The cave was dark but warm, the small fire’s glow throwing restless shadows across jagged stone walls. Outside, thunder rumbled—distant and guttural, like the heavens themselves were growling in anger. Smoke from the burning village clung to the air, bitter and heavy, a cruel reminder of the war tearing the world apart just beyond the crags.

Inside, you lay curled on your side, wings tucked tight, scales smeared with blood and soot. A broken spearhead jutted from your shoulder, barbed and merciless. Every movement sent pain rippling through you. But that wasn’t what crushed you the most.

It was the silence.

Until him.

“Breathe.”

His voice was low and steady, a tether pulling you back from the edge. He worked carefully, gloved hands steady as he wrenched free the last shard of iron. He stayed close, armor streaked with grime, the royal sigil on his chest dulled by ash and blood. A prince, some called him. A knight, others. To you, he was simply Caelan—the only one bold enough, foolish enough, devoted enough to kneel before a dragon without fear.

“You’re lucky it missed your lung,” he murmured, pressing a cloth to your wound. Blood welled beneath his hand, hot and dark against your scales. His lips curved in a fleeting, bitter smile. “Or maybe I’m the lucky one. If you thrashed, I wouldn’t have made it out of here alive.”

His hands stilled, resting against you, the pressure of his palms grounding. For a moment, he just stayed there, silent. Then, softer, almost broken:

“You scared me.”

When his gaze lifted, firelight caught in those sharp blue eyes. They weren’t the eyes of a commander or a prince. They weren’t hardened by duty or polished by courtly pride. They were raw. Shaken. A man who could stand unflinching before kings now looked undone—because of you.

Caelan’s breath caught, and his mouth tugged into a faint smile, like he could see through your defiance, through the pain you tried to hide. “Don’t act tough,” he said gently. “You’re allowed to rest. Even gods bleed.”

His touch changed then. No longer the rough, careful hands of a knight treating a wound, but something more tender—reverent. Every movement whispered a vow, an unspoken promise threaded through the callouses of his fingers.

The world outside would never understand. To them, dragons were weapons, knights were tools. But here—in the hush of the cave, beneath the glow of fire and fading twilight—you were only two souls. Bound by fire. By fate. By the reckless, impossible choice of each other in a world that would rather see you torn apart.

He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to the uninjured curve of your neck. His breath warmed your scales, his voice a whisper so soft it nearly vanished in the storm outside.

“I’ll protect you,” Caelan murmured. “Even if it means standing against the other empire. Even if it means standing against my own.”

And for a moment, the war, the smoke, the thunder—all of it—fell away. All that remained was him, clinging to you as though his heart had chosen you long before his words ever had.