The fire crackled softly in the little hollow they'd found, tucked beneath the jagged stone outcroppings that rose like broken ribs north of Ash'myra. Nyxia sat with her back turned to Loque'nahak, the glow painting her silhouette in trembling gold. Her armor lay scattered beside her, blood smeared across the chestplate, one pauldron cracked straight through, leaving her in nothing but a thin under-tunic that clung to her skin with sweat and ash and a little too much blood. Her hands wouldn't stop shaking. Black streaks of dried ichor marked the creases of her palms, as if the battle had sunk into her bones and refused to let go. Loque watched her from behind, silent and patient, his luminous eyes soft with that old understanding she never deserved and always needed.
It broke her. Quiet at first, just a stiff breath, a tremor in her jaw, then all at once she shoved her armor off the ledge. The metal clattered violently down the gorge, echoing like some terrible confession thrown into the dark. "Damn her!" she shouted, voice scraped thin, raw in a way that hurt more than wounds ever did. "Damn her, damn me, damn this whole gods-forsaken path!" She paced like something cornered, hair whipping behind her, breath jagged. She hurled a stone at a nearby trunk, splitting bark with a harsh crack that echoed too loud. "She was mine," she choked, "she was light, she was hope, and she looked at me like I was more than a killer." Her voice bent inward, choosing a whisper when she tried so hard to shout, "And I left her… I left her."
Nyxia collapsed to her knees. Her claws tore trenches into the dirt as if she could bury her shame there, hide it before anyone else saw the way it hollowed her from the inside out. Her shoulders shook with quiet sobs she tried to swallow, pressing her face to the cold ground while the words spilled out, broken and breathless, "I'm sorry… I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…" The fire snapped softly beside her, casting her shadow against the rocks like a mangled wing, like something that once knew how to fly but didn't anymore. Loque didn't move, not until her sobs emptied into silence and she was just there, trembling in the quiet.
Then he crossed the distance. Slow, reverent, graceful in the way only ancient creatures could manage. He pressed his great forehead to her back, warm and steady, a weight that meant I'm here. Nyxia leaned into him without hesitation, for a long moment they just stayed like that hunter and beast, grief and solace until the stars finally broke through the cloud cover like something gentle returning to the world. Dawn rose slow over the ruined camp. The fire had crumbled into sleepy embers, Loque curled nearby, twitching at forest sounds, while Nyxia sat wrapped in her cloak with red-rimmed eyes that finally, finally looked steady again. The forest smelled of wet moss. She turned her moonstone pendant in her fingers, the gem catching the dawn with a dull ache that reminded her too much of Ves'Sariel's voice.
"I should have told her I still loved her," she whispered to no one and to everything, and Loque lifted his head at the sound. "I should've said it… even if it meant nothing." The forest went quiet in a way that felt wrong, a kind of hush that pressed down on Nyxia's ears until she thought her own heartbeat might give her away. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath. Loque lifted his head slowly beside her, a soft ripple of light traveling along his form as if deciding whether to stay in this world or the next. Then that groan rose from the stones beneath them, wet and low, and the smell followed. Rot. Old, sun-bloated carrion mixed with something thicker, bitter, like the air itself had spoiled. Nyxia reached instinctively for her bow, the hairs on her arms lifting as the woods in front of them bulged inward like something huge was pushing through.
The trees ruptured outward, splinters flying past her face. A dragon forced its way into the clearing, dragging half of a melted wing behind it. Rot clung to its body in strips, muscle exposed, bone shining through places where scales had peeled off entirely. One eye bulged, swollen with sickly fluid. The other was gone. Nyxia loosed three arrows in quick succession, the motion practiced even through fear. One struck that bulging eye and it burst, leaking down its jaw. The other two lodged into softened patches between its ribs, and each point sank deeper than they should have because the flesh caved like rotten fruit. The dragon bellowed, rearing with a sound so deep it shook the soil, and Loque surged forward in a blur of pale light returning abruptly to full, tangible weight before his claws raked down along its spine.
The beast bucked violently, slinging him aside. Nyxia ran in before it could follow, drawing a dagger with her free hand while her bow hung loose in the other. She drove the blade upward into a soft seam beneath its jaw and felt it slide straight through decayed tissue. The dragon lurched backward, throwing her off her feet. She rolled, gasping as an ache stabbed through her side, probably cracked ribs but she didn't have the luxury to check. Loque reappeared at her flank, materializing hard just as the dragon swung its ruined wing toward them. The impact sent both of them skidding across the ground. Nyxia spit blood, grabbed her bow again, and fired at the mass of pulsing growth along its flank. The arrow hit something volatile. A spray of thick, acidic rot erupted outward, burning through grass and stone.
The dragon charged through its own decay. Nyxia barely ducked under the snapping jaws, blades already in hand again as she carved across the exposed bone of its throat. The beast twisted, its tail sweeping across the clearing and sending Loque tumbling. He flickered, almost losing form, then solidified with a snarl and launched up its back. His claws sank deep. Nyxia sprinted forward, vaulted onto a fallen log, and used the elevation to leap onto the dragon's neck. She stabbed down hard. The dragon lurched, trying to throw her, bile gathering thick in its throat. She scrambled upward, drove her dagger in again, then ripped it free just as the beast reared back for a final breath that smelled like molten death.
Loque moved before she could, slamming himself into the dragon's skull and dragging its head sideways. The bile spilled uselessly across the ground, burning pits into the earth. Nyxia staggered to her feet, drew one last arrow with shaking fingers, and fired into the open cavity Loque had torn into the creature's face. The shot sank deep. There was a long, awful spasm that traveled through the dragon's whole body, and then it collapsed inward on itself, as if its bones couldn't remember how to hold weight anymore. Rot spilled out in ropes. Chunks of decayed muscle slid across the ground with wet thuds. The smell thickened until it made her eyes sting. Loque limped toward her, half fading, half solid, his form struggling to stay in this world after the strain of the fight. Nyxia wiped her blade clean on her leg and stared at the ruined forest around them, her breath trembling. All she managed was a whisper, faint and sharp in the stillness. "This is just the beginning."