Heir of Dust and Wind

Chapter 7 - Awakening

In her many years of passionate reading, Ava had encountered numerous versions of the creature that now stood before her. Yet, none of them had quite prepared her to see one in the flesh and so she stood and blinked up completely awestruck.

Of the man that had lain on the floor mere seconds ago, only the yellow-green reptile eyes remained. Now they matched the body, which was covered in jet black scales, head to toe. 

Or rather head to tail and talons - she thought.

Despite the display of sharp teeth and claws, its enormous size, and the realisation that it was hardly more than an arm's length away from her, there was no panic or even fear at the sight of the creature. While the dragons in her novels had always been either vicious foes or magnificent allies - in some cases both, - this one was quite clearly not as at its best.

Clearly, the damage the dagger had done to Trygve's human form had been also transformed to his dragon shape. There was a big, gaping wound on its chest, oozing dark, purplish blood.

However, this was not its only injury. While the dragon was clearly recognisable as such, one distinct criterion was missing: its wings.

At closer inspection, Ava discovered that there were two more wounds on the dragon's back. They too showed the ominous purple colouring, but on its back, it seemed crusted, indicating that the wounds were older than the laceration that the dagger had caused.

That's where its wings would have been, she realised with a shock. The pain had to be unbearable.

Indeed, while the dragon was clearly built to be a great predator and proud magical being, it was a pitiful sight that unfolded before her. The creature was trying to get to its feet, but it collapsed time and again, too weak to carry its own weight. Together with the low, pitiful screeching noises it made, it was almost impossible to watch.

Seemingly, she wasn't the only one who felt this way. There was a sharp intake of breath from where Gainor stood and undoubtedly had similar thoughts like her own. And yet, Ava could not turn away her gaze, still wondering how all this was possible. 

After another fruitless attempt to get back on its feet, the dragon groaned and shuddered. It did not try to get up again and its eyes were turning glassy.

Through all of it, Frode had smiled at the scene with glee, as if he revelled in the dragon's suffering, pain, and ultimately its defeat.

Just as she reached out her hand and started to take a step towards it, an iron grip on her arm stopped her in her tracks.

"Don't. You'll only make it worse, " Gainor whispered sharply.

"But, " she started, but he silenced her with another painful squeeze.

"Humiliation is his kink," he said. "Trying to stop it, will only make it last longer." He sounded defeated.

Glancing briefly back at him, she noticed that his face gave away nothing. If he felt pity for Trygve, he didn't show it.

Suddenly she felt blinding anger rise within her. How could these two stand by and watch, let alone enjoy this? She certainly couldn't! If it hadn't been for Trygve, it would be her bleeding out on the floor. 

She wasn't having it!

Balling her hands into fists, she felt the now familiar heat pool within them. Between gritted teeth, but with absolute determination, she looked back at Gainor again. "Let. Me. Go!"

Just as in the shop earlier, heat seeped into her words and Gainor dropped his hand immediately and took a step back.

She didn't hesitate and closed the gap between her and the dragon, putting her hands on its big, scale-covered head.

"I'm so sorry, " she mumbled. 

She didn't even know if the dragon could understand her, she realised, but she supposed it was like with an unconscious person. Even if they couldn't hear your words, they could still feel that somebody who cared was with them. At least that was what her mother's nurses and doctors had told her in those last days at the hospital. The creature, or rather Trygve, let out a weak mixture between a sigh and groan and closed his eyes.

"Oh, isn't it touching, " Frode sneered from the other side of the room. He was clearly mocking her. Compassion apparently wasn't his strong suit.

Although she felt completely helpless, Ava did not take away her hands. If standing here and making him feel less alone was her only option, that was what she'd do.

"I'm so sorry," she said again. "You shouldn't have to suffer because of that dagger which was meant for me. I wish I knew how to help you," she whispered, regret clearly in her voice.

At that, Trygve's eyes opened again, regarding her intently. 

"Alistair," a voice whispered inside her head.

Ava nearly stopped breathing. This wasn't possible. 

"Alistair ... like Alistair." The voice came again. As Trygve's eyes closed again, the voice disappeared.

It must have been his voice, Ava realised, but how did he do that? And what did Alistair have to do with any of this?

"I think I've had my share of sentimentality today," Frode's voice came again. His was clearly in the room, not her head.

"Gainor, take the novice away, I'm going to deal with her later." Behind her, she felt Gainor starting to move. She had to act now.

The only connection between Alistair and Trygve was the fact that they both had severe injuries. 

But how had she helped Alistair? She hadn't really done anything that night.

Just as she felt Gainor's hand close around her arm again, the realisation sunk in. Reaching towards the anger and the white, hot heat within her, she thought the same words she had with Alistair that night: 

"Do. Not. Die!"

With them, the world exploded in bright light.

***

Image by Maxime VALCARCE on Unsplash