Chapter 18 Zyphon
EIGHTEEN
ZYPHON
Igo still.
“You know what happened.”
“I know the basics. Nasyra was killed. You arrived too late to save her. The Shadow Clan placed some kind of affliction on you in the aftermath.” Auren’s expression doesn’t waver.
“What I don’t know is why. What made them target her specifically.
What made them hate you enough to create something designed to kill you slowly over centuries. ”
“Auren—“
“This isn’t curiosity.” His voice cuts through my protest. “Lakhu’s father created whatever is eating you alive. That means Lakhu knows its weaknesses, its triggers, how to use it against you. If we’re going to fight him, I need to understand the weapon he already has.”
Nasyra is watching me. I can feel her attention like heat against my skin, waiting to see what I’ll say. What I’ll admit.
“The Shadow Clan created the darkness inside me,” I say slowly, “as punishment.”
“Punishment for what?”
“For loving a Fire-Bringer.”
The words drop into silence. Auren’s expression doesn’t change—he’s too controlled for that—but something flickers in his eyes. Understanding, maybe. Or calculation.
“Explain.”
I don’t look at Nasyra. Can’t look at her. If I see her face while I say this, I’ll lose my nerve.
“The Shadow Clan’s philosophy isn’t just ideology—it’s law, in their territories.
Dragons who form attachments to Fire-Bringers are considered traitors to their kind.
And three centuries ago, I committed the ultimate betrayal.
” A breath. “I fell in love with one. Planned to claim her. Planned to spend eternity treating her as my equal instead of my property.”
“And they found out.”
“They found out.” The memories press against me, dark and heavy. “They took her. Used her blood in a ritual designed to fuel the magic that would punish me. And when I tore through their forces to reach her—killed everyone who stood between me and that altar—they made sure I’d suffer for it.”
“The shadows,” Auren says.
“The shadows.” I finally let myself look at Nasyra.
She’s staring at me with an expression I can’t read, her hands gripped tightly in her lap.
“They were designed to consume me slowly. To make me suffer for centuries before finally killing me. A reminder, every day, of what happens to dragons who forget their place.”
“And the Fire-Bringer you loved?” Auren’s voice is carefully neutral.
“I was too late to save her. She died on that altar while I fought my way to her. And I’ve carried that failure for hundreds of years.”
Silence fills the library. The weight of grief presses down on my shoulders, heavier than any physical burden.
“Thank you.” Auren’s voice is quiet now. “I know that wasn’t easy.”
“It doesn’t change anything.”
“It changes everything.” He gathers his notes, his movements precise. “Lakhu isn’t just trying to reclaim a weapon. This is personal for him—his father’s creation, his clan’s enemy. He’ll make mistakes because of that. Mistakes we can exploit.”
He heads for the door, pausing at the threshold.
“I’ll give you two a moment.”
And then he’s gone, leaving me alone with Nasyra and the weight of everything I’ve just admitted.
She doesn’t speak immediately.
I watch her process what she’s heard, the emotions flickering across her face too fast to track. Confusion. Anger. Something that might be grief, or might be the echo of memories she can’t quite grasp.
The silence stretches. Outside the library windows, the sun has begun to set, painting the mountains. Beautiful. Indifferent to the turmoil happening within these walls.
“The Fire-Bringer you loved.” Her voice is barely above a whisper. “You were talking about me.”
“Yes.”
“They punished you—created whatever is inside you—because of me.”
“Because of what I felt for you.” The distinction matters. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Nasyra. You didn’t ask to be targeted. Didn’t ask for any of this.”
“But if you hadn’t loved me—“
“Then I would have spent five centuries without the only happiness I’ve ever known.” The words come out rougher than I intended. “I don’t regret loving you. I regret failing to save you. Those aren’t the same thing.”
She flinches. The words have hit something—some deep wound she’s been carrying without knowing its shape.
“Three centuries.” She says it slowly, as if testing the weight of it. “You’ve been carrying this—whatever is inside you—for three hundred years. Because you loved me.”
“Because the Shadow Clan wanted to make an example. A warning to any dragon who might be tempted to see Fire-Bringers as anything more than resources.” I keep my voice steady, even though the memories are clawing at the edges of my control.
“They couldn’t kill me quickly—I was too useful as a symbol.
So they designed something that would kill me slowly instead.
Let me suffer. Let everyone see what happens to dragons who disobey. ”
She stands abruptly, her chair scraping against the stone floor. Her hands are trembling—I can see it from across the room, the fine shiver she can’t quite control.
“Tell me what happened that night.” Her voice shakes. “The full truth. Not pieces, not implications—everything.”
“Nasyra—“
“You said you arrived too late. You said I died on an altar while you fought to reach me.” She crosses the distance between us, stopping just out of arm’s reach.
Close enough that I can see the fear beneath her anger.
The desperate need to understand. “What aren’t you telling me?
What happened before that? How did they take me in the first place? ”
I look at her—really look at her. The sharp lines of her face, softened by exhaustion and grief. The way she holds herself, defensive and defiant all at once. The tears gathering in her eyes that she’s too proud to let fall.
This woman. This fierce, broken, beautiful woman. She deserves the truth. All of it.
But some truths have to be remembered, not told. Otherwise, they’re just another kind of poison.
I make a choice.
“We were supposed to meet that night,” I begin.
“You and I. There was a place in the forest—a clearing we’d found together, somewhere private, away from everyone who disapproved of what we were becoming.
We’d planned to make decisions about our future.
Whether to stay and fight for acceptance, or leave and build something new somewhere else. ”
“But you didn’t meet me.”
“I was delayed. Shadow Clan forces attacked the outpost where I was stationed—a distraction, I realized later. Designed to keep me occupied while...” The words stick in my throat. “While you were being taken to the altar.”
“Taken by who?”
This is where it gets dangerous. This is where I have to decide how much truth she can handle.
“Someone you trusted.” I watch her face carefully. “Someone who knew where you’d be, and when. Someone who led you into the forest with gentle hands and reassuring words.”
Her breath catches. “Who?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
“Can’t, or won’t?”
“Both.” I hold her gaze, willing her to understand. “If I tell you, you’ll think it’s another manipulation. Another lie designed to turn you against people you loved. You have to remember it yourself, Nasyra. That’s the only way you’ll believe it.”
“That’s not fair.”
“No. It’s not.” I take a step closer, close enough to see the tears gathering in her eyes.
“Nothing about this is fair. You died. You were brought back with your memories twisted. You’ve been lied to and used and manipulated by people who saw you as nothing more than a weapon.
And now I’m telling you that the only way forward is to remember a truth that will break your heart. ”
“Then why won’t you just tell me?”
“Because you’ll hate me for it.” The admission costs me more than I expected.
“You’ll think I’m trying to destroy what little you have left.
And even if you eventually believe me—even if the memories come back and prove I’m telling the truth—part of you will always wonder if I planted that seed.
If I manipulated you the same way Lakhu did. ”
She stares at me. The tears spill over, tracking down her cheeks in silent streams.
“What I can tell you,” I continue, my voice rough, “is that when I finally reached you, you were already gone.
Your blood was in the channels. Your life had been used to fuel the magic that would punish me for loving you.
And the person who betrayed you—“ My hands clench at my sides.
“I killed him. With my bare hands. While the shadows took root in my soul.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
“No. But it’s the truth. All of it that I can give you right now.”
The silence stretches between us, heavy with grief and confusion and years of unspoken words.
Nasyra wraps her arms around herself, a gesture of self-protection I’ve seen before. She used to do it when she was overwhelmed—when the emotions got too big to contain and she needed something to hold onto.
“I’ve been having dreams,” she says finally. “Memories, I think. Things that don’t match what Lakhu told me.”
“What kind of memories?”
“You. Younger. Looking at me like...” She trails off, swallowing hard. “Like I was something precious. Like I mattered.”
“You did matter. You were everything.”
“And my brother.” Her voice catches. “I’ve been dreaming about Balroth too. But the dreams are wrong. He’s... he’s not the way I remember him. His face is twisted. His voice is cold. And he’s—“
She stops. I watch her piece it together—the fragments, the implications, the terrible truth lurking at the edges of her returning memories.
“The person who betrayed me.” Her voice is barely audible. “The one who led me to the altar. You won’t tell me who it was.”
“No.”
“Because I already know.” Tears well in her eyes. “I just don’t want to believe it.”
I don’t confirm it. Don’t deny it. Just stand there, giving her space to reach the conclusion on her own, even though every instinct screams to gather her in my arms and shield her from the pain.
“I don’t know what’s real anymore.” The words come out broken, shattered.
“Everything Lakhu told me was a lie. Everything I thought I knew about my life, my death, my family—it’s all wrong.
And I can’t—“ Her voice cracks. “I can’t tell which memories are mine and which ones he planted. I can’t trust my own mind. ”
I want to touch her. Want to pull her close and hold her while she falls apart. But that’s not what she needs—not yet. Maybe not ever.
“You will.” I keep my voice steady, even though my chest aches with the effort of staying still.
“When you’re ready, you’ll remember everything.
The real memories will feel different from the false ones.
Stronger. Clearer. Like the difference between a painting and the thing it’s trying to capture. ”
“How do you know?”
“Because you’re already remembering. The dreams, the fragments—that’s your mind fighting back. Breaking through what Lakhu built.” I hold her gaze, pouring every ounce of conviction I have into the words. “You’re stronger than his lies. You always were.”
She looks at me for a long moment. The tears keep falling, but something in her expression shifts—a glimmer of something that might be resolve, or might be hope.
“The person I was,” she says quietly. “The one who loved you three centuries ago. She sounds... brave. Stubborn. Like someone who didn’t break easily.”
“She was all of those things.”
“I don’t know if I’m her anymore.”
“You don’t have to be.” The words come from somewhere deep, somewhere true. “You don’t have to be who you were. You just have to be who you’re becoming.”
She stares at me. And then, so slowly I almost miss it, she nods.
“I need time,” she says. “To think. To try and... sort through all of this.”
“Take whatever time you need.”
She turns toward the door. Pauses. Looks back over her shoulder.
“Zyphon?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you.” The words seem to cost her something. “For telling me the truth. Even the parts you couldn’t say.”
She’s gone before I can respond.
I stand alone in the library, surrounded by ancient texts and the weight of a lifetime of waiting, and I let myself hope that maybe—finally—the waiting is almost over.