Page 47 of The Last Dragon

How could he? So many beings wanted him dead that only the prospect of a buried truth still drove him forward. Not out of honor, but because inaction was the only path that did not lead instantly to the grave.

Against him, he felt Cassian’s chest rise. The mercenary remained silent for a long moment, as if weighing every word in the darkness, before his voice—calm as a whisper—resonated deep into the elf’s bones.

“I think everyone who’s on the road is afraid of a death they cannot predict. We’re afraid of running out of time, of being betrayed, of suffering.”

Tariel listened with almost painful intensity as he let his fingers mechanically trace runes across the mercenary’s muscular chest. He wasn’t infusing them with magic; he simply watched as the lines glowed faintly before fading, like dying stars on Cassian’s skin. He knew thousands of these symbols by heart, but none seemed capable of deciphering what he was feeling.

“You have within you the power to protect yourself just as much as the power to kill. To create and to destroy,” Cassian continued. “You must believe in yourself. More than anyone has ever believed in you, Tariel.”

Tariel stared into space. Objectively speaking, he was powerful, capable of bending the fabric of the world, but his emotions remained his greatest source of vertigo. Seeking a way out of this heavy conversation, he muttered in a lighter tone:

“I hope you’re aware that I’m going to ask you a whole bunch of questions tomorrow.”

He paused, his fleeting smile fading into a sigh.

“I’m not that young. I’m two hundred and eleven years old… and I feel like I have to throw everything I know in the trash. It’s intimidating to face the lie that is one’s own life. I’m not afraid of running out of power, Cassian… I’m afraid of being too weak to make the right decision when I have to.”

He felt Cassian’s body tremble slightly—a stifled laugh, perhaps?—and sensed his smile in the shadows. The mercenary’s embrace tightened, his arms wrapping around him with a strength that seemed to want to ward off adversity.

“Tomorrow is another day,” the man whispered. “And besides, I might just smother you in your sleep—who knows? What a way to go.”

Tariel felt Cassian’s cheek press against the back of his head. Then, without warning, a hand wandered through his white locks before gently pinching his ear to tug at it. The gesture, though painless, was so unexpected that Tariel froze, his heart leaping.

In an instant, the powerful mage felt like a scolded kitten. He looked up with wide eyes at Cassian’s face, his body tense with a tinge of fear and surprise.

“Tariel, nothing is to be thrown into the trash,” the mercenary continued, releasing his grip on Tariel’s ear and letting his hand drift down to the nape of his neck. “A lie is no obstacle…you have a head start over those who think you’re ignorant. Your emotions can be the source of your failure, but also that of your victory. Don’t rely on higher powers; have faith in yourself.”

Cassian paused, his hand still and warm against Tariel’s neck.

“It may well be that your mission is not to kill a dragon, but to find your true allies in a conflict greater than your quest.”

Tariel remained motionless for a long moment, his face nestled against his companion’s chest, letting those words resonate within him. He wouldn’t change his worldview overnight, but the warmth of that muscular body, the mercenary’s scent, and the certainty of his support acted as an anchor.

In the dim light, lulled by the ambient sounds and the faint scent of medicinal herbs, the elf sighed.

“Sometimes, when you speak, you seem so irrational that what you say almost makes sense…” he murmured.

He then closed his eyes, a faint smile on his lips.

Without realizing it, lulled by the steady beat of Cassian’s heart, he drifted off to sleep. His last thought was a silent hope: that the mercenary would not be haunted by his demons that night.

For in that state of total surrender, Tariel was no longer an enemy, nor an esteemed elf, nor a crystal-bearer. He was simply an exhausted soul that finally felt safe.

13 - Clan Life

Cassian

The chaos he had feared had not come. For the first time in ages, the specters of Drakensyl and the howls of his own people had not haunted him into the depths of his mind: he had slept a deep, restful sleep, without a single dream… A death-like rest, or perhaps the rest of a man who, for one night, had found his anchor.

When the pale light of dawn began to filter through the tent canvas, Cassian did not start. He opened his eyes slowly, his gaze fixed on the top of the white head nestled against his shoulder. During the night, they had shifted; he now found himself in a protective position, the elf’s body pressed against his own, his arm resting gently on Tariel’s stomach.

In other words: they were spooning.

He lay motionless, listening to the mage’s steady breathing. A subtle change had taken place since the day before—something deeper than the mere healing of his flesh.

Was it the result of his resonance with the Crystal? Or simply the emotional nature of this bond with another—a bond he had sworn never to form?

A forbidden question then assailed him: was fate offering him an alternative, or was it hurling him toward an even crueler betrayal?