Through Smoke and Ashes

Nine||The Haunting & Beautiful

I eased my head through the tangled branches of the tree I'd climbed, needles and leaves brushing my cheeks as I strained for a clearer view of the hunter's camp below. What I found made my stomach tighten. The clearing lay in ruins—blackened earth and shattered remnants where tents once stood. Embers still smouldered among the wreckage, glowing like dying stars, and the air was thick with a sharp, bitter tang of smoke that burned the back of my throat.

Morning had only just arrived. Slanted rays of orange light cut through the haze, warming my face in stark contrast to the cold horror spread beneath them. A new day had begun, and with it came the full revelation of what the night had left behind: death, blood, and the unmistakable violence etched into the ground itself.

I knew better than to return. Every instinct screamed that I should flee, vanish back into the safety of the forest. And yet, I stayed. My gaze drifted again and again to the bodies strewn across the clearing, drawn with a terrible, searching urgency—as if some part of me expected to find something specific among them.

Disgust curdled in my gut as I took them in properly. They were broken, twisted at unnatural angles, limbs askew. Whoever had piled them together had done so without care or ceremony. Flesh was torn, armour split open, and dark stains soaked into the dirt beneath them. A single man stood beside the heap, a burning torch held loosely in his hand, its flame flickering against the early light.

Then I saw it.

A faint glimmer of gold caught the sun—a subtle flash along the man's arm. Recognition hit me, followed by a rush of relief so strong it made my chest ache. The chaos in my thoughts stilled as I watched him move, steady and deliberate. He tossed the torch onto the pile without hesitation. Fire leapt eagerly, devouring cloth and flesh alike, the flames roaring to life as if starved for this very offering.

The wind shifted.

Thick, oily smoke rolled toward me, carrying the sickening stench of burning meat and ash. I gagged, eyes watering, my grip faltering. For a moment I nearly lost my balance, the world tilting dangerously as my body rebelled against the smell. Swallowing hard, I scrambled down from my perch, boots scraping bark as I descended too quickly.

Only when my feet hit the forest floor did I breathe again—deep, grateful lungfuls of cleaner air. I lingered at the edge of the treeline, half-hidden among the shadows, and watched the clearing from a safer distance.

The man remained still, his attention fixed on the burning bodies as if committing the sight to memory. I couldn't help the expression that crossed my face—revulsion tangled with something I didn't quite want to name.

He shifted then, lifting his head to glance at the sky. Instinct took over. I melted back into the darkness, careful not to reveal myself. I didn't want to be seen—but I did want him to know I had survived. That I was still here.

Without warning, the ground shuddered.

An enormous dragon descended from above, wings cutting through the air with a thunderous rush. It landed beside the man with surprising grace, the earth trembling beneath its weight. Slowly, it bent its long, powerful neck and rested its massive snout against the man's hand. The gesture was intimate, almost tender.

They regarded one another in silence.

A few subtle movements passed between them—small shifts, slight tilts of the head—and my breath caught as understanding dawned. They weren't speaking aloud. They were communicating through their thoughts.

My eyes widened.

The dragon was breathtaking. Its scales fit together like an intricate mosaic, lighter golds flowing into deeper bronzes, each one gleaming as if forged in fire. They formed an armour so seamless and solid it looked utterly impenetrable. Heat shimmered faintly around it, the air itself seeming to bend in its presence.