The next morning dawned grey and heavy, the air thick with the promise of rain. Eric awoke before the first bell of the chapel, though he hadn't truly slept. His mind replayed the night over and over—the woman, her molten eyes, the faint glow of her wound, and the silver scale still hidden in his pocket.
He drew it out now, turning it between his fingers. Even in the dim light, it shimmered faintly, catching hues of crimson and gold beneath the surface. It was warm—too warm—and pulsed with a rhythm that felt almost alive.
He should have thrown it away.
He knew that. If the village guards or the local priest ever found out he was hiding something connected to dragons, he'd be accused of heresy or witchcraft. The old stories spoke clearly: Humans who meddled with dragon relics rarely met good ends.
And yet, he couldn't bring himself to discard it.
He wrapped the scale in cloth and tucked it beneath a loose floorboard by his bed, then splashed cold water on his face. His reflection stared back at him—tired eyes, dark hair falling into his brow, and a faint cut on his cheek from his clumsy run through the forest. He looked like the same man he'd always been, but something inside him had shifted.
Outside, the village was waking. The baker's boy shouted, the chickens scattered in the mud, and the bell rang twice, calling farmers to the fields. The ordinary sounds of life should have comforted him—but they didn't.
Because in the back of his mind, he could still hear wings.
---
By midmorning, Eric had gone to gather herbs along the stream that wound through the southern woods. It was an excuse, really—an attempt to clear his thoughts and return to normalcy. But every rustle in the trees made his heart race, every shadow made him glance upward.
When he reached the cave again, he half expected it to be empty.
And it was… almost.
The firepit was cold, the bed of moss disturbed. But there—beside the stone wall—lay the torn remnants of a bloodstained cloak. And near it, a faint mark burned into the ground like a sigil, shaped in curling lines that glowed faintly red before fading as he looked.
Eric knelt, brushing the dirt with his fingers. "What are you?" he whispered.
Then, behind him, a twig snapped.
He spun, his hand instinctively reaching for the knife on his belt.
A figure stood just beyond the trees—a woman cloaked in brown, her hood drawn low. For a moment, he thought she was a traveler. But then he saw the flash of silver hair beneath the hood, the familiar glow in her golden eyes.
His breath caught. "You…"
She didn't move. Rain began to fall in soft drops, tapping against the leaves. Her cloak clung to her slender frame, and her expression was unreadable.
"You shouldn't have followed me," she said softly, her voice calm but laced with command. "It's dangerous."
Eric's grip on the knife slackened. "I didn't follow you. I came back to see if you were—if you were alive."
Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Why?"
He blinked. "Because… I was worried?"
She tilted her head, as though studying an odd creature. "Humans do strange things for reasons that make no sense."
"Saving someone's life doesn't need a reason," he said quietly. "You were hurt."
She stepped closer, the hood slipping from her head. Rain ran down her silver hair, glinting like strands of light. "You don't understand what I am," she murmured.
"I think I do." He hesitated. "You're not human."
Something flickered in her gaze—surprise, then amusement. "So you do know. And yet you're still standing here."
"I'm not afraid of you."
"You should be."
He almost smiled. "Maybe I should. But I'm not."
She looked at him for a long moment, and in that silence, the forest seemed to still. The rain softened, the air holding a tension neither of them could name. Then she sighed and looked away.
"You shouldn't have seen me," she said. "No human is meant to witness a dragon in this form. It's forbidden."
Eric frowned. "Then why were you here? Why alone, wounded?"
Her eyes darkened. "Because I defied someone far stronger than you could imagine."
He didn't ask more. He could sense the weight behind her words—the pain, the pride. Instead, he offered her the small pouch of herbs he carried. "For your wound," he said. "It'll help with the pain."
She stared at the pouch, then at him, as if uncertain whether to be insulted or touched. "You're giving medicine to a dragon?"
"To someone who's hurt."
For the first time, a real smile touched her lips—small, cautious, but genuine. "You're a strange human, Eric Arden."
His name on her lips startled him. "How—"
"I remember things easily," she said simply, tucking the pouch into her cloak. "And dragons hear more than you think."
He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Do you have a name? Or should I just call you 'the wounded stranger'?"
That earned him a quiet laugh, light as falling rain. "Seraphina."
He repeated it softly. "Seraphina…"
It felt sacred on his tongue.
---
For the rest of the day, Eric helped her as best he could. She refused to let him accompany her to the deeper woods, insisting she could manage, but she allowed him to bring water and food from the village. Each time he returned, she seemed a little stronger, though her eyes still carried exhaustion and pain.
He noticed that she ate sparingly and moved with a grace that didn't belong to mortals. Sometimes, when she thought he wasn't looking, she'd stare at the sky as if listening to voices only she could hear.
Once, he asked her what it was like—to fly.
Her gaze softened. "It's freedom and loneliness, both. The wind embraces you, but you leave the world behind."
He nodded slowly. "That sounds… beautiful."
"It is," she admitted, "and yet sometimes I envy the earth. You humans have roots. You belong to the soil. We dragons… belong to the sky, but the sky belongs to no one."
There was a sadness in her tone that made his chest tighten. He wanted to comfort her, but words felt too small.
Instead, he built a small fire and brewed tea with mint and clover. The scent filled the cave, warm and familiar. Seraphina sat across from him, her golden eyes reflecting the flicker of flames.
"You're not like other humans," she said after a while.
"How would you know? You barely know me."
"I know enough. You're not afraid of me. You don't stare at me with hunger or fear. You look at me as if I were—" She hesitated, then whispered, "—a person."
"Because you are."
She looked away quickly, her jaw tightening. "You shouldn't say that. You don't understand what you're inviting."
"Then tell me," he said gently. "Help me understand."
For a moment, her face softened. Then the thunder rolled outside, distant but growing, and she stood abruptly. "I have to go."
"Wait," he said, rising with her. "What's wrong?"
Her eyes darted toward the entrance. "They've found me. You need to leave—now."
"Who?"
"Dragon knights," she said sharply. "They'll kill you if they see you with me."
He didn't move. "Then let me help you escape."
Her wings burst forth before he could answer—a sudden flare of light and shadow as great crimson wings unfurled from her back, shaking droplets of rain into the air. Eric stumbled backward, breath stolen by awe.
She was radiant, terrible, and beautiful all at once.
"Go," she commanded, her voice resonating with power.
He stepped forward instead. "If they're coming for you, then—"
"Enough!" The ground trembled at her shout. Her golden eyes blazed. "You don't know what you're doing. If they see us together, they'll burn this entire forest to ash!"
Rain poured harder now, thunder crackling through the sky.
Eric's heart pounded. "Then let them. I'm not leaving you."
For an instant, she stared at him, stunned. No human had ever spoken to her like that—not even those who worshiped dragons as gods.
She exhaled shakily, wings trembling. "You'll die, Eric."
He smiled faintly. "Maybe. But at least I'll die doing something that feels right."
Before she could reply, the sky split with light—three dark figures descending through the storm, their eyes burning like coals.
Seraphina cursed softly. "Too late."
She turned toward the entrance, fire coiling around her hands. "Stay behind me."
But Eric grabbed her wrist. "No. I have an idea."
"What?"
"Follow me."
He led her toward the creek at the cave's rear, where the water cut through a narrow fissure in the rocks. It was small, but enough for two people to squeeze through. The rain masked their movement as they slipped into the tunnel, crawling until they emerged into the dense undergrowth beyond.
Behind them, a roar shook the trees—one of the dragon knights landing near the cave.
Seraphina turned, fury in her voice. "They'll scent me."
Eric pointed ahead. "There's an old mill by the stream. The waterwheel still turns. We can hide inside—it'll mask your scent."
She hesitated, then nodded.
They ran.
---
By the time they reached the mill, night had fallen. Lightning danced across the sky, illuminating the broken walls and creaking beams. They slipped inside, panting, soaked to the bone.
Seraphina leaned against a pillar, her wings flickering before fading entirely, vanishing back beneath her skin. "They'll search until dawn," she said wearily. "They won't stop."
"Then we'll wait," Eric said. "You can rest here."
She looked at him—this ordinary human boy who had risked everything for her. "You don't understand what you've done," she whispered. "If they discover you helped me, they'll destroy your village."
"Then they'll have to destroy me first."
Her breath caught. For a long time, neither spoke. The storm raged outside, but within the ruined mill, time seemed suspended.
Finally, she said quietly, "Why are you doing this?"
Eric looked at her, his voice steady. "Because no one deserves to be hunted for being who they are."
Her gaze softened, something unspoken passing between them—recognition, perhaps, or gratitude. She turned away, her voice barely audible. "You're a fool."
"Maybe," he said. "But you're alive."
She laughed softly, the sound fragile but real. Then she sank to the floor, exhaustion overtaking her. He covered her with his cloak, sitting beside her as the storm howled through the broken roof.
For a long time, he watched her sleep—the faint rise and fall of her chest, the golden glimmer in her hair, the curve of her lips softened by dreams.
And he knew, even then, that his life had already changed forever.
---
When dawn finally broke, the rain had stopped. Mist curled along the stream, silver and silent. Eric stirred from half-sleep to find Seraphina awake, watching him.
"You stayed," she said softly.
"Didn't plan to leave."
She smiled faintly. "Then perhaps you're braver than I thought."
"Or stupider."
"Both, maybe."
They shared a quiet laugh. For a fleeting moment, there was peace.
But as the first light of morning touched the horizon, Seraphina's expression hardened. She stood, drawing her cloak tight. "They'll return. I have to go before they find me again."
He rose with her. "Will I see you again?"
She hesitated at the doorway. "You shouldn't wish for that."
"I already do."
She looked back at him one last time, her golden eyes full of something she couldn't say aloud. Then she turned—and in a shimmer of light, she was gone.
Only the faint scent of smoke lingered, and a single silver scale on the floor where she'd stood.
Eric picked it up slowly, feeling its warmth against his skin.
He didn't know it yet, but that moment—her leaving, his longing—was the first spark of a fire that would one day burn across all of Aeloria.