The tombstone was too new. Still had that fresh-cut chalky look. No moss, no wear. Just pompous script carved in heroic swirls like someone thought calligraphy could make death more dignified.
SIR OGDEN THE BRIGHT.PALADIN. HERO. DEFENDER OF THE WRETCHED."LIGHT BE THY PATH, BRIGHT BE THY BLADE."
Gods.
I stood there barefoot in the dewy grass, staring like the words might rearrange into something less smug. Less… Ogden. In my palm, sweaty and almost forgotten, the little gold sun medallion he used to wear on a leather cord. I stole it years ago. Kept expecting him to come steal it back. He never did.
"So the rumor was true," I muttered.
The Dragon nodded beside me. "Syderian Rhino. A young bull. Three horns. Bad attitude."
"Shit." My throat caught. "He always said rhinos were overhyped."
"They are. Unless they're in heat."
I didn't laugh. Couldn't. My mouth tried, but my face wasn't playing along.
I clutched the medallion tighter. And remembered.
The first time I met him, he was tied to a tree. Courtesy of me. After I'd cracked his shiny, smug helmet open with a rock. He looked like he'd been carved from sun-kissed arrogance. Golden curls. Square jaw. Dazzling teeth that were too perfect for any real moral fiber. Gods, I hated him. So much.
Then he moaned.
And I realized hating someone didn't mean you couldn't fuck them. Repeatedly. Violently. In every available storeroom, shrine, stable, and ceremonial fountain across half the continent.
He made me furious. He made me stupid. He made me scream things I didn't know I could scream.
And now he was just...
A stupid rock.
I kicked the tombstone.
It didn't help. Hurt my toes. But I did it again.
"Stupid," I hissed. "Stupid, stupid, shiny prick. This is how you go? Trampled by a fucking rhino? Not even a magical one. Not cursed, not spectral, not even demonically possessed. Just a horny animal with three horns and no manners!"
The Dragon raised a brow. "Four horns. The fourth was vestigial."
"Don't help."
I paced. Back and forth in front of that grave like I could wear a hole in the world. "You were supposed to be harder to kill, Ogden. That was your whole thing. All that armor. All those muscles. All those lessons. Remember? You lectured me on reflexes, on duty, on valor, like I was some wild stray you had to train into a person."
My throat tightened. I hated it.
"You were supposed to come back. You were always too dumb to die, that's what made you—" I stopped, swallowing the lump in my throat. "You promised."
"You swore you never believed in promises," the Dragon said softly.
"I don't!" I barked, spinning on him. "But he did!"
I turned back to the stone. My fists clenched.
"You were supposed to chase me. Be annoying. Be smug. Be there. You were the idiot knight. You were the joke I never stopped making. You were—" My voice cracked.
The Dragon looked away politely.
"Gods," I whispered. "I hate him."
I did. I hated his stupid confidence. His golden-boy grin. The way he always thought he could save me. I hated how often he tried. I hated how I let him.
And I hated how I was crying.
Because I wasn't supposed to cry for people like him.
"I should be dancing on this grave," I muttered. "Should've brought wine and pissed a heart on it."
"Still time," the Dragon offered.
I ignored him. My knees buckled and I crouched instead, fist clenched over the stupid sun medallion, pressing it to my chest like a girl in a bard's tragedy.
"I told him once," I said quietly, "that if he died before me, I'd drag him back just to kick him again."
"And now?"
"I just want to know why he didn't come back." My voice broke, then turned bitter. "Or maybe he knew I'd cry. Maybe that's why he did it."
The Dragon didn't answer. Just stood like a statue, letting the silence settle.
I hated that too.
Because deep down—gods help me—I knew it.
Sir Ogden had left me.
And I still missed the bastard.