Page 26 of The Last Dragon

8 - The Eastern Lake

Cassian

Time seemed to hold its breath as Cassian studied the elf’s features. He saw himself in Tariel—a boy willing to do anything to make his people proud, even if it meant sacrificing himself without even realizing it. The eyes of an idealist, striving for a naive but sincere peace.

That gesture—the soft caress on his pale skin—wasn’t that of a tough mercenary, and Cassian knew it. He was going to have to cover this elf’s back, whether he wanted to or not. Because he had felt, all too quickly, a bond forming between them. A bond he couldn’t afford to entertain because he simply couldn’t stray from his objective.

He wouldn’t.

Cassian sighed and closed his eyes. He wanted to speak, to say something, but changed his mind, choking on his inner turmoil.

His hand rested on his chest, where magic was slowly healing his torn flesh and, in the stillness of the night, sleep eventually overtook him.

Few had slept by his side. Few had seen him plagued by nightmares of the past, glimpses of the hell he went through all those years ago. Even fewer had seen him wake up, overcome by panic. He always made sure to distance himself from the group, to slip away before his ghosts got the best of him. That night, he hadn’t been able to put some distance between himself and the elf—he’d been way too exhausted to think about it.

And it was the cruel image of a blade sinking into flesh, and the warm sensation of blood against his skin, that tore a cry of distress from him. Cassian jolted awake, gasping for breath, lying on the green moss.

He didn’t come to his senses right away.

In that fog, he could still see the dragons’ flames trying in vain to burn their tormentor. A distant voice was calling him—his name, perhaps?—but he didn’t recognize it. Cassian… That wasn’t his name. His name was—

“Cassian, wake up!”

As hands touched his skin, a shiver ran through him. His body stiffened in a sudden defensive reflex, and the touch triggered an uncontrolled reaction: his fingers shot out to grab the person’s throat before he could stop himself.

He had wanted to shout, “Don’t touch me,” but his lips could not form the words.

His bond pulsed with muffled attempts to trigger the Primordial Convergence. In that strange intertwining of their bodies and their fate, Cassian suddenly saw the elf’s face take shape in his mind. A pale face, contorted with fear, eyes wide and lost.

That image that snapped him back to his senses.

Cassian released him with a sharp jerk, gasping for breath, his eyes regaining enough clarity to lock onto Tariel’s fearful gaze. The elf had curled up in a corner of the makeshift mossy tent, trembling like wounded prey as he stared at the mercenary with cold terror in his eyes, breathing heavily.

A silence fell, so heavy that they could hear Brynjar patrolling outside, the sound of the wind, or even the erratic pounding of two heartbeats.

Finally, in a fragile yet firm voice, the elf broke the silence. “Aren’t you going to explain to me what just happened?”

Cassian sat frozen for a moment, his chest still heaving with erratic breaths. He ran a hand over his eyes, then let out a hoarse sigh. “It was just a bad dream. It confused me and… I mistook you for someone else. The bond we share… what you’re feeling right now isn’t yours. It’s my anxiety. It’ll fade away.”

He stood up slowly, staggering slightly, still out of breath, before stepping out of their mossy tent, brushing aside a few leaves with a sweep of his hand. As he sat down heavily a short distance away at the edge of the lake, the mercenary ran a hand through his hair and closed his eyes for a moment.

Shivers were still running down his spine. The image of the cowering elf wouldn’t leave him.

I could have killed him.

He knew it with a cold certainty, and he didn’t know how to feel about that.

Tariel

Tariel was confused.

The more time he spent with this mercenary, the more he felt like he was losing his mind—he was experiencing things he’d never felt before… and he wasn’t talking about his aching muscles. It was as if his magic had become foreign to him; an unidentifiable power had taken root—no, manifested itself—in his heart.

He, who had spent his entire life perfecting his magic, an art for which he had an exceptional affinity, felt… helpless. What was this force that bound him to Cassian, and that kept manifesting itself without him being able to do anything about it? And above all, why couldn’t he recognize this magic?

The elf let out a long sigh. All these troubles were doing nothing but wearing him out, and he needed all his energy more than ever.

Once he’d calmed down, Tariel decided to step out of the tent as well, beckoning Brynjar with a gesture.