Page 78 of The Immortal’s Mark

He fills the space.

Golden scales catch the phosphorescent light—crystals that have grown for eons, blue and green and amber dancing across his hide like sunrise through stained glass. His eyes are ancient gold, each pupil a vertical slit that contains depths I couldn’t fathom in eight hundred years of trying. Wings folded against flanks that could crush buildings. Teeth longer than my arm, visible even with his mouth closed, each one holding the faint glow of banked fire.

You don’t get used to this. You just learn to keep breathing through it.

Three thousand years of existence, coiled in crystal-lit darkness, watching us approach like insects that have wandered into his domain.

Which, to be fair, we have.

“So,” Tianlong says, and his voice resonates through rock and bone and the spaces between thoughts, “you wish me to become small.”

The word drips with three millennia of dignity, offended.

Ren doesn’t blink. I’m watching him specifically not blink. The control required to stand before a dragon the size of a palace wing and maintain perfect composure—

“I wish you to be helpful,” Ren replies.

“I have burned armies for you.”

“And now I need you to fit in a saddlebag.”

I make a sound.

It’s not quite a laugh. More like a laugh that got trapped in my throat and is trying to claw its way out. Ren’s face doesn’t change—stone-carved and serene—but there’s something around his eyes that might be satisfaction.

Tianlong’s massive head swings toward me. The movement displaces air, warm and mineral-scented.

“You find this amusing, little dawn?”

“I find it hilarious.”

“Do you.”

“Absolutely.” I’m grinning now. Can’t help it. “Eight-inch dragon. Saddlebag. The mental image alone is worth the entire trip.”

The dragon’s eyes narrow. Golden slits in golden depths, calculating something I probably don’t want calculated.

“When I am small,” he says slowly, “I will remember this. I will provide… commentary.”

“You provide commentary anyway.”

“Yes.” A pause, weighted with ancient patience. “But you will not be able to escape it.”

I stop grinning.

Ren’s mouth twitches. Almost imperceptibly. If I hadn’t spent the last weeks cataloguing every microscopic expression that crosses his face—which I definitely have not been doing, that would be ridiculous—I wouldn’t have noticed.

But I have. And I do.

“Three weeks of you in my ear,” I say flatly.

“In your vicinity.” Tianlong’s tail shifts, scales scraping crystal formations with a sound like wind chimes made of diamonds. “I cannot speak mind-to-mind with you as I do with the flame. But I can speak. Constantly. At length. About everything I observe.”

“Including?”

“Everything.”

The way he says everything makes it very clear what everything includes.