake, I’ll try to talk some sense into her.”
Even as I say it, I know kindness won’t be enough. Words alone can’t heal a girl so thoroughly broken by her parents’ judgment.
My gaze drifts to the statue of the goddess, to the twisted horns that seem to writhe in the dim light, drawn by a chill sense of premonition. The dragon exhales a low, rumbling huff that I take as agreement to stand watch.
I turn and step away, hoping Seraphina will sleep long enough to sober up. My eyes sweep the chamber, searching for any trace of a Divinity Gaze hidden in the shadows that might let the gods, the Sphere, or the people witness this moment of weakness. I find none.
Good. Because if they saw her like this, if Calista saw her, she’d know how vulnerable Seraphina truly is.
And gods love nothing more than broken things they can reshape.