Pameon was taller now, now that she was eleven. Her hair was long and she often wore it in a ponytail, her eyes were just as blue as when shebwas young. She was turning into a beautiful young Omega.
She had rose amongst the ranks of the training academy. Going from messenger, to scout, to assassin all by the age of twelve. She looked at herself in the mirror remembering her first kill.
She remembered the way his skin felt against her blade, how he gasped as he collapsed to the floor, his breath leaving his body as his knees buckled. She stood frozen as she watched him bleed out, the pool growing faster than she had anticipated.
His skin was pale, almost translucent in the moonlight, his lips turning blue as she slowly lost consciousness. His eyes were wide with fear, his mouth agape as he tried to scream. She had expected him to fight back, to try and kill her, but he didn't. He just stared at her, his eyes pleading for mercy.
She sighed, thinking back to that. It was so hard for her to adjust to that but Apex was expecting so much from her but now, Doureena was dead. She had only met her a few times but those few times made a lasting impression.
Pamoen stepped outside looking at the training grounds. She was going to be leaving and heading toward the Groken tree to meet up with Zhiliary.
She saw Xeno in the distance, a dark silhouette against the pale dawn. His broad shoulders were rigid, hands clenched at his sides. The wind carried the faint scent of iron and sweat from his direction, mixing with the damp earth beneath her boots.
His lips curled into a smile when their eyes met. Not the kind meant to charm or deceive, but the kind that softened the harsh lines of his face, the kind that told her he remembered every time she'd stumbled and gotten back up again. It was the same way he'd looked at her when she'd returned from that first kill, her hands still shaking, her clothes stiff with dried blood.
He patted her on the shoulder. "Are you ready to head out this morning?" He whistled and a dragon soared over to them, landing with stride.
Pamoen was helped onto the dragon. They took flight and as they did, Pameon began to talk. "We're losing this war," she said.
Xeno looked at her with surprise. "What makes you say that?" he asked.
She shrugged, "Because I know. I hear the gossip, the flags, the ghetto, it was liberated," she exclaimed. The ghetto she would sneak off to, it was liberated by her sire, Sous. "My sire. She did it."
Xeno stayed silent, his grip tightening on the reins as the dragon banked left, skimming low over a stretch of barren hills. The creature's wings cast jagged dark movements across the cracked earth below, shapes that slithered and dissolved.
Pameon watched them instead of his face, counting the beats between each downstroke, the way the muscles in the dragon's shoulders bunched and released.
The silence thickened even the wind seemed to hold its breath. Beneath them, the landscape blurred, charred fields giving way to skeletal trees, their branches reaching like beggars' hands.
The leather creaking under the pressure. She could feel the tension radiating from him, a coiled spring pressed against her thigh.
"We have the witch on our side," Xeno finally said.
"The one that gave Zhiliary that power?" Pamoen asked. She watched Xeno confirmed her question.
Pamoen shook her head but remained quiet. Witches were loyal to no one.
The dragon's wings beat a slow, steady rhythm, like a dying heart refusing to quit. Pameon pressed her cheek to the warm clothes between Xeno's shoulder blades and tried to let the sound drown everything else. It didn't work.
They flew over the Ashen Vale now, where the soil had turned black years ago after the firestorms. Nothing grew here anymore, not even weeds. The dragon's shadow slid across the glassy ground like spilled ink.
Pameon watched it and wondered if that was what her soul looked like now, something burned smooth and reflective, showing whoever looked close enough the exact shape of their own guilt. Doureena that is. Her soul upon her death.
"She also told me," Pameon continued, voice steadier, "that every Omega carries a second heartbeat inside them. Not the bond, not yet, just… a space waiting to be filled. She said when the right Alpha comes, you'll feel it click, like a key turning in a lock you didn't know was there." She laughed, bitter and small. "I thought she was being poetic. Now I think she was warning me."
Xeno finally spoke, rough as gravel. "And has it clicked yet, little blade?"
She considered lying. Considered telling him yes, that the hollow place inside her had filled the night he carried her, half-dead, out of the training pits when she was nine. But that wasn't the click Doureena meant, and they both knew it.
"No," she said. "It's still empty. Louder than ever, actually."
The dragon banked toward the Groken tree, its ancient silhouette rising on the horizon like a skeletal hand clawing at the sky.
Pameon could already taste the rot on the air, sweet and cloying, the smell of old magic gone septic. Zhiliary would be waiting beneath those gnarled roots, probably knee-deep in blood or books or both.
"Xeno," she said suddenly, "if the witch betrays us then what?"
His whole body went rigid. For a moment she thought he'd yank the reins and turn the dragon around, fly them both straight into the sea just to escape the question.
"I-I dont know," he said at last, voice raw. "We'll have to see."
It wasn't the promise she'd asked for, but it was the only one he could give.
They descended in silence after that, the Groken's twisted branches reaching up like they wanted to drag the dragon from the sky.
Pameon closed her eyes and felt the second heartbeat inside her chest, the one that belonged to no one yet, beat louder, faster, as if it knew time was running out.
When they landed, Zhiliary was already standing in the clearing, silver hair whipping in the wind, eyes glowing with borrowed power.
"You're late," Zhiliary said, but her gaze flicked to Xeno with something almost like fear.
Pameon slid from the dragon's back, boots sinking into moss that smelled of old graves. She met Zhiliary's eyes and felt that empty space inside her ache.
"I'm exactly on time," Pameon said. "For whatever comes next."
The wind shifted. Somewhere in the branches above, crows began to scream.