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Gradyn awoke to a gentle shaking. He hadn’t realized he’d fallen asleep, cradled in the arms of a dragon, high above the world. His body must have finally given in after everything.

“We’ll be landing soon,” Cyvass said through the bond, the words brushing across his thoughts like a whisper carried by wind.

Gradyn blinked, the ache in his ribs a dull throb now instead of a sharp stab. He nodded and shifted to look around, breath catching as the world came into focus.

Morning light poured across a broken sea of stone. The Stone Forest Mountains stretched endlessly in every direction, jagged and unforgiving, like the shattered bones of ancient gods. Towering peaks jutted into the sky, their slopes scoured bare by time and wind. Shadows pooled in crevices deep enough to swallow light. What little life there was clung tight. Gnarled shrubs clawed from cracks, moss painted over stone like old blood, and the occasional pine, tall and skeletal, bent but unbroken.

It was brutal. Untamed. And heartbreakingly beautiful.

A place untouched. And untouchable.

It was his first time flying, truly flying, and the awareness of empty air beneath him made his stomach knot. No saddle. No tether. Just claws and wind and height. But the view... gods, the view.

“Enjoying yourself?” Cyvass asked, smug amusement leaking through the bond.

Gradyn flinched. His mental barrier had slipped again. He fumbled to rebuild it, like trying to patch a wall mid-collapse.

“Why can I never hear your thoughts?” he asked. “All I get is muted emotions every once in a while.”

Cyvass chuckled. A deep, resonant sound that vibrated in his chest and through Gradyn’s bones. “Because I was trained to speak this way from birth. You’ll get the hang of it. In time.”

“Maybe I would’ve already... if you hadn’t left.”

That cut the air between them. A beat of silence followed, heavier than the flight, than the wind.

“You have a lot of explaining to do,” Gradyn muttered. His voice wasn’t angry, not yet. But it carried weight and expectation.

“I know,” Cyvass said quietly. “When we land, I’ll tell you everything.”

They descended in silence after that, the mood sharpening like the mountain air. Cyvass suddenly banked sharply. Gradyn grunted as they dove, the sudden motion jarring his healing ribs. Wind roared in his ears. The dragon twisted between narrow passes as if the stone itself parted for him. Ribbons of gray blurred past, as the granite spires leaned closer.

Gradyn clutched the smooth scale of Cyvass’s claw and gritted his teeth, sweat gathering at his brow.

“Easy,” Cyvass murmured. “You’re not fully healed yet.”

“You noticed?” Gradyn muttered through gritted teeth.

“Of course. But you’re healing faster than you should. The bond’s doing its work.”

Gradyn frowned. “Didn’t know it could do that.”

“It can. But only in its early stages. Your wounds will knit faster. Bones, too. However, after about a month that will stop.”

Gradyn didn’t reply. He wasn’t sure if that was comforting or terrifying. And what had he meant by early stages?

Then light burst ahead. The jagged pass ended, and the world opened up. Green spilled down the slopes in a riot of color. Trees, real trees, sprouted tall and full, their leaves fluttering in the mountain breeze like a thousand sighs. Wildflowers bloomed in reckless patches, pinks and purples tangled in grasses. A lake gleamed at the valley’s heart, still as glass, fed by a towering waterfall that crashed down a cliff face in silver ribbons. Mist curled at its base, scattering sunlight into shards of color.

Gradyn stared, breath held. After days filled with nothing but chains and pain, this felt unreal. Like a dream he didn’t trust.

Birds scattered at their approach. A herd of deer vanished into the treeline. And for a moment, something else moved along the far cliff face—something large, dark, and winged. Gone before he could be sure.

He thought to ask Cyvass, but decided to wait. The dragon angled his wings and descended, gliding toward a patch of soft earth by the lake. He shifted Gradyn to one claw as he landed with practiced ease, then gently set him down.

The man staggered a little. The ground felt unsteady beneath his feet after so long in the air, but his eyes never left the valley.

“I hope you like it,” Cyvass said, his voice soft as Gradyn turned toward him. “When I first found this place, all I could think about was how you’d react.”

Their eyes met, just for a moment. Then Cyvass looked away. Shame flickered through the bond like ash caught in the wind.

Gradyn said nothing at first. He stood still, arms at his sides, heart pounding in his chest with questions he wasn’t sure how to voice. His throat worked around words he didn’t yet trust himself to say.

Part of him wanted to yell. Part of him wanted to thank him. And part of him, maybe the part that hurt the most, just wanted to be quiet and forget.

None of those instincts won. Not at first. He just breathed.

“…Thank you,” he said eventually, his voice uneven and low. “For saving me.”

Cyvass’s head rose slightly, as though the words caught him by surprise. Gradyn shifted his weight. The silence returned. It lingered just long enough to grow uncomfortable before he continued.

“But I need to know… why was I even in that position in the first place?” he asked, voice gaining strength. “Vartis said you lost control. That you went into some kind of rampage. And I want to believe that’s all it was. I want to believe you. But it’s hard when the one explaining it is the maniac who locked me in a cage… and not you.”

Cyvass exhaled slowly. The breath stirred the grass, stirred the leaves. He lowered his head, but didn’t speak right away.

“I’m sorry,” he said finally. “Truly. I should’ve warned you what that part of my life would bring. I didn’t understand it then. I thought I could manage it.”

He shifted, lowering himself to the ground, wings folding tightly against his sides.

“But when I saw them,” he said, voice tightening, “soldiers, in our home, dragging you away. I felt something snap inside me. All the control I thought I had, it vanished. My body didn’t stop moving, but my thoughts… they unraveled.”

“I killed them all. One by one. It was senseless slaughter. My magic surged on its own. I grew larger, faster. The world blurred with blood and shadows… And then I saw you.”

Gradyn’s chest tightened.

“You were standing there, watching. I wanted to stop. I tried to stop. I screamed inside my own head, but it didn’t matter. My body moved on its own. I started toward you. Stalking you like prey.”

“You called my name. You begged me to stop. And still… I couldn’t.”

His voice dropped to a near whisper.

“Then you turned to run. And I pounced.”

He closed his eyes tightly, jaw clenched.

“I felt my claws tear into your back. Felt your weight hit the ground like I’d thrown a sack of meat. I stood over you, staring. And I remember thinking that I’d lost you. That I’d killed the one thing that mattered most to me.”

His claws dug into the dirt.

“That’s when control finally returned. I don’t know how long I stood there. But when I could move again… I saw the blood. I saw you fading. My only chance to save you… was the bond.”

Gradyn’s breath hitched. He looked away, toward the trees, as if the forest might offer something steadier to hold on to. “You mean the soul bond?” he asked after a long pause. “Vartis explained that part, too.”

His voice sharpened. “What he didn’t explain is why you left. Why you didn’t stay. Why you didn’t tell me anything. I woke up alone. I thought you’d abandoned me.”

Cyvass’s claws flexed against the dirt. He flinched, but didn’t look away. “I wanted to stay,” he said. “Everything in me wanted to. But I thought if I did, I’d only make things worse. You didn’t know what was happening inside you.”

Gradyn folded his arms, eyes narrowing.

“Then tell me now. Tell me what is happening to me.”

Cyvass hesitated, then nodded. “When dragons bond, we share our souls. Equal parts. But you’re not a dragon, Gradyn. You had no piece of dragon soul to give me in return. So I gave something… without taking anything back.” He glanced away. “A small piece. Just enough to keep you alive. Just enough to let my magic flow into you.”

Gradyn blinked. “So I have… dragon magic now?”

“Not quite,” Cyvass said. “Not yet. The magic isn’t yours. Not fully. It’s acting on you, not for you. It has one purpose.”

Gradyn’s voice came quieter. “To change me.”

Cyvass nodded slowly. “Body and soul.”

Gradyn stood there for a long moment. Then he stepped back, the motion more instinct than thought. “You forced this on me,” he said. “You made that choice alone. You decided who I’d become without ever asking me what I wanted.”

“I thought I was saving your life,” Cyvass said quietly.

“You were!” Gradyn snapped. “But if distance would’ve stopped the changes, if leaving me alone would’ve made me stay human, why did you bring me here? Why not just… drop me at the edge of another town and vanish again?”

Cyvass looked toward the lake. His eyes were distant.

“Because it’s too late,” he said. “The changes have already begun.” He motioned toward the water. “See for yourself.”

Gradyn’s mouth opened, then closed. He turned, slowly, and approached the water. The lake rippled gently. At first, all he saw was sky and stone. Then his reflection took shape. Green eyes stared back. But they shimmered faintly. The color seemed too vivid, too sharp. And the pupils, long and narrow. Slitted like a cat’s. Like a predator’s.

He recoiled. “What the hell…”

Cyvass didn’t say anything. He let the moment settle. Gradyn crouched, running a hand across his face, then through his hair. He looked again. Still there. His voice came low, uncertain. “Why didn’t I feel it?”

“You wouldn’t,” Cyvass said. “Not at first. The bond does it slowly. You’ll change in stages. Subtle things, until they’re not subtle anymore.”

Gradyn took a step back, his hands clenched into fists. His body trembled, not with rage, but with the sheer weight of everything.

Cyvass’s voice returned, gentler now. “I’ll give you space. I’ll bring food.” His wings spread, slow and deliberate. The wind stirred as he lifted off.

Gradyn didn’t watch him go. He felt it instead, a subtle shift in the bond, like a door gently closing. Not slammed. Not locked. Just… shut. Deliberately and quietly. But final all the same.

He sat there a moment longer, staring at the place Cyvass had been, trying to follow that thread of presence. But it was muted now, dim and far away. Like listening for a voice through water. Still there, but unreachable.

“Trying to shut me out,” Gradyn muttered. “Figures.”

Bitterness rose in his mouth, but he forced it down, turned away from the open sky, and moved back toward the lake.

The grass bent beneath him as he sank down at the water’s edge. He pulled his knees close, arms wrapped around them, and stared out over the lake’s surface. The rising sun painted the world in soft gold, but he barely noticed. The light felt wrong. Too warm. Too calm for what churned in his chest.

He looked down. His reflection rippled in the water, eyes too bright, pupils too thin. Still green, but unnaturally vivid. Like shards of emerald under sunlight.

He looked away. Then back. The sight still jolted him, but not with fear. Not anymore. Now it felt like a weight. Like a truth slowly anchoring itself in his bones. He reached for a nearby stone, flat and worn by time. Turned it in his palm. Then flicked it hard across the lake. It skipped twice before vanishing, the splash sending ripples across his reflection.

In the silence that followed, broken only by the constant rush of the waterfall and the soft breath of the wind, his mind drifted backward. To Radhilt. To the long walks down to the river. The way the sunlight filtered through the trees at dusk. Gil grumbling good-naturedly over deer carcasses. The warmth of Pel’s inn, the clatter of mugs, the low murmur of stories. Ardan’s laughter. That strange, quiet comfort that came from being known, even when you didn’t say much.

To Pel’s words, the last time they spoke. “Promise me you’ll come back.” He meant it. He always did. But now…

Gradyn looked at his hands. Still human. Still his. But for how long? How long until scales replaced skin? Until his voice changed? Until wings or claws or horns, something, made it impossible to hide?

Would Pel even recognize him then? Would anyone?

The pressure in his chest deepened. That promise he’d made, it wasn’t a vow anymore. It was a tether. And it was fraying. A part of him still wanted it. The quiet life. The routine. The normalcy. But even there, he’d always felt the edges fray. That strange tension in his body. That itch beneath the surface. A quiet dissonance he could never name.

He wasn’t becoming something else. He was uncovering something that had been buried all along. That thought chilled him. And yet… there was something freeing about it too.

The wind stirred again, brushing the lake. His reflection blurred, shimmered. Then settled. He leaned closer. Stared. The eyes didn’t scare him this time. They were strange, yes. Inhuman. But they were his. Framed by a face he knew. The curve of his jaw. The furrow of his brow. The mouth still set with quiet resolve.

A dragon’s gaze, but still Gradyn. He let out a breath that trembled on its way out.

“Damn you, Cyvass.”

The words weren’t harsh. They weren’t even angry. They were tired. Carried on a voice hoarse with grief and full of things unsaid. He didn’t hate him. He wasn’t sure he ever had. But he wasn’t done bleeding either.

So he sat there, while the sun climbed higher, and the waterfall murmured behind him. While the wild things stirred in the trees and the world kept pretending nothing had changed.

The stillness of the clearing broke with the low, steady beat of wings. Gradyn looked up just as Cyvass descended from the sky, a large deer held delicately in his claws. He landed with surprising quiet for something so massive, the wind from his wings stirring the lake and sending ripples across its surface.

Cyvass set the deer down near the edge of the trees, then looked to Gradyn. “I hope you’re hungry,” he said, his voice low and calm. The mental wall between them was still firmly in place.

Gradyn didn’t answer right away. He crouched beside the deer, checking the clean break at its neck with a hunter’s eye. It was more out of habit than anything else.

"Is there plenty of food here?" he asked.

A low chuff escaped Cyvass’s throat. “There’s enough. But I’m not the only one that lives here. There’s a family of gryphons that live by the southern ridge. We share hunting grounds when necessary. But I end up going outside the valley most of the time.”

Gradyn looked up. “Gryphons?”

Cyvass nodded. “A mated pair and their three fledglings. They’ve lived here longer than I have. We’ve come to... trust each other. They warned me once when Valherin scouts flew too close. I just keep my distance and make sure not to overhunt.”

Gradyn gave a short, surprised huff. “Didn’t think you were the neighborly type.”

“I learned,” Cyvass said quietly. “It was nice to have others around.”

Gradyn stood, brushing his hands on his trousers. “Right,” he said sarcastically. “But not me.”

Cyvass didn’t answer. Instead, he stepped closer and held out one foreclaw carefully. “Let's go back to my cave. It's not far, but we have to fly.”

Gradyn frowned at the offered claws. “So you want to carry me around like a sack of potatoes again? No thanks.”

Cyvass blinked. “It’s not as undignified as it sounds.”

Gradyn crossed his arms. “Last time it was necessary. But it’s kind of embarrassing letting you dangle me around like cargo.”

Cyvass hesitated, then lowered himself to the grass, wings folding back as his belly touched the ground. “Then climb on. It’s safe, I promise. You’ll even have a better view.”

Gradyn stared at him. “You’re serious?” A little excitement crept into his voice.

Cyvass tilted his head. “Hurry, before I change my mind.”

Gradyn hesitated, but after a moment’s pause, he stepped forward, slowly, warily. He placed one hand on Cyvass’s side. It felt odd, touching him so casually again. He then hoisted himself up, settling awkwardly between the spines of Cyvass’s shoulders.

“Hold on to the spines just behind my neck,” Cyvass said gently. “Don’t lean too far either way.”

Gradyn did as instructed. The spines, which had looked flexible before, now felt hard as bone. “You could’ve warned me this would feel weird.”

“How do you think I feel?” Cyvass muttered. Then, as if remembering something, he added, “Wait… one more thing.”

From Cyvass’s sides, two slender tendrils of shadow unfurled. Fluid and precise. They snaked around Gradyn’s waist and thighs, anchoring him in place like a harness. Not tight, but secure. They felt warm and strange, like silk woven from living smoke.

Gradyn stiffened. “Uh… what are you—?”

“It’s just to keep you steady,” Cyvass explained quickly. “If I have to fly fast or shift suddenly, you won’t fall.”

Gradyn glanced down at the dark tendrils, then back at Cyvass’s neck. “I guess it's better than nothing.”

With a powerful beat of his wings, Cyvass launched into the air. Gradyn’s breath caught in his throat as the ground fell away beneath them. The wind rushed past, cool and wild. Trees shrank into distant green patches, and the peaks of the Stone Forest Mountains rose like jagged teeth in the distance.

Below them, sunlight glinted off a ridge where winged shapes soared and dipped through the thermals. They were larger than hawks, but too graceful to be dragons.

Gradyn stared. “Those the gryphons?”

Cyvass tilted his wings slightly, circling. “That’s them. The adults are wary of strangers, but kind. If they see you with me, they’ll know you’re welcome. But we should expect a visit soon.”

They flew in silence until Cyvass brought them to a narrow ledge halfway up a cliff face, half-concealed by mist and veils of ivy. The entrance to the cave was nearly invisible from above.

Cyvass landed carefully, wings folding in, and lowered himself so Gradyn could slide off. His legs wobbled a little when they touched the stone, but he steadied himself quickly and turned to take in the view. The cave mouth opened behind him, cool air wafting out, smelling faintly of moss and mineral. In front of him, the entire valley lay stretched below, bathed in sunlight and alive with the quiet motion of wind, birds, and rustling trees.

Gradyn looked back at Cyvass, who had already padded a few steps into the cave, his movements slow and deliberate, like he was giving Gradyn the chance to decide whether or not to follow.

“Well?” Cyvass asked over his shoulder, his voice echoing slightly in the cavern's mouth. “You coming in, or are you planning to hang out on the cliff all day like a mountain goat?”

Gradyn let out a breath, part laugh, part weary sigh, and stepped inside.

The cave wasn’t what he expected. It was large. Big enough for Cyvass to move comfortably, but it was also… lived in. Smooth stones were arranged into low benches and a fire pit along the sides, a small spring bubbled near the back, and there were signs of old fires, neatly stacked supplies, even a few worn but intact books carefully stored in a dry nook.

“You built this?” Gradyn asked, surprised.

“Some of it, yes,” Cyvass said. “It’s likely that another dragon lived here long ago. I tried to keep some of our things from our old cave… In case you came back.”

Gradyn didn’t answer right away. He stepped over to one of the benches and ran his hand along its surface. The stone was warm. Comfortable, somehow. Familiar, despite everything.

“You really thought I might come back?” he asked quietly.

“I hoped,” Cyvass said. Then added, almost to himself, “Even if I didn’t deserve it.”

Silence stretched between them again, heavy but not hostile. Gradyn sat down slowly, eyes scanning the chamber. The quiet here wasn’t empty. It was full of history, of choices made and regrets carried.

“I don’t forgive you,” he said after a while. “Not yet.”

Cyvass nodded, not surprised. “I know.”

“But I’m here,” Gradyn added. “So maybe that means something.”

Cyvass looked at him, eyes gleaming like shadowed sapphires in the dim light. “It means everything.”

Gradyn looked away, uncomfortable with how much the words stirred something in him. A strange mixture of belonging and uncertainty. He still didn’t know what came next. What being a dragon even meant, what was waiting for him beyond this valley, if anything at all.

The silence between them lingered. Not comfortable, but no longer cold. Something in it had shifted. Gradyn sat near the far wall, facing the entrance until the last of the sunlight spilled in.

The scent of roasted venison filled the cave, mingling with the earthy musk of stone and moss. The fire crackled low in the pit, casting warm shadows that danced across the carved walls. Gradyn sat cross-legged near the flames, slowly chewing on a strip of meat, while Cyvass lay coiled by the entrance, his gaze resting somewhere beyond the valley.

They had eaten in near silence, the only sound the occasional pop from the fire. Gradyn stared into the flames, thoughts circling like vultures.

"So," he said, voice low, breaking the quiet, "how long until I... change?"

Cyvass turned slightly, his head tilting. "It’s already begun. You’ll start feeling it soon. Aches. Stiff joints. Growing pains. You’ll be bigger by morning, and then more the day after. Eventually... you’ll almost as big as me."

Gradyn raised an eyebrow. "That’s a hell of a growth spurt."

"It doesn’t happen all at once," Cyvass assured. "A few inches a day. Enough to notice, but not enough to overwhelm. Your eyes were just the beginning."

Gradyn flexed his fingers, uneasy. "And after the aches?"

Cyvass shifted, his tone growing gentler. "Your skin will itch. Burn, even. Then it will start to shed. Underneath, your scales will begin to emerge. That’s when we’ll know what kind of dragon you’re becoming."

Gradyn looked over at him, searching. "What do you mean, what kind?"

"There are five dragon types," Cyvass said, his voice thoughtful. "Fire, water, storm, earth... and shadow."

Gradyn glanced over, brow raised. "Let me guess, you’re shadow."

Cyvass inclined his head. "Yes. Shadow dragons are the quiet ones. Our power is stealth and misdirection. We can blend into darkness so completely we vanish. Even our bodies can shrink, make ourselves as small as a fox to sneak where others can’t. We breathe smoke thick enough to blind other dragons and twist shadows into tendrils, tools, weapons, whatever we need."

He extended a claw toward the wall. From the corner, the shadows stirred curling upward like smoke with weight. A tendril slithered across the stone and coiled around a loose stone, lifting it before dissolving back into nothing.

Gradyn let out a slow breath. “I remember when you could barely make one flicker.”

“I’ve had time to improve,” Cyvass replied with quiet pride.

He shifted slightly, limbs rearranging with a rustle of scales. “Water dragons are graceful. Scales the color of oceans—blue, teal, or sea-glass green. Although they cannot breathe fire like the other types, they do not need it. They command moisture. Can draw it from the air, even a breath, and shape it into blades, waves, fog. The strongest among them can freeze rivers with a thought or boil lakes in anger. Their bodies flow with what they control. Flexible, fluid, and always moving.”

Gradyn nodded slowly, picturing it. “And fire?”

Cyvass’s eyes glinted. “Unpredictable. Fire dragons are born from heat. Red, gold, deep bronze scales. Just because other types can breathe fire does not make them inferior. Fire dragons become the flame. Lighting themselves ablaze without pain. Their magic lets them shape fire like a living thing. They burn hotter the angrier they get, but a disciplined one can snuff a blaze with a whisper. Most fear them. Even other dragons.”

“That sounds…” Gradyn shook his head. “Terrifying.”

Cyvass gave a low chuckle. “It is. Storm dragons are no easier. They’re smaller than most of us.Sleek and fast, like falcons with fangs and scales. Their scales shimmer silver or pale yellow, sometimes white or deep gray like a storm cloud. They live in the air, born from the sky. Their lungs hold lightning. Their wings stir wind. Given enough time and magic, they can call down a storm in ful.”

Gradyn blinked. “And here I thought you were the scary one.”

“You haven’t heard about earth dragons yet.”

Gradyn arched a brow. “Go on.”

Cyvass’s voice softened. “They’re the strongest and largest, physically. Covered in green, and brown. Like walking mountains. They shape the land with their will. Raise walls from soil and stone, split the ground beneath their enemies. Their magic makes things grow. Trees, vines, flowers. They can bend roots like ropes or heal broken bones with a touch. If they concentrate, they can even heal the most fatal of wounds. However, there are limits. If a body part is completely destroyed or severed it cannot be returned.”

He nodded toward the cave walls. “One likely carved this place. Their dens are always shaped with care. They don’t destroy unless they must.”

Gradyn ran a hand along the smooth curve of the bench beside him, quiet for a moment. “So the type I become... it just happens?”

“Not quite,” Cyvass said. “For natural-born dragons, it’s passed through blood. For you? It’ll be guided by your soul. The bond changed you, opened a path, but the direction it takes will be decided by your nature. Your instincts. Your strengths.”

Gradyn stared into the fire, the flames reflected in the unnatural gleam of his eyes. “So we’ll know what kind I am once the scales show up? What if there’s more than one color? Like... you’ve got blue.”

“The dominant color determines your type,” Cyvass said. “Patterns and secondary hues, like mine, are just that: markings. Every dragon is a little different, but it’s the base color that decides your element.”

Gradyn stared into the fire again, voice low. "And after that?"

"You’ll continue to change," Cyvass said. "Wings. A tail. Your bones will shift. Your senses will sharpen. It’ll hurt, but you’ll manage. The cold will be worse. Until your scales harden, you’ll be vulnerable to it."

Gradyn grimaced. "Great. Anything else I should know?"

Cyvass hesitated. Then: "Your body will then catch up to your current age. Rapidly. You’ll experience everything a normal adolescent dragon would, just compressed into days instead of years. Including emotional volatility. Bursts of magic. Instincts that might not make sense."

Gradyn exhaled slowly. "Sounds like a nightmare."

"It can be," Cyvass admitted. "But I’ll be here. If you lose control... I’ll stop you. I won’t let you hurt anyone... Not like me."

The words carried weight, unspoken memories straining beneath them.

Cyvass hesitated, then added, “There’s something else you should know. Once the transformation is complete, you won’t be stuck in that form forever.”

Gradyn looked at him, surprised. “What do you mean?”

“Dragons who were once human, those created by bonding, can use their magic to return to their human bodies. Not permanently. And not for long. A few hours, if you’re careful. But it takes effort and a lot of magic. Holding it too long can drain you and eventually you will be forced to turn back.”

Gradyn was quiet, the firelight flickering in his too-bright eyes.

“So… I can still be me?”

Cyvass looked directly at him, his tone soft but unwavering. “You’ll always be you. Your soul is still your own. No matter the shape you wear.”

Gradyn let them settle, then asked, more quietly, "How do you know all this?"

Cyvass touched his temple with a claw. "We dragons don’t just communicate telepathically. We share memories. It’s how we’re raised. Parents pass everything down to their hatchlings. Knowledge, survival instincts, stories."

“That…” Gradyn blinked. "That sounds like cheating."

Cyvass laughed, a rich sound that bounced through the cave. "Maybe. But it works."

Gradyn smiled faintly. "With all that, you’d think dragons would be invincible. How does someone like Vartis even stand a chance?"

The laughter vanished. A deep pain washed over the bond, even through the wall Cyvass had put up. His voice dropped low. "We’re not without flaws," he said. "You of all people should know that."

Gradyn winced. "Sorry," he said, regret thick in his throat. "I didn’t mean—"

"I know," Cyvass murmured, cutting him off. "Let’s sleep."

He moved to the pile of furs, shifting some aside for Gradyn. "These will be more comfortable than the stone."

Gradyn rose slowly and crossed the cave. He lowered himself onto the furs, warm and faintly scented with ash and pine. Cyvass curled into his own pile a few feet away, eyes slipping closed.

Gradyn stared up at the stone ceiling, his mind buzzing. He didn’t feel the aches yet. But he knew they’d come. The change was no longer some distant possibility. It was already inside him.

He closed his eyes. Sleep came slowly.

But it came.

The days blurred together.

The aches started on the second morning, dull throbs in Gradyn’s legs and spine, as if his bones were lengthening by inches overnight. By the third day, he was certain of it. His boots no longer fit. His sleeves pinched at the elbows, his shirt stretched tight across the shoulders. He stopped wearing it by the third day.

“You’re taller,” Cyvass noted one morning, gaze sweeping over him with a calculating look.

Gradyn had just returned from the spring near the back of the cave, water dripping from his face. “Tell me something I don’t know,” he muttered, rubbing at the base of his neck where his skin had started to itch.

He tried not to think about it. The heat, the pressure under his skin. Like something was trying to push its way out. He woke up sweating, even in the cool mountain air. And sometimes, when he touched his arms or back, he could feel the faintest ridges under the skin. Like scales waiting to bloom.

Cyvass remained quiet through most of it, offering food, water, and silence. He watched Gradyn with a hunter’s patience, but never asked how he felt. Gradyn didn’t offer.

They spoke in bursts. Some light, some tense. Small moments flared: laughter by the fire when Cyvass accidentally knocked over a stack of books, a sudden argument when Gradyn refused help standing after a dizzy spell.

“I said I’ve got it.”

“I wasn’t offering because you’re weak. I was offering because I care.”

That had shut them both up for a while.

By the sixth day, Gradyn had grown almost two feet. His bones creaked when he moved too quickly. His voice was deeper. His fingers were longer and stronger. The itch beneath his skin was constant.

On the morning of the seventh day, he woke up with a burn across his shoulders. He sat up with a sharp breath, fingers searching and froze. There, just below his collarbone, nestled between the curves of muscle and bone, were two scales. Deep green. Smooth and shimmering faintly in the morning light.

He stared.

A thousand things raced through him. Fear, wonder, denial, awe.

He touched them. They were real. Cool to the touch and anchored deep.

“Cyvass,” he said, voice low.

Cyvass was already watching from the far side of the cave. His eyes were unreadable.

Gradyn turned. “They’re here.”

Cyvass stepped closer but said nothing. His gaze dropped to the scales and lingered. Just for a breath. Something shifted in his face. Something distant, almost hollow.

“What? Were you hoping for a different color?” Gradyn asked.

“It’s not that,” Cyvass said, softly.

Gradyn stood slowly. “Well? Say something. I’m green. What does that mean?”

Cyvass hesitated. “It means your element is earth,” he said carefully. “Earth dragons are Strong, connected to life in ways others aren’t.”

Gradyn narrowed his eyes. “But there’s something else.”

“No,” Cyvass said too quickly.

Gradyn didn’t press. He felt the flicker of something across the bond. A sadness that told him to leave it alone. The silence stretched. Gradyn looked down at the scales again, brushing his fingers over them. “Feels strange. Like I’m becoming someone else.”

“Think of it more like becoming a different version of you,” Cyvass replied thoughtfully.

“Not sure I like him yet.”

The dragon didn’t argue.

Gradyn sighed and sat on the bench near the fire. “So now what?”

“Now the changes accelerate. More scales. Muscles will shift. Eventually, your wings will start to form.”

“Wings,” Gradyn echoed. “Of course.”

Cyvass finally smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’ll fly on your own before long.”

Gradyn stared into the fire. He didn’t know if that excited him or terrified him. But one thing was clear, there was no going back now.

As Cyvass said, the changes came faster now. The wave of scales moved like creeping ivy, spreading in patches. First over Gradyn's shoulders, down his spine, then curling under his arms and across his chest. The deep green shimmered like polished stone, and from the nape of his neck to the small of his back, a spiraling black pattern had begun to coil, sharp and deliberate.

The mornings were the worst. Pain lanced through his limbs and spine, leaving him breathless and sweating. His muscles twisted and shifted beneath the surface, bones grinding against bone as his form continued to betray him.

The wings started as pressure, two knotted aches below the shoulder blades. By the eighth day, the scales there split. Slowly and painfully. Membranes like wet leather unfolded from the slits in his back, trembling with each breath.

The tail followed: first a throbbing tug at the base of his spine, then a relentless pull. At first just bone and raw muscle, it grew longer each night, clothed in creeping green scales and ridged along the top. It hurt like nothing he had ever felt before. There were nights he could do nothing but curl near the fire, teeth clenched, shaking from the pain and the cold.

Cyvass had been right when he said the cold was the worst part. Every new patch felt raw and exposed, rejecting the chill of mountain air. Cyvass, without a word, kept the fire going constantly, even in the daylight. Some nights he hardly slept at all.

One evening, as Gradyn huddled by the flame, Cyvass tossed another log into the fire and settled beside him.

"You should sleep next to me," he said quietly, voice even.

Gradyn side-eyed him. "You offering to be my bed now?"

"I’m offering to help," Cyvass said, not quite hiding the exasperated sigh. "Dragons often share body heat in harsh climates or when they are young. It's natural."

Gradyn let out a dry laugh. "Nothing about this is natural for me."

The dragon turned his head, eyes catching the firelight. "It could be. If you’d let it."

"I'm still not sleeping on you."

"Suit yourself. Freeze then."

But the bite in Cyvass’s voice didn’t land quite the same. There was a warmth beneath it, something patient, almost fond. Gradyn caught it. And for the first time in days, he almost smiled.

It was early on the ninth morning when he woke to find the scales had finished crawling across his abdomen.

Gradyn sat shirtless by the fire, tracing his hand over the green armor plating his stomach, then lower. That's when he noticed they continued below what remained of his pants, and nothing down there felt right.

A jolt of panic punched through him. He stood quickly and yanked down his trousers. What used to rest between his legs was gone. In its place were smooth, fine scales, separated by a narrow slit.

For a breathless moment, he stared, numb. Did the transformation turn me female? His gaze flicked to Cyvass, who was lounging near the spring, minding his own business. He’d never noticed anything hanging between Cyvass’s legs either, so maybe it just worked differently for dragons.

Despite the outward smoothness, he could feel something beneath the slit. He hesitated... glanced again at Cyvass... and curiosity got the better of him. Slowly, he reached down and used two fingers to part the slit. Something pushed outward without warning. Gradyn gasped, stumbling back as his new length emerged. Deep red, tapered, and ridged along the underside. Definitely not human.

"Cyvass?" His voice cracked with alarm. The dragon's head snapped up. His blue eyes widened immediately.

Gradyn stared, heart hammering, before awkwardly wrenching a blanket around his waist. "Oh… uh… sorry," he muttered.

Cyvass kept staring. For a heartbeat too long. Then blinked rapidly, clearing his throat. "I... I guess we were going to have to have this conversation at some point."

Gradyn managed to bundle himself up, but the sensitive flesh throbbed under the blanket. "Sorry about that," he said again, quieter. "It just... it took me by surprise."

The dragon rose and padded to the fire, lying down across from him. A deliberate distance. But his posture was tight, his wings half-furled.

"So," Cyvass began, voice a little too careful. "You’ve gotten yourself a good look at your new dragon anatomy. As you can see, it’s... different."

"No shit," Gradyn muttered. He also noticed that Cyvass was doubling his efforts to keep his emotions masked through the bond. Like he was working not to think too hard about what he’d seen.

"How do I get it to stop doing what it's doing?" Gradyn asked, frustration bleeding through. "It feels really weird."

Cyvass coughed lightly, looking away. "It might look different, but it still works the same way. You can either wait it out... or... you know. Take care of it."

Gradyn blinked. Slowly. "...Right," he said, voice flat. "Think I'll just wait."

Cyvass nodded, grateful. Silence stretched. Awkward and heavy. Gradyn tried to think about anything else, but the feeling persisted. Worse, now he could smell it. A strong, musky scent leaking from under the blanket. His sense of smell had sharpened with the transformation, and there was no ignoring it now.

When he glanced at Cyvass, he caught the dragon with his eyes closed, taking in a deep, slow breath.

"...Are you sniffing me?" Gradyn blurted.

Cyvass' eyes snapped open. Embarrassment flared down the bond. "I was… um… just checking... if you still had... your problem," he stammered, not meeting his gaze.

Gradyn opened his mouth to press him, but a sharp tap-tap-tap at the stone near the cave entrance cut him off. Both heads whipped around. A massive gryphon was peering in, golden eyes wide. She sniffed the air once, feathers ruffling.

“…Oh,” she said, blinking slowly at Gradyn. Half-dragon, half-naked, and wrapped awkwardly in a blanket. Then she flicked her gaze to Cyvass, who had scrambled upright in alarm. Her eyes widened even more as a slow smirk curled her beak. “This is deliciously awkward.”

Embarrassment surged hot down the bond. Cyvass dropped like a rock, burying his face beneath one wing.

“Theia,” he growled.

The gryphon padded inside, tail swishing with wicked amusement. “Not the situation I expected to walk into. You used to go on and on about him, but I didn’t realize it was that kind of pining. Also... what’s wrong with him? Wings crooked, half-scale, half-skin?”

Gradyn stared, speechless.

“Whatever you think this is, it’s not,” Cyvass snapped through gritted teeth. “And maybe next time, give some warning before dropping in.”

Theia laughed, a sharp, bright sound like sunlight catching on steel. “It’s my valley, remember? I come and go as I please.”

She stepped closer, gaze sliding back to Gradyn. Her smirk softened, just a touch. “You’re… real,” she said. “Didn’t think I’d ever meet you. Honestly thought he’d sit here brooding forever instead of doing something about it.”

Gradyn shot a sideways look at Cyvass, who was suddenly very interested in the fire.

“He didn’t exactly choose to get me,” Gradyn muttered. “I was basically thrown into his claws.”

“Which reminds me,” he added, sharper now, “ You never explained why you flew close enough to reopen the bond a month before Vartis even showed up.”

“You never asked,” Cyvass mumbled, still hiding behind his wing.

Theia snorted. “Still bad at talking about his feelings. Some things never change.”

Cyvass shifted but didn’t respond.

“Anyway,” Theia said breezily, circling the fire. “Mind if I stick around? I’ll pretend I didn’t walk in on whatever… that was.”

Gradyn opened his mouth to protest, but she was already curling up near the fire like she owned the place. Which, to be fair, she might. Strangely, her presence was almost a relief. It gave him something else to focus on—something not mortifying or emotionally complicated.

“You know,” Theia said casually, watching Cyvass out of the corner of her eye, “you made quite a mess of him.”

Gradyn blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Emotionally,” she clarified, smirking. “He’s been brooding and sulking for years. Always staring off like a lovesick idiot.”

Gradyn flushed. Cyvass, for his part, looked like he wanted the cave to collapse and bury him. “It wasn’t—” he began, then paused. His shoulders sagged slightly. “It wasn’t just brooding.”

Theia tilted her head. Even Gradyn leaned in.

“I gave up part of my soul,” Cyvass said quietly, voice rough. “You know that. But I never told you what it felt like. Being without it. It was like… like missing a limb you could still feel. A constant ache. Even across the years, even though the bond was fresh, I could still feel you. Just out of reach.”

Gradyn stayed quiet, but gestured for the dragon to continue.

“I thought I could live with it,” Cyvass continued. “Told myself you were better off. That I had to stay away. But six years…” He looked down at his claws, dragging them lightly through the stone. “Six years wore me down.”

He glanced at Gradyn. No walls in his eyes, no mask. Just raw truth.

“I flew close to Radhilt because I needed to feel something again. I thought maybe it would dull the ache. Instead, I got too close. The bond snapped back and the pain it brought was too much. I fell from the sky. Couldn't breathe. And when I realized what had happened… I panicked. I knew I’d hurt you again. So I ran again.”

Silence fell, thick as smoke.

Theia broke it first, voice gentler now. “Idiot.”

Cyvass huffed out a brittle laugh. “Yeah. I know.”

Gradyn looked at him. His heart ached. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say. There were no perfect words for that kind of pain.

Instead, he turned to Theia. “You said this is your valley. How does a gryphon end up with something like this?”

She stretched, talons flexing. “Now there’s a story. Suppose I owe you some context.”

Gradyn nodded, grateful for the shift.

“I was born in Valherin,” Theia said. “Raised with the rest of the war gryphons. We’re pampered, sure. Trained. Honored. But it’s all a leash. We exist to serve. To fly. To kill.”

She looked into the fire. “We don’t get to say no. And the ones who do…” Her voice went tight. “They vanish.”

Gradyn swallowed.

“I ran,” she said simply. “Most of us never try. Some think it’s safer to serve. Some are too broken to believe there’s anything else.” Her feathers ruffled. “But me? I’d rather die free.”

“Won’t they come after you?” Gradyn asked.

“Maybe,” she said. “But if there’s even a chance to break their hold, to help someone else do the same…” She shrugged. “It’s worth it.”

Cyvass looked at her with a mix of gratitude and guilt. Theia met his gaze, then turned to the mouth of the cave.

“I’ll keep a lookout for Valherin troops,” she said. “At least until you two stop looking like kicked puppies.”

She leapt into the air before either of them could reply, the wind of her wings sweeping the cave. Gradyn sat back, staring at the fire. The weight in his chest was still there. But it didn’t feel quite as heavy anymore.

The days continued to pass slowly, each one marked by aching change.

Gradyn’s body continued its steady, relentless shift. His limbs warped, muscles stretched, leaving him helpless on the cave floor for hours at a time. His head and neck had begun lengthening, his face narrowing into a more draconic shape. His once-human skin had vanished beneath a coat of shimmering dark green scales, leaving him raw, aching, and strange even to himself.

Sometime around twelve days into the transformation, his hair fell away completely. Shed in brittle clumps as the scales crept across his scalp. He hadn’t even had the strength to brush it off. It simply drifted away, lost among the cracks in the stone floor.

Now, as night pressed in cold and furious around him, Gradyn woke to find the world even more unkind. The brittle snap of dying embers and the relentless crash of thunder outside pulled him fully awake. The fire had nearly gone out, throwing the cave into shivering cold and deep shadows. Rain hammered against the rocks, a furious, endless drumbeat.

He tried to shift closer to the embers and immediately regretted it. His limbs, still half-transformed, throbbed miserably, refusing to hold his weight. A violent shudder wracked his body. He clenched his jaw against the cold, but the tremors wouldn’t stop.

Gradyn lifted his head with effort, squinting toward the mouth of the cave. Cyvass sat there, silent and still, his deep blue eyes reflecting distant lightning. Rain misted the air just beyond him, and for a moment, he looked almost ghostly.

Gradyn's voice came out a rough croak. "Cyvass... the fire..."

Cyvass turned, concern flickering across his face. He padded closer, his scales damp from the spray. "I can’t," he said quietly. "I ran out of wood hours ago. I was going to get more, but..." He nodded toward the storm. "Flying down the cliffs in this? I'd probably break my neck."

Gradyn closed his eyes, another shiver racking his frame. "Then..." He hesitated, pride warring with need. "Come here. I’m freezing."

Something in Cyvass’ face softened. Without a word, he crossed the cave in a few strides and lowered himself beside Gradyn. Carefully, he curled around him, draping one wing over Gradyn’s now mostly dragon form like a heavy, living blanket. The black dragon's warmth was immediate and overwhelming, seeping into Gradyn's frozen bones.

Gradyn pressed closer without thinking, sighing in relief. Cyvass tucked his head near Gradyn’s, shielding him from the worst of the cold drafts. Even in the middle of the storm, there was a profound stillness between them. A heartbeat of peace.

Gradyn found himself wondering, bitterly, why he had turned this down the first time. This simple comfort. This closeness. They stayed that way for a long time, just listening to the storm. After a while, Gradyn noticed Cyvass' gaze roaming over him, lingering. He lifted his head slightly.

"What?" he asked, voice low.

Cyvass hesitated. "You remind me of them," he said finally. "My mother and sister. Their scales were a similar shade of green."

Gradyn blinked, the answer not at all what he expected. He settled his head back down against Cyvass' neck, feeling the slow, steady thump of the dragon’s heart. "What were they like?"

For a long moment, Cyvass said nothing. Then his voice came rough at the edges.

"I was born near the edge of these mountains. My father was a shadow dragon, like me. My mother was earth. Solid and fierce. I lived with them until I was about four. My sister... she was from the same clutch, but I always thought of her as younger. Always tagging after me. Always trusting."

As he spoke, Gradyn felt something stir at the edge of his mind. Cyvass pushed forward a memory, not forceful, but clear. A vision bloomed: a warm glade in the mountains, sunlight filtering through pines. Two young dragons tumbled through the grass, laughing. One small and black, the other green and sleek, chasing her brother’s tail in endless loops.

The image faded as Cyvass continued. "One day, we wandered farther than we were supposed to. I convinced her to go. Told her it would be an adventure. She got caught in a trap. A snare. I panicked and ran back to get our parents."

Gradyn winced as the memory struck him, sharp and vivid. But it wasn’t just the image of the trap or his sister’s terrified eyes that hit the hardest. It was what came with it. The emotion behind the memory. Guilt. Thick and suffocating, wrapping around the edges of every thought Cyvass shared.

It wasn’t just a retelling. Cyvass wasn’t showing him this because he needed Gradyn to understand what happened. He was showing him because he still blamed himself for all of it.

And Gradyn felt it, deep and aching through the bond. That endless loop of if I hadn’t gone, if I hadn’t run, if I’d just stayed. Like a wound Cyvass had kept open for years because some part of him believed he deserved to bleed.

Gradyn’s breath caught. Of course he blames himself, he realized. He always has. For his sister. His mother. His father. And for me. The thought landed heavier than he expected. Gradyn remembered the look in Cyvass’ eyes that day when everything changed. But it was no longer the empty, rage-filled gaze he had believed it to be. Instead it was one of horror, as he watched himself do something he couldn’t stop.

Cyvass had lived with that guilt too. Carried it every day since. Blaming himself for what happened at the cave, for the bond, for not being there after. For leaving. Gradyn hadn’t truly understood it until now. The silence. The shame. The desperation in Cyvass’ voice every time he said I’m sorry.

It wasn’t just grief. It was a belief, bone-deep and cruel: Everyone I try to protect ends up hurt.

Gradyn swallowed hard, his chest twisting. He wanted to say something—to cut through the years of silence and pain, but the words caught behind the storm of emotion. He just hoped, somehow, that the bond would carry what he couldn’t yet say.

"When we got back... they were waiting. An army. And Vartis. He had my sister’s throat in one hand. A dagger in the other. He announced himself like it was some kind of game." Cyvass’ voice broke. "Then he... he killed her. Right in front of us."

Another memory slammed into Gradyn like a blow. A blur of steel. The sharp cry of a child cut short. The look of pure joy on Vartis’ face. Blood on the leaves.

Gradyn looked into the dragon’s eyes. They were barely holding back tears.

"My mother went mad," Cyvass whispered. "Her emotions ran too high. She lost control and charged. My father too. But it was a trap. Ballistas were hidden in the trees. My mother was gone before she even hit the ground."

The memory came slower this time, weighted by grief. His mother’s body crumpled in a heap. Two bolts in her chest and one through the neck.

"When dragons bond fully," Cyvass murmured, "the death of one severs the other's magic. It leaves you... hollow. You have to claim your soul back from their corpse to recover. But that takes time, time my father didn’t have. He lost his magic the moment she died. It pulled him out of the rampage. But he didn’t hesitate. He grabbed me. Even as a bolt pierced his side."

Gradyn felt the final memory as if it were his own. Cyvass trembling in his father’s grip, clutched tightly as they fled through the storm of arrows and screams. The desperate strength of his father’s final flight. The cave. The blood.

Cyvass let out a breath that shook with old grief. "He found a cave. Small enough to hide me. Big enough that they wouldn’t find me. Then he left... led them away. I watched him fly. Wounded. Bleeding. Saw gryphons chase him down." His voice dropped. "I know he didn’t make it."

They sat there in silence as the storm raged outside. Gradyn shifted weakly, aching, and pressed his forehead to Cyvass'.

"It wasn't your fault," he said fiercely. "You were just a kid. You didn’t set the trap."

Cyvass shuddered, curling tighter. "If I hadn't convinced her to go..."

"You didn’t kill her," Gradyn said. "Vartis did. Don’t carry that weight. It’s not yours."

A broken sound escaped Cyvass, something between a sob and a sigh. He tucked his head around Gradyn's, hiding his face as the tears came.

They stayed like that, huddled against the cold, as thunder rolled over the mountains. Gradyn felt Cyvass' trembling slow, his breathing deepen. He lay still, offering what little comfort he could, feeling their shared warmth sink into his bones.

It had been so long since he’d felt this: warmth, belonging, trust. Gradyn closed his eyes, letting the dragon’s heartbeat lull him. Through the bond, he knew Cyvass felt it too.

Lying here, tangled together in the dark, it almost felt like it used to. Before everything fell apart. Like maybe, just maybe, they could find their way back.

Together.

And with that thought, Gradyn finally drifted into sleep, the storm outside forgotten.