Smoke curled from scorched grass, embers piled around in the wreckage; flickering like dying stars in the night. The air was thick and humid, the acrid burn and charred scale was so heavy it filled your lungs.

The battle was tough, a lot of people were injured and worse; a lot were gone.

There was a low and guttural rasp of Simon’s dragon, each inhale wet and broken. Simon went to his knees, hand pressing against the earth as he tried to stop himself from collapsing. Fingers curling into the soft dirt under him.

His dragon laid before him, his massive head down in the soil; golden eyes that were once bright and full of life were now dulled.

Poisoned magic. A deep gash ran from the dragon’s jaw all the way down its throat, black and hissing; gory. The smell of rot already clung to the wound.

And Simon felt every ounce.

Pain ripped through his chest, his heart stuttering and it felt like his lungs refused to find a proper rhythm. His vision blurred at the edges as the bond that had always beat so steadily between them was now pulsing unevenly and frantic. It felt like his life was pouring out through the beast’s wounds.

Sweat plastered his hair down to his temple, jaw tight. It had all happened so quickly.

“Stay with me, you bastard,” he rasped out to the dragon, moving a hand to press flat against the scales as if he could push his own strength into him. “Don’t you dare fucking leave me.”

The bond sparked again, a searing jolt spiked through Simon’s ribs and knocked the breath out of him.

That was when you finally reached him. You hadn’t realized he went down until a few minutes later. You knelt down beside him, hand closing against his shoulder — the sweat and warmth filling your palm.

His lips parted, cracked and dry; voice coming out more broken than you’ve ever heard. “If he dies, I go with him.”

The words weren’t just a fear. It was the truth. Bonds were strong between dragons and riders, if the dragon passed, so did the rider. Sometimes, if the rider passed, so did the dragon if the bond was strong enough.

The dragon gave a low and guttural growl, it was weak but it still shook the ground beneath you. Simon could feel the tether flicker again, like a flame in the wind. He pressed his forehead against the dragon’s hide, body threatening to collapse under the shared agony. “Don’t die on me,” he whispered out.

The admission gutted you. Simon Riley was never one to admit fear or pain. Never admitted weakness. And now he was bleeding it out in front of you.