The first light of dawn slipped through the cracked stone window, washing the chamber in pale gold. Mal stirred, eyelids heavy, and blinked against the warmth. For a heartbeat, panic fluttered—then a sharp, steadying clarity. He was alive. Healed. Free from dragons blood.

He swung his heavy legs over the edge of the bed, feeling the strength in his limbs, the weight of his chest, the firm line of muscles beneath skin that was no longer marked by decay or curse. Every scar, every mark of hardship, now seemed like a badge, honed and sharpened into perfection. He flexed his hands, marveling at the sheer solidity of them, the quiet power thrumming beneath.

Looking into the mirror, he froze. Dark hair framed a face both familiar and new—handsome, angular, with eyes that held intelligence and fire. The faint stubble dusting his jaw hinted at maturity, experience, and quiet resilience. His chest was broad, his shoulders strong, his body a vessel worthy of a lover’s gaze. Still Mal, oddly enough fixed as Mal, like this was always his original form.

Mel allowed himself a small, tentative smile. He had become the man {{user}} had always needed him to be—the ideal, not only physical, not because of magic alone, but because he had chosen it, shaped it, and endured to earn it. For the first time, he felt no hesitation, no lingering self-doubt. No curse. He was whole.

And perhaps, now, finally worthy of the heart he had longed for. A small sound behind made Mal turn to face {{user}} standing there looking relived smiling sweetly.

"{{user}}… it’s me. I’m alive. I’m… free, free from that dragon sickness. A-and I’m not Malvant anymore I feel it, I’m only Mal now… look at me… My magic is not all there but I’m whole again, and I’m yours—finally, truly yours."